Anne Of Green Gables, Part 15

Please enjoy this reading of the classic, much-beloved tale of Anne of Green Gables - an 11-year-old orphan girl sent by mistake to the "wrong" household to live...and all of her adventures that unfold from there...

"Anne of Green Gables" is a 1908 novel by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery and was her most famous book - now considered a classic of children's literature!

Transcript

Hello there.

Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Anne of Green Gables,

The much-beloved classic novel from Lucy Maud Montgomery from 1908.

Maybe you've already heard the preceding parts,

Maybe not.

If you would like to hear the preceding parts,

You can find them all in the Anne of Green Gables playlist.

But for now,

Let's just take a moment here to have a nice,

Deep exhale.

Letting go of the day.

Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment.

For now,

There's nowhere else that we have to be and nothing else that we have to do.

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable,

And enjoy this continued reading of Anne of Green Gables.

Chapter 26.

The Story Club is Formed.

Junior Avonlea found it hard to settle down to humdrum existence again.

To Anne,

In particular,

Things seemed fearfully flat,

Stale,

And unprofitable after the goblet of excitement she had been sipping for weeks.

Could she go back to the former,

Quiet pleasures of those faraway days before the concert?

At first,

As she told Diana,

She did not really think she could.

I'm positively certain,

Diana,

That life can never be quite the same again as it was in those olden days,

She said mournfully,

As if referring to a period of at least 50 years back.

Perhaps after a while I'll get used to it.

But I'm afraid concerts spoil people for everyday life.

I suppose that is why Marilla disapproves of them.

Marilla is such a sensible woman.

It must be a great deal better to be sensible.

But still,

I don't believe I really want to be a sensible person because they are so unromantic.

Mrs.

Lynde says there is no danger of my ever being one,

But you can never tell.

I feel just now that I may grow up to be sensible yet.

But perhaps that is only because I'm tired.

I simply couldn't sleep last night for ever so long.

I just lay awake and imagined the concert over and over again.

That's one splendid thing about such affairs.

It's so lovely to look back to them.

Eventually,

However,

Avonlea school slipped back into its old groove and took up its old interests.

To be sure,

The concert left traces.

Ruby Gillis and Emma White,

Who had quarrelled over a point of precedence in their platform seats,

No longer sat at the same desk and a promising friendship of three years was broken up.

Josie Pye and Julia Bell did not speak for three months because Josie Pye had told Bessie Wright that Julia Bell's bow when she got up to recite made her think of a chicken jerking its head and Bessie told Julia.

None of the Sloans would have any dealings with the Bells because the Bells had declared that the Sloans had too much to do in the program and the Sloans had retorted that the Bells were not capable of doing the little they had to do properly.

Finally,

Charlie Sloan fought Moody Spurgeon Macpherson because Moody Spurgeon had said that Anne Shirley put on airs about her recitations and Moody Spurgeon was licked.

Consequently,

Moody Spurgeon's sister Ella May would not speak to Anne Shirley all the rest of the winter.

With the exception of these trifling frictions,

Work in Miss Stacy's little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness.

The winter weeks slipped by.

It was an unusually mild winter with so little snow that Anne and Diana could go to school nearly every day by way of the birch path.

On Anne's birthday they were tripping lightly down it keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter for Miss Stacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on a winter's walk in the woods and it behooved them to be observant.

Just think Diana,

I'm 13 years old today,

Remarked Anne in an awed voice.

I can scarcely realise that I'm in my teens.

When I woke this morning it seemed to me that everything must be different.

You've been 13 for a month so I suppose it doesn't seem such a novelty to you as it does to me.

It makes life seem so much more interesting.

In two more years I'll be really grown up.

It's a great comfort to think that I'll be able to use big words then without being laughed at.

Ruby Gillis says she means to have a bow as soon as she's 15,

Said Diana.

Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing but bows,

Said Anne disdainfully.

She's actually delighted when anyone writes her name up in a take notice for all she pretends to be so mad.

But I'm afraid that is an uncharitable speech.

Mrs Allen says we should never make uncharitable speeches.

But they do slip out so often before you think,

Don't they?

I simply can't talk about Josie Pye without making an uncharitable speech so I never mention her at all.

You may have noticed that.

But I'm trying to be as much like Mrs Allen as I possibly can.

For I think she's perfect.

Mr Allen thinks so too.

Mrs Lynn says he just worships the ground she treads on.

And she doesn't really think it right for a minister to set his affections so much on a mortal being.

But then,

Diana,

Even ministers are human and have their besetting sins just like everybody else.

I had such an interesting talk with Mrs Allen about besetting sins last Sunday afternoon.

There are just a few things it's proper to talk about on Sundays and that is one of them.

My besetting sin is imagining too much and forgetting my duties.

I'm striving very hard to overcome it.

And now that I'm really 13,

Perhaps I'll get on better.

In four more years,

We'll be able to put our hair up,

Said Diana.

Alice Bell is only 16 and she is wearing hers up.

But I think that's ridiculous.

I shall wait until I'm 17.

If I had Alice Bell's crooked nose,

Said Anne decidedly,

I wouldn't.

But there,

I won't say what I was going to because it was extremely uncharitable.

Besides,

I was comparing it with my own nose and that's vanity.

I'm afraid I think too much about my nose.

Ever since I heard that compliment about it long ago,

It really is a great comfort to me.

Oh,

Diana,

Look,

There's a rabbit.

That's something to remember for our woods composition.

I really think the woods are just as lovely in winter as in summer.

They're so white and still as if they were asleep and dreaming pretty dreams.

I won't mind writing that composition when it's time comes,

Comes,

Sighed Diana.

I can manage to write about the woods,

But the one we're to hand in Monday is terrible.

The idea of Miss Stacy telling us to write a story out of our own heads.

It's why it's as easy as wink,

Said Anne.

It's easy for you because you have an imagination,

Retorted Diana.

But what would you do if you had been born without one?

I suppose you have your composition all done.

Anne nodded,

Trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failing miserably.

I wrote it last Monday evening.

It's called The Jealous Rival or In Death Not Divided.

I read it to Marilla and she said it was stuff and nonsense.

Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine.

That is the kind of critic I like.

It's a sad,

Sweet story.

I just cried like a child while I was writing it.

It's about two beautiful maidens called Cordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour,

Who lived in the same village and were devotedly attached to each other.

Cordelia was a regal brunette with a coronet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes.

Geraldine was a queenly blonde with hair like spun gold and velvety purple eyes.

I never saw anybody with purple eyes,

Said Diana dubiously.

Neither did I.

I just imagined them.

I wanted something out of the common.

Geraldine had an alabaster brow too.

I've found out what an alabaster brow is.

That is one of the advantages of being 13.

You know so much more than you did when you were only 12.

Well,

What became of Cordelia and Geraldine,

Asked Diana,

Who was beginning to feel rather interested in their fate.

They grew in beauty side by side until they were 16.

Then Bertram de Vere came to their native village and fell in love with the fair Geraldine.

He saved her life when her horse ran away with her in a carriage and she fainted in his arms and he carried her home three miles because,

You understand,

The carriage was all smashed up.

I found it rather hard to imagine the proposal because I had no experience to go by.

I asked Ruby Gillis if she knew anything about how men proposed because I thought she'd likely be an authority on the subject having so many sisters married.

Ruby told me she was hid in the whole pantry when Malcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan.

She said Malcolm told Susan that his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said,

What do you say,

Darling pet,

If we get hitched this fall?

And Susan said,

Yes.

No,

I don't know.

Let me see.

And there they were engaged as quick as that.

But I didn't think that sort of a proposal was a very romantic one.

So in the end,

I had to imagine it out as well as I could.

I made it very flowery and poetical and Bertram went on his knees.

Although Ruby Gillis says it isn't done nowadays.

Geraldine accepted him in a speech a page long.

I can tell you I took a lot of trouble with that speech.

I rewrote it five times and I look upon it as my masterpiece.

Bertram gave her a diamond ring and a ruby necklace and told her they would go to Europe for a wedding tour for he was immensely wealthy.

But then,

Alas,

Shadows began to darken over their path.

Cordelia was secretly in love with Bertram herself.

And when Geraldine told her about the engagement,

She was simply furious.

Especially when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring.

All her affection for Geraldine turned to bitter hate.

And she vowed that she should never marry Bertram.

But she pretended to be Geraldine's friend the same as ever.

One evening,

They were standing on the bridge over a rushing turbulent stream and Cordelia,

Thinking they were alone,

Pushed Geraldine over the brink with a wild mocking ha ha ha.

But Bertram saw it all and he at once plunged into the current exclaiming,

I will save thee,

My peerless Geraldine.

But alas,

He had forgotten he couldn't swim.

And they were both drowned,

Clasped in each other's arms.

Their bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards.

They were buried in the one grave.

And their funeral was most imposing,

Diana.

It's so much more romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding.

As for Cordelia,

She went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunatic asylum.

I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime.

How perfectly lovely sighed Diana,

Who belonged to Matthew's school of critics.

I don't see how you can make up such thrilling things out of your own head,

Anne.

I wish my imagination was as good as yours.

My imagination was as good as yours.

It would be if you'd only cultivate it,

Said Anne cheeringly.

I've just thought of a plan,

Diana.

Let you and me have a story club,

All our own,

And write stories for practice.

I'll help you along until we can do them by yourself.

You ought to cultivate your imagination,

You know.

Miss Stacy says so.

Only we must take the right way.

I told her about the haunted wood,

But she said we went the wrong way about it.

In that,

This was how the story club came into existence.

It was limited to Diana and Anne at first,

But soon it was extended to include Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis and one or two others who felt that their imaginations needed cultivating.

No boys were allowed in it,

Although Ruby Gillis opined that their admission would make it more exciting.

And each member had to produce one story a week.

It's extremely interesting,

Anne told Marilla.

Each girl has to read her story out loud and then we talk it over.

We are going to keep them all sacredly and have them to read to our descendants.

We each write under a nom de plume.

Mine is Rosamond Montmorency.

All the girls do pretty well.

Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental.

She puts too much lovemaking into her stories and,

You know,

Too much is worse than too little.

Jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so silly when she had to read it out loud.

Jane's stories are extremely sensible.

Then Diana puts too many murders into hers.

She says most of the time she doesn't know what to do with the people,

So she kills them off to get rid of them.

I mostly always have to tell them what to write about,

But that isn't hard,

For I've millions of ideas.

I think this storywriting business is the foolishest yet,

Scoffed Marilla.

You'll get a pack of nonsense into your heads and waste time that should be put on your lessons.

Reading stories is bad enough,

But writing them is worse.

But we're so careful to put a moral into them all,

Marilla,

Explained Anne.

I insist upon that.

All the good people are rewarded and all the bad ones are suitably punished.

I'm sure that must have a wholesome effect.

The moral is the great thing.

Mr.

Allen says so.

I read one of my stories to him and Mrs.

Allen and they both agreed that the moral was excellent.

Only they laughed in the wrong places.

I like it better when people cry.

Jane and Ruby almost always cry when I come to the pathetic parts.

Diana wrote her aunt Josephine about our club and her aunt Josephine wrote back that we were to send her some of our stories,

So we copied out four of our very best and sent them.

Miss Josephine Barry wrote back that she had never read anything so amusing in her life.

That kind of puzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic and almost everybody died.

But I'm glad Miss Barry liked them.

It shows our club is doing some good in the world.

Mrs.

Allen says that ought to be our object in everything.

I do really try to make it my object but I forget so often when I'm having fun.

I hope I shall be a little like Mrs.

Allen when I grow up.

Do you think there is any prospect of it,

Marilla?

I shouldn't say there was a great deal,

Was Marilla's encouraging answer.

I'm sure Mrs.

Allen was never such a silly forgetful little girl as you are.

No,

But she wasn't always so good as she is now either,

Said Anne seriously.

She told me so herself.

That is,

She said she was a dreadful mischief when she was a girl and was always getting into scrapes.

I felt so encouraged when I heard that.

Is it very wicked of me,

Marilla,

To feel encouraged when I hear that other people have been bad and mischievous?

Mrs.

Linde says it is.

Mrs.

Linde says she always feels shocked when she hears of anyone ever having been naughty no matter how small they were.

Mrs.

Linde says she once heard a minister confess that when he was a boy he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt's pantry and she never had any respect for that minister again.

Now,

I wouldn't have felt that way.

I'd have thought that it was real noble of him to confess it and I'd have thought what an encouraging thing it would be for small boys nowadays who do naughty things and are sorry for them to know that perhaps they may grow up to be ministers in spite of it.

That's how I'd feel,

Marilla.

The way I feel at present,

Anne,

Said Marilla,

Is that it's high time you had those dishes washed.

You've taken half an hour longer than you should with all your chattering.

Learn to work first and talk afterwards.

Chapter 27.

Vanity and vexation of spirit.

Marilla,

Walking home one late April evening from an aid meeting,

Realized that the winter was over and gone with the thrill of delight that spring never fails to bring to the oldest and saddest as well as to the youngest and merriest.

Marilla was not given to subjective analysis of her thoughts and feelings.

She probably imagined that she was thinking about the aides and their missionary box and the new carpet for the vestry room.

But under these reflections was a harmonious consciousness of red fields smoking into pale purpley mists in the declining sun,

Of long sharp pointed fur shadows falling over the meadow beyond the brook,

Of still crimson budded maples around a mirror-like wood pool,

Of awakening in the world and a stir of hidden pulses under the grey sod.

The spring was abroad in the land,

And Marilla's sober middle-aged step was lighter and swifter because of its deep primal gladness.

Her eyes dwelt affectionately on green gables,

Peering through its network of trees and reflecting the sunlight back from its windows in several little coruscations of glory.

Marilla,

As she picked her steps along the damp lane,

Thought that it was really a satisfaction to know that she was going home to a briskly snapping wood fire and a table nicely spread for tea instead of to the cold comfort of old aid-meeting evenings before Anne had come to green gables.

Consequently,

When Marilla entered her kitchen and found the fire black out with no sign of Anne anywhere,

She felt justly disappointed and irritated.

She had told Anne to be sure and have tea ready at five o'clock,

But now she must hurry to take off her second best dress and prepare the meal herself against Matthew's return from ploughing.

"'I'll settle Miss Anne when she comes home,

' said Marilla grimly as she shaved up kindlings with a carving knife and with more vim than was strictly necessary.

Matthew had come in and was waiting patiently for his tea in his corner.

She's gadding off somewhere with Diana,

Writing stories or practising dialogues or some such tomfoolery,

And never thinking once about the time or her duties.

She's just got to be pulled up short and sudden on this sort of thing.

I don't care if Mrs Allen does say she's the brightest and sweetest child she ever knew.

She may be bright and sweet enough,

But her head is full of nonsense,

And there's never any knowing what shape it'll break out in next.

Just as soon as she grows out of one freak,

She takes up with another.

But there,

Here I am saying the very thing I was so riled with Rachel Lind for saying at the aid today.

I was real glad when Mrs Allen spoke up for Anne,

For if she hadn't,

I know I'd have said something 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 Lind,

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 don't know,

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.

Maybe 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 reckoned 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.

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 anymore.

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,

What ever is the matter with you?

What have you done?

Get right up this minute and tell me.

This minute,

I say.

There now.

What is it?

Anne had slid to the floor in despairing obedience.

Look at my hair,

Marilla,

She whispered.

Accordingly,

Marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizingly at Anne's hair flowing in heavy masses down her back.

It certainly had a very strange appearance.

Anne Shirley,

What have you done to your hair?

Why,

It's green.

Green it might be called,

If it were any earthly colour.

A queer,

Dull,

Bronzy green,

With streaks here and there of the original red to heighten the ghastly effect.

Never in all her life had Marilla seen anything so grotesque as Anne's hair at that moment.

Yes,

It's green,

Moaned Anne.

I thought nothing could be as bad as red hair,

But now I know it's ten times worse to have green hair.

Oh,

Marilla,

You little know how utterly wretched I am.

I little know how you got into this fix.

But I mean to find out,

Said Marilla.

Come right down to the kitchen,

It's too cold up here,

And tell me just what you've done.

I've been expecting something queer for some time.

You haven't got into any scrape for over two months,

And I was sure another one was due.

Now then,

What did you do to your hair?

I dyed it.

Dyed it?

Dyed your hair?

Anne Shirley,

Didn't you know it was a wicked thing to do?

Yes,

I knew it was a little wicked,

Admitted Anne,

But I thought it was worthwhile to be a little wicked to get rid of red hair.

I counted the cost,

Marilla.

Besides,

I meant to be extra good in other ways to make up for it.

Well,

Said Marilla sarcastically,

If I'd decided it was worthwhile to dye my hair,

I'd have dyed it a decent colour,

At least.

I wouldn't have dyed it green.

But I didn't mean to dye it green,

Marilla,

Protested Anne dejectedly.

If I was wicked,

I meant to be wicked to some purpose.

He said it would turn my hair a beautiful raven black.

He positively assured me that it would.

How could I doubt his word,

Marilla?

I know what it feels like to have your word doubted.

And Mrs.

Allen says we should never suspect anyone of not telling us the truth unless we have proof that they're not.

I have proof now.

Green hair is proof enough for anybody.

But I hadn't then,

And I believed every word he said implicitly.

Who,

Said,

Who are you talking about?

The peddler that was here this afternoon.

I bought the dye from him.

Anne,

Shirley,

How often have I told you never to let one of those Italians in the house?

I don't believe in encouraging them to come around at all.

Oh,

I didn't let him in the house.

I remembered what you told me,

And I went out,

Carefully shut the door,

And looked at his things on the step.

Besides,

He wasn't an Italian,

He was a German Jew.

He had a big box full of very interesting things.

And he told me he was working hard to make enough money to bring his wife and children out from Germany.

He spoke so feelingly about them that it touched my heart.

I wanted to buy something from him to help him in such a worthy object.

Then,

All at once,

I saw the bottle of hair dye.

The peddler said it was warranted to dye any hair a beautiful raven black and wouldn't wash off.

In a trice,

I saw myself with beautiful raven black hair,

And the temptation was irresistible.

But the price of the bottle was 75 cents,

And I had only 5 cents left out of my chicken money.

I think the peddler had a very kind heart,

For he said that seeing it was me,

He'd sell it for 50 cents,

And that was just giving it away.

So I bought it,

And as soon as he had gone,

I came up here and applied it with an old hairbrush,

As the direction said.

I used up the whole bottle.

And oh,

Marilla,

When I saw the dreadful color it turned my hair,

I repented of being wicked,

I can tell you.

And I've been repenting ever since.

Well,

I hope you'll repent to good purpose,

Said Marilla severely,

And that you've got your eyes opened to where your vanity has led you,

Anne.

Goodness knows what's to be done.

I suppose the first thing is to give your hair a good washing and see if that will do any good.

Accordingly,

Anne washed her hair,

Scrubbing it vigorously with soap and water.

But for all the difference it made,

She might as well have been But for all the difference it made,

She might as well have been scouring its original red.

The peddler had certainly spoken the truth when he declared that the dye wouldn't wash off.

However,

His veracity might be impeached in other respects.

Oh,

Marilla,

What shall I do?

Questioned Anne in tears.

I can never live this down.

People have pretty well forgotten my other mistakes.

The liniment cake and setting Diana drunk and flying into a temper with Mrs Linde.

But they'll never forget this.

They will think I am not respectable.

Oh,

Marilla,

What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.

That is poetry,

But it is true.

And oh,

How Josie Pye will laugh.

Marilla,

I cannot face Josie Pye.

I am the unhappiest girl in Prince Edward Island.

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 realised 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.

That 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 colour,

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 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 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 and I wanted to say something back,

But I didn't.

I just swept her one scornful look and then I forgave her.

It makes you feel very virtuous when you forgive people,

Doesn't it?

Doesn't it?

I mean to devote all my energies to being good after this and I shall never try to be beautiful again.

Of course,

It's better to be good.

I know it is.

But it's sometimes so hard to believe a thing,

Even when you know it.

I do really want to be good,

Marilla,

Like you and Mrs.

Allen and Miss Stacey and grow up to be a credit to you.

Diana says when my hair begins to grow to tie a black velvet ribbon around my head with a bow at one side,

She says she thinks it will be very becoming.

I will call it a snood.

That sounds so romantic.

But am I talking too much,

Marilla?

Does it hurt your head?

My head is better now.

It was terrible bad this afternoon,

Though.

These headaches of mine are getting worse and worse.

I'll have to see a doctor about them.

As for your chatter,

I don't know that I mind it.

I've got so used to it.

Which was Marilla's way of saying that she liked to hear it.

Reviews

Anne’s adventures and misadventures are a delight to witness, tenderly of course! I have a beautiful red headed niece who dyed hers black as a teen…professionally…deadened her whole look but she loved it! Red heads do struggle, sadly! She gradually came to realize the truth of lovely redness. Will Anne do the same?! We eagerly stay tuned! Thanks, Angela!