Chapter XXV
Enter Prince Charming
“I’m contrasting the claims of indoors and out,” said Anne, looking from the
window of Patty’s Place to the distant pines of the park.
“I’ve an afternoon to spend in sweet doing nothing, Aunt Jimsie. Shall I spend
it here where there is a cosy fire, a plateful of delicious russets, three purring and
harmonious cats, and two impeccable china dogs with green noses? Or shall I go
to the park, where there is the lure of gray woods and of gray water lapping on
the harbor rocks?”
“If I was as young as you, I’d decide in favor of the park,” said Aunt
Jamesina, tickling Joseph’s yellow ear with a knitting needle.
“I thought that you claimed to be as young as any of us, Aunty,” teased Anne.
“Yes, in my soul. But I’ll admit my legs aren’t as young as yours. You go and
get some fresh air, Anne. You look pale lately.”
“I think I’ll go to the park,” said Anne restlessly. “I don’t feel like tame
domestic joys today. I want to feel alone and free and wild. The park will be
empty, for every one will be at the football match.”
“Why didn’t you go to it?”
“‘Nobody axed me, sir, she said’—at least, nobody but that horrid little Dan
Ranger. I wouldn’t go anywhere with him; but rather than hurt his poor little
tender feelings I said I wasn’t going to the game at all. I don’t mind. I’m not in
the mood for football today somehow.”
“You go and get some fresh air,” repeated Aunt Jamesina, “but take your
umbrella, for I believe it’s going to rain. I’ve rheumatism in my leg.”
“Only old people should have rheumatism, Aunty.”
“Anybody is liable to rheumatism in her legs, Anne. It’s only old people who
should have rheumatism in their souls, though. Thank goodness, I never have.
When you get rheumatism in your soul you might as well go and pick out your
coffin.”
It was November—the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad