“Where did he go?� demanded Andrews. “And who’s that strange man that’s been here with him?�
“I refuse to answer your impertinent questions,� she said, looking over his head. “Gentlemen, I bid you good day. Come, Anne.�
She marched like a royal procession through the hall, with Anne following her. They went into the sitting room, and Mrs. Osborne, with a red patch on each cheek, sat stiffly erect in a straight-backed chair and talked to Anne, jumping from one subject to another—Red Cross work, war gardens, Mr. Tavis’s rheumatism, Miss Fanny Morrison’s new hat—anything and everything except the one subject she and Anne had in mind.
“Which of your studies do you like best?� she asked.
“Pigeons,� answered Anne. “Oh!� she gasped, and hastily said, “Math,� which she hated.
Then, very embarrassed and puzzled and troubled, she went back to The Village. In the midst of her task and the merry chatter of her companions, her thoughts wandered often to that strange scene at Larkland. What did it, what could it mean? There was evidently some secret; so she must not discuss it with any one, not even Patsy. But what? and why?
By the middle of the afternoon, the task they had set themselves was finished. Anne went home with Patsy, and they dropped down on the shady lawn to enjoy their well-earned rest.
“I’m thirsty!� said Anne.
Patsy laughed. “That’s the first time you’ve seemed to know what you were saying to-day!� Then she called Emma, who brought fresh water, and filled and refilled for them the big old “house� dipper, a coconut shell rimmed with silver.
“Oh, for some lemonade!� sighed Patsy. “Sweet and cold, with ice tinkling in the glass!�