"It seems to me that I can't bear it, Fox," she sobbed. "To see mother so—is she really better?"
"You know she is, Sally."
"Yes, I s'pose I do." Sally's sobs gradually ceased. "But it's terribly slow. She'll have forgotten us by the time she gets well."
"No fear, Sally," Fox replied, with a gentle smile. "No fear of that. Come, here's the man for our things."
Fox was going with them. Sally dried her eyes while he went to see about the trunks.
As they walked out at the gate, Fox glanced at Sally. Her lips were tightly shut and she did not look back once, but she kept her gaze firmly fixed ahead, as if she were afraid of being turned into a pillar of salt. Nobody knew how much determination it took for her to do so. She would have liked to cry again and kiss every tree in the place. But she wouldn't cry again. She just would not.
Henrietta met them before they had gone far, and rattled on as though she had been talking on a wager. Sally couldn't talk. And Henrietta went to the station with them, still talking fast, and stayed with Sally and Charlie while Fox checked the trunks. Then the train came and Sally lingered at the door of the car.
"Good-bye, Sally," Henrietta called. "Perhaps I could come to visit you if you asked me."
"I will if I can," said Sally. "You know it won't be my house and I'm afraid that Cousin Martha may not find it convenient. If it was my house I'd ask you now."
The train started. "Good-bye, Sally," Henrietta called again as she ran along the platform; "I wish I were going with you."