Sarah nodded, without speaking.
"I hain't seemed to amount to much about telling him things," continued Caleb. "Somehow, I did n't get time. He's careless, too; I'm afraid he ain't going to do well."
"She is, too," moaned Sarah. "She don't know a thing about roses.
Caleb, do you think that rosebush will get up to that window?"
"I don't know," returned Caleb absently. Then, with a choke in his voice, he said: "Things look first-rate, now, but—I've got my doubts of West. I—I wish I could handle them myself."
Sarah threw a quick glance at his averted face.
"Well—why—don't you?" she almost whispered.
"Sarah!" exclaimed Caleb.
"Oh, here you are," cried Fred from the doorway. "Say, is it to-morrow we go?—just to-morrow? Why, we have n't done half that we wanted to!" Behind him stood Ethel, her eyes wistful, her mouth drooping at the corners.
Sarah drew a quick breath.
"Ask—ask your father," she faltered.