"Isn't he wonderful? If he had never had a patient but Billy, he might have been content. I wish you could be half the man he is, Hu." "I do my endeavors, Ted." "Yes, and you are a boy to be proud of, even if you aren't a doctor," she answered. "You look as if the last five months had agreed with you." "They have, for I didn't have anybody around to torment me, and I grew fat and sleek from day to day. How is Hope?" "As well as is compatible with being Mac's mother." "What is the matter with him? You didn't write much." "No; for I knew you wouldn't believe the half of my tales. Hu, the boy is an imp." "He combines the least lovely traits of Teddy and Babe," Mr. Farrington remarked gravely. "I was never half so original and daring as he is," Theodora said regretfully. "My iniquities were trite; his are fresh from the recesses of his own brain. He is a cunning child, Hu, and a pretty one; but his ways are past finding out, and--" "And, as I said, he favors his Aunt Teddy," her husband interposed. Theodora decided to change the subject. "How is Allyn?" she asked. Hubert's face sobered. "He is well." "Is anything the matter with the boy?" Theodora demanded, for Allyn had always been her own especial charge, and her marriage had made no break in their relations. Allyn's home was as much at the corner house as at The Savins. "No; only the world goes hard with him. He has needed you, Teddy. The rest of us rub him the wrong way. He has a queer streak in him. I wish I could get hold of him; but I can't." "It is the cross-grained age," Theodora said thoughtfully. "He will come out all right." "Perhaps; but meanwhile he is having a bad time of it, for he can't get on with any of the boys. He lords it over them, and then resents it and sulks, if they rebel. Where does he get it, Ted? We weren't like that." "It is too bad," she said slowly; "but I'll see what I can do with him." "He has needed you, Teddy; that is a fact. Even the mother can't get on with him as you do. You're going to stay at home now for a while; aren't you?" "Yes; we are going to have a perfect honeymoon of quiet. We have wandered enough, and we don't mean to budge again for the next ten years. I am going to write, all day long; and, when twilight falls, Billy and I will draw our elbow chairs to the fire, and sit and gossip and nod over the andirons till bedtime. We haven't had an hour to ourselves for five months, and now we must make up for lost time." Hubert laughed. "You are as bad as ever. When do I come in?" "On Sundays. I expect a McAlister dinner party, every Sunday night. Otherwise, four times a day. We have three elbow chairs, you know, and the hearth is a broad one." "You haven't asked after Phebe," Hubert said, after a pause. "What was the use? Billy had a letter from his mother, the day we left Helena, and I knew you would have had nothing later." "But we have." "What?" "She sailed for home, to-day, on the _Kaiserina_." "Hubert!" "Theodora?"