Billy Morrison,
nobody in Avonlea would have known what you meant at first guess.
"You must see that for yourself, Aunty," went on Mrs. William, hulling
strawberries nimbly with her large, firm, white fingers as she talked.
Mrs. William always improved every shining moment. "It is ten miles
to Kensington, and just think how late you would be getting back.
You are not able for such a drive. You wouldn't get over it for a month.
You know you are anything but strong this summer."
Aunty Nan sighed, and patted the tiny, furry, gray morsel of a
kitten in her lap with trembling fingers. She knew, better than
anyone else could know it, that she was not strong that summer.
In her secret soul, Aunty Nan, sweet and frail and timid under the burden
of her seventy years, felt with mysterious unmistakable prescience
that it was to be her last summer at the Gull Point Farm. But that was
only the more reason why she should go to hear little Joscelyn sing;
she would never have another chance. And oh, to hear little Joscelyn
sing just once--Joscelyn, whose voice was delighting thousands
out in the big world, just as in the years gone by it had delighted
Aunty Nan and the dwellers at the Gull Point Farm for a whole golden
summer with carols at dawn and dusk about the old place!
"Oh, I know I'm not very strong, Maria.
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