“‘Jonas,’ I said—I forgot to call him Mr. Blake. Wasn’t it dreadful? But there
are times when things like that don’t matter—‘Jonas, you were born to be a
minister. You COULDN’T be anything else.’
“‘No, I couldn’t,’ he said soberly. ‘I tried to be something else for a long time
—I didn’t want to be a minister. But I came to see at last that it was the work
given me to do—and God helping me, I shall try to do it.’
“His voice was low and reverent. I thought that he would do his work and do
it well and nobly; and happy the woman fitted by nature and training to help him
do it. SHE would be no feather, blown about by every fickle wind of fancy. SHE
would always know what hat to put on. Probably she would have only one.
Ministers never have much money. But she wouldn’t mind having one hat or
none at all, because she would have Jonas.
“Anne Shirley, don’t you dare to say or hint or think that I’ve fallen in love
with Mr. Blake. Could I care for a lank, poor, ugly theologue—named Jonas? As
Uncle Mark says, ‘It’s impossible, and what’s more it’s improbable.’
“Good night, PHIL.”
“P.S. It is impossible—but I am horribly afraid it’s true. I’m happy and
wretched and scared. HE can NEVER care for me, I know. Do you think I could
ever develop into a passable minister’s wife, Anne? And WOULD they expect
me to lead in prayer? P G.”