Chronicles of Avonlea HTML version

IV. Little Joscelyn
"It simply isn't to be thought of, Aunty Nan," said Mrs. William Morrison decisively. Mrs.
William Morrison was one of those people who always speak decisively. If they merely
announce that they are going to peel the potatoes for dinner their hearers realize that
there is no possible escape for the potatoes. Moreover, these people are always given
their full title by everybody. William Morrison was called Billy oftener than not; but, if you
had asked for Mrs. 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." said Aunty Nan pleadingly, "but I am strong
enough for that. Indeed I am. I could stay at Kensington over night with George's folks,
you know, and so it wouldn't tire me much. I do so want to hear Joscelyn sing. Oh, how I
love little Joscelyn."
"It passes my understanding, the way you hanker after that child," cried Mrs. William
impatiently. "Why, she was a perfect stranger to you when she came here, and she was
here only one summer!"
"But oh, such a summer!" said Aunty Nan softly. "We all loved little Joscelyn. She just
seemed like one of our own. She was one of God's children, carrying love with them
everywhere. In some ways that little Anne Shirley the Cuthberts have got up there at
Green Gables reminds me of her, though in other ways they're not a bit alike. Joscelyn
was a beauty."