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“I told young Peter Berkley that I’d give him my collection of postage stamps if he’d come around. I’m looking for him any minute.”

“That is nice little Mrs. Peter Berkley’s boy? The brother of my extraordinary namesake, little Anne? She is Methuselette on one side and an innocent baby on the other. I could greatly enjoy cultivating little Anne Berkley’s acquaintance,” said Miss Carrington. “I complained of difficulty in threading a needle the other day—it was the sewing afternoon at the hospital, an occasion which I grace, but hardly serve—and Mrs. Berkley had brought Anne to thread needles for us. That small elf changeling urged me to make a pilgrimage to Beaupré to get my sight restored, because, forsooth, my name being ‛Anne’ the good Saint Anne would be likely to help me! The mother is a remarkably nice, genuine person; pity she’s so devote!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” murmured Kit. “It seems to suit the Berkleys.”

“That’s true. And of course if one is going in for that sort of thing the only possible logic lies in the Old Way. I can see consistency in being Other Worldly, but to be unworldly, my boy, is, as I’ve been eloquently telling you, utter nonsense,” said Miss Carrington, graciously. “I’ll go up now and get Minerva to read me into a nap. Tell young Peter to come another time and bring that clever, queer little sister of his, will you? Anne Berkley and Anne Carrington are far enough apart in years and views to become cronies.”