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 color--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 worth while 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 worth while
to dye my hair I d have dyed it a decent color 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. Allan says we should never suspect
anyone of not telling us the truth unless we have proof that they re
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