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."