There was another group which had formed after the manner of these stable groups already mentioned, and which had somewhat withdrawn itself to the very back edge of the orchard, away from the others. The members of this group were not concerning themselves with the punch or with the things to eat or with the ants coming and going so continuously, but they talked together in low voices as if they would escape observation. They were Sally and Fox and Mrs. Ladue; but they could not hope to escape for long. And Fox was somewhat serious, which is not to be wondered at, he having just lost a sister, if you care to look at it in that way. And Sally was rather serious, too, which is not to be wondered at, for she had just lost a friend, however you prefer to look at it. Mrs. Ladue was the only one of that group who looked other than serious and solemn, and there was, even in her look, something lacking to a perfect joy, for a person who cared enough to find it might have discovered something wistful there. It was as if she wanted something very much and knew that she could not get it. I leave it to you whether any person can be in that state of mind and be perfectly joyful. What it was that she wanted I do not know nor why she could not get it; although, if the thing concerned those other two, the only reason that she could not get it was that they were both as blind as bats--blinder than bats. Sally was silent, gazing away at the deep woods behind them. Her mother gazed wistfully at Sally and said nothing either. And Fox looked at them and was as silent as they. Some one came up and exchanged a few words with Fox and went away again; but neither Mrs. Ladue nor Sally said anything. Sally was still gazing off at the woods and seemed to be unaware of any new presence. "Sally," said Fox. She turned and looked at him, but still she said nothing. "Didn't you know who that was?" She shook her head. "Who what was?" "The man who spoke to me? But I suppose you didn't know that anybody spoke to me. It was Horry Carling." "Oh, was it?" She did not seem interested. "He seemed to want to speak to you." "Well, why didn't he?" "Probably because you didn't seem to see him. Is there anything the matter, Sally?" Sally smiled very slightly and very soberly. "Nothing much. Nothing worth mentioning." They relapsed into silence again, but after a while Sally spoke. "Would you--would you be much disappointed, Fox," she asked, without looking at him, "if I gave up teaching? Would it seem as if I were throwing away all these years of preparation?" "No," he answered, meeting her serious mood, "I don't see that it would. And I don't see that it matters to anybody but yourself just when you give it up. There is no reason, now, for your keeping on with it unless you want to. You will have to give it up soon anyway." Sally looked up at him quickly. "Why, Fox? Why will I have to?"