When the apple trees, that had been pink and white
in June, were russet and bronze in October, Mrs.
Eben had a quilting. The quilt was of the “Rising
Star” pattern, which was considered in Avonlea to
be very handsome. Mrs. Eben had intended it for
part of Sara’s “setting out,” and, while she sewed
the red-and-white diamonds together, she had regaled her fancy by imagining she saw it spread out
on the spare-room bed of the house at Newbridge,
with herself laying her bonnet and shawl on it when
she went to see Sara. Those bright visions had
faded with the apple blossoms, and Mrs. Eben hardly
had the heart to finish the quilt at all.
The quilting came off on Saturday afternoon, when Sara could be home from school. All Mrs. Eben’s particular friends were ranged around the quilt, and tongues and fingers flew. Sara flitted about, helping her aunt with the supper preparations. She was in the room, getting the custard dishes out of the cupboard, when Mrs. George Pye arrived.
Mrs. George had a genius for being late. She was later than usual to-day, and she looked excited. Every woman around the “Rising Star” felt that Mrs. George had some news worth listening to, and there was an expectant silence while she pulled out her chair and settled herself at the quilt.
She was a tall, thin woman, with a long pale face and liquid green eyes. As she looked around the
