Page 15 of Anne of Green Gables

CHAPTER XV. A Tempest in the School Teapot

|WHAT a splendid day!” said Anne, drawing a long breath. ”Isn't it goodjust to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't bornyet for missing it. They may have good days, of course, but they cannever have this one. And it's splendider still to have such a lovely wayto go to school by, isn't it?”

”It's a lot nicer than going round by the road; that is so dustyand hot,” said Diana practically, peeping into her dinner basket andmentally calculating if the three juicy, toothsome, raspberry tartsreposing there were divided among ten girls how many bites each girlwould have.

The little girls of Avonlea school always pooled their lunches, andto eat three raspberry tarts all alone or even to share them only withone's best chum would have forever and ever branded as ”awful mean” thegirl who did it. And yet, when the tarts were divided among ten girlsyou just got enough to tantalize you.

The way Anne and Diana went to school _was_ a pretty one. Anne thoughtthose walks to and from school with Diana couldn't be improved uponeven by imagination. Going around by the main road would have been sounromantic; but to go by Lover's Lane and Willowmere and Violet Vale andthe Birch Path was romantic, if ever anything was.

Lover's Lane opened out below the orchard at Green Gables and stretchedfar up into the woods to the end of the Cuthbert farm. It was the way bywhich the cows were taken to the back pasture and the wood hauled homein winter. Anne had named it Lover's Lane before she had been a month atGreen Gables.

”Not that lovers ever really walk there,” she explained to Marilla,”but Diana and I are reading a perfectly magnificent book and there's aLover's Lane in it. So we want to have one, too. And it's a very prettyname, don't you think? So romantic! We can't imagine the lovers into it,you know. I like that lane because you can think out loud there withoutpeople calling you crazy.”

Anne, starting out alone in the morning, went down Lover's Lane as faras the brook. Here Diana met her, and the two little girls went onup the lane under the leafy arch of maples--”maples are such sociabletrees,” said Anne; ”they're always rustling and whispering toyou”--until they came to a rustic bridge. Then they left the laneand walked through Mr. Barry's back field and past Willowmere. BeyondWillowmere came Violet Vale--a little green dimple in the shadow of Mr.Andrew Bell's big woods. ”Of course there are no violets there now,”Anne told Marilla, ”but Diana says there are millions of them in spring.Oh, Marilla, can't you just imagine you see them? It actually takes awaymy breath. I named it Violet Vale. Diana says she never saw the beatof me for hitting on fancy names for places. It's nice to be clever atsomething, isn't it? But Diana named the Birch Path. She wanted to, soI let her; but I'm sure I could have found something more poetical thanplain Birch Path. Anybody can think of a name like that. But the BirchPath is one of the prettiest places in the world, Marilla.”

It was. Other people besides Anne thought so when they stumbled on it.It was a little narrow, twisting path, winding down over a long hillstraight through Mr. Bell's woods, where the light came down siftedthrough so many emerald screens that it was as flawless as the heartof a diamond. It was fringed in all its length with slim young birches,white stemmed and lissom boughed; ferns and starflowers and wildlilies-of-the-valley and scarlet tufts of pigeonberries grew thicklyalong it; and always there was a delightful spiciness in the air andmusic of bird calls and the murmur and laugh of wood winds in the treesoverhead. Now and then you might see a rabbit skipping across the roadif you were quiet--which, with Anne and Diana, happened about once ina blue moon. Down in the valley the path came out to the main road andthen it was just up the spruce hill to the school.

The Avonlea school was a whitewashed building, low in the eaves andwide in the windows, furnished inside with comfortable substantialold-fashioned desks that opened and shut, and were carved all over theirlids with the initials and hieroglyphics of three generations of schoolchildren. The schoolhouse was set back from the road and behind it wasa dusky fir wood and a brook where all the children put their bottles ofmilk in the morning to keep cool and sweet until dinner hour.

Marilla had seen Anne start off to school on the first day of Septemberwith many secret misgivings. Anne was such an odd girl. How would sheget on with the other children? And how on earth would she ever manageto hold her tongue during school hours?

Things went better than Marilla feared, however. Anne came home thatevening in high spirits.

”I think I'm going to like school here,” she announced. ”I don't thinkmuch of the master, through. He's all the time curling his mustacheand making eyes at Prissy Andrews. Prissy is grown up, you know. She'ssixteen and she's studying for the entrance examination into Queen'sAcademy at Charlottetown next year. Tillie Boulter says the master is_dead gone_ on her. She's got a beautiful complexion and curly brown hairand she does it up so elegantly. She sits in the long seat at the backand he sits there, too, most of the time--to explain her lessons, hesays. But Ruby Gillis says she saw him writing something on her slateand when Prissy read it she blushed as red as a beet and giggled; andRuby Gillis says she doesn't believe it had anything to do with thelesson.”

”Anne Shirley, don't let me hear you talking about your teacher in thatway again,” said Marilla sharply. ”You don't go to school to criticizethe master. I guess he can teach _you_ something, and it's your businessto learn. And I want you to understand right off that you are not tocome home telling tales about him. That is something I won't encourage.I hope you were a good girl.”

”Indeed I was,” said Anne comfortably. ”It wasn't so hard as you mightimagine, either. I sit with Diana. Our seat is right by the window andwe can look down to the Lake of Shining Waters. There are a lot of nicegirls in school and we had scrumptious fun playing at dinnertime. It'sso nice to have a lot of little girls to play with. But of course I likeDiana best and always will. I _adore_ Diana. I'm dreadfully far behind theothers. They're all in the fifth book and I'm only in the fourth. I feelthat it's kind of a disgrace. But there's not one of them has such animagination as I have and I soon found that out. We had reading andgeography and Canadian history and dictation today. Mr. Phillips said myspelling was disgraceful and he held up my slate so that everybody couldsee it, all marked over. I felt so mortified, Marilla; he might havebeen politer to a stranger, I think. Ruby Gillis gave me an apple andSophia Sloane lent me a lovely pink card with 'May I see you home?' onit. I'm to give it back to her tomorrow. And Tillie Boulter let me wearher bead ring all the afternoon. Can I have some of those pearl beadsoff the old pincushion in the garret to make myself a ring? And oh,Marilla, Jane Andrews told me that Minnie MacPherson told her that sheheard Prissy Andrews tell Sara Gillis that I had a very pretty nose.Marilla, that is the first compliment I have ever had in my life and youcan't imagine what a strange feeling it gave me. Marilla, have I reallya pretty nose? I know you'll tell me the truth.”

”Your nose is well enough,” said Marilla shortly. Secretly she thoughtAnne's nose was a remarkable pretty one; but she had no intention oftelling her so.

That was three weeks ago and all had gone smoothly so far. And now, thiscrisp September morning, Anne and Diana were tripping blithely down theBirch Path, two of the happiest little girls in Avonlea.

”I guess Gilbert Blythe will be in school today,” said Diana. ”He's beenvisiting his cousins over in New Brunswick all summer and he only camehome Saturday night. He's _aw'fly_ handsome, Anne. And he teases thegirls something terrible. He just torments our lives out.”

Diana's voice indicated that she rather liked having her life tormentedout than not.

”Gilbert Blythe?” said Anne. ”Isn't his name that's written up on theporch wall with Julia Bell's and a big 'Take Notice' over them?”

”Yes,” said Diana, tossing her head, ”but I'm sure he doesn't like JuliaBell so very much. I've heard him say he studied the multiplicationtable by her freckles.”

”Oh, don't speak about freckles to me,” implored Anne. ”It isn'tdelicate when I've got so many. But I do think that writing take-noticesup on the wall about the boys and girls is the silliest ever. I shouldjust like to see anybody dare to write my name up with a boy's. Not, ofcourse,” she hastened to add, ”that anybody would.”

Anne sighed. She didn't want her name written up. But it was a littlehumiliating to know that there was no danger of it.

”Nonsense,” said Diana, whose black eyes and glossy tresses had playedsuch havoc with the hearts of Avonlea schoolboys that her name figuredon the porch walls in half a dozen take-notices. ”It's only meant asa joke. And don't you be too sure your name won't ever be written up.Charlie Sloane is _dead gone_ on you. He told his mother--his _mother_,mind you--that you were the smartest girl in school. That's better thanbeing good looking.”

”No, it isn't,” said Anne, feminine to the core. ”I'd rather be prettythan clever. And I hate Charlie Sloane, I can't bear a boy with goggleeyes. If anyone wrote my name up with his I'd never _get_ over it, DianaBarry. But it _is_ nice to keep head of your class.”

”You'll have Gilbert in your class after this,” said Diana, ”and he'sused to being head of his class, I can tell you. He's only in the fourthbook although he's nearly fourteen. Four years ago his father was sickand had to go out to Alberta for his health and Gilbert went with him.They were there three years and Gil didn't go to school hardly anyuntil they came back. You won't find it so easy to keep head after this,Anne.”

”I'm glad,” said Anne quickly. ”I couldn't really feel proud of keepinghead of little boys and girls of just nine or ten. I got up yesterdayspelling 'ebullition.' Josie Pye was head and, mind you, she peepedin her book. Mr. Phillips didn't see her--he was looking at PrissyAndrews--but I did. I just swept her a look of freezing scorn and shegot as red as a beet and spelled it wrong after all.”

”Those Pye girls are cheats all round,” said Diana indignantly, as theyclimbed the fence of the main road. ”Gertie Pye actually went and puther milk bottle in my place in the brook yesterday. Did you ever? Idon't speak to her now.”

When Mr. Phillips was in the back of the room hearing Prissy Andrews'sLatin, Diana whispered to Anne, ”That's Gilbert Blythe sitting rightacross the aisle from you, Anne. Just look at him and see if you don'tthink he's handsome.”

Anne looked accordingly. She had a good chance to do so, for the saidGilbert Blythe was absorbed in stealthily pinning the long yellow braidof Ruby Gillis, who sat in front of him, to the back of her seat. Hewas a tall boy, with curly brown hair, roguish hazel eyes, and a mouthtwisted into a teasing smile. Presently Ruby Gillis started up to takea sum to the master; she fell back into her seat with a little shriek,believing that her hair was pulled out by the roots. Everybody looked ather and Mr. Phillips glared so sternly that Ruby began to cry. Gilberthad whisked the pin out of sight and was studying his history with thesoberest face in the world; but when the commotion subsided he looked atAnne and winked with inexpressible drollery.

”I think your Gilbert Blythe _is_ handsome,” confided Anne to Diana,”but I think he's very bold. It isn't good manners to wink at a strangegirl.”

But it was not until the afternoon that things really began to happen.

Mr. Phillips was back in the corner explaining a problem in algebra toPrissy Andrews and the rest of the scholars were doing pretty much asthey pleased eating green apples, whispering, drawing pictures on theirslates, and driving crickets harnessed to strings, up and down aisle.Gilbert Blythe was trying to make Anne Shirley look at him and failingutterly, because Anne was at that moment totally oblivious not onlyto the very existence of Gilbert Blythe, but of every other scholar inAvonlea school itself. With her chin propped on her hands and her eyesfixed on the blue glimpse of the Lake of Shining Waters that the westwindow afforded, she was far away in a gorgeous dreamland hearing andseeing nothing save her own wonderful visions.

Gilbert Blythe wasn't used to putting himself out to make a girl lookat him and meeting with failure. She _should_ look at him, that red-hairedShirley girl with the little pointed chin and the big eyes that weren'tlike the eyes of any other girl in Avonlea school.

Gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne's long redbraid, held it out at arm's length and said in a piercing whisper:

”Carrots! Carrots!”

Then Anne looked at him with a vengeance!

She did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright fanciesfallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant glance at Gilbertfrom eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angrytears.

”You mean, hateful boy!” she exclaimed passionately. ”How dare you!”

And then--thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head andcracked it--slate not head--clear across.

Avonlea school always enjoyed a scene. This was an especially enjoyableone. Everybody said ”Oh” in horrified delight. Diana gasped. RubyGillis, who was inclined to be hysterical, began to cry. TommySloane let his team of crickets escape him altogether while he staredopen-mouthed at the tableau.

Mr. Phillips stalked down the aisle and laid his hand heavily on Anne'sshoulder.

”Anne Shirley, what does this mean?” he said angrily. Anne returned noanswer. It was asking too much of flesh and blood to expect her to tellbefore the whole school that she had been called ”carrots.” Gilbert itwas who spoke up stoutly.

”It was my fault Mr. Phillips. I teased her.”

Mr. Phillips paid no heed to Gilbert.

”I am sorry to see a pupil of mine displaying such a temper and sucha vindictive spirit,” he said in a solemn tone, as if the mere fact ofbeing a pupil of his ought to root out all evil passions from the heartsof small imperfect mortals. ”Anne, go and stand on the platform in frontof the blackboard for the rest of the afternoon.”

Anne would have infinitely preferred a whipping to this punishment underwhich her sensitive spirit quivered as from a whiplash. With a white,set face she obeyed. Mr. Phillips took a chalk crayon and wrote on theblackboard above her head.

”Ann Shirley has a very bad temper. Ann Shirley must learn to controlher temper,” and then read it out loud so that even the primer class,who couldn't read writing, should understand it.

Anne stood there the rest of the afternoon with that legend above her.She did not cry or hang her head. Anger was still too hot in her heartfor that and it sustained her amid all her agony of humiliation. Withresentful eyes and passion-red cheeks she confronted alike Diana'ssympathetic gaze and Charlie Sloane's indignant nods and Josie Pye'smalicious smiles. As for Gilbert Blythe, she would not even look at him.She would _never_ look at him again! She would never speak to him!!

When school was dismissed Anne marched out with her red head held high.Gilbert Blythe tried to intercept her at the porch door.

”I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair, Anne,” he whisperedcontritely. ”Honest I am. Don't be mad for keeps, now.”

Anne swept by disdainfully, without look or sign of hearing. ”Ohhow could you, Anne?” breathed Diana as they went down the road halfreproachfully, half admiringly. Diana felt that _she_ could never haveresisted Gilbert's plea.

”I shall never forgive Gilbert Blythe,” said Anne firmly. ”And Mr.Phillips spelled my name without an e, too. The iron has entered into mysoul, Diana.”

Diana hadn't the least idea what Anne meant but she understood it wassomething terrible.

”You mustn't mind Gilbert making fun of your hair,” she said soothingly.”Why, he makes fun of all the girls. He laughs at mine because it'sso black. He's called me a crow a dozen times; and I never heard himapologize for anything before, either.”

”There's a great deal of difference between being called a crow andbeing called carrots,” said Anne with dignity. ”Gilbert Blythe has hurtmy feelings _excruciatingly_, Diana.”

It is possible the matter might have blown over without moreexcruciation if nothing else had happened. But when things begin tohappen they are apt to keep on.

Avonlea scholars often spent noon hour picking gum in Mr. Bell's sprucegrove over the hill and across his big pasture field. From there theycould keep an eye on Eben Wright's house, where the master boarded. Whenthey saw Mr. Phillips emerging therefrom they ran for the schoolhouse;but the distance being about three times longer than Mr. Wright's lanethey were very apt to arrive there, breathless and gasping, some threeminutes too late.

On the following day Mr. Phillips was seized with one of his spasmodicfits of reform and announced before going home to dinner, that he shouldexpect to find all the scholars in their seats when he returned. Anyonewho came in late would be punished.

All the boys and some of the girls went to Mr. Bell's spruce grove asusual, fully intending to stay only long enough to ”pick a chew.” Butspruce groves are seductive and yellow nuts of gum beguiling; theypicked and loitered and strayed; and as usual the first thing thatrecalled them to a sense of the flight of time was Jimmy Glover shoutingfrom the top of a patriarchal old spruce ”Master's coming.”

The girls who were on the ground, started first and managed to reach theschoolhouse in time but without a second to spare. The boys, who had towriggle hastily down from the trees, were later; and Anne, who had notbeen picking gum at all but was wandering happily in the far end of thegrove, waist deep among the bracken, singing softly to herself, with awreath of rice lilies on her hair as if she were some wild divinityof the shadowy places, was latest of all. Anne could run like a deer,however; run she did with the impish result that she overtook the boysat the door and was swept into the schoolhouse among them just as Mr.Phillips was in the act of hanging up his hat.

Mr. Phillips's brief reforming energy was over; he didn't want thebother of punishing a dozen pupils; but it was necessary to do somethingto save his word, so he looked about for a scapegoat and found itin Anne, who had dropped into her seat, gasping for breath, with aforgotten lily wreath hanging askew over one ear and giving her aparticularly rakish and disheveled appearance.

”Anne Shirley, since you seem to be so fond of the boys' company weshall indulge your taste for it this afternoon,” he said sarcastically.”Take those flowers out of your hair and sit with Gilbert Blythe.”

The other boys snickered. Diana, turning pale with pity, plucked thewreath from Anne's hair and squeezed her hand. Anne stared at the masteras if turned to stone.

”Did you hear what I said, Anne?” queried Mr. Phillips sternly.

”Yes, sir,” said Anne slowly ”but I didn't suppose you really meant it.”

”I assure you I did”--still with the sarcastic inflection which all thechildren, and Anne especially, hated. It flicked on the raw. ”Obey me atonce.”

For a moment Anne looked as if she meant to disobey. Then, realizingthat there was no help for it, she rose haughtily, stepped across theaisle, sat down beside Gilbert Blythe, and buried her face in her armson the desk. Ruby Gillis, who got a glimpse of it as it went down,told the others going home from school that she'd ”acksually never seenanything like it--it was so white, with awful little red spots in it.”

To Anne, this was as the end of all things. It was bad enough to besingled out for punishment from among a dozen equally guilty ones; itwas worse still to be sent to sit with a boy, but that that boy shouldbe Gilbert Blythe was heaping insult on injury to a degree utterlyunbearable. Anne felt that she could not bear it and it would be ofno use to try. Her whole being seethed with shame and anger andhumiliation.

At first the other scholars looked and whispered and giggled and nudged.But as Anne never lifted her head and as Gilbert worked fractions as ifhis whole soul was absorbed in them and them only, they soon returnedto their own tasks and Anne was forgotten. When Mr. Phillips called thehistory class out Anne should have gone, but Anne did not move, andMr. Phillips, who had been writing some verses ”To Priscilla” before hecalled the class, was thinking about an obstinate rhyme still and nevermissed her. Once, when nobody was looking, Gilbert took from his deska little pink candy heart with a gold motto on it, ”You are sweet,” andslipped it under the curve of Anne's arm. Whereupon Anne arose, took thepink heart gingerly between the tips of her fingers, dropped it on thefloor, ground it to powder beneath her heel, and resumed her positionwithout deigning to bestow a glance on Gilbert.

When school went out Anne marched to her desk, ostentatiously took outeverything therein, books and writing tablet, pen and ink, testament andarithmetic, and piled them neatly on her cracked slate.

”What are you taking all those things home for, Anne?” Diana wanted toknow, as soon as they were out on the road. She had not dared to ask thequestion before.

”I am not coming back to school any more,” said Anne. Diana gasped andstared at Anne to see if she meant it.

”Will Marilla let you stay home?” she asked.

”She'll have to,” said Anne. ”I'll _never_ go to school to that managain.”

”Oh, Anne!” Diana looked as if she were ready to cry. ”I do think you'remean. What shall I do? Mr. Phillips will make me sit with that horridGertie Pye--I know he will because she is sitting alone. Do come back,Anne.”

”I'd do almost anything in the world for you, Diana,” said Anne sadly.”I'd let myself be torn limb from limb if it would do you any good. ButI can't do this, so please don't ask it. You harrow up my very soul.”

”Just think of all the fun you will miss,” mourned Diana. ”We are goingto build the loveliest new house down by the brook; and we'll be playingball next week and you've never played ball, Anne. It's tremendouslyexciting. And we're going to learn a new song--Jane Andrews ispracticing it up now; and Alice Andrews is going to bring a new Pansybook next week and we're all going to read it out loud, chapter about,down by the brook. And you know you are so fond of reading out loud,Anne.”

Nothing moved Anne in the least. Her mind was made up. She would not goto school to Mr. Phillips again; she told Marilla so when she got home.

”Nonsense,” said Marilla.

”It isn't nonsense at all,” said Anne, gazing at Marilla with solemn,reproachful eyes. ”Don't you understand, Marilla? I've been insulted.”

”Insulted fiddlesticks! You'll go to school tomorrow as usual.”

”Oh, no.” Anne shook her head gently. ”I'm not going back, Marilla. I'lllearn my lessons at home and I'll be as good as I can be and hold mytongue all the time if it's possible at all. But I will not go back toschool, I assure you.”

Marilla saw something remarkably like unyielding stubbornness lookingout of Anne's small face. She understood that she would have trouble inovercoming it; but she re-solved wisely to say nothing more just then.”I'll run down and see Rachel about it this evening,” she thought.”There's no use reasoning with Anne now. She's too worked up and I'vean idea she can be awful stubborn if she takes the notion. Far as I canmake out from her story, Mr. Phillips has been carrying matters with arather high hand. But it would never do to say so to her. I'll just talkit over with Rachel. She's sent ten children to school and she ought toknow something about it. She'll have heard the whole story, too, by thistime.”

Marilla found Mrs. Lynde knitting quilts as industriously and cheerfullyas usual.

”I suppose you know what I've come about,” she said, a littleshamefacedly.

Mrs. Rachel nodded.

”About Anne's fuss in school, I reckon,” she said. ”Tillie Boulter wasin on her way home from school and told me about it.”

”I don't know what to do with her,” said Marilla. ”She declares shewon't go back to school. I never saw a child so worked up. I've beenexpecting trouble ever since she started to school. I knew things weregoing too smooth to last. She's so high strung. What would you advise,Rachel?”

”Well, since you've asked my advice, Marilla,” said Mrs. Lyndeamiably--Mrs. Lynde dearly loved to be asked for advice--”I'd justhumor her a little at first, that's what I'd do. It's my belief thatMr. Phillips was in the wrong. Of course, it doesn't do to say so to thechildren, you know. And of course he did right to punish her yesterdayfor giving way to temper. But today it was different. The others whowere late should have been punished as well as Anne, that's what. And Idon't believe in making the girls sit with the boys for punishment. Itisn't modest. Tillie Boulter was real indignant. She took Anne's partright through and said all the scholars did too. Anne seems real popularamong them, somehow. I never thought she'd take with them so well.”

”Then you really think I'd better let her stay home,” said Marilla inamazement.

”Yes. That is I wouldn't say school to her again until she said itherself. Depend upon it, Marilla, she'll cool off in a week or so andbe ready enough to go back of her own accord, that's what, while, ifyou were to make her go back right off, dear knows what freak or tantrumshe'd take next and make more trouble than ever. The less fuss made thebetter, in my opinion. She won't miss much by not going to school, asfar as _that_ goes. Mr. Phillips isn't any good at all as a teacher. Theorder he keeps is scandalous, that's what, and he neglects the youngfry and puts all his time on those big scholars he's getting ready forQueen's. He'd never have got the school for another year if his unclehadn't been a trustee--_the_ trustee, for he just leads the other twoaround by the nose, that's what. I declare, I don't know what educationin this Island is coming to.”

Mrs. Rachel shook her head, as much as to say if she were only at thehead of the educational system of the Province things would be muchbetter managed.

Marilla took Mrs. Rachel's advice and not another word was said to Anneabout going back to school. She learned her lessons at home, did herchores, and played with Diana in the chilly purple autumn twilights;but when she met Gilbert Blythe on the road or encountered him in Sundayschool she passed him by with an icy contempt that was no whit thawed byhis evident desire to appease her. Even Diana's efforts as a peacemakerwere of no avail. Anne had evidently made up her mind to hate GilbertBlythe to the end of life.

As much as she hated Gilbert, however, did she love Diana, with all thelove of her passionate little heart, equally intense in its likes anddislikes. One evening Marilla, coming in from the orchard with a basketof apples, found Anne sitting along by the east window in the twilight,crying bitterly.

”Whatever's the matter now, Anne?” she asked.

”It's about Diana,” sobbed Anne luxuriously. ”I love Diana so, Marilla.I cannot ever live without her. But I know very well when we grow upthat Diana will get married and go away and leave me. And oh, what shallI do? I hate her husband--I just hate him furiously. I've been imaginingit all out--the wedding and everything--Diana dressed in snowy garments,with a veil, and looking as beautiful and regal as a queen; and me thebridesmaid, with a lovely dress too, and puffed sleeves, but with abreaking heart hid beneath my smiling face. And then bidding Dianagoodbye-e-e--” Here Anne broke down entirely and wept with increasingbitterness.

Marilla turned quickly away to hide her twitching face; but it was nouse; she collapsed on the nearest chair and burst into such a hearty andunusual peal of laughter that Matthew, crossing the yard outside, haltedin amazement. When had he heard Marilla laugh like that before?

”Well, Anne Shirley,” said Marilla as soon as she could speak, ”if youmust borrow trouble, for pity's sake borrow it handier home. I shouldthink you had an imagination, sure enough.”