“Praise be to goodness you’ve come,” she said devoutly, “for there’s heaps of things to do . . . and the frosting on that cake won’t harden . . . and there’s all the silver to be rubbed up yet . . . and the horsehair trunk to be packed . . . and the roosters for the chicken salad are running out there beyant the henhouse yet, crowing, Miss Shirley, ma’am.  And Miss Lavendar ain’t to be trusted to do a thing.  I was thankful when Mr. Irving came a few minutes ago and took her off for a walk in the woods.  Courting’s all right in its place, Miss Shirley, ma’am, but if you try to mix it up with cooking and scouring everything’s spoiled.  That’s my opinion, Miss Shirley, ma’am.”

Anne and Diana worked so heartily that by ten o’clock even Charlotta the Fourth was satisfied.  She braided her hair in innumerable plaits and took her weary little bones off to bed.

“But I’m sure I shan’t sleep a blessed wink, Miss Shirley, ma’am, for fear that something’ll go wrong at the last minute . . . the cream won’t whip . . . or Mr. Irving’ll have a stroke and not be able to come.”

“He isn’t in the habit of having strokes, is he?” asked Diana, the dimpled corners of her mouth twitching.  To Diana, Charlotta the Fourth was, if not exactly a thing of beauty, certainly a joy forever.

“They’re not things that go by habit,” said Charlotta the Fourth with dignity.  “They just happen . . . and there you are.  Anybody can have a stroke.  You don’t have to learn how.  Mr. Irving looks a lot like an uncle of mine that had one once just as he was sitting down to dinner one day.  But maybe everything’ll go all right.  In this world you’ve just got to hope for the best and prepare for the worst and take whatever God sends.”

“The only thing I’m worried about is that it won’t be fine tomorrow,” said Diana.  “Uncle Abe predicted rain for the middle of the week, and ever since the big storm I can’t help believing there’s a good deal in what Uncle Abe says.”

Anne, who knew better than Diana just how much Uncle Abe had to do with the storm, was not much disturbed by this.  She slept the sleep of the just and weary, and was roused at an unearthly hour by Charlotta the Fourth.

“Oh, Miss Shirley, ma’am, it’s awful to call you so early,” came wailing through the keyhole, “but there’s so much to do yet . . . and oh, Miss Shirley, ma’am, I’m skeered it’s going to rain and I wish you’d get up and tell me you think it ain’t.”  Anne flew to the window, hoping against hope that Charlotta the Fourth was saying this merely by way of rousing her effectually.  But alas, the morning did look unpropitious.  Below the window Miss Lavendar’s garden, which should have been a glory of pale virgin sunshine, lay dim and windless; and the sky over the firs was dark with moody clouds.

“Isn’t it too mean!” said Diana.

“We must hope for the best,” said Anne determinedly.  “If it only doesn’t actually rain, a cool, pearly gray day like this would really be nicer than hot sunshine.”