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Updated: May 15, 2025
'But what are you so cross about? asked Hender, who was not aware of what was passing in her employer's mind. 'I'm not cross. But how long shall we have to wait? Mr. Lennox said he'd meet us here, didn't he? 'Oh, he can't be long now, for here comes Wentworth with the keys to open the doors.
Marilla listened for a time with more or less interest, but at last she took one of her school-books, with slight ostentation, and went over to study by the lamp. Mrs. Hender had brought her knitting-work, a blue woolen stocking, out of a drawer, and sat down serene and unruffled, prepared to keep awake as late as possible.
He wondered at all the brown-paper patterns that were hung on the walls, and Miss Hender, too eager to inform him, took advantage of the occasion to glide in a word to the effect that she was going to see him that evening at the theatre. Kate was amused, but felt it was her duty to take the first opportunity of interrupting the conversation. For some unexplained reason Mr.
By the time she came back her aunt had cut off several slices of cold bacon and put some on four plates, one for each of them. Bella felt perfectly ill with fear when she saw these preparations. "Aunt Emma!" she began, but so tremulously that her aunt did not hear her. "Where are the children? Didn't you tell them?" demanded Miss Hender tartly.
The guest was as wide awake as ever: eleven o'clock was the best part of his evening. "Cider?" he suggested, with an expectant smile, and Abby Hender was on her feet in a moment. When she had brought a pitcher from the pantry, he took a candle from the high shelf and led the way.
Ede would never be able to get on with Hender, and even if she did, neither of them knew enough of dressmaking to keep the business going, and she asked herself sorrowfully: 'What will become of them? They would not be able to live upon what they sold in the shop that was a mere nothing. Poor Ralph's dreams of plate-glass and lamps! Where were they now? Mrs.
Marilla Hender was as pale as ashes. "I have thought many times," the great guest began, "that some day I should come back to visit this place, which is so closely interwoven with the memories of my childhood.
They may have been abashed by the presence of a United States Senator and Western millionaire, though a piece of New England ground that had often felt the tread of his bare feet was not likely to quake because a pair of smart shoes stepped hastily along the school-house path. There was an imperative knock at the side door of the Hender farmhouse, just after dark.
When the immediate subjects of conversation were fully discussed, however, there was an unexpected interval of silence, and, after making sure that her knitting stitches counted exactly right, Abby Hender cast a questioning glance at the Senator to see if he had it in mind to go to bed. She was reluctant to end her evening so soon, but determined to act the part of considerate hostess.
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