Pat turned away with a shiver. The peace of the old kitchen was in delightful contrast to the storm outside. The stove was glowing clear red in the dusk. Thursday was coiled up under it, thinking this was how things should be. It was so nice to be in this bright, warm room, supping Judy's hot pea soup and watching the reflection of the kitchen outside through the window. Pat loved to do that. It looked so uncanny and witchlike…so real yet so unreal…with Judy apparently calmly setting bread under the thrashing maple by the well.
( L.M. Montgomery )
[ Pat of Silver Bush ]
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