te well
that Prissy, in her secret soul, was hankering to be married. So was
Emmeline, too--but nobody wanted to help HER to a husband.

The upshot of my meditations was that I asked Stephen down to dinner
with us from church one day. I had heard a rumour that he was going to
see Lizzie Pye over at Avonlea, and I knew it was time to be stirring,
if anything were to be done. If it had been Jane Miranda I don't
know that I'd have bothered; but Lizzie Pye wouldn't have done for a
stepmother for Althea's boys at all. She was too bad-tempered, and as
mean as second skimmings besides.

Stephen came. He seemed dull and moody, and not much inclined to talk.
After dinner I gave Thomas a hint. I said,

"You go to bed and have your nap. I want to talk to Stephen."

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and went. He probably thought I was
brewing up lots of trouble for myself, but he didn't say anything. As
soon as he was out of the way I casually remarked to Stephen that I
understood that he was going to take one of my neighbours away and that
I couldn't be sorry, though she was an excellent neighbour and I would
miss her a great deal.

"You won't have to miss her much, I reckon," said Stephen grimly. "I've
been told I'm not wanted there."

I was surprised to hear Stephen come out so plump and plain about
it, for I hadn't expected to get at the root of the matter so easily.
Stephen wasn't the confidential kind. But it really seemed to be a
relief to him to talk about it; I never saw a man feeling so sore about
anything. He told me the whole story.

Prissy had written him a letter--he fished it out of his pocket and gave
it to me to read. It was in Prissy's prim, pretty little writing, sure
enough, and it just said that his attentions were "unwelcome," and would
he be "kind enough to refrain from offering them." Not much wonder the
poor man went to see Lizzie Pye!

"Stephen, I'm surprised at you for thinking that Prissy Strong wrote
that letter," I said.

"It's in her handwriting," he said stubbornly.

"Of course it is. 'The hand is the hand of Esau, but the voice is the
voice of Jacob,'" I said, though I wasn't sure whether the quotation was
exactly appropriate. "Emmeline composed that letter and made Prissy copy
it out. I know that as well as if I'd seen her do it, and you ought to
have known it, too."

"If I thought that I'd show Emmeline I could get Prissy in spite of
her," said Stephen savagely. "But if Prissy doesn't wa