Through all this Sara longed inexpressibly for her father, but knew it
was hopeless wishing.
All she could do was to intrust the news to a fishing-smack which was
about leaving harbor, and might possibly run across the Nautilus
somewhere on the broad highway of the ocean. Yet, even then, he could
only return in case of some lucky opportunity; for the fleet would not
put back for weeks yet, as this was their harvest-time, when even the
dead must wait, that the necessities of the living might be supplied.
After a few days things were strangely quiet and natural once more.
Morton and Molly, thoroughly subdued for the time by recent events,
helped her about the house, the short winter's term of school having
closed for the long vacation.
Even the baby seemed less fretful than before; and the lengthening,
softening days went by in a quiet that left Sara many hours for her
beloved books.
But the children were needing clothes, and she herself must have a
cotton gown; so, as the little store of silver in the old blue teapot
had been almost exhausted by the simple funeral requirements, she put on
her sunbonnet one afternoon, and leaving the baby, with many
injunctions, to the care of the twins, started to call on Squire
Scrantoun, who had for many years been her father's banker.
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