Marilla Cuthbert was driving into the yard as Anne returned from the house, and the latter flew to get tea ready.  They discussed the matter at the tea table.

“I’ll be glad when the auction is over,” said Marilla.  “It is too much responsibility having so much stock about the place and nobody but that unreliable Martin to look after them.  He has never come back yet and he promised that he would certainly be back last night if I’d give him the day off to go to his aunt’s funeral.  I don’t know how many aunts he has got, I am sure.  That’s the fourth that’s died since he hired here a year ago.  I’ll be more than thankful when the crop is in and Mr. Barry takes over the farm.  We’ll have to keep Dolly shut up in the pen till Martin comes, for she must be put in the back pasture and the fences there have to be fixed.  I declare, it is a world of trouble, as Rachel says.  Here’s poor Mary Keith dying and what is to become of those two children of hers is more than I know.  She has a brother in British Columbia and she has written to him about them, but she hasn’t heard from him yet.”

“What are the children like?  How old are they?”

“Six past . . . they’re twins.”

“Oh, I’ve always been especially interested in twins ever since Mrs. Hammond had so many,” said Anne eagerly.  “Are they pretty?”

“Goodness, you couldn’t tell . . . they were too dirty.  Davy had been out making mud pies and Dora went out to call him in.  Davy pushed her headfirst into the biggest pie and then, because she cried, he got into it himself and wallowed in it to show her it was nothing to cry about.  Mary said Dora was really a very good child but that Davy was full of mischief.  He has never had any bringing up you might say.  His father died when he was a baby and Mary has been sick almost ever since.”

“I’m always sorry for children that have no bringing up,” said Anne soberly.  “You know I hadn’t any till you took me in hand.  I hope their uncle will look after them.  Just what relation is Mrs. Keith to you?”

“Mary?  None in the world.  It was her husband . . . he was our third cousin.  There’s Mrs. Lynde coming through the yard.  I thought she’d be up to hear about Mary.”

“Don’t tell her about Mr. Harrison and the cow,” implored Anne.

Marilla promised; but the promise was quite unnecessary, for Mrs. Lynde was no sooner fairly seated than she said,

“I saw Mr. Harrison chasing your Jersey out of his oats today when I was coming home from Carmody.  I thought he looked pretty mad.  Did he make much of a rumpus?”

Anne and Marilla furtively exchanged amused smiles.  Few things in Avonlea ever escaped Mrs. Lynde.  It was only that morning Anne had said,

“If you went to your own room at midnight, locked the door, pulled down the blind, and sneezed, Mrs. Lynde would ask you the next day how your cold was!”

“I believe he did,” admitted Marilla.  “I was away.  He gave Anne a piece of his mind.”