“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, only it’s tough.  Do go on.”

“Gizzards generally are.  If I can do you any little good turn in the way of table scraps, Babe, don’t hesitate to mention it.”  And Cicely departed in search of Mrs. McAlister.

“No,” she said; “I mustn’t stay.  I only want Allyn.”

“I saw him go across the hill, just after lunch.  He had a book with him, and you may find him reading, somewhere over there.  Don’t hurry.”

“Thank you; I must go.”  And she went away across the lawn.

She found Allyn quite at the farther side of the grounds, lying in the tall June grass with his arms folded under his head.  Face down beside him was a book; but his thoughts were elsewhere and quite apart from the great tree above him into which he was staring so fixedly.  Instinctively he had chosen the most beautiful spot in the grounds where the land sloped away to the west, across a salt marsh all bright with greeny brown grasses, and onward into the open country beyond.  At the north, a faint line of white smoke marked the path of a passing train; at the south could be seen a small blue patch of ocean.

In the thick grass, Cicely’s steps were noiseless, and Melchisedek considerately neglected to bark, so Allyn was unconscious of her approach.  He started suddenly, as she dropped down at his side.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“You.”

“I’m busy.”

“You look it,” she said merrily, as she pointed to the book against which Melchisedek had promptly braced his back while he searched for a missing burr that he had accumulated in the course of his rambles.

“I wish you’d go away,” he grumbled.

“I’m not doing any harm,” she said composedly.  “You don’t own this place, anyway.”

“My father does, then.”

“He won’t turn me out.”

“Wish he would and done with it.”  Allyn rolled over on his side with his back inhospitably turned to his caller.

Her dimples came ever so little.  Then she said quietly,

“What a dear, courteous soul you are, Allyn!  Please do listen to me, for I’ve come to tell you something.”

“Tell away, if you want to.”  He pushed aside Melchisedek who had stolen up behind him and pounced down upon his ear.

“I want to make peace.”

“Make it.”

“But if it takes two to make a quarrel, it probably takes two to make a peace.  Allyn, I am tired of fighting.  Let’s make up.”

“What’s the use?  We should only fight again.”

“Perhaps; but sufficient unto the day—­We might try it and see.”

He made no answer.  Instead, he dislodged Melchisedek from a seat on his neck, and reached out for the neglected book.  Cicely anticipated him and grasped it first.  Quickly she dropped her coaxing tone and became curt and matter-of-fact.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Dutch.”