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"Anne, will you let me come and stay with you while

Susan is away?" exclaimed Leslie. "Do! I'd love
to--and it would be an act of charity on your part.

I'm so horriblylonely over there in that big barn of a
house. There's so little to do--and at night I'm worse

than lonely--I'm frightened and nervous in spite of
locked doors. There was a tramp around two days ago."

Anne joyfully agreed, and next day Leslie was installed
as an inmate of the little house of dreams. Miss

Cornelia warmly approved of the arrangement.
"It seems Providential," she told Anne in confidence.

"I'm sorry for Matilda Clow, but since she had to break
her leg it couldn't have happened at a better time.

Leslie will be here while Owen Ford is in Four Winds,
and those old cats up at the Glen won't get the chance

to meow, as they would if she was living over there
alone and Owen going to see her. They are doing enough

of it as it is, because she doesn't put on mourning. I
said to one of them, `If you mean she should put on

mourning for George Moore, it seems to me more like his
resurrection than his funeral; and if it's Dick you

mean, I confess _I_ can't see the propriety of going
into weeds for a man who died thirteen years ago and

good riddance then!' And when old Louisa Baldwin
remarked to me that she thought it very strange that

Leslie should never have suspected it wasn't her own
husband _I_ said, `YOU never suspected it wasn't Dick

Moore, and you were next-door neighbor to him all his
life, and by nature you're ten times as suspicious as

Leslie.' But you can't stop some people's tongues,
Anne, dearie, and I'm real thankful Leslie will be

under your roof while Owen is courting her."
Owen Ford came to the little house one August evening

when Leslie and Anne were absorbed in worshipping the
baby. He paused at the open door of the living room,

unseen by the two within, gazing with greedy eyes at
the beautiful picture. Leslie sat on the floor with

the baby in her lap, making ecstatic dabs at his fat
little hands as he fluttered them in the air.

"Oh, you dear, beautiful, beloved baby," she mumbled,
catching one wee hand and covering it with kisses.

"Isn't him ze darlingest itty sing," crooned Anne,
hanging over the arm of her chair adoringly. "Dem itty

wee pads are ze very tweetest handies in ze whole big
world, isn't dey, you darling itty man."

Anne, in the months before Little Jem's coming, had
pored diligently over several wise volumes, and pinned

her faith to one in especial, "Sir Oracle on the Care
and Training of Children." Sir Oracle implored

parents by all they held sacred never to talk "baby
talk" to their children. Infants should invariably be

addressed in classical language from the moment of
their birth. So should they learn to speak English

undefiled from their earliest utterance. "How,"
demanded Sir Oracle, "can a mother reasonably expect

her child to learn correct speech, when she continually
accustoms its impressionable gray matter to such absurd

expressions and distortions of our noble tongue as
thoughtless mothers inflict every day on the helpless

creatures committed to their care? Can a child who is
constantly called `tweet itty wee singie' ever attain

to any proper conception of his own being and
possibilities and destiny?"

Anne was vastly impressed with this, and informed
Gilbert that she meant to make it an inflexible rule

never, under any circumstances, to talk "baby talk" to
her children. Gilbert agreed with her, and they made a

solemn compact on the subject--a compact which Anne
shamelessly violated the very first moment Little Jem

was laid in her arms. "Oh, the darling itty wee
sing!" she had exclaimed. And she had continued to

violate it ever since. When Gilbert teased her she
laughed Sir Oracle to scorn.

"He never had any children of his own, Gilbert--I am
positive he hadn't or he would never have written such

rubbish. You just can't help talking baby talk to a
baby. It comes natural--and it's RIGHT. It would be

inhuman to talk to those tiny, soft, velvety little
creatures as we do to great big boys and girls. Babies

want love and cuddling and all the sweet baby talk they
can get, and Little Jem is going to have it, bless his

dear itty heartums."
"But you're the worst I ever heard, Anne," protested

Gilbert, who, not being a mother but only a father, was
not wholly convinced yet that Sir Oracle was wrong. "I

never heard anything like the way you talk to that
child."

"Very likely you never did. Go away--go away. Didn't
I bring up three pairs of Hammond twins before I was

eleven? You and Sir Oracle are nothing but
cold-blooded theorists. Gilbert, JUST look at him!

He's smiling at me--he knows what we're talking about.
And oo dest agwees wif evy word muzzer says, don't oo,

angel-lover?"
Gilbert put his arm about them. "Oh you mothers!" he

said. "You mothers! God knew what He was about when
He made you."

So Little Jem was talked to and loved and cuddled; and
he throve as became a child of the house of dreams.

Leslie was quite as foolish over him as Anne was. When
their work was done and Gilbert was out of the way,

they gave themselves over to shameless orgies of
love-making and ecstasies of adoration, such as that in

which Owen Ford had surprised them.
Leslie was the first to become aware of him. Even in

the twilight Anne could see the sudden whiteness that
swept over her beautiful face, blotting out the crimson

of lip and cheeks.
Owen came forward, eagerly, blind for a moment to Anne.

"Leslie!" he said, holding out his hand. It was the
first time he had ever called her by her name; but the

hand Leslie gave him was cold; and she was very quiet
all the evening, while Anne and Gilbert and Owen

laughed and talked together. Before his call ended she
excused herself and went upstairs . Owen's gay spirits

flagged and he went away soon after with a downcast
air.

Gilbert looked at Anne.
"Anne, what are you up to? There's something going on

that I don't understand. The whole air here tonight
has been charged with electricity. Leslie sits like

the muse of tragedy; Owen Ford jokes and laughs on the
surface, and watches Leslie with the eyes of his soul.

You seem all the time to be bursting with some
suppressed excitement. Own up. What secret have you

been keeping from your deceived husband?"
"Don't be a goose, Gilbert," was Anne's conjugal

reply. "As for Leslie, she is absurd and I'm going up
to tell her so."

Anne found Leslie at the dormer window of her room.
The little place was filled with the rhythmic thunder

of the sea. Leslie sat with locked hands in the misty
moonshine--a beautiful, accusing presence.

"Anne," she said in a low, reproachful voice, "did you
know Owen Ford was coming to Four Winds?"

"I did," said Anne brazenly.
"Oh, you should have told me, Anne," Leslie cried

passionately. "If I had known I would have gone
away--I wouldn't have stayed here to meet him. You

should have told me. It wasn't fair of you, Anne--oh,
it wasn't fair!"

Leslie's lips were trembling and her whole form was
tense with emotion. But Anne laughed heartlessly. She

bent over and kissed Leslie's upturned reproachful
face.

"Leslie, you are an adorable goose. Owen Ford didn't
rush from the Pacific to the Atlantic from a burning

desire to see ME. Neither do I believe that he was
inspired by any wild and frenzied passion for Miss

Cornelia. Take off your tragic airs, my dear friend,
and fold them up and put them away in lavender. You'll

never need them again. There are some people who can
see through a grindstone when there is a hole in it,

even if you cannot. I am not a prophetess, but I shall
venture on a prediction. The bitterness of life is

over for you. After this you are going to have the
joys and hopes--and I daresay the sorrows, too--of a

happy woman. The omen of the shadow of Venus did come
true for you, Leslie. The year in which you saw it

brought your life's best gift for you--your love for
Owen Ford. Now, go right to bed and have a good

sleep."
Leslie obeyed orders in so far that she went to bed:

but it may be questioned if she slept much. I do not
think she dared to dream wakingly; life had been so

hard for this poor Leslie, the path on which she had
had to walk had been so strait, that she could not

whisper to her own heart the hopes that might wait on
the future. But she watched the great revolving light

bestarring the short hours of the summer night, and her
eyes grew soft and bright and young once more. Nor,

when Owen Ford came next day, to ask her to go with him
to the shore, did she say him nay.

CHAPTER 37
MISS CORNELIA MAKES A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT

Miss Cornelia sailed down to the little house one
drowsy afternoon, when the gulf was the faint,

bleached blue of the August seas, and the orange lilies
at the gate of Anne's garden held up their imperial

cups to be filled with the molten gold of August
sunshine. Not that Miss Cornelia concerned herself

with painted oceans or sun-thirsty lilies. She sat in
her favorite rocker in unusualidleness. She sewed

not, neither did she spin. Nor did she say a single
derogatory word concerning any portion of mankind. In

short, Miss Cornelia's conversation was singularly
devoid of spice that day, and Gilbert, who had stayed

home to listen to her, instead of going a-fishing, as
he had intended, felt himself aggrieved. What had come

over Miss Cornelia? She did not look cast down or
worried. On the contrary, there was a certain air of

nervousexultation about her.
"Where is Leslie?" she asked--not as if it mattered

much either.
"Owen and she went raspberrying in the woods back of

her farm," answered Anne. "They won't be back before
supper time-- if then."

"They don't seem to have any idea that there is such a
thing as a clock," said Gilbert. "I can't get to the

bottom of that affair. I'm certain you women pulled
strings. But Anne, undutiful wife, won't tell me.



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