trians hurried along. Even children did not stop to play, for
now a cold drizzle had set in.

It was very warm and cheery in Miss Armitage's library. There was a
fire in the grate, a pot of beautiful red carnations on one stand, a
great vase of roses on the other, and a dainty tea table set out with
Wedgewood. Thursday afternoon she was always at home. From some cause
there had been very few in. Jane came and put two big lumps of cannel
coal on the fire and said a few words, then went to answer the ring at
the door; it was Dr. Richards.

"I'm glad to see you," she said. "Will you please light a burner or
two?"

"Oh, no, let us sit in this mysterious light and watch the blaze
leaping over and around those black hillocks. Have you been busy
today?"

"Not very. Some days I don't feel in a working humor. I had only two
calls this afternoon. Will you have a cup of tea?"

"Yes; when have you been to the Bordens?"

"Yesterday."

"And how are the invalids?"

"Mrs. Vanderveer is sinking in a comatose state; she doesn't suffer,
which _is_ a great blessing toward the last. As for Marilla"--she made
a pause.

"Well--" inquiringly.

"I'm not satisfied, she has such a blue, tired look. But she is about
as usual. Dr. Richards, I want her."

Something in the tone touched him. It seemed the cry of motherhood.

"Well, wouldn't they give her up?"

"I really think they would; a friend came to see if they did not want
her nursemaid, a nice well trained girl of twenty; an excellent
seamstress. She is going to California. Mrs. Borden told me this as we
were down in the hall. Dr. Baker said something about the child's
health that rather startled her. But before we could have any
discussion another visitor called. She thinks Marilla doesn't have
anything much to do; but the babies are a constant care. They want to
be entertained every minute of the time. Violet is developing quite a
temper and slaps her little nurse. All her mother said was 'Violet,
that's naughty.' But you should have seen Pansy speak some Mother
Goose rhymes. Marilla had been training her. The gestures, the roll of
the eyes, the coquettish turn of the head was the daintiest thing you
ever saw. Then she repeated--'Where are you going, my pretty maid?'
and she had a little milk pail on her arm, and she managed to keep the
two parts wonderfully distinct--it was remarkable in a child not three
years old, and when she said--'Then I won't marry you, my pretty maid