SALLY DECIDES
The clarion call of Mrs. Halliday's big red rooster announcing
fervently his discovery of a thin streak of silver light in the east
brought Don to his elbow with a start. For a moment he could not place
himself, and then, as he realized where he was and what this day meant
for him, he took a long deep breath.
"In the morning," she had said.
Technically it was now morning, though his watch informed him that it
was not yet five. By now, then, she had made her decision. Somewhere
in this old house, perhaps within sound of his voice, she was waiting
with the verdict that was to decide whether he was going back to New
York the happiest or the unhappiest man in all Christendom. No, that
was not quite right either. Even if she said "No" that would not
decide it. It would mean only another day of waiting, because he was
going to keep right on trying to make her understand--day after day,
all summer and next winter and the next summer if necessary. He was
going to do that because, if he ever let go of this hope, then he
would be letting go of everything.
He found it quite impossible to sleep again and equally impossible to
lie there awake. Jumping from bed he dressed, shaved, and went
downstairs, giving Mrs. Halliday the start of her life when he came
upon her as she was kindling the kitchen fire.
"Land sakes alive," she gasped, "I didn't expect to see you for a
couple hours."
"I know it's early," he answered uncomfortably; "I don't suppose Sally
is up?"
Mrs. Halliday touched a match to the kindling and put the stove covers
back in place.
"There isn't anything lazy about Sally, but she generally does wait
until the sun is up," she returned.
She filled the teakettle and then, adjusting her glasses, took a more
critical look at Don.
"Wasn't ye warm enough last night?" she demanded.
"Plenty, thank you," he answered.
"Perhaps bein' in new surroundings bothered you," she suggested; "I
can't ever sleep myself till I git used to a place."
"I slept like a log," he assured her.
"Is this the time ye ginerally git up in New York?"
"Not quite as early as this," he admitted. "But, you see, that
rooster--"
"I see," she nodded. "And ye kind of hoped it might wake up Sally
too?"
"I took a chance," he smiled.
"Well, now, as long as ye seem so anxious I'll tell ye something;
maybe it did. Anyhow, I heard her movin' round afore I came down. Draw
a chair up to the stove and make yourself comfortable."
"Thanks."
The dry heat from the burning wood was already warming the room.
Outside he heard the morning songs of the birds. It no longer seemed
early to him. It was as though the world were fully awake, just
because he knew now that Sally was awake. For a few minutes Mrs.
Halliday continued her tasks as though unmindful that he was about. It
was such a sort of friendly acceptance of him as part of the
household that he began to feel as much at home here as though it were
his usual custom to appear at this hour. There was something more
friendly about even Mrs. Halliday's back than about the faces of a
great many people he knew. It looked as though it had borne a great
many burdens, but having borne them sturdily was ready for more. It
invited confidences. Then the teakettle began to bubble and sing and
that invited confidences too. He was choking with things he wished to
say--preferably to Sally herself, but if that were not possible, then
Mrs. Halliday was certainly the next best confidante. Besides, being
the closest relative of Sally's it was only fitting and proper that
she should be told certain facts. Sooner or later she must know and
now seemed a particularly opportune time. Don rose and moved his chair
to attract her attention.
"Mrs. Halliday--" he began.
"Wal?" she replied, without turning. She was at that moment busy over
the biscuit board.
"There's something I think I ought to tell you."
She turned instantly at that--turned, adjusted her spectacles, and
waited.
"I--I've asked Sally to marry me," he confessed.
For a moment her thin, wrinkled face remained immobile. Then he saw a
smile brighten the shrewd gray eyes.
"You don't say!" she answered. "I've been wonderin' just how long ye'd
be tellin' me that."
"You knew? Sally told you?" he exclaimed.
"Not in so many words, as ye might say," she answered. "But laws sake,
when a girl wakes me up to say she doesn't think a young man has
blankets enough on his bed in this kind of weather--"
"She did that?" interrupted Don.
"Thet's jest what she did. But long afore thet you told me yourself."
"I?"
"Of course. It's jest oozin' out all over you."
She came nearer. For a second Don felt as though those gray eyes were
boring into his soul.
"Look here, young man," she said. "What did Sally say?"
"She said she'd let me know this morning," he answered.
"And you've been blamin' my old rooster for gettin' you up?"
"Not blaming him exactly," he apologized.
"And you aren't sure whether she's goin' to say yes or goin' to say
no?"
Don's lips tightened.
"I'm not sure whether she's going to say yes or no this morning. But,
believe me, Mrs. Halliday, before she dies she's going to say yes."
Mrs. Halliday nodded approvingly. She went further; she placed a thin
hand on Don's shoulder. It was like a benediction. His heart warmed as
though it had been his mother's hand there.
"Don," she said, as naturally as though she had been saying it all her
life, "I don't know much about you in one way. But I like your face
and I like your eyes. I go a lot by a man's eyes. More'n that, I know
Sally, and there was never a finer, honester girl made than she is.
If she has let you go as far as this, I don't think I'd worry myself
to death."
"That's the trouble," he answered. "She didn't let me go as far as
this. I--I just went."
Mrs. Halliday smiled again.
"Mebbe you think so," she admitted.
"You see--" he stammered.
But at that moment he heard a rustle of skirts behind him. There stood
Sally herself--her cheeks very red, with a bit of a frown above her
eyes. It was Mrs. Halliday who saved the day.
"Here, now, you two," she stormed as she went back to her biscuit
board. "Both of you clear out of here until breakfast is ready. You
belong outdoors where the birds are singing."
"I'll set the table, Aunty," replied Sally grimly.
"You'll do nothing of the kind," replied Mrs. Halliday.
She crossed the room and, taking Sally by one arm she took Don by the
other. She led them to the door.
"Out with you," she commanded.
Alone with her Don turned to seek Sally's eyes and saw the frown still
there.
"I--I told her," he admitted; "I couldn't help it. I've been up for an
hour and I had to talk to some one."
He took her arm.
"You've decided?" he asked.
His face was so tense, his voice so eager, that it was as much as she
could do to remain vexed. Still, she resented the fact that he had
spoken to her aunt without authority. It was a presumption that seemed
to take for granted her answer. It was as though he thought only one
answer possible.
"Heart of me," he burst out, "you've decided?"
"You--you had no right to tell her," she answered.
"Come down the road a bit," he pleaded.
He led her down the path and along the country road between fields wet
with dew. The air was clean and sweet and the sky overhead a spotless
blue. It was the freshest and cleanest world he had ever seen and she
was one with it.
"I only told her what she already knew," he said.
"She knew?"
He spoke in a lower voice--a voice gentle and trembling.
"She said you came in last night after she had gone asleep--"
Sally covered her face with her hands.
"Oh," she gasped, "she--she told you that?"
He reached up and gently removed her hands. He held them tight in both
of his.
"It was good of you to think of me like that. It was like you," he
said.
All the while he was drawing her nearer and nearer to him. She
resisted. At least she thought she was resisting, but it didn't seem
to make any difference. Nearer his eyes came to hers; nearer his lips
came to hers. She gave a quick gasp as one before sudden danger. Then
she felt his warm lips against hers and swayed slightly. But his arms
were about her. They were strong about her, so that, while she felt as
though hanging dizzily over a precipice, she at the same moment never
felt safer in her life. With his lips against her lips, she closed
her eyes until, to keep from losing herself completely, she broke
free. Her cheeks scarlet, her breath coming short, her eyes like
stars, she stared at him a moment, and then like a startled fawn
turned and ran for the house. He followed, but her feet were tipped
with wings. He did not catch her until she had burst into the kitchen,
where in some fear Mrs. Halliday gathered her into her arms.
"She hasn't answered me even yet," he explained to Mrs. Halliday.
"Oh, Don," cried the trembling girl, her voice smothered in Mrs.
Halliday's shoulder. "You dare say that after--"
"Well, after what?" demanded Mrs. Halliday.