Kent Knowles: Quahaug by Joseph C. Lincoln

Two weeks later we left Bancroft's and went to Mayberry. Two weeks only, and yet in that two weeks all our plans -- if our indefinite visions of irresponsible flitting about Great Britain and the continent might be called plans -- had changed utterly. Our pilgrimage was, apparently, ended -- it had become an indefinite stay. We were no longer pilgrims, but tenants, tenants in an English rectory, of all places in the world. I, the Cape Cod quahaug, had become an English country gentleman -- or a country gentleman in England -- for the summer, at least.

Little Frank -- Miss Frances Morley -- was responsible for the change, of course. Her sudden materialization and the freak of fortune which had thrown her, weak and ill, upon our hands, were responsible for everything. For how much more, how many other changes, she would be responsible the future only could answer. And the future would answer in its own good, or bad, time. My conundrum "What are we going to do with her? " was as much of a puzzle as ever. For my part I gave it up. Sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof -- much more than sufficient.