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that? Oh, yes, it was a tremendous funeral. She had a very large connection. There was over one hundred and twenty carriages in the procession. There was one or two funny things happened. I thought that die I would to see old Joe Bradshaw, who is an infidel and never darkens the door of a church, singing “Safe in the Arms of Jesus” with great gusto and fervour. He glories in singing – that’s why he never misses a funeral. Poor Mrs Bradshaw didn’t look much like singing – all wore out slaving. Old Joe starts out once in a while to buy her a present and brings home some new kind of farm machinery. Isn’t that like a man? But what else would you expect of a man who never goes to church, even a Methodist one? I was real thankful to see you and the young Doctor in the Presbyterian church your first Sunday. No doctor for me who isn’t a Presbyterian.’
    ‘We were in the Methodist church last Sunday evening,’ said Anne wickedly.
    ‘Oh, I s’pose Dr Blythe has to go to the Methodist church once in a while or he wouldn’t get the Methodist practice.’
    ‘We liked the sermon very much,’ declared Anne boldly. ‘And I thought the Methodist minister’s prayer was one of the most beautiful I ever heard.’
    ‘Oh, I’ve no doubt he can pray. I never heard anyone make more beautiful prayers than old Simon Bentley, who was always drunk, or hoping to be, and the drunker he was the better he prayed.’
    ‘The Methodist minister is very fine-looking,’ said Anne, for the benefit of the office door.
    ‘Yes, he’s quite ornamental,’ agreed Miss Cornelia. ‘Oh, and
very
ladylike. And he thinks that every girl who looks at him falls in love with him – as if a Methodist minister, wandering about like any Jew, was such a prize! If you and the young doctor take
my
advice you won’t have much to do with the Methodists. My motto is – if you
are
a Presbyterian,
be
a Presbyterian.’
    ‘Don’t you think that Methodists go to heaven as well as Presbyterians?’ asked Anne smilelessly.
    ‘That isn’t for
us
to decide. It’s in higher hands than ours,’ said Miss Cornelia solemnly. ‘But I ain’t going to associate with them on earth whatever I may have to do in heaven.
This
Methodist minister isn’t married. The last one they had was, and his wife was the silliest, flightiest little thing I ever saw. I told her husband once that he should have waited till she was grown up before he married her. He said he wanted to have the training of her. Wasn’t that like a man?’
    ‘It’s rather hard to decide just when people
are
grown up,’ laughed Anne.
    ‘That’s a true word, dearie. Some are grown up when they’re born, and others ain’t grown up when they’re eighty, believe
me
. That same Mrs Roderick I was speaking of never grew up. She was as foolish when she was a hundred as when she was ten.’
    ‘Perhaps that was why she lived so long,’ suggested Anne.
    ‘Maybe ’twas.
I
’d rather live fifty sensible years than a hundred foolish ones.’
    ‘But just think what a dull world it would be if everyone was sensible,’ pleaded Anne.
    Miss Cornelia disdained any skirmish of flippant epigram.
    ‘Mrs Roderick was a Milgrave, and the Milgraves never had much sense. Her nephew, Ebenezer Milgrave, used to be insane for years. He believed he was dead and used to rage at his wife because she wouldn’t bury him.
I
’d a-done it.’
    Miss Cornelia looked so grimly determined that Anne could almost see her with a spade in her hand.
    ‘Don’t you know
any
good husbands, Miss Bryant?’
    ‘Oh, yes, lots of them – over yonder,’ said Miss Cornelia, waving her hand through the open window towards the little graveyard of the church across the harbour.
    ‘But living – going about in the flesh?’ persisted Anne.
    ‘Oh, there’s a few, just to show that with God all things are possible,’ acknowledged Miss Cornelia reluctantly. ‘I don’t deny that an odd man here and there, if he’s caught young