"Yes, I was almost ready for college; but, when I came up here, papa said I'd better take a vacation and only keep up my music," she answered, in an off-hand way which gave Allyn no hint that he was talking to the show pupil of Professor Almeron's school. "It was great fun at first; but now I am honestly sick of having so much vacation and I'd love to take up my German again if I only had somebody to do it with." "Do you like to study?" "N--no; but I don't mind it. I like to practise better." "I hate it all. I wish I weren't going to college." "What do you for, then?" "Oh, I'm expected to. They all take it for granted. Ted did, and Hubert and Billy. I hate languages, though. I'd like to cut the whole thing." "What do you like?" "Drawing." Cicely clasped her hands in sudden envy. "Oh, I do love pictures! Can you draw? I never saw any." "I never drew a picture in my life." Allyn's tone was disdainful. "What do you draw then?" "Machinery, of course. Wheels and pulleys and things. It's such fun to fit them together, Cis, and see how you can get the power across from one to the other." Her eyes flashed at the use of her nickname once more. She felt that the feud was forgotten, as she asked, with an interest which was not all feigned,-- "Have you any of them?" "Not here; but lots of them in my room. I do them, evenings and all sorts of off times, and some of them aren't so simple as they look, either." "Has anybody seen them?" He shook his head. "What's the use? Phebe's bones are bad enough. The house wouldn't hold two cranks. Nobody else knows." "I want to see them," she asserted. "They aren't anything to see. Besides, you couldn't understand them." "I'm not so sure of that. At least, you might try me." "Anyhow, I like them lots better than I do this stuff." He thumped the German grammar viciously. "Why don't you do them then?" "No good." "I mean instead of college." "Papa wouldn't let me." "Have you ever asked him?" "What's the use? He wants me to be a doctor." "Do you want to?" "No. Babe is enough to make me sick of doctors," he answered with brotherly frankness. "I like doctors, myself; but I'd rather be a good machinist than a bad doctor." "So would I, a plaguy sight," he muttered; "but the others wouldn't stand it." "I can't see why," Cicely said thoughtfully. "It is smutty work, and it doesn't sound exactly aristocratic; but soap is cheap, and you aren't obliged to eat out of a tin pail. Allyn, I'd do it if I were in your place." He turned to face her, and his brown eyes were lighted with his enthusiasm.