The new environment was not unsuited to her, at least as far as Uncle John was concerned. She helped to create an atmosphere of tranquillity; an atmosphere eminently suited to an old man and one to which that particular old man had not been accustomed. There was nothing tranquil or serene about Miss Patty. Uncle John, it is to be presumed, liked tranquillity and serenity. He succeeded in attaining to a surprising degree of it, in his own person, considering. Sally had been a help in the past four years; it was going on to five years now.
He was thinking upon these matters one evening as he sat reading. He was thinking more of them than of the page before him. He put the book down slowly, and looked up. Patty was upstairs with Charlie.
"Sarah," he remarked, "I find it very pleasant to have you with us."
Mrs. Ladue was surprised. There was no occasion for that remark unless Uncle John just wanted to make it. Sally, who had not yet gone upstairs, flushed with sudden pleasure and her eyes shone.
"There, mother!" she cried. "There now! You see. What did I tell—"
In Mrs. Ladue's face the faint color was coming and going. She spoke with some emotion.
"Thank you, Uncle John. It was kind of you to ask us. I find it very pleasant to be here. And that—it would be so easy not to make it pleasant. I haven't—I can't thank you suitably—"
"There is no question of thanks, Sarah," he replied, smiling gravely. "I hope you will put that out of your mind. You give more than you get—you and Sally."
"I am very glad," Mrs. Ladue murmured; "very glad and grateful. Sally is a good girl." Uncle John smiled at Sally. "She would not bother you—"
Mr. Hazen reached forth and patted Sally's hand as it lay on the table. "No. Sally doesn't bother me very much."