"Thank you, Miss Hazen. I must see about the trunks, I suppose; Sally's and Charlie's. I didn't bring any, for I must go back to-night."
"Then, perhaps, you will spend the day with us?"
Fox thanked her again and Cousin Martha told him what to do about the trunks. There was one baggageman, in particular, whom the Hazens had employed for years when there had been trunks to go or to come. That that baggageman was now old and nearly as decrepit as his horse and wagon made no difference.
They were soon in Miss Hazen's stout carriage, behind a single stout horse. Sally had not noticed, before, that the water was so near. They went through some very dirty streets, past saloons and tenement-houses. Miss Hazen regarded them sadly.
"One gets a poor impression of Whitby from the entrance into it," she observed. "This part of the city has changed very much since my young days; changed much for the worse. It is a great pity that the railroad does not come in at some different place. On the hill, now, one would get a very different impression. But there are parts of the city which have not changed so very much. Although," she added thoughtfully, "all the change is for the worse, it seems to me."
There did not seem to be anything to be said that would be of any comfort. Fox murmured something, and then they drove up an extraordinarily steep hill. The horse had all he could do to drag them at a walk. But, looking up the hill, Sally saw a pleasant street with elms arching over it.
"Oh, how lovely!" she cried. "Do you live in this part of the city, Cousin Martha?"
"No," Cousin Martha replied, with rather more than a suspicion of pride in her voice. "Where we live, it is prettier than this."
"Oh," said Sally. Then she recollected.
"There was a very nice man on the boat," she remarked. "He was some sort of an officer, but I don't know exactly what. He said he lived in Whitby, and he had several children. The youngest girl is about my age. Do you know them, Cousin Martha? Their name is Wills."