ot Jo. Nothing else matters."

"To you," said Aunt Jamesina darkly.

"Nor to Jo, either," retorted Phil. "You keep on pitying him. Why, pray?
I think he's to be envied. He's getting brains, beauty, and a heart of
gold in ME."

"It's well we know how to take your speeches," said Aunt Jamesina
patiently. "I hope you don't talk like that before strangers. What would
they think?"

"Oh, I don't want to know what they think. I don't want to see myself as
others see me. I'm sure it would be horribly uncomfortable most of the
time. I don't believe Burns was really sincere in that prayer, either."

"Oh, I daresay we all pray for some things that we really don't want, if
we were only honest enough to look into our hearts," owned Aunt Jamesina
candidly. "I've a notion that such prayers don't rise very far. _I_ used
to pray that I might be enabled to forgive a certain person, but I know
now I really didn't want to forgive her. When I finally got that I DID
want to I forgave her without having to pray about it."

"I can't picture you as being unforgiving for long," said Stella.

"Oh, I used to be. But holding spite doesn't seem worth while when you
get along in years."

"That reminds me," said Anne, and told the tale of John and Janet.

"And now tell us about that romantic scene you hinted so darkly at in
one of your letters," demanded Phil.

Anne acted out Samuel's proposal with great spirit. The girls shrieked
with laughter and Aunt Jamesina smiled.

"It isn't in good taste to make fun of your beaux," she said severely;
"but," she added calmly, "I always did it myself."

"Tell us about your beaux, Aunty," entreated Phil. "You must have had
any number of them."

"They're not in the past tense," retorted Aunt Jamesina. "I've got them
yet. There are three old widowers at home who have been casting sheep's
eyes at me for some time. You children needn't think you own all the
romance in the world."

"Widowers and sheep's eyes don't sound very romantic, Aunty."

"Well, no; but young folks aren't always romantic either. Some of my
beaux certainly weren't. I used to laugh at them scandalous, poor boys.
There was Jim Elwood--he was always in a sort of day-dream--never seemed
to sense what was going on. He didn't wake up to the fact that I'd said
'no' till a year after I'd said it. When he did get married his wife
fell out of the sleigh one night when they were driving home from church
and he never missed her. Then there wa