am sorry, because I AM sorry now. I wasn't
a bit sorry last night. I was mad clear through, and I stayed mad all
night. I know I did because I woke up three times and I was just
furious every time. But this morning it was over. I wasn't in a temper
anymore--and it left a dreadful sort of goneness, too. I felt so ashamed
of myself. But I just couldn't think of going and telling Mrs. Lynde
so. It would be so humiliating. I made up my mind I'd stay shut up here
forever rather than do that. But still--I'd do anything for you--if you
really want me to--"

"Well now, of course I do. It's terrible lonesome downstairs without
you. Just go and smooth things over--that's a good girl."

"Very well," said Anne resignedly. "I'll tell Marilla as soon as she
comes in I've repented."

"That's right--that's right, Anne. But don't tell Marilla I said
anything about it. She might think I was putting my oar in and I
promised not to do that."

"Wild horses won't drag the secret from me," promised Anne solemnly.
"How would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow?"

But Matthew was gone, scared at his own success. He fled hastily to the
remotest corner of the horse pasture lest Marilla should suspect what
he had been up to. Marilla herself, upon her return to the house, was
agreeably surprised to hear a plaintive voice calling, "Marilla" over
the banisters.

"Well?" she said, going into the hall.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper and said rude things, and I'm willing to go
and tell Mrs. Lynde so."

"Very well." Marilla's crispness gave no sign of her relief. She had
been wondering what under the canopy she should do if Anne did not give
in. "I'll take you down after milking."

Accordingly, after milking, behold Marilla and Anne walking down the
lane, the former erect and triumphant, the latter drooping and dejected.
But halfway down Anne's dejection vanished as if by enchantment. She
lifted her head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the sunset
sky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her. Marilla beheld the
change disapprovingly. This was no meek penitent such as it behooved her
to take into the presence of the offended Mrs. Lynde.

"What are you thinking of, Anne?" she asked sharply.

"I'm imagining out what I must say to Mrs. Lynde," answered Anne
dreamily.

This was satisfactory--or should have been so. But Marilla could not
rid herself of the notion that something in her scheme of punishment was
going aske