“Oh, but you are the dearest boy in the world!” she announced, one day, walking into the library at The Savins where Allyn sat reading.

“What do you want now?” he asked gruffly.

“You, of course.  I’m lonesome, and I want your society.”

“Let my hair alone,” he commanded, ducking his head, as she approached his chair.

“I’m not touching it.”

“No; but you do sometimes, and I won’t have it.”

“Yes, it seems so like Melchisedek’s that I love to straighten the parting,” she said demurely, as she came around to the fire.  “Where is Phebe?”

“Playing with her everlasting old skeleton.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to read, if you’d let me be,” growled Allyn, with a despairing look at the book in his hand.  “What do you want?”

“You.”

“What do you want of me?”

“I’m so fond of you.  Besides, I am tired of being alone.  Don’t you want me to play for you?” Cicely’s eyes shone mischievously, as she made the offer.

“Not for a farm.  I don’t like your diddle-diddles; they haven’t a particle of tune to them.”

“Come and take me to ride, then.”

“Why don’t you go alone?  I’m busy.”

Cicely took forcible possession of his book.

“Allyn, you must come.  I’ve a bad attack of the blues.”

“Get rid of them, then.”

“That comes well from you.”

“What’s the matter, Cis?”

“Papa isn’t coming home till fall, and I’ve got to stay here.”

Allyn looked up sharply.  Then he whistled.

“You don’t mean it!”

She nodded, without raising her eyes, and Allyn suddenly discovered that her lids were unusually pink.

“Do you mind it so much?” he added.  “Or is he worse?”

“No; only the doctor wants him to stay over there till the lung is all in order again.”

“And you are homesick?”

“No,—­yes,—­a little,” she said despondently.  “But it’s not all that.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s the being left here till called for, like a sack of potatoes.  Cousin Theodora is too polite to say so; but I know she must wish I were in—­Dawson City.  It’s dreadful, Allyn, not having any real home.”

“If that’s the way you feel over there, you’d better come here to The Savins and stay,” he suggested.

The dimples came back into Cicely’s cheeks.

“We should fight, Allyn.”

“Who cares?  It’s only skin deep,” he returned, with a sudden gravity which surprised her.

She looked at him steadily for a moment.  Then she held out her hand to him.

“Let’s not any more, then.”

He touched her fingers gingerly, gave them a sudden squeeze and then plunged his fists into his pockets.

“Come on and ride, if you must,” he said ungraciously.