sland."

Anne's unhappiness continued for a week. During that time she went
nowhere and shampooed her hair every day. Diana alone of outsiders knew
the fatal secret, but she promised solemnly never to tell, and it may
be stated here and now that she kept her word. At the end of the week
Marilla said decidedly:

"It's no use, Anne. That is fast dye if ever there was any. Your hair
must be cut off; there is no other way. You can't go out with it looking
like that."

Anne's lips quivered, but she realized the bitter truth of Marilla's
remarks. With a dismal sigh she went for the scissors.

"Please cut it off at once, Marilla, and have it over. Oh, I feel that
my heart is broken. This is such an unromantic affliction. The girls in
books lose their hair in fevers or sell it to get money for some good
deed, and I'm sure I wouldn't mind losing my hair in some such fashion
half so much. But there is nothing comforting in having your hair cut
off because you've dyed it a dreadful color, is there? I'm going to weep
all the time you're cutting it off, if it won't interfere. It seems such
a tragic thing."

Anne wept then, but later on, when she went upstairs and looked in the
glass, she was calm with despair. Marilla had done her work thoroughly
and it had been necessary to shingle the hair as closely as possible.
The result was not becoming, to state the case as mildly as may be. Anne
promptly turned her glass to the wall.

"I'll never, never look at myself again until my hair grows," she
exclaimed passionately.

Then she suddenly righted the glass.

"Yes, I will, too. I'd do penance for being wicked that way. I'll look
at myself every time I come to my room and see how ugly I am. And I
won't try to imagine it away, either. I never thought I was vain about
my hair, of all things, but now I know I was, in spite of its being
red, because it was so long and thick and curly. I expect something will
happen to my nose next."

Anne's clipped head made a sensation in school on the following Monday,
but to her relief nobody guessed the real reason for it, not even Josie
Pye, who, however, did not fail to inform Anne that she looked like a
perfect scarecrow.

"I didn't say anything when Josie said that to me," Anne confided
that evening to Marilla, who was lying on the sofa after one of her
headaches, "because I thought it was part of my punishment and I ought
to bear it patiently. It's hard to be told you look like a scarecrow