"It is the cross-grained age," Theodora said thoughtfully. "He will come out all right."
"Perhaps; but meanwhile he is having a bad time of it, for he can't get on with any of the boys. He lords it over them, and then resents it and sulks, if they rebel. Where does he get it, Ted? We weren't like that."
"It is too bad," she said slowly; "but I'll see what I can do with him."
"He has needed you, Teddy; that is a fact. Even the mother can't get on with him as you do. You're going to stay at home now for a while; aren't you?"
"Yes; we are going to have a perfect honeymoon of quiet. We have wandered enough, and we don't mean to budge again for the next ten years. I am going to write, all day long; and, when twilight falls, Billy and I will draw our elbow chairs to the fire, and sit and gossip and nod over the andirons till bedtime. We haven't had an hour to ourselves for five months, and now we must make up for lost time."
Hubert laughed.
"You are as bad as ever. When do I come in?"
"On Sundays. I expect a McAlister dinner party, every Sunday night. Otherwise, four times a day. We have three elbow chairs, you know, and the hearth is a broad one."
"You haven't asked after Phebe," Hubert said, after a pause.
"What was the use? Billy had a letter from his mother, the day we left
Helena, and I knew you would have had nothing later."