Treadwell that
the Markhams were coming to The Hollow for Christmas, and the rooms
occupied by Lans would be needed. But the days went by and Cynthia
kept from sight. The truth was, Sally Taber had gone to Trouble Neck
and spread the news and warning.

"You-all bes' stay away," she said; "dis yere Yank be right triflin'
and polite. He makes us-all feel like we war dirt under his feet. I
clar' I'd like to work an evil charm on him! Ole Mr. Morley he don'
take naturally to the woods an' leaves them young gem'men to
themselves. I keep the do' closed 'twixt them an' me--he makes me feel
like there was traps set fo' my feet."

"You must be having a real gay time up there!" Marcia Lowe replied,
laughing at poor old Sally's indignation.

"Well, I'se cookin' mo' an' mo' monstrous every day. If that Yank can
stan' what I have in store fo' him from now on, I reckon he don' got a
stummick like a beast o' burden."

"Ah! poor Sandy," Cynthia cried; "you'll kill him, too. I reckon I'll
come up and bring him food at night and put it in his study."

"Not just yet, little Cyn," Marcia Lowe replied, putting a protecting
arm about the girl. "Cynthia's a bit run down," she explained to
Sally; "off her feed a little. We're going to have a holiday. What do
you think?--Mr. Greeley is going to take us 'over the hills and far
away'--about twenty-five miles away! He's going over to make a will
for an old man who is dying and he's invited us to share his carriage.
Take good care of the Morleys, Sally, and let's hope the stranger will
leave before we return. I'm getting real Southern in my tastes and am
positively suspicious of Northerners!"

And it was a few nights after the night that Tod Greeley, with Marcia
Lowe and Cynthia tucked comfortably away in the back seat of his
carry-all, started on their trip, that Lans Treadwell and Sandy Morley
sat before the fire in the study and had their talk--the talk that
illumined the path on ahead for Sandy.

"Old fellow!" exclaimed Lans, taking the cushions from the window-seat
and tossing them back again from where he stood in the middle of the
room; "never _place_ sofa pillows--chuck 'em! Only by so doing can you
give that free and easy grace that distinguishes a Frat cosy corner
from a drawingroom torture chamber."

Every cushion that Treadwell tossed seemed to strike with a thud on
Sandy's heart. It was as if Treadwell were hurting little Cyn as she
sat in her window-seat with