Though most of the delights of the summer term at the Manor consisted of outdoor amusements, other interests were not entirely lacking. In a magazine which Miss Russell took in for the school library there was an announcement of a competition which offered a prize to children under thirteen for the largest number of poetical quotations descriptive of wild flowers. Both Lindsay and Cicely were anxious to try, and ransacked all the volumes of poetry they could get hold of for suitable extracts.

"I think it's too much bother," said Nora Proctor. "It means looking through such a heap of books, and then copying out the pieces so neatly afterwards. It would take one's whole recreation time."

"And probably one wouldn't get anything for it in the end," said Marjorie Butler.

"I began," said Effie Hargreaves, "but, as Nora says, it's far too great a fag. I got ten quotations from Shakespeare, and six from Tennyson. I'll give them to you, Cicely, if you like."

"Oh, thanks, if they're not the same as I have already!"

"I tried for a prize once in a magazine," said Beryl Austen, "but I only got highly commended. I'm afraid my writing wasn't good enough."

Though the other girls did not care to compete themselves, they were interested in Lindsay's and Cicely's lists, and gave them any assistance they could in hunting out fresh quotations.

"I'll tell you what," said Beryl, "you ought to ask Monica. She reads a great deal, and I believe she's rather clever at botany. I heard her talking about the wild flowers of the neighbourhood to Miss Russell."

"Yes, I believe she has a nice pressed collection," said Effie. "She promised to show it to us some day."

Lindsay and Cicely took Beryl's advice, and waylaid Monica as she came to the French class next morning.

"I'm glad you asked me," she replied. "I've no doubt I shall be able to help you; I have a good many beautiful books on botany in the library. I'll bring the key this afternoon, and unlock the case for you."

Monica always kept her promises. She arrived about four o'clock, and opened the large glass doors that preserved the handsome calf-bound volumes from dust and dirt.

"Here they are," she said. "Some are very dry and scientific, and some are popular, and have coloured pictures. There are catalogues of plants, and schedules of species, and old herbals, and every kind of book you can imagine that has a bearing on the subject. Some are about British flowers and some about foreign ones, and there are others on mosses and ferns and fungi. They used to belong to my uncle; he was extremely fond of botany."

"Have you read them all?" asked Cicely.

"No, I'm afraid I have rather neglected them. You see, I have had so many lessons to learn. One can't study everything at once, and Mother particularly wants me to work hard at French. Perhaps some day I may attack the natural orders. It will take you a long time to look through every one of these books. I'll leave the case unlocked, so that you can get them out when you like. I know I can trust you not to spoil the covers, and to put each back in its proper place."

"We'll be very, very careful of them," Lindsay assured her. "We won't carry them into the garden. We'll sit and read them here at the table."

"That will be all right, then," said Monica. "I feel they are rather a particular charge, because they were left to me as a special legacy. I believe my uncle valued them more than anything else in the world. I often think I don't appreciate them as much as I ought."

As Monica had said, it took considerable labour to thoroughly examine all the books and search for extracts. Some merely contained long lists of Latin names, and others were far too learned and scientific to interest schoolgirls. A few, however, treated the subject from its romantic side, and quoted passages of poetry such as they wanted. Miss Russell, who had encouraged them to try for the prize, gave them permission to use the library when they pleased; so for the next few days they spent most of their spare time there.

It was a pleasant occupation, and one that seemed to bring them into touch with the old poets who had loved Nature so dearly, and sung so charmingly about her blossoms. It was quite wonderful to think that nearly six hundred years ago Chaucer had noticed and recorded the little golden heart and white crown of the daisy; and that King James I of Scotland, while pining as Henry IV's prisoner in Windsor Castle, could remember and write of—

"The sharpË, greenË, sweetË juniper,
Growing so fair with branches here and there".

The competition proved most interesting, and, as it happened, was to be connected with unforeseen occurrences.

One afternoon, Cicely, who was trying to work her way systematically along the shelves, brought down a thick, bulky volume, bound in brown leather, with metal corners, and entitled Floral Calendar.

"This must be an old one," she remarked. "Look how yellow the paper is, and there are actually long S's. Someone has scribbled notes all round the edges of the pages."

"I wonder if it was Sir Giles Courtenay?" said Lindsay.

Cicely turned to the flyleaf at the beginning. Yes, in exactly the same rather straggling hand was the inscription:

"GILES PEMBERTON COURTENAY,
Haversleigh Manor,
Somerset."

"He seems to have been fond of writing in his books," said Lindsay. "What's this opposite his name?"

On the inside of the cover quite a long piece of poetry had been copied. It appeared to be something in the nature of an acrostic or charade, and it ran thus:—

ENIGMA

My First, among flowers you can't find a better,
'T was used by a king for securing a letter.
My Second, whose blossoms of yellow soon fade,
Comes out every night in the calm evening shade.
My Third, oft called Iris, is much in demand,
It grows on an island named Van Diemen's Land.
My Fourth, a wild flower with sweet golden eye,
Is more blessing than "torment" to all who pass by.
My Fifth, with great trusses of lavender hue,
Is the sweetest of shrubs that the spring brings to view.
My Sixth, an old blossom in medicine once famed,
Was good for the eyesight, and thus it was named.
Now if you have guessed all these flowers that I prize,
Please take my initials and finals likewise:
The former you'll find to be hiding the latter;
If you've solved the enigma you'll see 'tis a matter
Perchance may provide you with just a lost link,
And bring you a greater reward than you think.
G. P. C.

Both Lindsay and Cicely were particularly fond of any kind of riddle. They seized upon this floral enigma with delight, and began to puzzle it out with the help of the illustrated catalogue of plants given in the old volume.

"How funny of Sir Giles Courtenay to have written it inside a botany book!" said Cicely.

"I suppose he was quite mad," replied Lindsay.

"He must have made it up himself, as it's signed with his initials," continued Cicely. "It was rather clever of him, wasn't it?—especially if he was mad. I'm sure I couldn't invent verses, however hard I tried."

"'My First, used by a king for securing a letter', is evidently 'Solomon's Seal'," said Lindsay. "Give me that spare piece of paper, and I'll put it down."

"'My Second' must be 'Evening Primrose'," said Cicely. "I can't think of any other yellow flower that comes out at night."

The third for a long time baffled the efforts of both girls to discover it. They searched through the lists of wild and garden flowers in vain.

"Irises are sometimes called 'flags'," ventured Cicely at last, turning to the page of 'F' in the index. "Why, here are quite a number. There are Asiatic flag, and corn flag, and dwarf flag, and Florentine flag, and German flag. Oh! and a heap more, too—golden flag, and Iberian flag, and Japanese, and Persian, and Missouri, and Tasmanian."

"That's the one!" said Lindsay. "Van Diemen's Land is the old name for Tasmania. 'My Third' must be Tasmanian flag."

"Why, of course. We're getting on, aren't we?"

The fourth, as it was stated to be a wild flower, was sought for in the list at the end of British Flora. It did not take a very large amount of penetration to fix it as 'tormentilla', especially as they could identify its golden eye in the coloured picture.

"The great trusses of lavender hue, growing on a shrub in spring, will mean lilac. I'm getting quite proud of our guessing," declared Lindsay.

"We've only one more left now," said Cicely.

The last proved the most difficult of all. I doubt if they would have been able to solve it, had not Lindsay chanced to take down an ancient herbal, and found a list of plants once employed for medicine.

"Amid all herbes that do grow, and are of greatest comfort and solace to mankind," so ran the passage, "a foremost place hath the euphrasy. Though it be but an humble plant scarce an inch in height, yet it maketh an ointment very precious for to cure dimness of sight. Thence it hath been called in the vulgar tongue 'eye-bright', nevertheless its true name is euphrasy, and thus it is known among apothecaries."

"It must be right," said Lindsay. "It's the only one that is said to do any good to the eyesight. The others seem to be for toothaches or agues."

"Or to heal wounds or sores," said Cicely. "People must have been continually hurting themselves in those days, if they needed so many 'salves' and 'unguents'."

They had now discovered all the six flowers, and wrote the result neatly down on a piece of paper.

"The initials read 'settle' and the finals 'legacy'," said Cicely. "How very queer! That hasn't anything to do with flowers."

"Let us look at the end lines again," said Lindsay, and she read aloud:

Please take my initials and finals likewise:
The former you'll find to be hiding the latter;
If you've solved the enigma you'll see 'tis a matter
Perchance may provide you with just a lost link,
And bring you a greater reward than you think.

"The initials hide the finals. 'Settle' hides 'Legacy'," repeated Cicely meditatively.

"Why, I see it now!" burst out Lindsay suddenly. "Oh, Cicely, I believe it means a great deal more than an ordinary riddle! It has something to do with the lost treasure. Don't you understand? The settle is hiding the legacy—Monica's legacy!"

"Oh, surely not!" exclaimed Cicely, bouncing up in great excitement.

"But I really think so. The poetry says the enigma is 'to provide the lost link' and 'bring a greater reward than you think'. This is indeed a discovery! It's evidently intended to tell Monica where her money is to be found."

"Can we be quite, quite certain?" hesitated Cicely.

"Well, everything seems to point to it. Don't you recollect Irene Spencer said that in old Sir Giles' will he left 'the Manor and all that it may contain to my great-niece Monica, especially commending to her the volumes in my library, and advising her to pursue the study of botany'? I remember those were the exact words. This must have been the reason. He had written the secret of the hiding-place inside the Floral Calendar, and he thought she would find it there. Perhaps he wasn't so very mad after all."

"I wonder if Monica has seen it and puzzled it out?"

"I don't know. She said she didn't often trouble about the books."

"Then is the treasure hidden inside some old settle in the house?"

"It seems likely."

"In that case we must be wrong about the lantern room."

"Perhaps we are. Well, at any rate this throws new light on the subject, and gives us a clue as to where to hunt. We'll go over the Manor again, and look carefully at every settle."

"I hope we're really on the right track at last," sighed Cicely. "What a glorious day it would be if we could actually say to Monica: 'Here's your fortune!'"