ather put his
foot down. Live with Aunt Atossa he would not."

"Is she so terrible?" asked Anne absently.

"You'll probably see what she's like before we can get away," said Diana
significantly. "Father says she has a face like a hatchet--it cuts the
air. But her tongue is sharper still."

Late as it was Aunt Atossa was cutting potato sets in the Wright
kitchen. She wore a faded old wrapper, and her gray hair was decidedly
untidy. Aunt Atossa did not like being "caught in a kilter," so she went
out of her way to be disagreeable.

"Oh, so you're Anne Shirley?" she said, when Diana introduced Anne.
"I've heard of you." Her tone implied that she had heard nothing good.
"Mrs. Andrews was telling me you were home. She said you had improved a
good deal."

There was no doubt Aunt Atossa thought there was plenty of room for
further improvement. She ceased not from cutting sets with much energy.

"Is it any use to ask you to sit down?" she inquired sarcastically. "Of
course, there's nothing very entertaining here for you. The rest are all
away."

"Mother sent you this little pot of rhubarb jelly," said Diana
pleasantly. "She made it today and thought you might like some."

"Oh, thanks," said Aunt Atossa sourly. "I never fancy your mother's
jelly--she always makes it too sweet. However, I'll try to worry some
down. My appetite's been dreadful poor this spring. I'm far from well,"
continued Aunt Atossa solemnly, "but still I keep a-doing. People who
can't work aren't wanted here. If it isn't too much trouble will you be
condescending enough to set the jelly in the pantry? I'm in a hurry to
get these spuds done tonight. I suppose you two LADIES never do anything
like this. You'd be afraid of spoiling your hands."

"I used to cut potato sets before we rented the farm," smiled Anne.

"I do it yet," laughed Diana. "I cut sets three days last week. Of
course," she added teasingly, "I did my hands up in lemon juice and kid
gloves every night after it."

Aunt Atossa sniffed.

"I suppose you got that notion out of some of those silly magazines you
read so many of. I wonder your mother allows you. But she always spoiled
you. We all thought when George married her she wouldn't be a suitable
wife for him."

Aunt Atossa sighed heavily, as if all forebodings upon the occasion of
George Barry's marriage had been amply and darkly fulfilled.

"Going, are you?" she inquired, as the girls rose. "Well, I suppose you
can't find much