ork. He did work with a will and with a healthy appetite that left
him scant time and energy for outside things; and between his books and
his drawings he was far too busy to heed the ways and the warts of Jamie
Lyman and his kin. Directly after their return to The Savins, the doctor
had sent a package of Allyn's drawings to one of his old-time classmates,
now the head of a famous school of technology. The answer which came back
to him was prompt and full of enthusiasm, and Dr. McAlister, as he read
it, felt his last regret leaving him that his son was to abandon his own
profession.

Cicely, meanwhile, was mounting guard over Allyn's languages, advising,
admonishing and often helping him along the devious paths of syntax and
subjunctives. She had a good deal of time at her disposal. She gave it to
him freely, and unconsciously she gained as much as she gave, in her work
with the boy. Their comradeship was as perfect as was their unlikeness.
Each complemented the other, each modified the other, and both were far
the better and the happier for the intimacy. To be sure, their paths were
not all of pleasantness and peace. Both Cicely and Allyn were outspoken
and hot-tempered; but their feuds now were measured by moments, not by
days, and the overtures of peace were mutual.

Although Gifford Barrett had never been known to speak more than a dozen
words to Cicely, and those were chiefly concerning the weather, the girl
appeared to have gained great inspiration from her meeting with the young
composer, and she plodded away more diligently than ever at her long
hours of practice. Day after day, she ended with her beloved overture,
playing it over, not so much to perfect herself in it, as to remind
herself that music was a living, vital means of expression quite within
the reach of one not so much older than herself. It was not that Cicely
ever hoped to compose. That was as far beyond her ambition as it was
beyond her powers. She only gained courage from the thought that success
in one's chosen line was not always deferred until the end of life.
Moreover, she felt a certain human and girlish satisfaction in being able
to state that, once at least, she had swept the gifted composer of the
_Alan Breck Overture_ completely off his feet. The fact was enough; no
need to enter into details.

Theodora and Billy never stopped to analyze how large a hold upon their
hearts this healthy, happy girl had taken. If she dined at The Savins,