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Updated: May 14, 2025
MacPherson," said Aunt Olivia for the fourth time. "Nillie!" exclaimed Mr. Malcolm MacPherson. There was such real agony in his tone that Peggy and I were suddenly stricken with contrition. What were we doing? We had no right to be listening to this pitiful interview. The pain and protest in his voice had suddenly banished all the humour from it, and left naught but the bare, stark tragedy.
Malcolm MacPherson had already gathered them up, leaving a goodly sprinkling of leaves and stalks on the carpet. "I picked these for you in the river field, Nillie," he said. "Where will I be getting something to stick them in? Here, this will do." He grasped a frail, painted vase on the mantel, stuffed the flowers in it, and set it on the table.
It was so funny to see Aunt Olivia hovering anxiously around, picking up flower stems, and smoothing out tidies, and generally following him about to straighten out things. Once she even got a wing and dustpan and swept the cigar ashes under his very eyes. "Now don't be worrying yourself over that, Nillie," he protested. "Why, I don't mind a litter, bless you!" How good and jolly he was, that Mr.
"Nillie, what is it you are meaning?" he said. "I cannot marry you, Mr. MacPherson," repeated Aunt Olivia. "Why not?" Surprise was giving way to dismay. "I don't think you will understand, Mr. MacPherson," said Aunt Olivia, faintly. "You don't realize what it means for a woman to give up everything her own home and friends and all her past life, so to speak, and go far away with a stranger."
And, indeed, what we saw would have been worth several conscience spasms if we had felt any. Aunt Olivia arose and advanced primly, with outstretched hand. "Mr. MacPherson, I am very glad to see you," she said formally. "It's yourself, Nillie!" Mr. Malcolm MacPherson gave two strides. He dropped his flowers on the floor, knocked over a small table, and sent the ottoman spinning against the wall.
For you track mud in and and you don't care whether things are tidy or not." Poor Aunt Olivia had to be Aunt Olivia; if she were being burned at the stake I verily believe she would have dragged some grotesqueness into the tragedy of the moment. "The devil!" said Mr. Malcolm MacPherson not profanely or angrily, but as in sheer bewilderment. Then he added, "Nillie, you must be joking.
Her sleek crimps were all ruffled up, and her lace fichu twisted half around her neck. She looked distressed. "It's not a bit changed you are, Nillie," said Mr. Malcolm MacPherson admiringly. "And it's good I'm feeling to see you again. Are you glad to see me, Nillie?" "Oh, of course," said Aunt Olivia. She twisted herself free and went to set up the table. Then she turned to the flowers, but Mr.
"Why, I suppose it will be rather hard. But, Nillie, Avonlea isn't very far away not more than twelve miles, if it will be that." "Twelve miles! It might as well be at the other side of the world to all intents and purposes," said Aunt Olivia obstinately. "I don't know a living soul there, except Rachel Lynde." "Why didn't you say so before I bought the place, then? But it's not too late.
"You can't be meaning it!" he exclaimed, because he was beginning to understand that she did mean it, although it was impossible for his man mind to understand anything else about the puzzle. "Nillie, it's breaking my heart you are! I'll do anything go anywhere be anything you want only don't be going back on me like this." "I cannot marry you, Mr.
Peggy removed the hat box that was on it, and we both deliberately and shamelessly crouched down and listened with all our might. It was easy enough to hear what Mr. Malcolm MacPherson was saying. "I've come up to get the date settled, Nillie, as I told you. Come now, little woman, name the day." "Don't, Mr. MacPherson," said Aunt Olivia.
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