him and dropped obligingly behind on the moonlit road.
So Janet had a beau! Anne was delighted. Janet would make a paragon of a
wife—cheery, economical, tolerant, and a very queen of cooks. It would be a
flagrant waste on Nature’s part to keep her a permanent old maid.
“John Douglas asked me to take you up to see his mother,” said Janet the next
day. “She’s bed-rid a lot of the time and never goes out of the house. But she’s
powerful fond of company and always wants to see my boarders. Can you go up
this evening?”
Anne assented; but later in the day Mr. Douglas called on his mother’s behalf
to invite them up to tea on Saturday evening.
“Oh, why didn’t you put on your pretty pansy dress?” asked Anne, when they
left home. It was a hot day, and poor Janet, between her excitement and her
heavy black cashmere dress, looked as if she were being broiled alive.
“Old Mrs. Douglas would think it terrible frivolous and unsuitable, I’m afraid.
John likes that dress, though,” she added wistfully.
The old Douglas homestead was half a mile from “Wayside” cresting a windy
hill. The house itself was large and comfortable, old enough to be dignified, and
girdled with maple groves and orchards. There were big, trim barns behind it,
and everything bespoke prosperity. Whatever the patient endurance in Mr.
Douglas’ face had meant it hadn’t, so Anne reflected, meant debts and duns.
John Douglas met them at the door and took them into the sitting-room, where
his mother was enthroned in an armchair.
Anne had expected old Mrs. Douglas to be tall and thin, because Mr. Douglas
was. Instead, she was a tiny scrap of a woman, with soft pink cheeks, mild blue
eyes, and a mouth like a baby’s. Dressed in a beautiful, fashionably-made black
silk dress, with a fluffy white shawl over her shoulders, and her snowy hair
surmounted by a dainty lace cap, she might have posed as a grandmother doll.
“How do you do, Janet dear?” she said sweetly. “I am so glad to see you
again, dear.” She put up her pretty old face to be kissed. “And this is our new
teacher. I’m delighted to meet you. My son has been singing your praises until
I’m half jealous, and I’m sure Janet ought to be wholly so.”
Poor Janet blushed, Anne said something polite and conventional, and then
everybody sat down and made talk. It was hard work, even for Anne, for nobody
seemed at ease except old Mrs. Douglas, who certainly did not find any
difficulty in talking. She made Janet sit by her and stroked her hand
occasionally. Janet sat and smiled, looking horribly uncomfortable in her