espairing
look at the book in his hand. "What do you want?"

"You."

"What do you want of me?"

"I'm so fond of you. Besides, I am tired of being alone. Don't you
want me to play for you?" Cicely's eyes shone mischievously, as she
made the offer.

"Not for a farm. I don't like your diddle-diddles; they haven't a
particle of tune to them."

"Come and take me to ride, then."

"Why don't you go alone? I'm busy."

Cicely took forcible possession of his book.

"Allyn, you must come. I've a bad attack of the blues."

"Get rid of them, then."

"That comes well from you."

"What's the matter, Cis?"

"Papa isn't coming home till fall, and I've got to stay here."

Allyn looked up sharply. Then he whistled.

"You don't mean it!"

She nodded, without raising her eyes, and Allyn suddenly discovered that
her lids were unusually pink.

"Do you mind it so much?" he added. "Or is he worse?"

"No; only the doctor wants him to stay over there till the lung is all in
order again."

"And you are homesick?"

"No,--yes,--a little," she said despondently. "But it's not all that."

"What is it, then?"

"It's the being left here till called for, like a sack of potatoes.
Cousin Theodora is too polite to say so; but I know she must wish I were
in--Dawson City. It's dreadful, Allyn, not having any real home."

"If that's the way you feel over there, you'd better come here to The
Savins and stay," he suggested.

The dimples came back into Cicely's cheeks.

"We should fight, Allyn."

"Who cares? It's only skin deep," he returned, with a sudden gravity
which surprised her.

She looked at him steadily for a moment. Then she held out her
hand to him.

"Let's not any more, then."

He touched her fingers gingerly, gave them a sudden squeeze and then
plunged his fists into his pockets.

"Come on and ride, if you must," he said ungraciously.

She had never seen him in a brighter mood. He chattered ceaselessly,
quaint stories of his schoolboy friends, quainter jokes and whimsies and
bits of advice for her edification. In such moods, Allyn was well-nigh
irresistible, and it was with genuine regret that Cicely turned her face
towards home. Her regret, however, was as nothing in comparison with the
consternation that seized her, as she entered the house. Before the
fireplace in the hall, there always lay the skin of a superb tiger.
To-night, before the tiger lay Melchisedek, and before Melchisedek lay a
triangular scra