This was a short tale, of a somewhat grisly character, which Abner had composed during the holiday season. Bond had taxed him with using this work as a buffer to stave off other work of a practical nature such as was abundantly offered by Giles and his father about the farm; and, to tell the truth, Abner had limited his physical exertions to half-hour periods that most other men would have charged to the account of mere exercise. "I _might_ read that, I suppose," he said. "And if there is any wild wind in it--why, I should be on hand with my violin, you know. I might be in white, as I am now, with snow-flakes in my hair;--they would show, I think, if this mistletoe does----" "Not that it represents my best and most characteristic work," he went on, "or that it bears upon any of the great problems of the day...." Medora dashed her spoon against her saucer. Was there no power equal to teaching this masterful, self-centred creature that a woman was a woman and not a cold abstraction composed merely of the generalized attributes of the race, male and female alike? She had been his guide to-night, when she might have left him to his own helpless flounderings: might he not try now to show some slight shade of interest in her as an individual, at least,--as a distinct personality? "Shall we be moving?" she suggested. "It should not have taken so long to eat so little." XXI "Well, good luck on your trip," said Giles, accompanying Abner to the door of the studio. "And let us hear from you once in a while," added Medora. "Surely," said Abner. "Look for a clipping, now and then, to show you what they are saying of me." "And for what you have to say of them we must wait until your return?" said Medora. "Not necessarily," rejoined Abner. "I might"--with the emission of an obscure, self-conscious sound between a chortle and a gasp, instantly suppressed--"I might write." "Do, by all means," said Stephen. "We shall follow your course with the greatest interest," added Medora.