“Why, Sarah Kirk is a Methodist,” said
Miss Cornelia, much as if Susan had suggested a Hottentot
as a manse bride.
“She would likely turn Presbyterian if she married
Mr. Meredith,” retorted Susan.
Miss Cornelia shook her head. Evidently with
her it was, once a Methodist, always a Methodist.
“Sarah Kirk is entirely out of the question,”
she said positively. “And so is Emmeline
Drew—though the Drews are all trying to
make the match. They are literally throwing poor
Emmeline at his head, and he hasn’t the least
idea of it.”
“Emmeline Drew has no gumption, I must allow,”
said Susan. “She is the kind of woman,
Mrs. Dr. dear, who would put a hot-water bottle in
your bed on a dog-night and then have her feelings
hurt because you were not grateful. And her
mother was a very poor housekeeper. Did you
ever hear the story of her dishcloth? She lost
her dishcloth one day. But the next day she found
it. Oh, yes, Mrs. Dr. dear, she found it, in
the goose at the dinner-table, mixed up with the stuffing.
Do you think a woman like that would do for a minister’s
mother-in-law? I do not. But no doubt I
would be better employed in mending little Jem’s
trousers than in talking gossip about my neighbours.
He tore them something scandalous last night in Rainbow
Valley.”
“Where is Walter?” asked Anne.
“He is up to no good, I fear, Mrs. Dr. dear.
He is in the attic writing something in an exercise
book. And he has not done as well in arithmetic
this term as he should, so the teacher tells me.
Too well I know the reason why. He has been
writing silly rhymes when he should have been doing
his sums. I am afraid that boy is going to be
a poet, Mrs. Dr. dear.”
“He is a poet now, Susan.”
“Well, you take it real calm, Mrs. Dr. dear.
I suppose it is the best way, when a person has the
strength. I had an uncle who began by being
a poet and ended up by being a tramp. Our family
were dreadfully ashamed of him.”
“You don’t seem to think very highly of
poets, Susan,” said Anne, laughing.
“Who does, Mrs. Dr. dear?” asked Susan
in genuine astonishment.
“What about Milton and Shakespeare? And
the poets of the Bible?”
“They tell me Milton could not get along with
his wife, and Shakespeare was no more than respectable
by times. As for the Bible, of course things
were different in those sacred days— although
I never had a high opinion of King David, say what
you will. I never knew any good to come of writing
poetry, and I hope and pray that blessed boy will
outgrow the tendency. If he does not—we
must see what emulsion of cod-liver oil will do.”
Miss Cornelia descended upon the manse the next day
and cross-questioned Mary, who, being a young person
of considerable discernment and astuteness, told her
story simple and truthfully, with an entire absence
of complaint or bravado. Miss Cornelia was more
favourably impressed than she had expected to be, but
deemed it her duty to be severe.
