The days flew by, each one more perfect than the last. In the golden May weather, when the world never looks more green and fresh and lovable than in its yellow sunshine, they rode forth to take their places in the young life about them. It was scarcely more new to Billy than to Theodora. Everything wears a changed aspect when viewed from the saddle, and the girl felt that never before had she seen in its full beauty the miracle of the opening leaves. For a few days, Dr. McAlister watched Billy with some degree of care, fearful lest he be led too far by his new enthusiasm, and exhaust his strength. Then the doctor breathed a sigh of relief. Billy throve under it as a true boy should do, and, from week to week, he gained new vigor as fast as he gained new sunburn. Hubert, meanwhile, was passing through an ignominious experience. He was having measles. Alone of all the McAlisters, he had contrived to escape the epidemic of two years before. Even Allyn had had it, and Billy Farrington counted his convalescence as among the golden memories of his boyhood, no school and endless goodies. For Hubert, sixteen years old and five feet, ten inches, in height, it was reserved to go through the disease alone. He was not seriously ill; but his whole soul revolted at the babyish nature of his complaint, and at the tedium of the darkened room. "Where going, Ted?" he demanded, one day. "To ride with Billy." "Bother Billy! I hate him." "What for?" Theodora stared at her brother in open-eyed consternation. "Because he's always round in the way. You aren't good for anything, now he's here, always running off with him," Hubert grumbled. "Poor Billy! How'd you like it not to be able to go out alone? He needs me." "I can't go out at all." "But he's been so for more than a year," Theodora said sharply; "and you have only been in the house four days. I should think you could stand that." "I should think you could stay in, once in a while, with your own brother," Hubert retorted. "Charity begins at home." "But I promised Billy--" "I don't want you. Do get out and let me alone." As a rule, Hubert was the most even-tempered of boys. Now, however, he felt himself aggrieved and deserted, and his tone was not altogether amicable. "How cross you are!" Theodora snapped. "Oh, get out!" And Hubert turned his back on his sister and yawned. The door closed with a bang, and he heard Theodora's feet descending the stairway, with a vengeful thump on every step. Then he yawned again. There was nothing on earth to do; he was not ill enough to make it interesting, only a bore. Time was when Theodora would have stuck to him like a burr, and they would have contrived to have some fun out of even such untoward circumstances as this. Now she deserted him and went off with that confounded Billy. At this point in his musings, he dropped to sleep.