re was Allyn to be considered.

In her most optimistic moments, Theodora had pictured Cicely as a dainty,
clinging little maiden who would cajole and coddle Allyn out of his
unfriendly moods. Cicely certainly did rouse Allyn from those moods; but
it was by no process of feminine cajolery. She went at him, as the phrase
is, hammer and tongs. Good-tempered herself, she demanded good temper
from him. Failing that, she lectured him roundly. Failing again, she
turned her back upon him and left him severely alone, with the result
that, in an inconceivably short time, Allyn generally came to terms and
exerted himself to be agreeable once more. Allyn still kept up the
pretence of indifference to her, of superiority over her; Cicely had no
pretences. She showed her liking for him frankly; just as frankly she
showed her disgust at his hours of gloom.

Upon one point, however, Allyn maintained a firm stand. He would put up
with no endearments. Theodora was the only person who dared lay
affectionate hands upon him, who dared address him in affectionate
terms. Just once, in the early days of her being in the Farringtons'
household, Cicely, moved with pity at the sight of a bruised forefinger,
had ventured upon a caressing pat on Allyn's cheek. It was much the
caress she would have bestowed upon Melchisedek, if she had chanced to
step on his paw; but she never forgot the look of disgusted scorn with
which Allyn had marched out of the room. Accustomed from her babyhood to
petting her father and being petted by him, the girl was at first at a
loss to interpret the situation. When the truth dawned upon her that
Allyn was really in earnest, she refused to be suppressed, and
persecuted the boy with every species of endearment which her naughty
brain could invent.

"Oh, but you are the dearest boy in the world!" she announced, one day,
walking into the library at The Savins where Allyn sat reading.

"What do you want now?" he asked gruffly.

"You, of course. I'm lonesome, and I want your society."

"Let my hair alone," he commanded, ducking his head, as she approached
his chair.

"I'm not touching it."

"No; but you do sometimes, and I won't have it."

"Yes, it seems so like Melchisedek's that I love to straighten the
parting," she said demurely, as she came around to the fire. "Where
is Phebe?"

"Playing with her everlasting old skeleton."

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to read, if you'd let me be," growled Allyn, with a d