Yet she could not keep herself quite free from worry these days. Each
change of season in our fickle climate means expense; and now the spring
was coming on, bringing its especial needs, her feeling was often one of
sick despair. It is so hard for the young to learn simply to wait; and
poor Sara felt that, to make the outlay necessary for the reception of
summer boarders, would actually impoverish them, and then--what if the
boarders never came? The thought was appalling!
In this frame of mind she was putting on their frugal supper of dried
herring, with baked potatoes and salt, a few weeks later, when Morton
dashed in.
"My gracious, Sara! I believe you get more mail than even Squire
Scrantoun. Just look at these!"
There was another roll, evidently pamphlets, and two letters,--one from
Professor Grandet, the other in an unknown hand. She hurriedly opened
the professor's, and struggled through its tangled and much abbreviated
chirography, looking up finally with a pale, puzzled, yet radiant face.
"I can't quite make it out. I think--it seems to say that my letter has
done him much good; he says it was read before the society, and is
printed somewhere."
"Perhaps it's in that paper book," suggested Molly, looking up from a
shell box she was making.
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