“He ain’t home yet. Likely he’s snug at Blairs’. 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 other lads. She'll go out of her mind yet, like her old grandmother Lincoln, if she doesn’t ease up. l’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
