That was a Jonah day for us all through.  Everything had gone wrong.  Ismay had spilled grease on her velvet coat, and the fit of the new blouse I was making was hopelessly askew, and the kitchen stove smoked and the bread was sour.  Moreover, Huldah Jane Keyson, our tried and trusty old family nurse and cook and general “boss,” had what she called the “realagy” in her shoulder; and, though Huldah Jane is as good an old creature as ever lived, when she has the “realagy” other people who are in the house want to get out of it and, if they can’t, feel about as comfortable as St. Lawrence on his gridiron.

And on top of this came Aunt Cynthia’s call and request.

“Dear me,” said Aunt Cynthia, sniffing, “don’t I smell smoke?  You girls must manage your range very badly.  Mine never smokes.  But it is no more than one might expect when two girls try to keep house without a man about the place.”

“We get along very well without a man about the place,” I said loftily.  Max hadn’t been in for four whole days and, though nobody wanted to see him particularly, I couldn’t help wondering why.  “Men are nuisances.”

“I dare say you would like to pretend you think so,” said Aunt Cynthia, aggravatingly.  “But no woman ever does really think so, you know.  I imagine that pretty Anne Shirley, who is visiting Ella Kimball, doesn’t.  I saw her and Dr. Irving out walking this afternoon, looking very well satisfied with themselves.  If you dilly-dally much longer, Sue, you will let Max slip through your fingers yet.”

That was a tactful thing to say to me, who had refused Max Irving so often that I had lost count.  I was furious, and so I smiled most sweetly on my maddening aunt.

“Dear Aunt, how amusing of you,” I said, smoothly.  “You talk as if I wanted Max.”

“So you do,” said Aunt Cynthia.

“If so, why should I have refused him time and again?” I asked, smilingly.  Right well Aunt Cynthia knew I had.  Max always told her.

“Goodness alone knows why,” said Aunt Cynthia, “but you may do it once too often and find yourself taken at your word.  There is something very fascinating about this Anne Shirley.”

“Indeed there is,” I assented.  “She has the loveliest eyes I ever saw.  She would be just the wife for Max, and I hope he will marry her.”

“Humph,” said Aunt Cynthia.  “Well, I won’t entice you into telling any more fibs.  And I didn’t drive out here to-day in all this wind to talk sense into you concerning Max.  I’m going to Halifax for two months and I want you to take charge of Fatima for me, while I am away.”

“Fatima!” I exclaimed.

“Yes.  I don’t dare to trust her with the servants.  Mind you always warm her milk before you give it to her, and don’t on any account let her run out of doors.”

I looked at Ismay and Ismay looked at me.  We knew we were in for it.  To refuse would mortally offend Aunt Cynthia.  Besides, if I betrayed any unwillingness, Aunt Cynthia would be sure to put it down to grumpiness over what she had said about Max, and rub it in for years.  But I ventured to ask, “What if anything happens to her while you are away?”