"Oh, Fox," said Sally faintly, "they don't."
"They do," Fox insisted; "all except Dick." He laughed. "Speaking of Dick reminds me that I have something to tell you if you don't let me forget it. Well, loping along that way, I came to the historic corner--of what street?"
"River Street. How did you happen to come that way?"
"Followed my nose. You had gone along this street. So did I. You came to the corner. So did I, and I nearly ran into you."
She shivered a little. Fox felt it, and held his arm closer to him.
"No." She spoke low. "But I'm glad you came, Fox. I'm very glad."
"So am I, for several reasons not to be catalogued at present." They had almost reached Mrs. Stump's. "Oh, I was going to tell you something in connection with Dick. Henrietta's engaged. She wanted me to tell you. So, it is to be presumed, is Dick."
"I'm very glad, but I'm not surprised. I don't suppose Henrietta expected me to be."
"She didn't mention it, so you don't have to be."
"I'll write to her to-night. So that accounts for Dick's mysterious disappearances."
"He's been visiting us at your old place, Sally. He was so much interested in seeing your favorite trees and in hearing about you, that Henrietta felt rather jealous."
Sally laughed derisively. They were standing at the foot of Mrs. Stump's fine granite steps. Fox was silent for a moment, looking at Sally.
"I know," he said at last thoughtfully, "I know where there are some gynesaurus trees near Whitby."
Sally's face lighted up. "Could a person climb them, Fox?"
"A person about twenty-two years old?" asked Fox. "I should think she might if she is able."
"She is able," she returned, nodding emphatically. "Will you tell me where they are?"
"Some day," Fox answered, not looking at her, "I will show them to you."
Sally was in rather better spirits for some time after that walk to Fisherman's Cove, although there is some doubt whether the improvement was due to her brief sight of the Cove under a winter sun and moon or to realization of the fact that a great number of people were worse off than she or to her break with Everett or to seeing Fox again. But her break with Everett was of only a temporary nature, a fact which he made very evident to her, at least, and, incidentally, to Miss Miller and to Miss Lambkin and to Mrs. Upjohn and to many others; and, as for seeing Fox, she had been enjoying that privilege for twelve years, from time to time. To be sure, it had occasionally been a long while from time to time, but that had not seemed to trouble Sally. So, altogether, we are forced to abandon the inquiry as fruitless. Sally, if we had asked her, would have smiled and would have answered quite truly that she didn't know and she didn't care. It was the fact which was most important; the fact was, indeed, of the only importance, except to persons like Miss Letty Lambkin, who are never satisfied with the simple facts of life, but must dig down until they find certain diseased roots, which they fondly believe, without further tracing, to be the roots of those facts, but which, more often than not, do not belong to them at all, but to some other tree.