I do wonder if Thyra suspicions
that he goes after Damaris. I've never dared to hint it to her.
She'd be as liable to fly at me, tooth and claw, as not."
"Well, she picks out a precious queer night for moon-gazing,"
said Carl, who was a jolly soul and took life as he found it.
"It's bitter cold--there'll be a hard frost. It's a pity she
can't get it grained into her that the boy is grown up and must
have his fling like the other lads. She'll go out of her mind
yet, like her old grandmother Lincoln, if she doesn't ease up.
I've a notion to go down to the bridge and reason a bit with
her."
"Indeed, and you'll do no such thing!" cried Cynthia. "Thyra
Carewe is best left alone, if she is in a tantrum. She's like no
other woman in Avonlea--or out of it. I'd as soon meddle with a
tiger as her, if she's rampaging about Chester. I don't envy
Damaris Garland her life if she goes in there. Thyra'd sooner
strangle her than not, I guess."
"You women are all terrible hard on Thyra," said Carl,
good-naturedly. He had been in love with Thyra, himself, long
ago, and he still liked her in a friendly fashion. He always
stood up for her when the Avonlea women ran her down. He felt
troubled about her all night, recalling her as she paced the
bridge. He wished he had gone back, in spite of Cynthia.
When Chester came home he met his mother on the bridge. In the
faint, yet penetrating, moonlight they looked curiously alike,
but Chester had the milder face.
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