es, and from the lack of bringing reason to bear upon
the solving of the most important question of its existence. Of course
I don't feel sure yet that I am right about Nan, but looking at her
sad inheritance from her mother, and her good inheritances from other
quarters, I cannot help feeling that she might be far more unhappy
than to be made ready to take up my work here in Oldfields when I have
to lay it down. She will need a good anchor now and then. Only this
summer she had a bad day of it that made me feel at my wits' end. She
was angry with one of the children at school, and afterward with
Marilla because she scolded her for not keeping better account of the
family times and seasons, and ran away in the afternoon, if you
please, and was not heard from until next morning at breakfast time.
She went to the old place and wandered about the fields as she used,
and crept into some shelter or other. I dare say that she climbed in
at one of the windows of the house, though I could not make quite sure
without asking more questions than I thought worth while. She came
stealing in early in the morning, looking a little pale and wild, but
she hasn't played such a prank since. I had a call to the next town
and Marilla had evidently been awake all night. I got home early in
the morning myself, and was told that it was supposed I had picked up
Nan on the road and carried her with me, so the blame was all ready
for my shoulders unless we had both happened to see the young culprit
strolling in at the gate. I was glad she had punished herself, so that
there was no need of my doing it, though I had a talk with her a day
or two afterward, when we were both in our right minds. She is a good
child enough."

"I dare say," remarked Mrs. Graham drily, "but it seems to me that
neither of you took Marilla sufficiently into account. That must have
been the evening that the poor soul went to nearly every house in town
to ask if there were any stray company to tea. Some of us could not
help wondering where the young person was finally discovered. She has
a great fancy for the society of Miss Betsy Milman and Sally Turner at
present, and I quite sympathize with her. I often look over there and
see the end of their house with that one little square window in the
very peak of it spying up the street, and wish I could pay them a
visit myself and hear a bit of their wise gossip. I quite envy Nan her
chance of going in and being half forgotten as