mething too sharp to Rachel before
everybody. Anne's got plenty of faults, goodness knows, and far be it
from me to deny it. But I'm bringing her up and not Rachel Lynde, who'd
pick faults in the Angel Gabriel himself if he lived in Avonlea. Just
the same, Anne has no business to leave the house like this when I told
her she was to stay home this afternoon and look after things. I must
say, with all her faults, I never found her disobedient or untrustworthy
before and I'm real sorry to find her so now."

"Well now, I dunno," said Matthew, who, being patient and wise and,
above all, hungry, had deemed it best to let Marilla talk her wrath
out unhindered, having learned by experience that she got through
with whatever work was on hand much quicker if not delayed by untimely
argument. "Perhaps you're judging her too hasty, Marilla. Don't call her
untrustworthy until you're sure she has disobeyed you. Mebbe it can all
be explained--Anne's a great hand at explaining."

"She's not here when I told her to stay," retorted Marilla. "I reckon
she'll find it hard to explain THAT to my satisfaction. Of course I knew
you'd take her part, Matthew. But I'm bringing her up, not you."

It was dark when supper was ready, and still no sign of Anne, coming
hurriedly over the log bridge or up Lover's Lane, breathless and
repentant with a sense of neglected duties. Marilla washed and put away
the dishes grimly. Then, wanting a candle to light her way down the
cellar, she went up to the east gable for the one that generally stood
on Anne's table. Lighting it, she turned around to see Anne herself
lying on the bed, face downward among the pillows.

"Mercy on us," said astonished Marilla, "have you been asleep, Anne?"

"No," was the muffled reply.

"Are you sick then?" demanded Marilla anxiously, going over to the bed.

Anne cowered deeper into her pillows as if desirous of hiding herself
forever from mortal eyes.

"No. But please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me. I'm in the
depths of despair and I don't care who gets head in class or writes the
best composition or sings in the Sunday-school choir any more. Little
things like that are of no importance now because I don't suppose I'll
ever be able to go anywhere again. My career is closed. Please, Marilla,
go away and don't look at me."

"Did anyone ever hear the like?" the mystified Marilla wanted to know.
"Anne Shirley, whatever is the matter with you? What have you done? Get
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