lly's."

"Then I'm going, too."

"No, you aren't."

"But I will. Why not?"

"Because I don't want you. You're so noisy you tire Billy."

"No, I don't. Boys don't get tired so easy. Besides, he asked me to
come."

He shook himself free from her hands. She ran around him and danced down
the walk before him, laughing like a mocking elf. All at once, she found
herself in Hubert's strong arms.

"Now, Babe, you must go back. I don't want you."

"What can I do?" she whined. "Everybody's gone. Mamma has gone to ride
with Mrs. Farrington, Hope's away, Teddy's away, and you're going."

"But mamma told you to stay and play with Allyn."

"I don't like Allyn. I want to go with you."

"You can't."

"I will."

She struggled to free herself. Hubert was tall and strong for his years,
so that his sister was powerless in his grasp. He stood for a moment,
holding her, while he pondered what to do; then a sudden amused light
came into his eyes. Turning, he went away to the barn where, still
holding Phebe with one hand, with the other he rolled an empty barrel
into the middle of the floor and brought out a bushel basket. Then,
before his astonished sister could fathom his intention or rebel, he
had popped her into the barrel, covered her with the basket which made
a firm, close lid, and walked away to the Farringtons' house.

It was the last of the golden Indian summer, and cold weather was at
hand. By this time, the two households were living on a most informal,
friendly basis. Mrs. Farrington and Mrs. McAlister had dropped back into
the old intimacy of their college days, and the young McAlisters were
fast finding out that a boy was a boy, in spite of a crippled back and a
wheeled chair. Hubert and Billy were good friends, and Hope treated the
invalid with a gentle, serious kindness which won his heart as surely as
her dainty beauty appealed to his eyes. And yet, after all, it was Teddy
for whom he cared the most, Teddy who coddled him and squabbled with him
and ordered him about by turns. For the sake of her bright, breezy
companionship, of her original, ungirl-like way of looking at things, he
endured the ordering and the coddling, and, in spite of the halo of
sanctity which should have surrounded his semi-invalidism, it must be
confessed that he bore out his own part in the squabbles.

Even the coddling, as time went on, came to be rather enjoyable. There
was nothing sentimental about it; it was only the natural resul