"Well, Everett," said Mrs. Morton decidedly, "your att.i.tude towards Sally Ladue must be changed. I haven't been able to point out, as exactly as I should like to do, just where it fails to be satisfactory. But it does fail, and it must be changed."

Everett was standing by the mantel, a cigarette between his fingers.

"You do not make your meaning clear, my dear mother," he replied coldly. "If you would be good enough to specify any speech of mine?

Anything that I have said, at any time?" he suggested. "If there has been anything said or done for which I should apologize, I shall be quite ready to do so. It is a little difficult to know what you are driving at." And he smiled in his most exasperating way.

Mrs. Morton's color had been rising and her eyes glittered. Everett should have observed and taken warning. Perhaps he did.

"Everett," she said, as coldly as he had spoken and more incisively, "you exhibit great skill in evasion. I wish that you would use your skill to better advantage. I have no reason to think that there have been any words of yours with which I could find fault, although I do not know what you have said. But Sally could be trusted to take care of that. It is your manner."

Everett laughed. "But, my dear mother!" he protested, "I can't help my manner. As well find fault with the color of my eyes or--"

His mother interrupted him. "You can help it. It is of no use to pretend that you don't know what I mean. You have wit enough."

"Thank you."

"And your manner is positively insulting. You have let even me see that. Any woman would resent it, but she wouldn't speak of it. She couldn't. Don't compel me to specify more particularly. You put Sally in a very hard position, Everett, and in our own house, too. You ought to have more pride, to say the least; the very least."

Everett's color had been rising, too, as his mother spoke. "I am obliged for your high opinion. May I ask what you fear as the consequence of my insulting manner?"

"You know as well as I," Mrs. Morton answered; "but I will tell you, if you wish. Sally will go, of course, and will think as badly of us as we deserve."

"That," Everett replied slowly, "could perhaps be borne with equanimity if she takes Doctor Sanderson with her."

Mrs. Morton laughed suddenly. "Oh," she exclaimed, "so that is it! I must confess that that had not occurred to me. Now, go along, Everett, and for mercy's sake, be decent."

Everett's color was still high, but if he felt any embarra.s.sment he succeeded in concealing it under his manner, of which his mother seemed to have so high an opinion.

He cast his cigarette into the fire. "If you have no more to say to me, then, I will go," he said, smiling icily. His mother saying nothing, but smiling at him, he bowed--English model--and was going out.

Mrs. Morton laughed again, suddenly and merrily. "Oh, Everett, Everett!" she cried. "How old are you? I should think you were about twelve."

"Thank you," he replied; and he bowed again and left her.

So Mrs. Morton had not been surprised when Sally came to her, a day or two later, to say that she thought that they--Doctor Sanderson and she--had imposed upon Mrs. Morton's kindness long enough and that she had found a boarding-place for her mother and Charlie and herself.

"I am very sorry to say that I am not surprised, Sally, dear," Mrs.

Morton returned, "although I am grievously disappointed. I had hoped that you would stay with us until the house was habitable again. I have tried," she added in some embarra.s.sment, "to correct--"

Sally flushed quickly. "Please don't speak of it, dear Mrs. Morton,"

she said hastily. "It is--there has been nothing--"

"Nonsense, Sally! Don't you suppose I see, having eyes? But we won't speak of it, except to say that I am very sorry. And I think that you wouldn't be annoyed again. Won't you think better of your decision and stay until you can go to your own house?"

"Oh, but n.o.body knows when that will be," Sally replied, smiling.

"Nothing has been done about it yet. Patty doesn't seem to know what to do. Uncle John was the moving spirit." There were tears in her eyes.

"I know, Sally, dear, I know. I am as sorry as I can be. I am afraid,"

she added with a queer little smile, "that I am sorrier for you than I am for Patty."

"Thank you. But you ought not to be, you know, for he rather--well, he steadied Patty."

Mrs. Morton laughed. "Yes, dear, I know. And you didn't need to be steadied. But I'm afraid that I am, just the same."

So it was settled, as anything was apt to be concerning which Sally had made up her mind. Mrs. Ladue did not receive the announcement with unalloyed joy. She smiled and she sighed.

"I suppose it is settled," she said, "or you would not have told me.

Oh," seeing the distress in Sally's face, "it ought to be. It is quite time. We have made a much longer visit upon Mrs. Torrington than we ought to have made, but I can't help being sorry, rather, to exchange her house for Mrs. Stump's. But why, Sally, if you found it unpleasant--"

"Oh, mother, I didn't say it was unpleasant. Mrs. Morton was as kind as any one could possibly be."

"I am glad, dear. I was only going to ask why Fox stayed."

Fox murmured something about Christian martyrs and a den of lions, and Mrs. Ladue laughed. Then she sighed again.

"Well," she said, "all right, Sally. You will let me know, I suppose, when we are to go. We can't stay on here forever, although I'd like to."

At that moment d.i.c.k came in. "Why not?" he asked. "Why not stay, if you like it?"

"How absurd, d.i.c.k!" Sally protested. "You are very kind, but you know mother will have to go pretty soon. And I've found a very good place."

"If Sally says so, it's so," d.i.c.k retorted, "and there's no use in saying any more about it. Mrs. Stump's or Miss Miller's?"

Fox had been looking out of the window. He turned. "Mrs. Ladue," he asked suddenly, "will you go sleighing with me to-morrow? It will be about my last chance, for I go back when Sally leaves the Mortons'."

"Oh," cried Sally, "why not me, too? And Henrietta?"

Fox smiled at her. "There's a reason," he said. "I'll take you when the time is ripe. I have something to show your mother and we have to go after it."

"Can't you get it and show it to me, too?"

Fox shook his head. "I'm afraid not. It isn't mine, for one thing."

"Oh," said Sally, her head in the air. "And I suppose you'll go in the morning, when I'm in school."

"That might not be a bad idea. We might be followed. Can you go in the morning, Mrs. Ladue?"

She laughed and nodded. She would go at any time that suited him.

So it chanced that Fox and Mrs. Ladue started out, the next morning.

Fox drove along Apple Tree Street and turned into another street.

"Isn't this Smith Street?" asked Mrs. Ladue doubtfully. "Where are we going, Fox?"

"I'm astonished at your question," he replied. "You ought to know that this is still Witch Lane for all the old families, in spite of the fact that it is known, officially, as Smith Street. I have yet a very distinct recollection of Miss Patty's lamentations over the change.

That was ten years ago, when Sally first arrived."

Mrs. Ladue laughed. She would have laughed at anything that morning.

"But, do you mind telling me where we are going?"