Eliza was sewing patchwork, not because it was needed but simply as a protest against the frivolous lace Catherine was crocheting.  Eliza listened with a frown and Catherine with a smile, as the girls explained their errand.  To be sure, whenever Catherine caught Eliza’s eye she discarded the smile in guilty confusion; but it crept back the next moment.

“If I had money to waste,” said Eliza grimly, “I’d burn it up and have the fun of seeing a blaze maybe; but I wouldn’t give it to that hall, not a cent.  It’s no benefit to the settlement . . . just a place for young folks to meet and carry on when they’s better be home in their beds.”

“Oh, Eliza, young folks must have some amusement,” protested Catherine.

“I don’t see the necessity.  We didn’t gad about to halls and places when we were young, Catherine Andrews.  This world is getting worse every day.”

“I think it’s getting better,” said Catherine firmly.

“You think!” Miss Eliza’s voice expressed the utmost contempt.  “It doesn’t signify what you think, Catherine Andrews.  Facts is facts.”

“Well, I always like to look on the bright side, Eliza.”

“There isn’t any bright side.”

“Oh, indeed there is,” cried Anne, who couldn’t endure such heresy in silence.  “Why, there are ever so many bright sides, Miss Andrews.  It’s really a beautiful world.”

“You won’t have such a high opinion of it when you’ve lived as long in it as I have,” retorted Miss Eliza sourly, “and you won’t be so enthusiastic about improving it either.  How is your mother, Diana?  Dear me, but she has failed of late.  She looks terrible run down.  And how long is it before Marilla expects to be stone blind, Anne?”

“The doctor thinks her eyes will not get any worse if she is very careful,” faltered Anne.

Eliza shook her head.

“Doctors always talk like that just to keep people cheered up.  I wouldn’t have much hope if I was her.  It’s best to be prepared for the worst.”

“But oughtn’t we be prepared for the best too?” pleaded Anne.  “It’s just as likely to happen as the worst.”

“Not in my experience, and I’ve fifty-seven years to set against your sixteen,” retorted Eliza.  “Going, are you?  Well, I hope this new society of yours will be able to keep Avonlea from running any further down hill but I haven’t much hope of it.”

Anne and Diana got themselves thankfully out, and drove away as fast as the fat pony could go.  As they rounded the curve below the beech wood a plump figure came speeding over Mr. Andrews’ pasture, waving to them excitedly.  It was Catherine Andrews and she was so out of breath that she could hardly speak, but she thrust a couple of quarters into Anne’s hand.