“No, I never will.  Anyhow, it’s not likely I’d find any more of them this year.  I found this one on the cellar steps.”

“Davy, what is it you’ve done?”

“I put a toad in Marilla’s bed.  You can go and take it out if you like.  But say, Anne, wouldn’t it be fun to leave it there?”

“Davy Keith!” Anne sprang from Davy’s clinging arms and flew across the hall to Marilla’s room.  The bed was slightly rumpled.  She threw back the blankets in nervous haste and there in very truth was the toad, blinking at her from under a pillow.

“How can I carry that awful thing out?” moaned Anne with a shudder.  The fire shovel suggested itself to her and she crept down to get it while Marilla was busy in the pantry.  Anne had her own troubles carrying that toad downstairs, for it hopped off the shovel three times and once she thought she had lost it in the hall.  When she finally deposited it in the cherry orchard she drew a long breath of relief.

“If Marilla knew she’d never feel safe getting into bed again in her life.  I’m so glad that little sinner repented in time.  There’s Diana signaling to me from her window.  I’m glad . . .  I really feel the need of some diversion, for what with Anthony Pye in school and Davy Keith at home my nerves have had about all they can endure for one day.”

IX

A Question of Color

“That old nuisance of a Rachel Lynde was here again today, pestering me for a subscription towards buying a carpet for the vestry room,” said Mr. Harrison wrathfully.  “I detest that woman more than anybody I know.  She can put a whole sermon, text, comment, and application, into six words, and throw it at you like a brick.”

Anne, who was perched on the edge of the veranda, enjoying the charm of a mild west wind blowing across a newly ploughed field on a gray November twilight and piping a quaint little melody among the twisted firs below the garden, turned her dreamy face over her shoulder.

“The trouble is, you and Mrs. Lynde don’t understand one another,” she explained.  “That is always what is wrong when people don’t like each other.  I didn’t like Mrs. Lynde at first either; but as soon as I came to understand her I learned to.”

“Mrs. Lynde may be an acquired taste with some folks; but I didn’t keep on eating bananas because I was told I’d learn to like them if I did,” growled Mr. Harrison.  “And as for understanding her, I understand that she is a confirmed busybody and I told her so.”

“Oh, that must have hurt her feelings very much,” said Anne reproachfully.  “How could you say such a thing?  I said some dreadful things to Mrs. Lynde long ago but it was when I had lost my temper.  I couldn’t say them deliberately.”

“It was the truth and I believe in telling the truth to everybody.”

“But you don’t tell the whole truth,” objected Anne.  “You only tell the disagreeable part of the truth.  Now, you’ve told me a dozen times that my hair was red, but you’ve never once told me that I had a nice nose.”