Free Jane of Lantern Hill by L. M. Montgomery Page B

glances. A very pretty lady of perhaps forty-five or fifty, with large, pale blue eyes and smooth ripples of auburn hair around her placid, creamy face. Was this Aunt Irene?
    â€œJane, if you please,” she said politely and distinctly.
    â€œFor all the world like her grandmother Kennedy, Andrew,” Aunt Irene told her brother the next morning.
    Aunt Irene laughed…an amused little gurgle.
    â€œYou dear funny child! Of course it can be Jane. It can be just whatever you like. I am your Aunt Irene. But I suppose you’ve never heard of me?”
    â€œYes, I have.” Jane kissed Aunt Irene’s cheek obediently. “Grandmother told me to remember her to you.”
    â€œOh!” Something a little hard crept into Aunt Irene’s sweet voice. “That was very kind of her… very kind indeed. And now I suppose you’re wondering why your father isn’t here. He started…he lives out at Brookview, you know…but that dreadful old car of his broke down halfway. He phoned in to me that he couldn’t possibly get in tonight but would be along early in the morning and would I meet you and keep you for the night. Oh, Mrs. Stanley, you’re not going before I’ve thanked you for bringing our dear little girl safely down to us. We’re so much obliged to you.”
    â€œNot at all. It’s been a pleasure,” said Mrs. Stanley, politely and untruthfully. She hurried away, thankful to be relieved of the odd, silent child who had looked all the way down as if she were an early Christian martyr on her path to the lions.
    Jane felt herself alone in the universe. Aunt Irene did not make a bit of difference. Jane did not like Aunt Irene. And she liked herself still less. What was the matter with her? Couldn’t she like anybody ? Other girls liked some of their uncles and aunts at least.
    She followed Aunt Irene out to the waiting taxi.
    â€œIt’s a terrible night, lovey…but the country needs rain…we’ve been suffering for weeks…you must have brought it with you. But we’ll soon be home. I’m so glad to have you. I’ve been telling your father he ought to let you stay with me anyhow. It’s really foolish of him to take you out to Brookview. He only boards there, you know…two rooms over Jim Meade’s store. Of course, he comes to town in the winter. But…well, perhaps you don’t know, Jane darling, how very determined your father can be when he makes up his mind.”
    â€œI don’t know anything about him,” said Jane desperately.
    â€œI suppose not. I suppose your mother has never talked to you about him?”
    â€œNo,” Jane answered reluctantly. Somehow, Aunt Irene’s question seemed charged with hidden meaning. Jane was to learn that this was characteristic of Aunt Irene’s questions. Aunt Irene squeezed Jane’s hand…which she had held ever since she had helped her into the taxi…sympathetically.
    â€œYou poor child! I know exactly how you feel. And I couldn’t feel it was the right thing for your father to send for you. I’m sure I don’t know why he did it. I couldn’t fathom his motive…although your father and I have always been very close to each other… very close, lovey. I am ten years older than he is and I’ve always been more like a mother to him than a sister. Here we are at home, lovey.”
    Home! The house into which Jane was ushered was cozy and sleek, just like Aunt Irene herself but Jane felt about as much at home as a sparrow alone on an alien housetop. In the living room Aunt Irene took off her hat and coat, patted her hair, and put her arm around Jane.
    â€œNow let me look you over. I hadn’t a chance in the station. And I haven’t seen you since you were three years old.”
    Jane didn’t want to be looked over and shrank back a little stiffly. She felt that she was being appraised, and in spite of Aunt