`` But I did n't . He threw me over , '' said Nancy , plaintively , looking afar over the low-lying fields and a feathery young spruce valley to the white buildings of the Wright farm , glowing rosily in the sunset light when all the rest of Avonlea was scarfing itself in shadows . There was laughter in her eyes . Louisa could not pierce beneath that laughter to find if there were anything under it . `` Fudge ! '' said Louisa . `` What on earth did you and Peter quarrel about ? '' she added , curiously . `` I 've often wondered , '' parried Nancy . `` And you 've never seen him since ? '' reflected Louisa . `` No . Has he changed much ? '' `` Well , some . He is gray and kind of tired-looking . But it is n't to be wondered at -- living the life he does . He has n't had a housekeeper for two years -- not since his old aunt died . He just lives there alone and cooks his own meals . I 've never been in the house , but folks say the disorder is something awful . '' `` Yes , I should n't think Peter was cut out for a tidy housekeeper , '' said Nancy lightly , dragging up more mint .
`` Just think , Louisa , if it had n't been for that old quarrel I might be Mrs. Peter Wright at this very moment , mother XXXXX the aforesaid supposed half dozen , and vexing my soul over Peter 's meals and socks and cows . ''
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