over me
all my life. And I think I have been punished so much that you needn't
be very cross with me, Marilla. It's not a bit nice to faint, after all.
And the doctor hurt me dreadfully when he was setting my ankle. I won't
be able to go around for six or seven weeks and I'll miss the new lady
teacher. She won't be new any more by the time I'm able to go to school.
And Gil--everybody will get ahead of me in class. Oh, I am an afflicted
mortal. But I'll try to bear it all bravely if only you won't be cross
with me, Marilla."

"There, there, I'm not cross," said Marilla. "You're an unlucky child,
there's no doubt about that; but as you say, you'll have the suffering
of it. Here now, try and eat some supper."

"Isn't it fortunate I've got such an imagination?" said Anne. "It will
help me through splendidly, I expect. What do people who haven't any
imagination do when they break their bones, do you suppose, Marilla?"

Anne had good reason to bless her imagination many a time and oft during
the tedious seven weeks that followed. But she was not solely dependent
on it. She had many visitors and not a day passed without one or more of
the schoolgirls dropping in to bring her flowers and books and tell her
all the happenings in the juvenile world of Avonlea.

"Everybody has been so good and kind, Marilla," sighed Anne happily,
on the day when she could first limp across the floor. "It isn't very
pleasant to be laid up; but there is a bright side to it, Marilla. You
find out how many friends you have. Why, even Superintendent Bell came
to see me, and he's really a very fine man. Not a kindred spirit, of
course; but still I like him and I'm awfully sorry I ever criticized his
prayers. I believe now he really does mean them, only he has got into
the habit of saying them as if he didn't. He could get over that if he'd
take a little trouble. I gave him a good broad hint. I told him how hard
I tried to make my own little private prayers interesting. He told me
all about the time he broke his ankle when he was a boy. It does seem
so strange to think of Superintendent Bell ever being a boy. Even my
imagination has its limits, for I can't imagine THAT. When I try to
imagine him as a boy I see him with gray whiskers and spectacles, just
as he looks in Sunday school, only small. Now, it's so easy to imagine
Mrs. Allan as a little girl. Mrs. Allan has been to see me fourteen
times. Isn't that something to be proud of, Marilla? When a mi