As the door closed behind Anne, Mrs. Lynde got briskly up to light a
lamp.
She s a real odd little thing. Take this chair, Marilla; it s easier
than the one you ve got; I just keep that for the hired boy to sit
on. Yes, she certainly is an odd child, but there is something kind of
taking about her after all. I don t feel so surprised at you and Matthew
keeping her as I did--nor so sorry for you, either. She may turn out all
right. Of course, she has a queer way of expressing herself--a little
too--well, too kind of forcible, you know; but she ll likely get over
that now that she s come to live among civilized folks. And then, her
temper s pretty quick, I guess; but there s one comfort, a child that
has a quick temper, just blaze up and cool down, ain t never likely to
be sly or deceitful. Preserve me from a sly child, that s what. On the
whole, Marilla, I kind of like her.
When Marilla went home Anne came out of the fragrant twilight of the
orchard with a sheaf of white narcissi in her hands.
I apologized pretty well, didn t I? she said proudly as they went
down the lane. I thought since I had to do it I might as well do it
thoroughly.
You did it thoroughly, all right enough, was Marilla s comment.
Marilla was dismayed at finding herself inclined to laugh over the
recollection. She had also an uneasy feeling that she ought to scold
Anne for apologizing so well; but then, that was ridiculous! She
compromised with her conscience by saying severely:
I hope you won t have occasion to make many more such apologies. I hope
you ll try to control your temper now, Anne.
That wouldn t be so hard if people wouldn t twit me about my looks,
said Anne with a sigh. I don t get cross about other things; but I m
_so_ tired of being twitted about my hair and it just makes me boil right
over. Do you suppose my hair will really be a handsome auburn when I
grow up?
You shouldn t think so much about your looks, Anne. I m afraid you are
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