y of her little
duties. Davy, on the other hand, was rather heedless and forgetful; but
he had the born knack of winning love, and even yet Anne and Marilla
liked him the better.

While Dora proudly shelled the peas and Davy made boats of the pods,
with masts of matches and sails of paper, Anne told Marilla about the
wonderful contents of her letter.

"Oh, Marilla, what do you think? I've had a letter from Priscilla and
she says that Mrs. Morgan is on the Island, and that if it is fine
Thursday they are going to drive up to Avonlea and will reach here about
twelve. They will spend the afternoon with us and go to the hotel at
White Sands in the evening, because some of Mrs. Morgan's American
friends are staying there. Oh, Marilla, isn't it wonderful? I can hardly
believe I'm not dreaming."

"I daresay Mrs. Morgan is a lot like other people," said Marilla drily,
although she did feel a trifle excited herself. Mrs. Morgan was a famous
woman and a visit from her was no commonplace occurrence. "They'll be
here to dinner, then?"

"Yes; and oh, Marilla, may I cook every bit of the dinner myself? I want
to feel that I can do something for the author of 'The Rosebud Garden,'
if it is only to cook a dinner for her. You won't mind, will you?"

"Goodness, I'm not so fond of stewing over a hot fire in July that it
would vex me very much to have someone else do it. You're quite welcome
to the job."

"Oh, thank you," said Anne, as if Marilla had just conferred a
tremendous favor, "I'll make out the menu this very night."

"You'd better not try to put on too much style," warned Marilla, a
little alarmed by the high-flown sound of 'menu.' "You'll likely come to
grief if you do."

"Oh, I'm not going to put on any 'style,' if you mean trying to do or
have things we don't usually have on festal occasions," assured Anne.
"That would be affectation, and, although I know I haven't as much sense
and steadiness as a girl of seventeen and a schoolteacher ought to have,
I'm not so silly as THAT. But I want to have everything as nice and
dainty as possible. Davy-boy, don't leave those peapods on the back
stairs . . . someone might slip on them. I'll have a light soup to begin
with . . . you know I can make lovely cream-of-onion soup . . . and then
a couple of roast fowls. I'll have the two white roosters. I have real
affection for those roosters and they've been pets ever since the gray
hen hatched out just the two of them . . . little b