time, “this place belongs to us. We bought it from the Brewsters last fall. They moved to Greenvale. Our name is Chapley.”
Poor Rilla fell back on her pillow, quite overcome.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I—I—thought the Brewsters lived here. Mrs. Brewster is a friend of mine. I am Rilla Blythe,—Dr. Blythe’s daughter from Glen St. Mary. I—I was going to town with my—my—this little boy—and he fell off the train—and I jumped off after him—and nobody knew of it. I knew we couldn’t get home last night and a storm was coming up—so we came here and when we found nobody at home—we—we—just got in through the window and—and—made ourselves at home.”
“So it seems,” said the woman sarcastically.
“A likely story,” said the man.
“We weren’t born yesterday,” added the woman.
Madam Black-and-White didn't say anything; but when the other two had made their pretty speeches she doubled up in a silent convulsion of mirth, shaking her head from side to side and beating the air with her hands.
Rilla, stung by the disagreeable attitude of the Chapleys, regained her self-possession and lost her temper. She sat up in bed and said in her haughtiest voice,
“I do not know when you were born, or where, but it must have been somewhere where very peculiar manners were taught. If you will have the decency to leave my room—er—this room—until I can get up and dress I shall not transgress upon your hospital-
