they devoured their own meal in silence. If she spent an evening away
from home Billy read his paper with one eye on the clock, and Theodora
reduced Melchisedek to whimpering frenzy by asking once in ten minutes
where his missy was. They wanted her chatter, wanted her more gentle
moments, wanted above all else her pranks which served as a sort of
vicarious outlet for their own animal spirits. For nine days out of ten,
Cicely and Melchisedek frisked through life together. On the tenth,
Cicely passed into a thoughtful mood; Melchisedek never.

"What's the matter, Cousin Ted?" Cicely asked, one day, as she met
Theodora stalking up the stairs after dismissing a caller.

"Another reporter. I wish they would let law-abiding citizens alone,
and use up their energy on tramps," Theodora said viciously. "Such a
morning as I have had! My marketing took twice as long as usual; my
typewriter has broken a spring, and now this man has wasted a good
half-hour of my time. Cis, the next man that comes to interview me, I
shall hand over to you."

"All right. What shall I tell him?"

"Anything you choose, as long as you keep him away from me. It's no use
to refuse to see them. I tried that, and they straight-way went off and
published three columns of my utterances on South African politics, when
I don't know a Boer from a Pathan. Farewell, I am going to work." And,
the next moment, Cicely heard the click of her typewriter.

It was more than three weeks later that Cicely sat alone, one afternoon,
reading lazily before the fire, when the maid brought her a card.

"It's for Mrs. Farrington," she said.

"Let me see." Cicely took it and glanced at the name, Mr. William Smith.
Down in the corner was the legend "Boston _Intermountain_." "It is all
right, Mary," she added. "I will see the man."

There was a short delay while she sped upstairs, ransacked Theodora's
closet for a long skirt, and swiftly coiled her hair on the top of her
head. Then demurely enough she presented herself to the waiting guest.

"Mrs. Farrington?" he said interrogatively, as he rose.

"Good-afternoon," she answered, extending her hand graciously. "Won't you
be seated?"

He looked surprised. As a rule, the reception accorded to him was not
so cordial.

"I came here on behalf of the Boston _Intermountain_," he said a little
uneasily. "They are making up a Thanksgiving number, and are anxious for
a special feature or two. Among other things, they want a little