“I don’t suppose Lige knew anything about it,” said Mrs. Rachel indignantly.

“Well, he’d ought to, then.  If he isn’t a knave he’s a fool,” said Mrs. Harmon Andrews, who had formerly been among his warmest partisans.  “He should have kept watch on Peter and found out how the business was being run.  Well, Sara, you were the level-headest of us all—­I’ll admit that now.  A nice mess it would be if you were married or engaged to Lige, and him left without a cent—­even if he can clear his character!”

“There is a good deal of talk about Peter, and swindling, and a lawsuit,” said Mrs. George Pye, quilting industriously.  “Most of the Newbridge folks think it’s all Peter’s fault, and that Lige isn’t to blame.  But you can’t tell.  I dare say Lige is as deep in the mire as Peter.  He was always a little too good to be wholesome, I thought.”

There was a clink of glass at the cupboard, as Sara set the tray down.  She came forward and stood behind Mrs. Rachel Lynde’s chair, resting her shapely hands on that lady’s broad shoulders.  Her face was very pale, but her flashing eyes sought and faced defiantly Mrs. George Pye’s cat-like orbs.  Her voice quivered with passion and contempt.

“You’ll all have a fling at Lige Baxter, now that he’s down.  You couldn’t say enough in his praise, once.  I’ll not stand by and hear it hinted that Lige Baxter is a swindler.  You all know perfectly well that Lige is as honest as the day, if he is so unfortunate as to have an unprincipled brother.  You, Mrs. Pye, know it better than any one, yet you come here and run him down the minute he’s in trouble.  If there’s another word said here against Lige Baxter I’ll leave the room and the house till you’re gone, every one of you.”

She flashed a glance around the quilt that cowed the gossips.  Even Mrs. George Pye’s eyes flickered and waned and quailed.  Nothing more was said until Sara had picked up her glasses and marched from the room.  Even then they dared not speak above a whisper.  Mrs. Pye, alone, smarting from snub, ventured to ejaculate, “Pity save us!” as Sara slammed the door.

For the next fortnight gossip and rumor held high carnival in Avonlea and Newbridge, and Mrs. Eben grew to dread the sight of a visitor.

“They’re bound to talk about the Baxter failure and criticize Lige,” she deplored to Mrs. Jonas.  “And it riles Sara up so terrible.  She used to declare that she hated Lige, and now she won’t listen to a word against him.  Not that I say any, myself.  I’m sorry for him, and I believe he’s done his best.  But I can’t stop other people from talking.”

One evening Harmon Andrews came in with a fresh budget of news.