cervale and she knows they’d sell it, but she isn’t sure it’s just the same kind as Aunt Josephine’s.”
“I’ll go right over to Spencervale after it to-morrow,” said Anne resolutely, “and you must come with me. It will be such a weight off my mind, for I have to go to town day after to-morrow and how can I face your Aunt Josephine without a willow-ware platter? It would be even worse than the time I had to confess about jumping on the spare room bed.”
Both girls laughed over the old memory . . . concerning which, if any of my readers are ignorant and curious, I must refer them to Anne’s earlier history.
The next afternoon the girls fared forth on their platter hunting expedition. It was ten miles to Spencervale and the day was not especially pleasant for travelling. It was very warm and windless, and the dust on the road was such as might have been expected after six weeks of dry weather.
“Oh, I do wish it would rain soon,” sighed Anne. “Everything is so parched up. The poor fields just seem pitiful to me and the trees seem to be stretching out their hands pleading for rain. As for my garden, it hurts me every time I go into it. I suppose I shouldn’t complain about a garden when the farmers’ crops are suffering so. Mr. Harrison says his pastures are so scorched up that his poor cows can hardly get a bite to eat and he feels guilty of cruelty to animals every time he meets their eyes.”
After a wearisome drive the girls reached Spencervale and turned down the “Tory” Road . . . a
