There s just one more thing, Marilla, said Anne, with the air of
producing the last shot in her locker. Mrs. Barry told Diana that we
might sleep in the spare-room bed. Think of the honor of your little
Anne being put in the spare-room bed.
It s an honor you ll have to get along without. Go to bed, Anne, and
don t let me hear another word out of you.
When Anne, with tears rolling over her cheeks, had gone sorrowfully
upstairs, Matthew, who had been apparently sound asleep on the lounge
during the whole dialogue, opened his eyes and said decidedly:
Well now, Marilla, I think you ought to let Anne go.
I don t then, retorted Marilla. Who s bringing this child up,
Matthew, you or me?
Well now, you, admitted Matthew.
Don t interfere then.
Well now, I ain t interfering. It ain t interfering to have your own
opinion. And my opinion is that you ought to let Anne go.
You d think I ought to let Anne go to the moon if she took the notion,
I ve no doubt, was Marilla s amiable rejoinder. I might have let her
spend the night with Diana, if that was all. But I don t approve of this
concert plan. She d go there and catch cold like as not, and have her
head filled up with nonsense and excitement. It would unsettle her for
a week. I understand that child s disposition and what s good for it
better than you, Matthew.
I think you ought to let Anne go, repeated Matthew firmly. Argument
was not his strong point, but holding fast to his opinion certainly was.
Marilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took refuge in silence. The
next morning, when Anne was washing the breakfast dishes in the pantry,
Matthew paused on his way out to the barn to say to Marilla again:
I think you ought to let Anne go, Marilla.
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