f the pranks of her class at Vassar. The brown hair was
still unmarked by grey threads and the complexion was still fresh and
rosy, while in expression the face in the window below was far younger
than the one peering out from the upper room, just above it.

Allyn McAlister was a graft on the family stock, in temperament, at
least. Born into a genial, jovial, healthy family, his was the only moody
nature there. His brother and sisters might be mischievous or even
fractious; but they were never prone to have black half-hours. It was
reserved for the youngest one of them all, Allyn McAlister, aged fifteen,
to spell his moods with a capital M. His father was wont to say that
Allyn was a mixture of two people, of two nameless, far-off ancestors.
For days at a time, he was a merry, happy-go-lucky boy. Then, for some
slight cause or for no cause at all, he retired within himself for a
space when he remained dumb and glowered at the rest of the world
morosely. Then he roused himself and emerged from his self-absorption
into a frank crossness which wore away but slowly. A motherless childhood
when he was alternately teased and spoiled by his older sisters and
brother had helped on the trouble, and not even the wisdom of his father
and the devotion of his stepmother could cure the complaint. At his best,
Allyn was the brightest and most winning of his family; at his worst, it
was advisable to let him severely alone. In the whole wide world, only
two persons could manage him in his refractory moods. One was his father;
the other was his sister Theodora, and Theodora had been in Helena, all
winter long. However, she was coming home that night, and Allyn's nose
grew quite white at the tip, as he pressed it against the windowpane, in
a futile effort to see still farther up the street.

Theodora, meanwhile, sat watching the familiar landscape sweeping
backward past the windows of the express train. She knew it all by heart,
the low hillocks crowned with clusters of shaggy oaks still thick with
unshed leaves, the strips of salt marsh with the haycocks like gigantic
beehives, the peeps of blue sea, sail-dotted or crossed by a thin line of
smoke, and the neat little towns so characteristic of southern New
England. Impulsively she turned to her husband.

"Oh, don't you pity Hope, Billy?"

"What for?"

"To live out there. I suppose Archie's business makes it a necessity; but
I do wish he would come back and settle down near us."

"H