"It's no great matter. Patrick has plenty of time. It's only a little annoyance." "And did you see the back of Horry Carling's jacket?" asked Sally, horrified. "How will he ever get it clean?" "He can't," answered Uncle John briefly. "Their mother must have a hard time," said Sally thoughtfully, after a moment of silence. "Are you ready to go now?" "Just about. Here's a letter for you, from Fox, I suppose. I'll be ready by the time you have read it." Sally thanked him and took the letter. It contained rather momentous news; news about her mother. It was good news, the best that could be, Sally thought. She had been getting good news about her mother all along. Indeed, she had been getting letters from her mother occasionally for nearly two years; mere notes at first, her dear love, scribbled on a scrap of paper. Then they began to be a little longer and at lessening intervals; and for some months now they had been regular letters, not long, to be sure, but letters. The improvement was slow, very slow! This news was different. Her mother was well enough, at last, to leave Doctor Galen's care. There were several things that she might do; and Fox suggested that Mrs. Ladue come out to her old home to live. Henrietta and he would be happy to continue there, if that met with the approval of all concerned. There would be money enough to carry on the establishment, he thought. But what were Sally's plans? What did she prefer? Meanwhile-- Sally knew very well whose money there would be enough of, if Fox's suggestion were accepted. It would mean that Fox would support them; for she knew, too, that they did not have money enough. Oh, mercy, no, not nearly enough; not enough even for them to pretend that it would do. But she must be with her mother, and Charlie must, too. She would not let Charlie be a bother. It would be a little harder than it used to be, the care of Charlie, for Cousin Patty had--well--and Sally did not say it, even to herself. She felt that it would be almost treason. What should she do? What could she do, for that matter? It needed thought. So Uncle John found a sober and serious Sally waiting for him. He noted it at once. "What is it, Sally?" he asked. "Not bad news, I hope?" He spoke rather anxiously. Sally's worries were his concern; and that was not such a bad state of affairs either. Sally smiled up at him. "Oh, no," she said. "It's good news, but I have to think what I shall do." And she told him all about it. They were well on their way home by the time Sally had finished her exposition of the question which troubled her. It was too new to her to have been thought out and Sally presented every aspect as it occurred to her. "It seems to be a large question," said Uncle John thoughtfully, "for a little girl to have to answer, all by herself." Suddenly he turned and looked at Sally. "Bless me! You aren't little any more. I must stop calling you a little girl. How old are you, Sally?"