Quietly crossing the dark backyard for his horse and buggy at ten o’clock, Dr. Ben came upon Joe Hawkes sitting on the shadowy steps with—­he narrowed his eyes to make sure—­yes, with little Sally Monroe.  The old man formed his lips into a slow, thoughtful whistle as he busied himself with straps and buckles.  Slowly, thoughtfully, he climbed into his buggy.

“Sally!” he called, sitting irresolute with the reins in his hands.

The opaque spot that was Sally’s gown did not stir in the shadows.

“Sally!” he called again.  “I see ye, and Joe Hawkes, too.  Come here a minute!”

She went then, slowly into the clear November moonlight.

“What is it, Doc’ Ben?” she asked, in a rather thick voice and with a perceptible gulp.  Even in this light he could see her wet lashes glitter.

For a minute he did not speak, fat hands on fat knees.  Sally, innocent, loving, afraid, hung her head before him.

“Like Joe, do ye, Sally?” said the mild old voice.

“I—­” Sally’s voice was almost inaudible—­“why, I don’t know, Doc, Ben,” she faltered.  “My mother—­my father—­” she stopped short.

“Your father and mother, eh?” Dr. Ben repeated musingly, as if to himself.

“I couldn’t like—­any one—­if it was to make all the people who love me unhappy, I suppose,” Sally said in her mild, prim voice, with an effort at lightness.  “No happiness could come of that, could it, Doctor?”

To this dutiful expression the doctor made no immediate answer, observing in a dissatisfied tone, after a pause:  “That sounds like your mother, or Lydia.”

Sally, leaning against the shabby cushions of the carriage, looked down in silent distress.

“There never could be anything serious between Joe Hawkes and I,” she said presently, with a little unnatural laugh.  She was not quite sure of her pronoun.  She looked anxiously at Dr. Ben’s face.  It was still troubled and overcast.  Sally wondered uncomfortably if he would tell her mother that she was seeing Joe frequently.  As it chanced, she and Joe had more than once encountered the old man on their solitary walks and talks.  She thought, in her amiable heart, that if she only knew what Dr. Ben wanted her to say she would say it; or what viewpoint he expected her to take she would assume it.

“Joe and I were helping Mrs. David,” she submitted timidly, “and we came out to sit in the cool.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Sally,” the doctor said absently.  Sally laughed with an effort to make the conversation seem all a joke, but she was puzzled and unhappy.  “Well,” said the doctor suddenly, gathering up his reins and rattling the whip in its socket as a gentle hint to the old mare, “I must be getting on.  I want you to come and see me, Sally.  Come to-morrow.  I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, sir,” Sally answered obediently.  She would have put out her tongue for his inspection then and there if he had suggested it.