“I noticed that Mr. Langley looked sort of sad this morning at church, and I was trying to scare up a reason,” Anna returned. “Sad!” cried Miss Penny in real distress. “O Anna!” “Well, tired, perhaps,” the girl amended. “Do you suppose, Anna, that it can be because of his lifting me in and out of the phaeton every Sunday?” Miss Penny asked almost tragically. “If I thought it was that, I wouldn’t go to meeting at all--though I should miss it--I don’t know how I should get along without it. And then he might be hurt. Or--I suppose I could get that Luke Thompson--not his brother, you know--to help me. He isn’t very bright, and yet--I hardly know whether I could offer him money. And yet how could I ask him unless I did? And I should have to explain to Mr. Langley--but so I should if I stayed at home. Only----” “I could lift you myself. I could run three times round the house with you in my arms,” Anna assured her. “It’s nothing at all to Mr. Langley. He’s got muscle to burn. I didn’t mean that. I meant--I don’t know exactly, but I believe he’s tired at heart after all these years of well-doing. I’ll tell you what his expression this morning makes me think of--pa’s Aunt Marthy he’s always telling of who was taken with her last sickness in the dead of winter and had a terrible hankering for dandelion greens. She said she knew she’d get well if she could have just one mess of ’em--and the snow three feet deep on the ground. And when it came to the end and they asked her if she had any last wishes, she said: ‘Thank you kindly, I could relish a mess of dandelions.’ And while she was waiting for them, she died.” “We’re all more or less like that, wanting something or other beyond our reach,” commented Miss Penny with a smile and a sigh, “But I shouldn’t think it of Mr. Langley.” “Do you know, Miss Penny, I believe I’ll run in to see Mrs. Langley some day soon,” Anna remarked. Miss Penny looked as if she believed Anna had suddenly gone mad. “She might take to me where she didn’t to other people--some do, you know,” the girl went on coolly. “And some people like just to look at me--on account of my hair, I dare say, for otherwise I’m not much to look at. It’s a yard long, you know, if I pull it out perfectly straight.” “Anna, dear, there are moments when I almost think you are vain,” said Miss Penny smiling. “But listen to me, child. Reuben stayed at the parsonage for weeks after his father passed away, and Mrs. Langley would never see him even once. And he was the sweetest little fellow! Mr. Langley would have liked to keep him, but of course he couldn’t under the circumstances. And so--you know how it all came about that he came here, don’t you, Anna?” “I have heard it many a time. It’s one of pa’s favourite yarn. But it’s a good story and worth repeating just the same,” Anna returned.