"Well," asked Fox, sighing, "what is the question?" There seemed to be no escape.
"Where do we get our money? Do you give it to us?"
"But that," he remonstrated, "makes two questions."
The quick tears rushed into Sally's eyes. "Oh, Fox, won't you tell me?"
Fox glanced at her and gave in at once. He told the strict truth, for nothing less would do, for Sally. He couldn't have told anything else, with those solemn, appealing gray eyes looking at him.
"I'll tell you, Sally," he said quickly. "Just trust me."
Sally smiled. It was like a burst of sunshine. "I do."
"I know it," he returned, "and I'm proud of it. Well, I have been advancing what money has been needed for the past three months. You can't say I've given it to you. I'd rather say us, Sally. So you see, you can't say I've given it to us, for we—Henrietta and I—have been here so very much that we ought to pay something. We ought to contribute. I don't like to call it board, but—"
"Why not?" Sally asked, interrupting. "Why don't you like to call it board?"
"Well," Fox answered, rather lamely, "you don't take boarders, you know."