"He had much better go on his own feet," said Sally reflectively.

CHAPTER V

Sally was fifteen when the final good news came from Fox. She was in Uncle John's office, waiting until he should be ready to go. Uncle John's office was on the second floor of a little old wooden building where it had always been since Uncle John had had an office. He had chosen it because it stood just at the head of a short street leading to a certain wharf--Hazen's Wharf; and because from its windows one could see the length of the street and the length of the wharf and note what was going on there and how many vessels were fitting. The number of vessels that were fitting was surprisingly great, even now, and Sally could see their yards sticking out over the wharf, although their hulls were mostly hidden behind projecting buildings. That view from his office windows had saved Mr. Hazen many steps in the course of a long life. The fact that the business centre of the town had moved up and had left him stranded disturbed him not at all. He was still in his business centre.

So Sally, thinking vaguely of Fox and Henrietta, sat at a window and watched and was very well content with the view of the harbor and the wharf and the ends of yards sticking over it, and as much of the hulls of vessels as she could see, and the row of oil casks with a rough fence of old ships' sheathing behind them, and the black dust of the street. The black dust was stirred up now and then by the feet of horses and by the wheels of the low, heavy truck that they were dragging. Then a man, with a heavy mallet in his hand, approached the row of casks and began to loosen the bungs. It was an operation that had become familiar to Sally and she knew it to be preparation for the work of the gauger, who would come along later and measure what was in the casks. The man with the mallet and the gauger with his stick were familiar figures.

But certain other familiar figures drew into her view and watched the man loosening the bungs, and seemed to be greatly interested in the proceeding. They were the Carlings and Oliver Pilcher. Sally wondered what mischief they were up to. That they were up to some mischief she had not a doubt. The man with the mallet must have been a very trusting, unsuspicious man. It is not at all likely that the angelic faces of the singing twins and Oliver Pilcher were unknown about the wharves. Even if they were, why, boys are all--even the best of them--they are all cut by the same pattern, or they ought to be. Don't we--you and I--feel a sort of contempt for a boy who is not? And don't we call him "sissy" in our hearts? The other boys will not confine their calls of "sissy" to their hearts and it is likely to go hard with that boy.

When the bungs were all loosened, that trusting man with the mallet meandered slowly away, having paid no attention whatever to the boys who watched him so innocently. Sally saw the Carlings looking after him with an alert attention, whatever there was to be done being evidently postponed until he was out of sight. She could not help thinking how differently Jane Spencer would have acted. He would have disdained to wait for the man to disappear, for there would not be any fun in it for him unless there was some interested person present. But Jane Spencer was Jane Spencer and there was only one of him.

The man must have gone into some building, although Sally couldn't be sure, for she couldn't see; but the twins turned their heads and Oliver Pilcher gave a yell and leaped for the row of casks, closely followed by the Carlings, who began chanting loudly. Sally could not hear the words, but the chant marked the time to which Oliver Pilcher leaped into the air and came down with force and precision upon one bung after another. Just one cask behind him came Harry Carling. Sally supposed it was Harry, for the Carlings always went in that order.

One cask behind Harry came Horry; and the casks gave out a hollow sound, in accordance with their degrees of emptiness, after the manner of casks,--especially oil casks,--as the three boys landed on their respective bungs.

The boys disappeared behind the corner of a building, but as the chant continued, it was to be inferred that the exercise was not yet finished; and in a moment back they came in the reverse order, landing on the bungs with the same force and precision. For driving bungs solidly, this method is to be commended.

But Horry, perhaps feeling somewhat hurried as he got to the end, missed his last bung, came down with misdirected force upon the slippery staves and landed on his back in the oil-soaked dust. Harry, unable to stop, landed upon him; but Oliver Pilcher made a sidewise spring and cleared them. The twins had forgotten to sing--the moment was too full of excitement--and were stuttering and pounding each other. Their voices were just beginning to change.

Some sound made Oliver Pilcher turn his head. Evidently, he hated to.

"Cheesit!" he cried, beginning to run before the word was out of his mouth.

Harry did not wait to see what was coming, but got to his feet instantly, dragging Horry by an arm, and ran. Horry protested vehemently, but he ran, and the three boys came up the hill, directly toward the office windows, and disappeared around the corner. Down on the wharf the man with the mallet was patiently loosening the bungs again. They came hard.

Sally gasped and chuckled. "Did you see, Uncle John?" For Uncle John was standing at her elbow. "Whose are they? The barrels, I mean."

"They are mine, Sally," he replied, with a sigh. "I saw some of it."

"Oh, it's too bad," said she quickly, "if they are yours."

"It's no great matter. Patrick has plenty of time. It's only a little annoyance."

"And did you see the back of Horry Carling's jacket?" asked Sally, horrified. "How will he ever get it clean?"

"He can't," answered Uncle John briefly.

"Their mother must have a hard time," said Sally thoughtfully, after a moment of silence. "Are you ready to go now?"

"Just about. Here's a letter for you, from Fox, I suppose. I'll be ready by the time you have read it."

Sally thanked him and took the letter. It contained rather momentous news; news about her mother. It was good news, the best that could be, Sally thought. She had been getting good news about her mother all along. Indeed, she had been getting letters from her mother occasionally for nearly two years; mere notes at first, her dear love, scribbled on a sc.r.a.p of paper. Then they began to be a little longer and at lessening intervals; and for some months now they had been regular letters, not long, to be sure, but letters. The improvement was slow, very slow!

This news was different. Her mother was well enough, at last, to leave Doctor Galen's care. There were several things that she might do; and Fox suggested that Mrs. Ladue come out to her old home to live.

Henrietta and he would be happy to continue there, if that met with the approval of all concerned. There would be money enough to carry on the establishment, he thought. But what were Sally's plans? What did she prefer? Meanwhile--

Sally knew very well whose money there would be enough of, if Fox's suggestion were accepted. It would mean that Fox would support them; for she knew, too, that they did not have money enough. Oh, mercy, no, not nearly enough; not enough even for them to pretend that it would do. But she must be with her mother, and Charlie must, too. She would not let Charlie be a bother. It would be a little harder than it used to be, the care of Charlie, for Cousin Patty had--well--and Sally did not say it, even to herself. She felt that it would be almost treason. What should she do? What could she do, for that matter? It needed thought.

So Uncle John found a sober and serious Sally waiting for him. He noted it at once.

"What is it, Sally?" he asked. "Not bad news, I hope?"

He spoke rather anxiously. Sally's worries were his concern; and that was not such a bad state of affairs either.

Sally smiled up at him. "Oh, no," she said. "It's good news, but I have to think what I shall do." And she told him all about it.

They were well on their way home by the time Sally had finished her exposition of the question which troubled her. It was too new to her to have been thought out and Sally presented every aspect as it occurred to her.

"It seems to be a large question," said Uncle John thoughtfully, "for a little girl to have to answer, all by herself." Suddenly he turned and looked at Sally. "Bless me! You aren't little any more. I must stop calling you a little girl. How old are you, Sally?"

"Fifteen last spring," Sally replied. "Had you forgotten, Uncle John?"

"No, oh, no, I suppose not, but it is hard to realize that you are growing up so fast. Why, you are nearly as tall as I am. And how long have you been with us?"

"Almost four years, Uncle John."

"Bless me! So you have, Sally. It seems only last week that you came; and yet, you have always been with us. Well, my dear, I don't find myself quite ready to send you off again, and so I advise you to dismiss the puzzling question from your mind for a day or two. Better let me bother over it awhile. Fox can wait for a few days. He won't mind, will he?"

"No," she said, smiling, "Fox won't mind. He has been waiting four years already."

"Fox is an excellent young man," Mr. Hazen murmured. "I must see what Patty has to say."

Patty had a good deal to say. She came to her father in a hurry and in some agitation that same evening, after Sally had gone to bed. It saved him the trouble of introducing the subject and put the burden of proof on the other side. Not that it mattered particularly to Mr.

Hazen where the burden of proof lay. He was accustomed to have his own quiet way. In fact, consultation with Patty was rather an empty formality; but it was a form which he always observed scrupulously.

"Oh, father," she began, rather flurried, "what do you suppose Sally has just told me? Her mother--"

"I know. I was meaning to speak to you about it."

"I am all upset. I can't bear to think of sending Charlie away now."

There were tears in poor Miss Patty's eyes.

Mr. Hazen could not quite repress a smile. "True," he said; "I had forgotten him."

"Oh, father!" Miss Patty exclaimed reproachfully. "How could you?"

"It is incomprehensible, but I was thinking of Sally. Never mind, Patty, it comes to the same thing in the end. Would it be quite convenient to ask Sarah Ladue to come here?"

"Ask Cousin Sarah to come here to _live_?" Miss Patty echoed, in some consternation.

"Why, yes, Patty. I understand that she is likely to live and--"

"Oh, father!" Miss Patty cried again. "You know I didn't mean--"

"I don't pretend," Mr. Hazen resumed, smiling, "to any particular love for Sarah, whom I never saw more than once or twice in my life. Even that must have been many years ago. But, as I recollect, she was a pretty, una.s.suming young woman whom I thought, at the time, altogether too good for Charles." Miss Patty looked shocked. "Oh, there is nothing gained by pretending to be blind to Charles's weakness. He was a gambler before he left college. I knew it very well. There was nothing to be done. Meddling with other people's children is a vice, Patty. It never does any good. I have some misgivings--" Mr. Hazen paused abruptly. There seemed to him nothing to be gained by following out that line of thought either.