“You’re not half bad for a girl, Cis.”

“And when shall we begin our Dutch?” she asked, determined to clinch the fact of their treaty of peace.

“When can you?”

“To-night.  Come over at eight, and I’ll be ready.  We’ll take an hour, every evening and I’ll do fudge afterward.”

The dinner bell was sounding at The Savins, as Cicely and Allyn came strolling homeward.  It was evident that they had been for a long walk.  Melchisedek’s tail drooped dejectedly, and Allyn carried a sheaf of nodding yellow lilies, while Cicely had the despised grammar tucked under one arm and a bunch of greenish white clovers in the other hand.  They came on, shoulder to shoulder, talking busily, and Theodora as she watched them, was well content.

At the table, Cicely ignored the events of the afternoon

“Allyn is having a bad time with his German and I am going to see if I can help him,” was all she said.  “Are you going to use the library, this evening?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“’Lit-tle ones to him be-long,
Vey are weak, but he is strong.’

“Mam-ma-a-a!” Mac’s burst of psalmody ended in a roar.

“Yes, Mac.  Here I am.”

“Where?”

“Upstairs, packing.”

Mac toiled up the stairs and into his mother’s room.

“I fought maybe you wanted to see me,” he observed.  “What for you putting all vose fings into ve box?”

“Because we are going to see grandpapa and Aunt Teddy, and then we are all going to the seashore.”

“What is ve seashore?”

“The ocean, the great, broad blue water without any edge to it, where the waves keep tumbling over and over on the beach.”

“What’s beach?” he demanded.  Always used to the mountains, the phraseology of the sea was a new tongue to him.

“It’s the edge of the water,” his mother said absently, while she tried to fold an organdie gown to the best advantage.

“But you said vere wouldn’t be any edge,” he protested, for he was nothing if not logical, and he insisted upon logic from others.

“Well, never mind now.  Run away, dear, and I’ll tell you about it, some other time.”

But Mac festooned himself across the open box couch.

“No; sometime isn’t ever, and I wants to hear it now.  I do ’clare, mamma, you’ve put in my best coat.”  And before she could stop him, he had pounced upon it and pulled it out, upsetting a superstratum of gowns in the process.

“Mac, let that be.”

“But I want it, mamma.  I want to wear it.  I look just too sweet in it.”

“Mac!”

“Well, vat’s what Lizabuf said.  Will Lizabuf go too?”

“No.”

“Who will take care of me, and put me into my coatsleeves ven?”

“I shall.”

“I’d ravver have Lizabuf.  Oh, mamma, is vat your swishy dress?  It’s so beautiful!” This time, Mac lost his balance and plunged headlong into the trunk.  For one moment, his chubby legs waved in the air; then his mother seized him and set him down in a chair at the farther side of the room.