rusted. But he said he would do his best to remember and she had to
be contented with that.

Charlotta the Fourth felt that some mystery pervaded the stone house
that afternoon . . . a mystery from which she was excluded. Miss Lavendar
roamed about the garden in a distracted fashion. Anne, too, seemed
possessed by a demon of unrest, and walked to and fro and went up and
down. Charlotta the Fourth endured it till patience ceased to be a
virtue; then she confronted Anne on the occasion of that romantic young
person's third aimless peregrination through the kitchen.

"Please, Miss Shirley, ma'am," said Charlotta the Fourth, with an
indignant toss of her very blue bows, "it's plain to be seen you and
Miss Lavendar have got a secret and I think, begging your pardon if I'm
too forward, Miss Shirley, ma'am, that it's real mean not to tell me
when we've all been such chums."

"Oh, Charlotta dear, I'd have told you all about it if it were my
secret . . . but it's Miss Lavendar's, you see. However, I'll tell you
this much . . . and if nothing comes of it you must never breathe a word
about it to a living soul. You see, Prince Charming is coming tonight.
He came long ago, but in a foolish moment went away and wandered afar
and forgot the secret of the magic pathway to the enchanted castle,
where the princess was weeping her faithful heart out for him. But
at last he remembered it again and the princess is waiting still. . .
because nobody but her own dear prince could carry her off."

"Oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am, what is that in prose?" gasped the mystified
Charlotta.

Anne laughed.

"In prose, an old friend of Miss Lavendar's is coming to see her
tonight."

"Do you mean an old beau of hers?" demanded the literal Charlotta.

"That is probably what I do mean . . . in prose," answered Anne gravely.
"It is Paul's father . . . Stephen Irving. And goodness knows what will
come of it, but let us hope for the best, Charlotta."

"I hope that he'll marry Miss Lavendar," was Charlotta's unequivocal
response. "Some women's intended from the start to be old maids, and I'm
afraid I'm one of them, Miss Shirley, ma'am, because I've awful little
patience with the men. But Miss Lavendar never was. And I've been awful
worried, thinking what on earth she'd do when I got so big I'd HAVE to
go to Boston. There ain't any more girls in our family and dear
knows what she'd do if she got some stranger that might laugh at her
pretendings and leave