the
Dryad's Bubble. Isn't that a perfectly elegant name? I read a story
once about a spring called that. A dryad is sort of a grown-up fairy, I
think."

"Well, all I hope is you won't talk Diana to death," said Marilla. "But
remember this in all your planning, Anne. You're not going to play all
the time nor most of it. You'll have your work to do and it'll have to
be done first."

Anne's cup of happiness was full, and Matthew caused it to overflow. He
had just got home from a trip to the store at Carmody, and he sheepishly
produced a small parcel from his pocket and handed it to Anne, with a
deprecatory look at Marilla.

"I heard you say you liked chocolate sweeties, so I got you some," he
said.

"Humph," sniffed Marilla. "It'll ruin her teeth and stomach. There,
there, child, don't look so dismal. You can eat those, since Matthew
has gone and got them. He'd better have brought you peppermints. They're
wholesomer. Don't sicken yourself eating all them at once now."

"Oh, no, indeed, I won't," said Anne eagerly. "I'll just eat one
tonight, Marilla. And I can give Diana half of them, can't I? The
other half will taste twice as sweet to me if I give some to her. It's
delightful to think I have something to give her."

"I will say it for the child," said Marilla when Anne had gone to
her gable, "she isn't stingy. I'm glad, for of all faults I detest
stinginess in a child. Dear me, it's only three weeks since she came,
and it seems as if she'd been here always. I can't imagine the place
without her. Now, don't be looking I told-you-so, Matthew. That's bad
enough in a woman, but it isn't to be endured in a man. I'm perfectly
willing to own up that I'm glad I consented to keep the child and that
I'm getting fond of her, but don't you rub it in, Matthew Cuthbert."

CHAPTER XIII. The Delights of Anticipation

"It's time Anne was in to do her sewing," said Marilla, glancing at the
clock and then out into the yellow August afternoon where everything
drowsed in the heat. "She stayed playing with Diana more than half an
hour more'n I gave her leave to; and now she's perched out there on
the woodpile talking to Matthew, nineteen to the dozen, when she knows
perfectly well she ought to be at her work. And of course he's listening
to her like a perfect ninny. I never saw such an infatuated man.
The more she talks and the odder the things she says, the more he's
delighted evidently. Anne Shirley, you come right in here t