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Updated: June 23, 2025
It was the third day after her talk with Theodora, and Cicely had not so much as caught a glimpse of Allyn, though she had dropped in at The Savins repeatedly, on the chance of finding him at home. Whether the boy had turned his back upon the world, or was merely trying to keep out of her way, she was at a loss to determine.
The Farringtons and Cicely dined at The Savins; but, directly after dinner, Cicely excused herself and went home to do some practising. "No; I suppose it could wait," she said to Allyn who followed her to the door; "but it must be done some time. It is ages since you were all here together, and you ought to be just by yourselves to-night." "But you are one of the family," Allyn protested.
Here the river Piscataqua widens to join the sea, holding in its gaping mouth the large island of Newcastle, with attendant groups of islets and island rocks, battered with the rack of ages, studded with dwarf savins, or half clad with patches of whortleberry bushes, sumac, and the shining wax-myrtle, green in summer, red with the touch of October.
"Cousin Ted," she remarked, as she came forward and perched herself on the arm of Theodora's chair; "I have a bright idea." "Not really?" This from Billy. "Yes, really. Patrick is no use, and you can't get anybody. Borrow old Susan from The Savins. She isn't good for much but staple commodities, roast beef and things; but I'll help her out.
The Savins, glistening in its snowy blanket, wore an air of expectancy, the house on the corner below was being swept and garnished, while the cold twilight air was burdened with savory odors suggestive of feastings to come. Mrs.
The snow drifts were piled high about The Savins. The fences were buried, great heaps of snow lay on the broad east terrace and the path to the front door had become a species of tunnel. Christmas was close at hand and the earth, as if to make ready for the sweetest festival of the year, had wrapped itself in a thick, soft blanket, dazzling and pure as the stars shining in the eastern sky above.
The architect had been so fortunate as to be able to plan it where a natural avenue of savins, the closeknit, slender, cypress-like cedars of New England, led away from the rear of the villa to the little level of a pergola, meant some day to be wreathed and roofed with vines. But in the early spring days all the landscape was in the beautiful nakedness of the northern winter.
Here, among and beyond the rocks, were oaks, and pines, and savins each needle-like leaf a shimmering lance each clustering branch a spray of gems and the stout, spreading limbs of the oaks delineating themselves against the sky above in Gothic frost-work. Suddenly before they thought it could be so near they came up and out into a broader opening.
It was only an hour later that The Savins was ten miles behind her, and she was setting up her wheel against Mrs. Richardson's stone horse-block. Mrs. Richardson met her accusingly. "I hope you've got them pills," she demanded, without any formal preliminaries. "Yes, my father has sent them." "I wrote for them, day before yesterday. I thought sure they'd come yesterday."
She was listless, dull, and, it must be confessed, most deplorably cross. The fact of the matter was that the girl was pining for the broad lawns of The Savins, for the shabby red house, for her father and Hubert, even for Cicely and Cicely's dog Melchisedek. Her work interested her. To her mind, there was a great charm in seeing the neat economy with which her body was constructed.
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