Mrs. Eben, sitting at the other end of the small tea-table that was drawn up against the window, was a thin little woman, with a very sharp nose and light, faded blue eyes.  She looked like a woman whose opinions were always very decided and warranted to wear.

“How does Sara like teaching at Newbridge?” asked Mrs. Jonas, helping herself a second time to Mrs. Eben’s matchless black fruit cake, and thereby bestowing a subtle compliment which Mrs. Eben did not fail to appreciate.

“Well, I guess she likes it pretty well—­better than down at White Sands, anyway,” answered Mrs. Eben.  “Yes, I may say it suits her.  Of course it’s a long walk there and back.  I think it would have been wiser for her to keep on boarding at Morrison’s, as she did all winter, but Sara is bound to be home all she can.  And I must say the walk seems to agree with her.”

“I was down to see Jonas’ aunt at Newbridge last night,” said Mrs. Jonas, “and she said she’d heard that Sara had made up her mind to take Lige Baxter at last, and that they were to be married in the fall.  She asked me if it was true.  I said I didn’t know, but I hoped to mercy it was.  Now, is it, Louisa?”

“Not a word of it,” said Mrs. Eben sorrowfully.  “Sara hasn’t any more notion of taking Lige than ever she had.  I’m sure it’s not my fault.  I’ve talked and argued till I’m tired.  I declare to you, Amelia, I am terribly disappointed.  I’d set my heart on Sara’s marrying Lige—­and now to think she won’t!”

“She is a very foolish girl,” said Mrs. Jonas, judicially.  “If Lige Baxter isn’t good enough for her, who is?”

“And he’s so well off,” said Mrs. Eben, “and does such a good business, and is well spoken of by every one.  And that lovely new house of his at Newbridge, with bay windows and hardwood floors!  I’ve dreamed and dreamed of seeing Sara there as mistress.”

“Maybe you’ll see her there yet,” said Mrs. Jonas, who always took a hopeful view of everything, even of Sara’s contrariness.  But she felt discouraged, too.  Well, she had done her best.

If Lige Baxter’s broth was spoiled it was not for lack of cooks.  Every Andrews in Avonlea had been trying for two years to bring about a match between him and Sara, and Mrs. Jonas had borne her part valiantly.

Mrs. Eben’s despondent reply was cut short by the appearance of Sara herself.  The girl stood for a moment in the doorway and looked with a faintly amused air at her aunts.  She knew quite well that they had been discussing her, for Mrs. Jonas, who carried her conscience in her face, looked guilty, and Mrs. Eben had not been able wholly to banish her aggrieved expression.

Sara put away her books, kissed Mrs. Jonas’ rosy cheek, and sat down at the table.  Mrs. Eben brought her some fresh tea, some hot rolls, and a little jelly-pot of the apricot preserves Sara liked, and she cut some more fruit cake for her in moist plummy slices.  She might be out of patience with Sara’s “contrariness,” but she spoiled and petted her for all that, for the girl was the very core of her childless heart.