beyond me,” said Anne helplessly. She thought of Ludovic Speed. But the cases were not parallel. John Douglas was not a man of Ludovic’s type.
“You should show more spirit, Janet,” she went on resolutely. “Why didn’t you send him about his business long ago?”
“I couldn’t,” said poor Janet pathetically. “You see, Anne, I’ve always been awful fond of John. He might just as well keep coming as not, for there was never anybody else I’d want, so it didn’t matter.”
“But it might have made him speak out like a man,” urged Anne.
Janet shook her head.
“No, I guess not. I was afraid to try, anyway, for fear he’d think I meant it and just go. I suppose I’m a poor-spirited creature, but that is how I feel. And I can’t help it.”
“Oh, you COULD help it, Janet. It isn’t too late yet. Take a firm stand. Let that man know you are not going to endure his shillyshallying any longer. I’LL back you up.”
“I dunno,” said Janet hopelessly. “I dunno if I could ever get up enough spunk. Things have drifted so long. But I’ll think it over.”
Anne felt that she was disappointed in John Douglas. She had liked him so well, and she had not thought him the sort of man who would play fast and loose with a woman’s feelings for twenty years. He certainly should be taught a lesson, and Anne felt vindictively that she would enjoy seeing the process. Therefore she was delighted when Janet told her, as they were going to prayer-meeting the next night, that she meant to show some “sperrit.”
“I’ll let John Douglas see I’m not going to be trodden on any longer.”
“You are perfectly right,” said Anne emphatically.
When prayer-meeting was over John Douglas came up with his usual request. Janet looked frightened but resolute.
“No, thank you,” she said icily. “I know the road home pretty well alone. I ought to, seeing I’ve been traveling it for forty years. So you needn’t trouble yourself, MR. Douglas.”
Anne was looking at John Douglas; and, in that brilliant moonlight, she saw the last twist of the rack again. Without a word he turned and strode down the road.
“Stop! Stop!” Anne called wildly after him, not caring in the least for the other dumbfounded onlookers. “Mr. Douglas, stop! Come back.”
John Douglas stopped but he did not come back. Anne flew down the road, caught his arm and fairly dragged him back to Janet.
“You must come back,” she said imploringly. “It’s all a mistake, Mr. Douglas — all my fault. I made Janet do it. She didn’t want to — but it’s all right now, isn’t it, Janet?”
Without a word Janet took his arm and walked away. Anne followed them meekly home and slipped in by the back door.
“Well, you are a nice person to back me up,” said Janet sarcastically.
“I couldn’t help it, Janet,” said Anne repentantly. “I just felt as if I had stood by and seen murder done. I HAD to run after him.”
“Oh, I’m just as glad you did. When I saw John Douglas making off down that road I just felt as if every little bit of joy and happiness that was left in my life was going with him. It was an awful feeling.”
“Did he ask you why you did it?” asked Anne.
“No, he never said a word about it,” replied Janet dully.
Chapter XXXIV.
John Douglas Speaks at Last
Anne was not without a feeble hope that something might come of it after all. But nothing did. John Douglas came and took Janet driving, and walked home from prayer-meeting with her, as he had been doing for twenty years, and as he seemed likely to do for twenty years more. The summer waned. Anne taught her school and wrote letters and studied a little. Her walks to and from school were pleasant. She always went by way of the swamp; it was a lovely place — a boggy soil, green with the greenest of mossy hillocks; a silvery brook meandered through it and spruces stood erectly, their boughs a-trail with gray-green mosses, their roots overgrown with all sorts of woodland lovelinesses.
Nevertheless, Anne found life in Valley Road a little monotonous. To be sure, there was one diverting incident.
She had not seen the lank, tow-headed Samuel of the peppermints since the evening of his call, save for chance meetings on the road. But one warm August night he appeared, and solemnly seated himself on the rustic bench by the porch. He wore his usual working habiliments, consisting of varipatched trousers, a blue jean shirt, out at the elbows, and a ragged straw hat. He was chewing a straw and he kept on chewing it while he looked solemnly at Anne. Anne laid her book aside with a sigh and took up her doily. Conversation with Sam was really out of the question.
After a long silence Sam suddenly spoke.
“I’m leaving over there,” he said abruptly, waving his straw in the direction of the neighboring house.
“Oh, are you?” said Anne politely.
“Yep.”
“And where are you going now?”
“Wall, I’ve been thinking some of gitting a place of my own. There’s one that’d suit me over at Millersville. But ef I rents it I’ll want a woman.”
“I suppose so,” said Anne vaguely.
“Yep.”
There was another long silence. Finally Sam removed his straw again and said,
“Will yeh hev me?”
“Wh — a — t!” gasped Anne.
“Will yeh hev me?”
“Do you mean — MARRY you?” queried poor Anne feebly.
“Yep.”
“Why, I’m hardly acquainted with you,” cried Anne indignantly.
“But yeh’d git acquainted with me after we was married,” said Sam.
Anne gathered up her poor dignity.
“Certainly I won’t marry you,” she said haughtily.
“Wall, yeh might do worse,” expostulated Sam. “I’m a good worker and I’ve got some money in the bank.”
“Don’t speak of this to me again. Whatever put such an idea into your head?” said Anne, her sense of humor getting the better of her wrath. It was such an absurd situation.
“Yeh’re a likely-looking girl and hev a right-smart way o’ stepping,” said Sam.
