Sally, bent upon the one purpose, had not thought of sitting down. She stood squarely before Fox, her fingers interlocked before her, and gazed up into his face. Fox shifted his weight to the other foot as she asked the question. Then he laughed a little. "I give it to you! What an idea!" "But do you?" Sally insisted. "You haven't said you don't." "Let's sit down, Sally," said Fox, attempting a diversion. "Aren't you tired?" "No, I'm not. But you sit down if you want to. Excuse me for keeping you standing." Fox found a chair and seated himself comfortably. Sally again faced him, still standing. "Aren't you going to sit down?" asked Fox, seemingly surprised. "Please do. I can't be satisfied to sit, with you standing." He placed a chair for her. "All right," Sally moved the chair around so that she would face him, and sat down. "What a lovely summer day, Sally!" he said. "Isn't it, now?" Sally laughed. She would not be diverted. "Yes," she said. "But you haven't answered my question." "Well," asked Fox, sighing, "what is the question?" There seemed to be no escape. "Where do we get our money? Do you give it to us?" "But that," he remonstrated, "makes two questions." The quick tears rushed into Sally's eyes. "Oh, Fox, won't you tell me?" Fox glanced at her and gave in at once. He told the strict truth, for nothing less would do, for Sally. He couldn't have told anything else, with those solemn, appealing gray eyes looking at him. "I'll tell you, Sally," he said quickly. "Just trust me." Sally smiled. It was like a burst of sunshine. "I do." "I know it," he returned, "and I'm proud of it. Well, I have been advancing what money has been needed for the past three months. You can't say I've given it to you. I'd rather say us, Sally. So you see, you can't say I've given it to us, for we--Henrietta and I--have been here so very much that we ought to pay something. We ought to contribute. I don't like to call it board, but--" "Why not?" Sally asked, interrupting. "Why don't you like to call it board?" "Well," Fox answered, rather lamely, "you don't take boarders, you know." "I don't see," said Sally, brightening distinctly, "I can't see why we don't--why we shouldn't, if mother's well enough. I've been thinking." "But that's just it. Your mother is not well enough for you to take regular, ordinary boarders. You mustn't think of it." "Would you call you and Henrietta regular, ordinary boarders?" Sally asked, after a few moments of silence. Fox laughed. "On the contrary, we are most irregular, extraordinary boarders. But why, Sally? Would you like to have--" "Oh, yes," cried Sally at once. "I should like it very much. But I don't know whether you would." "Yes, I should like it very much, too. But there have seemed to be certain reasons why it wasn't best to live here." "But you live here now," Sally objected; "all but sleeping. We've got rooms enough." "I'll think it over; and, if I think we can come, we will."