"Well--" Sally turned. "It is a secret, you know, Fox."

"Between you and me, Sally," Fox returned gently.

Sally returned to her contemplation of the woods. She seemed to note something.

"I believe," she said suddenly, "that those trees are good to climb."

"Why," said Fox, smiling, "I believe they are."

"Will you--" Sally began brightly; then she seemed to change her mind and she changed her question accordingly.

"Won't you keep this house open? It is a pity not to."

"Keep the house open?" Fox repeated, puzzled.

"Why, yes," she replied. "Don't you remember that you said--or intimated--that you were going to get married?"

Fox laughed. "I believe I did," he answered, "on a certain occasion. I believe I am, although I can't say exactly when it will be."

"I think, Fox," said Sally, turning to him and speaking with emphasis, "that we are old enough friends for you to--you might tell me who the girl is. I should like to congratulate her."

"You shall know, Sally, I promise you. I wouldn't even get engaged without your knowledge."

"Oh," said Sally then, brightening unconsciously, "then she hasn't given her answer yet?"

Fox had hard work to keep from laughing, but he did.

"Not yet," he said.

"It seems to me she takes her time about it," Sally observed.

"Should she give me her answer before she is asked?"

"Oh!" Sally cried. "So you haven't even asked her! Well, I think you're a slow poke."

"Do you?" Fox said slowly. "Do you? Well, perhaps I am. Perhaps I am.

It had not occurred to me. I'll think it over."

"And Margaret--" said Sally.

"Margaret!" Fox interrupted, mystified.

"Considering the imminence of the--the catastrophe," Sally went on, smiling a little, "it might be just as well to climb while I have the chance."

"Now?"

Sally looked around. The crowd was thinning, but it was still a crowd.

"Perhaps not now. But on the first opportunity."

"There'll be a good many opportunities. Even after--"

Sally shook her head. "I couldn't come here, you know, and climb trees. Only think what Margaret would say--and think!"

"Margaret!" Fox exclaimed again. "Why, I don't remember intimating anything about--"

"Oh, Doctor Sanderson," cried a high and quavering voice; the voice of Miss Patty Havering Hazen, "here you are at last! I have been looking everywhere."

Ah! Doctor Sanderson; you are saved again! Good for you, Patty! Good on your head! But is it possible that the doctor did not want to be saved? Did we hear aright?

"d.a.m.n!" observed Doctor Sanderson quietly. It was a heartfelt observation made for his own satisfaction, so far as a mere remark could accomplish that desirable end, and was intended, we may be sure, for no other ears than his own. But Sally heard it and chuckled.

Yes, good for you, Patty! There is no knowing what he might have been led into saying if he had not been interrupted at this point; what unwise course he might have pursued. You were just in time, Patty, to save him from his folly.

CHAPTER XVIII

That old office from whose windows one could see the rows of oil casks and the fence of old ships' sheathing and the black dust of the road and the yards of vessels--that old office which had been sleeping for something more than a year--that old office which had been left behind when the business centre of Whitby began to move uptown, so many years ago--that old office, as I started to say at the beginning, was waking up again.

One hot morning in early August, Horry Carling stood at the window, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and he gazed at a row of oil casks; gazed thoughtfully and for a long time. Then a smile began to curl the corners of his mouth. Presently he chuckled.

"I s--s--say, O--Ol--lie, c--c--come here; th--that is, if--f--f S--S--Sally c--can s--s--spare you."

Sally looked up from her papers. Her hair was in a pretty disorder; in a disorder that was very attractive, indeed, being somewhat rumpled in the front and running over with little ringlets, formed by the heat and the dampness, at her forehead and by the sides of her ears and down at her neck. She was busy, but she was interested and she was happy, for which I, for one, am thankful. She brushed the ringlets out of her eyes, impatiently, and smiled.

"Go ahead, Ollie," she said. "What is it, Horry?"

"O--only a r--r--row of b--b--bar--r--rels," he replied. Ollie Pilcher was standing at his elbow now, looking over his shoulder. "D--d--do y--y--you rem--em--mmb--ber th--that r--r--row?" Horry asked.

"M--m--might b--b--be the th--the v--v--very s--same b--b--b--barrels."

Ollie burst out laughing. He did remember. "How long ago was that, Horry?"

"S--s--sev--ven years," he answered. "Ab--b--bout th--this t--t--time o' y--year, w--w--wasn't it?"

Ollie nodded.

"Oh," Sally cried, "I remember that, too."

Horry turned. "Y--y--you d--do!" he spluttered in surprise.

"Wh--wh--where w--w--were y--you?"

"Sitting at that very window," she returned. "Uncle John saw it, too,--some of it."

Horry chuckled again. "Y--y--your Un--n--cle"--here he winked and gave a peculiar twitch to his eyebrows, as though that last syllable hurt him--"J--J--John w--was a b--brick, S--S--Sally."