Upon one point, however, Allyn maintained a firm stand. He would put up with no endearments. Theodora was the only person who dared lay affectionate hands upon him, who dared address him in affectionate terms. Just once, in the early days of her being in the Farringtons' household, Cicely, moved with pity at the sight of a bruised forefinger, had ventured upon a caressing pat on Allyn's cheek. It was much the caress she would have bestowed upon Melchisedek, if she had chanced to step on his paw; but she never forgot the look of disgusted scorn with which Allyn had marched out of the room. Accustomed from her babyhood to petting her father and being petted by him, the girl was at first at a loss to interpret the situation. When the truth dawned upon her that Allyn was really in earnest, she refused to be suppressed, and persecuted the boy with every species of endearment which her naughty brain could invent. "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."