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 days there, Diana—all our old springs and blossoms? The beds of flowers that Paul saw there are the roses that have bloomed for us in the past?”

“Don’t!” said Diana. “You make me feel as if we were old women with everything in life behind us.”

“I think I’ve almost felt as if we were since I heard about poor Ruby,” said Anne. “If it is true that she is dying any other sad thing might be true, too.”

“You don’t mind calling in at Elisha Wright’s for a moment, do you?” asked Diana. “Mother asked me to leave this little dish of jelly for Aunt Atossa.”

“Who is Aunt Atossa?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? She’s Mrs. Samson Coates of Spencervale—Mrs. Elisha Wright’s aunt. She’s father’s aunt, too. Her husband died last winter and she was left very poor and lonely, so the Wrights took her to live with them. Mother thought we ought to take her, but father 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.