Their faces had sobered.  “I understand, sir, of course,” Jarvis agreed.  “But the drop in the fever and the quiet sleep surely mean a promising change?”

“Very promising—­no doubt of it.  And we are thankful—­thankful.  It is a wonderful relief after the reports we have been getting.”  He took off his spectacles and wiped them.  Then he wiped his eyes.  “With care, now—­” he began again, cheerfully.

But Bob could not help interrupting.  “She’s getting splendid care,” he cried.  He could not endure the thought that it was still necessary to exercise caution lest they rejoice prematurely.  He had taken the leap from boyish despair to boyish confidence at a bound, and he had no mind to drop back to a half-way point of doubt and depression.

“I suppose we ought to wait a few days before we run up any flags,” Max admitted, and the others reluctantly agreed.

During the following week they learned the reasons for respecting Mr. Rudd’s advice.  Though Sally’s bark had certainly rounded the most threatening danger point, there yet remained seas by no means smooth to be traversed, and more than once wind and waves rose again sufficiently to cause a return of anxiety to those who watched but could not go to the rescue.  But, in due time, recovery became assured, convalescence was established, and finally the great day was at hand, when she should come home from the hospital.  She looked still very pale and weak, as they saw her lying in her high white bed in the long ward—­how they had mourned that they could not afford to give her a private room!—­But she was Sally herself once more, and looking so eagerly forward to being at home again that it was a joy to see her smile at the thought of it.

“I wish it were not so excessively hot,” said Uncle Timothy, regretfully.

He stood in the doorway of Sally’s room.  It had been put in order by Mary Ann Flinders—­or, to be more exact, Mary Ann Flinders had attempted to put it in order for Sally’s reception the next day.

Max looked in over his uncle’s shoulder.  “I don’t know that it’s any hotter in here than anywhere else!” he demurred, irritably.  He was in his shirt-sleeves, and he had that moment removed his collar and neck-tie.  Uncle Timothy had got as far as taking off his waistcoat and donning an old alpaca coat, in which he had been striving to imagine himself comfortable.

“I think it must be several degrees warmer in this small room than in the dining-room,” asserted Uncle Timothy.  “And it is ninety-two there.  It is unfortunate that the poor child should have to come back to such an oven as this.  At the hospital a breeze circulates through the wards.  Here there seems to be none.”

“She could sleep on the couch in the living-room.” suggested Max. “Whew! It is hot!  What possesses the weather to start in like this, before June’s half over?  I believe it was one hundred and twelve in the office to-day.”