That question had brought her up short. She stopped her rhythmic swinging to and fro. "I'll ask him," she said. Her faith in Fox was absolute. She opened the gate quickly, and started to run. There was a roar from Charlie. "Sally! Where you goin'? Wait for me! I want to go, too. I'm awful hot. Can't I take off my coat? An' these boots are hot. I want to take 'em off." Sally sighed and waited. "I'm afraid I forgot you, Charlie. Take off your coat, if you're too hot, and leave it by the gate." Charlie had the overcoat off and he dropped it by the side of the footpath. "Not there, Charlie," Sally said impatiently. "Inside the gate. We don't leave overcoats by the side of the road." "You didn't say inside," Charlie returned sulkily. "I left it where you said." He opened the gate and cast the offending garment inside. "And these boots--can I take 'em off?" "No," said Sally sharply, "of course not. If your feet are hot they'll have to stay hot. You can't go in your stocking feet in March." "I don't see why not," grumbled Charlie. "I could take my stockings off, too." Sally made no reply to this protest. She took his hand in hers. "Now, run, Charlie. I'm in a hurry." So Charlie ran as well as a small boy can run in rubber boots and along a path that is just muddy enough to be exceedingly slippery. When they came to the corner that they had to turn to go to Fox's, he was almost crying and Sally was dragging him. They turned the corner quickly and almost ran into Henrietta. "Oh!" cried Henrietta, startled. "Why, Sally!" Charlie laughed. "Why didn't you go faster, Sally? Then we might have run into her--plump." He laughed again, but got no attention from Sally. "Where's Fox?" she asked. "He went into town this morning," Henrietta answered. "He told me to tell you to cheer up. I don't know what it's about, but probably you do. I was just on my way to tell you. Come on. Let's go back to your house." Sally gave a sigh of relief. Fox had not forgotten, after all. There was nothing to do but to wait; but Sally was rather tired of waiting. "Well, Henrietta," she said, "then we will. But I want to see Fox as soon as ever I can." Fox at that moment was sitting in the private office of a physician--a specialist in headaches--and was just finishing his story. He had mentioned no names and it was hardly conceivable that he was talking about himself. Fox did not look like a person who was troubled with any kind of aches. That seemed to be the opinion of the doctor, at any rate. It would have been your opinion or mine. "I take it that you are not the patient," he said, smiling.