wanted all the time. When a man don’t know his own mind, Miss Shirley, ma’am, how’s a poor woman going to be sure of it?”
“We’ll go to the kitchen and clean the silver spoons,” said Anne. “That’s a task which won’t require much thinking fortunately . . . for I couldn’t think to-night. And it will pass the time.”
It passed an hour. Then, just as Anne laid down the last shining spoon, they heard the front door shut. Both sought comfort fearfully in each other’s eyes.
“Oh, Miss Shirley, ma’am,” gasped Charlotta, “if he’s going away this early there’s nothing into it and never will be.”
They flew to the window. Mr. Irving had no intention of going away. He and Miss Lavendar were strolling slowly down the middle path to the stone bench.
“Oh, Miss Shirley, ma’am, he’s got his arm around her waist,” whispered Charlotta the Fourth delightedly. “He must have proposed to her or she’d never allow it.”
Anne caught Charlotta the Fourth by her own plump waist and danced her around the kitchen until they were both out of breath.
“Oh, Charlotta,” she cried gaily, “I’m neither a prophetess nor the daughter of a prophetess but I’m going to make a prediction. There’ll be a wedding in this old stone house before the maple leaves are red. Do you want that translated into prose, Charlotta?”
