to the chorus.

"Wait," he proclaimed; "I wants to talk. Phebe spokes so much, she takes
up all the room."

"What now, Allyn?" Hope inquired.

"Teddy tumbled over," he returned gravely. "I should fink she could ride
now, and not tumble over so much."

There was a silence, while Theodora wrestled with her feelings and her
wheel. Then Hubert's voice rang down from an upper window, clear and
encouraging,--

"Try it again, Ted. You're all right, only you don't know it."

She did try it again, and went reeling down the street and in at the
Farringtons' gate, where Billy met her with applause. The more stable
nature of his own machine had allowed him to master it at once, and now
he was only waiting for Theodora, that they might start forth together
and conquer the world.

The days flew by, each one more perfect than the last. In the golden
May weather, when the world never looks more green and fresh and lovable
than in its yellow sunshine, they rode forth to take their places in the
young life about them. It was scarcely more new to Billy than to
Theodora. Everything wears a changed aspect when viewed from the saddle,
and the girl felt that never before had she seen in its full beauty the
miracle of the opening leaves. For a few days, Dr. McAlister watched
Billy with some degree of care, fearful lest he be led too far by his
new enthusiasm, and exhaust his strength. Then the doctor breathed a
sigh of relief. Billy throve under it as a true boy should do, and, from
week to week, he gained new vigor as fast as he gained new sunburn.

Hubert, meanwhile, was passing through an ignominious experience. He was
having measles. Alone of all the McAlisters, he had contrived to escape
the epidemic of two years before. Even Allyn had had it, and Billy
Farrington counted his convalescence as among the golden memories of his
boyhood, no school and endless goodies. For Hubert, sixteen years old
and five feet, ten inches, in height, it was reserved to go through the
disease alone. He was not seriously ill; but his whole soul revolted at
the babyish nature of his complaint, and at the tedium of the darkened
room.

"Where going, Ted?" he demanded, one day.

"To ride with Billy."

"Bother Billy! I hate him."

"What for?" Theodora stared at her brother in open-eyed consternation.

"Because he's always round in the way. You aren't good for anything, now
he's here, always running off with him," Hubert grumbled.

"Poor Billy! How