“Allyn,” she said gravely; “it isn’t always easy to know what to do; at least, I don’t think it is.  The future seems so far off, when we try to plan about it.  But papa used to tell me that, as long as I did the next thing in order and did it hard and carefully, without trying to save myself any work or to sneak, the rest of things would take care of themselves.  It sounds pretty prosy; but I rather think after all it may be true.  It is a good deal more romantic to plan what great things we’ll do when we are grown up; but I never noticed that planning helped on much.  When I began on my music, I used to dream lots of dreams about the concerts I’d give; but all the good it did was to make me lose count in my exercises, so I gave up dreaming and took to scales instead, and then I began to get on a little better.”  She paused for a minute; then she went on gayly, “And the moral of that is, stop worrying and come home to dinner, for I am as hungry as a bluefish.”

“Mr. Barrett spent half the morning with us, Cicely,” Hubert said, as she came to the table.  “Where were you, to miss your chances?”

“Gallivanting with another young man,” she said.  “But was he really and truly there?  What did he talk about?”

“Soft-shell crabs.”

“How unromantic!  What else?”

“Welsh rarebit, if you must know.”

“Was that all?  Didn’t he talk any music?”

“No; only the music of his own speech.  It’s not manners to talk shop, Cis.”

“Oh, but I do wish I could meet him!” she sighed.  “Is he ever coming here to the Lodge?”

“Perhaps, if we hang Babe out for bait.  He appears to have her on the brain.  He asked, to-day, apropos of nothing in particular, whether Miss McAlister were not very intellectual.”

“I hope you assured him that she was,” Billy remarked.

“I did.  Trust me for upholding the family reputation.  I told him that she had a receptive mind and would be an ornament to any profession.”

“Hubert!” his sister remonstrated.

“Well, why not?  Babe is able to hold her own, whether she turns her attention to the ministry or to coaching athletic teams, and it is only fair to give her the honest meed of praise.”

“Cousin Ted,” Cicely said earnestly, after a pause; “I wish you would ask Mr. Barrett here to supper, some night.  I want so much to meet him.”

“Why, Cicely, I never supposed you were such a lion-hunter.”  Theodora’s tone, though gentle, conveyed a distinct rebuke.

“It isn’t just silly wanting to meet him,” she said, as her color came.  “I do want to know him, to hear him play and talk, because there isn’t anybody else whose work I love as I do his.  I used to feel that way about yours, Cousin Ted, and want to know you on account of your books; but now I forget all about them.  It’s different with Mr. Barrett.  He doesn’t seem especially interesting.  He looks conceited and he toes in; but his work is wonderful.  Besides, I want to have him hear me play.  He looks as if he wouldn’t mind telling disagreeable truths, and I want somebody to tell me whether I am wasting all my time, trying to do something that is impossible.  I don’t care whether he eats crabs or clams; he may eat with his knife, if he wants to.  All I’m after is his music.”