The trip down to the barn was fine, it was the one back up that had Matthew slowing down as though the house stood at the top of a high mountain. His pace had gradually slowed over the years, and he knew even before he found his first grey hair that time had commenced its ceaseless march. Maintaining the farm, his pride and joy, was just that little bit harder each year and he wondered how long he could keep it up and how they would fare if he faltered.

Standing around the fire pit at the mercantile a solution came his way. He'd taken his place there years ago, standing with his neighbours as an equal. A quiet man, they understood his reluctance to engage in banter but grudgingly gave him his space as an honoured member of the local community. "Did you hear the news?" said Silas Pye, the sort of man who always seemed to know what was going on. "The Fox's over at Bright River are sending away for a home boy. Need help running that farm of theirs."

"It's a mighty big steading."

"That it is."

"I reckon they'll need two or three of 'n."

Their discussion faded into the background as Matthew considered such an idea. A boy, eh. He could get a boy to help on the farm. All he had to do now was convince his sister. He bade his neighbours a good afternoon before mounting the horse for the ride home. She'd be against it he knew that much at least. Theirs was a private life, not given to receiving visitors and change would be unwelcome, but he couldn't manage the farm indefinitely.

Just a quick glance, that was all. Almost so brief she barely saw it out of the corner of her eye. Only he'd been doing it all night now and the night before. He had something on his mind, that much she knew. But best to leave it for the time being else like a frightened bird Matthew would retreat and she'd never get to the bottom of it.

Another glance. "Mm?"

"Nothin'."

Marilla sighed, frustrated beyond measure she eventually said, "I wish you'd tell me what's on your mind."

Matthew sniffed and wiped his nose, keen to speak but still uncertain. He got to his feet, knocked the ashes out of his pipe saying, "well, I'm off to bed." Leaving Marilla in his wake wondering what was going on in that head of his.

One moment Matthew was forking hay like normal and the next he was on his knees, a stabbing tightness crossing his chest. He blinked for a few moments panting, feeling the pain intensify before sinking to the floor.

Marilla found him there amongst the hay piles having wondered why he had not come to the house for his tea. "Matthew!" she called, her blood running cold. "Matthew!"

He opened his eyes and took a deep breath looking up at her, "eh?"

"Matthew! Are you quite well?"

He blinked several times, "I'm fine, I just," he made as though to get off the floor but found himself unable to move. "I just, I…"

"Stay there, Matthew. Don't move, now." Casting her eyes around she found an old horse blanket and placed it over him saying, "you'll catch your death down there. Now just wait, I'll run down to Rachel's." Before Matthew had a chance to say he would be alright in a moment she had disappeared.

While she was gone, he had time to reflect upon his situation. The last thing he remembered was deciding to fork the hay, a job he did every day. Peering past his toes it appeared he'd started; scattered wisps of hay informing him, but for some reason had not finished it. He wasn't sure what had happened next, except that Marilla had appeared out of nowhere concern lacing her words.

They got him to bed, Thomas Lynde and his eldest boy doing the bulk of the work while Matthew weakly protested. In truth it was the strained look on Marilla's face that forced him to accept their help. His usually stoic sister was worried, that much was sure and certain.

The doctor prescribed a heart tonic which if nothing else forced him to take a break as sleep overcame him whenever he took the foul-tasting stuff. Marilla developing a habit of forcing it upon him whenever she thought he looked a bit peaky.

They never spoke outwardly of his troubles, that was not their way, but it informed their thoughts that autumn.

Just before Christmas they received a visitor. Matthew had been busy with a sick animal the night before and had forgotten to deliver extra firewood, so he had been in the parlour when she spoke. Mrs Alexandra Spencer broke her news just as the tea was poured. "We've been thinking of getting a girl from the asylum," she pronounced.

"A girl?" Marilla spilled the tea in her shock.

"Yes, well we could do with the help you know. I find the housework strenuous these days. The preacher was talking about it a few weeks back and Mr Spencer and I have discussed it since, but we'll wait until Spring which will give me enough time to get the house ready. Be nice to have an extra hand about the place. We'll educate her of course, as good Christians should."

"An asylum girl," Marilla said over dinner that evening. "Well, I must say I am surprised. Mrs Spencer never seemed the type. Though on reflection, quite what that type consists of, I can't say."

Matthew cleared his throat, "you don't think we could get one too, do you?"

Marilla darted a sharp look his way. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, my hearts not in the best of shape as you know." Marilla smiled at him ruefully, who should know better than she, Matthew had not collapsed again, but only because she took judicial care, dosing him up with the tonic whenever he looked tired. She wasn't sure how much good it did, but at least it forced him to rest. "Might be right handy, I don't mean we'd get a girl, but it might be good to have a boy about the place. If you're not happy with a child from the asylum perhaps we could get a home boy."

"Oh no you don't, no London-street Arabs for me. I'd only accept a Nova Scotian." Marilla stopped knowing she'd been outsmarted.

The conversation came up over and again through the long winter. Marilla unsure, stating her worries. Matthew calmly restating his argument. "I just don't know, Matthew. It's been you and I, all these years. How would we manage a boy?"

"I hate to admit it, Marilla, even to you. But I'm going to need help. I'd get a French boy, but everyone says they're so unreliable; no sooner do you get them trained to your ways than they're off to the canneries. Mr Barry's lost a few that way. I don't want that to happen to us."

Marilla listened to him speak, she felt she owed him that much. Certainly his 'turns' as she had come to think of them, worried her more than she could say. And the farm was hard work. Matthew wasn't getting any younger.

Still, she was reluctant to make a hard decision. She felt there was much to consider. "But a boy," she asked Matthew over dinner one night. "I mean really, think about it, what do we know about boys?"

"I was one, once."

Marilla scoffed, "a long time ago. And do you mean to educate him?"

"I reckon so. You mind what Mrs Spencer said, it's the Christian thing to do."

"So, he'd be off at school for a fair slice of the time."

"Well, yes but there are still chores he could do. I kinda like the idea of having a hand about the place, Marilla." His wistful tone moved her, she relished their quiet life, but perhaps Matthew was lonely. At least she had the Ladies' Aid and Rachel, Matthew only had her. "I dunno, Matthew. I just don't know," she told him shaking her head over her knitting.

They discussed it on and off over the winter. It weighed on their minds so that one had only to comment or answer a long ago asked question, and the other knew exactly what they were talking about.

When apple blossoms coated the avenue signalling the end of the long winter, word came to them that Mrs Spencer was shortly to be off to the asylum. Sitting at the table over lunch Marilla regarded Matthew thoughtfully. "Well, what do you think?"

"Think we oughta do it?"

"Send word you mean?"

Matthew scratched his beard and nodded, "mm."

Marilla sighed, "I guess so."

Matthew was out the door in a flash believing it was best to strike while the iron was hot. If Marilla had finally agreed, then he wanted to make sure they got their long-awaited boy. Marilla watched him go, smiling at his rare enthusiasm but worrying. And she would continue to worry until the fateful day she sent him to Bright River to meet that afternoon train.