“Thank you for this expression of your satisfaction. The babies and Jack may have been a nuisance at times.”
“But that little girl’s been good enough to make up for any annoyance—not that there’s been much. Jack’s a smart, funny little fellow. You know they’re all more or less bad, but they grow up pretty fair. There now, I’m tired.”
Mr. Borden wished her a kindly good-night and went down stairs to recount the wonderful interview.
“Oh, John!” Mrs. Borden leaned her head down on her husband’s shoulder. “What a 208 streak of good fortune! Now we really do own the house free and clear, I thought our summering would be quite moderate but it wasn’t. Still it did the babies an immense deal of good after they got over their awful time. And they’re so nice and well now, and are growing better looking all the time. If Marilla only could make their hair curl! It’s so stringy, and we haven’t worried at Aunt Hetty for what she did or what she didn’t do, and weren’t snappy when she found fault. I used to think she needn’t have rung for Marilla quite so much, but the child never minded running up and down.”
“How has she been today?”
“Well, I don’t just know; Dr. Baker said she must keep pretty still, so she’s laid on the old lounge, but the babies would crawl over her. It does seem as if we must have someone else—an older person, though some of them object to taking out children. But if we want to get much sewing done—”
“I think I’ll have a seamstress for a week or so,” said Aunt Florence, “time goes on so fast.”
Marilla had gone up stairs to her own bed, 209 where Bridget had crooned over her in tender Irish fashion.
“An’ I’m sore afraid them babies’ll be the death of you, poor lamb! They drag on you so, and their chatter would drive me crazy.”
“But they’re so funny.”