Mrs. Shaw was on the bench under the old elm, that stood midway between
parsonage and church. She had been rereading Uncle Paul's letter, and
to Pauline's wonder, there was something like a smile of amusement in
her eyes.
"Well, mother?" the girl asked.
"Well, dear, your father and I have talked the matter over, and we have
decided to allow you to accept your uncle's offer."
"But that--hateful condition! How is Hilary to get a chance--here in
Winton?"
"Who was it that I heard saying, only this morning, Pauline, that even
if Uncle Paul didn't agree, she really believed we might manage to have
a very pleasant summer here at home?"
"I know--but still, now that we know definitely--"
"We can go to work definitely to do even better."
"But how, mother!"
"That is what we must think over. Suppose you put your wits to work
right now. I must go down to Jane's for a few moments. After all,
Pauline, those promised twenty-fives can be used very pleasantly--even
in Winton."
"But it will still be Winton."
"Winton may develop some unexplored corners, some new outlooks."
Pauline looked rather doubtful; then, catching sight of a small
dejected-looking little figure in the swing, under the big cherry-tree
at the foot of the lawn, she asked, "I suppose I may tell Patience now,
mother? She really has been very good all this time of waiting.
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