“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come, teacher,” he said eagerly, “because Grandma’s away. You’ll stay and have tea with me, won’t you? It’s so lonesome to have tea all by oneself. You know, teacher. I’ve had serious thoughts of asking Young Mary Joe to sit down and eat her tea with me, but I expect Grandma wouldn’t approve. She says the French have to be kept in their place. And anyhow, it’s difficult to talk with Young Mary Joe. She just laughs and says, ‘Well, yous do beat all de kids I ever knowed.’ That isn’t my idea of conversation.”
“Of course I’ll stay to tea,” said Anne gaily. “I was dying to be asked. My mouth has been watering for some more of your grandma’s delicious shortbread ever since I had tea here before.”
Paul looked very sober.
“If it depended on me, teacher,” he said, standing before Anne with his hands in his pockets and his beautiful little face shadowed with sudden care, “you should have shortbread with a right good will. But it depends on Mary Joe. I heard Grandma tell her before she left that she wasn’t to give me any shortcake because it was too rich for little boys’ stomachs. But maybe Mary Joe will cut some for you if I promise I won’t eat any. Let us hope for the best.”
“Yes, let us,” agreed Anne, whom this cheerful philosophy suited exactly, “and if Mary Joe proves hard-hearted and won’t give me any shortbread it doesn’t matter in the least, so you are not to worry over that.”
