Doctor Galen came out that afternoon. Sally had not been told, but she knew, somehow, and she was waiting for him by the gate.
"Doctor," she said, "will you let me get you anything that you want and—and wait on mother? Will you?"
The doctor smiled down at her. "Why, my dear little girl—" he began, looking into the earnest gray eyes. He did not finish as he had intended. "I thank you," he said. "If I need anything, you shall get it for me. And you shall wait upon your mother to your heart's content. But I can't tell how much waiting upon she will need until I have seen her."
"Thank you!" Sally cried softly. "I'm glad. I'll take you to mother." They started towards the house together. "Oh, I forgot," she added, turning toward him. "I'm Sally Ladue."
The doctor smiled down at her once more. "I gathered as much," he replied, "putting this and that together. I guess that your mother and your father are proud of their little girl."
"I don't think that father is," Sally returned soberly.
The doctor's eyes twinkled. "Why, that would be very strange. By the way, where is your father? In town, at the college?"
Sally flushed to the roots of her hair. "I think he is in town," she answered, looking carefully straight before her.
"Of course, he must have classes." The doctor had noted that fiery flush and had drawn his inference. "One would think," he continued, more to himself than to Sally, "that—er—one would think—" It was none of his business, he reflected, and he could not see, for the life of him, how—"Which is your mother's room, Sally?"
They were just entering the house and the doctor was pulling off his gloves.