were thinking of nothing else. "We must move the furniture out
of this room and set the supper-table here. The dining-room is
too small. We must borrow Mrs. Bell's forks and spoons. She
offered to lend them. I'd never have been willing to ask her.
The damask table cloths with the ribbon pattern must be bleached
to-morrow. Nobody else in Avonlea has such tablecloths. And
we'll put the little dining-room table on the hall landing,
upstairs, for the presents."

Rachel was not thinking about the presents, or the housewifely
details of the wedding. Her breath was coming quicker, and the
faint blush on her smooth cheeks had deepened to crimson. She
knew that a critical moment was approaching. With a steady hand
she wrote the last name on her list and drew a line under it.

"Well, have you finished?" asked her mother impatiently. "Hand
it here and let me look over it to make sure that you haven't
left anybody out that should be in."

Rachel passed the paper across the table in silence. The room
seemed to her to have grown very still. She could hear the flies
buzzing on the panes, the soft purr of the wind about the low
eaves and through the apple boughs, the jerky beating of her own
heart. She felt frightened and nervous, but resolute.

Mrs. Spencer glanced down the list, murmuring the names aloud and
nodding approval at each. But when she came to the last name, she
did not utter it. She cast a black glance at Rachel, and a spark
leaped up in the depths of the pale eyes. On her face were
anger, amazement, incredulity, the last predominating.