“I’ve always wondered what went wrong between Stephen Irving and Lavendar Lewis,” continued Marilla, ignoring Davy.  “They were certainly engaged twenty-five years ago and then all at once it was broken off.  I don’t know what the trouble was but it must have been something terrible, for he went away to the States and never come home since.”

“Perhaps it was nothing very dreadful after all.  I think the little things in life often make more trouble than the big things,” said Anne, with one of those flashes of insight which experience could not have bettered.  “Marilla, please don’t say anything about my being at Miss Lavendar’s to Mrs. Lynde.  She’d be sure to ask a hundred questions and somehow I wouldn’t like it . . . nor Miss Lavendar either if she knew, I feel sure.”

“I daresay Rachel would be curious,” admitted Marilla, “though she hasn’t as much time as she used to have for looking after other people’s affairs.  She’s tied home now on account of Thomas; and she’s feeling pretty downhearted, for I think she’s beginning to lose hope of his ever getting better.  Rachel will be left pretty lonely if anything happens to him, with all her children settled out west, except Eliza in town; and she doesn’t like her husband.”

Marilla’s pronouns slandered Eliza, who was very fond of her husband.

“Rachel says if he’d only brace up and exert his will power he’d get better.  But what is the use of asking a jellyfish to sit up straight?” continued Marilla.  “Thomas Lynde never had any will power to exert.  His mother ruled him till he married and then Rachel carried it on.  It’s a wonder he dared to get sick without asking her permission.  But there, I shouldn’t talk so.  Rachel has been a good wife to him.  He’d never have amounted to anything without her, that’s certain.  He was born to be ruled; and it’s well he fell into the hands of a clever, capable manager like Rachel.  He didn’t mind her way.  It saved him the bother of ever making up his own mind about anything.  Davy, do stop squirming like an eel.”

“I’ve nothing else to do,” protested Davy.  “I can’t eat any more, and it’s no fun watching you and Anne eat.”

“Well, you and Dora go out and give the hens their wheat,” said Marilla.  “And don’t you try to pull any more feathers out of the white rooster’s tail either.”

“I wanted some feathers for an Injun headdress,” said Davy sulkily.  “Milty Boulter has a dandy one, made out of the feathers his mother give him when she killed their old white gobbler.  You might let me have some.  That rooster’s got ever so many more’n he wants.”

“You may have the old feather duster in the garret,” said Anne, “and I’ll dye them green and red and yellow for you.”

“You do spoil that boy dreadfully,” said Marilla, when Davy, with a radiant face, had followed prim Dora out.  Marilla’s education had made great strides in the past six years; but she had not yet been able to rid herself of the idea that it was very bad for a child to have too many of its wishes indulged.