“Come here, Anthony.”

It was far from being the most severe punishment Anthony Pye had ever undergone.  Anne, even the stormy-souled Anne she was at that moment, could not have punished any child cruelly.  But the pointer nipped keenly and finally Anthony’s bravado failed him; he winced and the tears came to his eyes.

Anne, conscience-stricken, dropped the pointer and told Anthony to go to his seat.  She sat down at her desk feeling ashamed, repentant, and bitterly mortified.  Her quick anger was gone and she would have given much to have been able to seek relief in tears.  So all her boasts had come to this . . . she had actually whipped one of her pupils.  How Jane would triumph!  And how Mr. Harrison would chuckle!  But worse than this, bitterest thought of all, she had lost her last chance of winning Anthony Pye.  Never would he like her now.

Anne, by what somebody has called “a Herculaneum effort,” kept back her tears until she got home that night.  Then she shut herself in the east gable room and wept all her shame and remorse and disappointment into her pillows . . . wept so long that Marilla grew alarmed, invaded the room, and insisted on knowing what the trouble was.

“The trouble is, I’ve got things the matter with my conscience,” sobbed Anne.  “Oh, this has been such a Jonah day, Marilla.  I’m so ashamed of myself.  I lost my temper and whipped Anthony Pye.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Marilla with decision.  “It’s what you should have done long ago.”

“Oh, no, no, Marilla.  And I don’t see how I can ever look those children in the face again.  I feel that I have humiliated myself to the very dust.  You don’t know how cross and hateful and horrid I was.  I can’t forget the expression in Paul Irving’s eyes . . . he looked so surprised and disappointed.  Oh, Marilla, I have tried so hard to be patient and to win Anthony’s liking . . . and now it has all gone for nothing.”

Marilla passed her hard work-worn hand over the girl’s glossy, tumbled hair with a wonderful tenderness.  When Anne’s sobs grew quieter she said, very gently for her,

“You take things too much to heart, Anne.  We all make mistakes . . . but people forget them.  And Jonah days come to everybody.  As for Anthony Pye, why need you care if he does dislike you?  He is the only one.”

“I can’t help it.  I want everybody to love me and it hurts me so when anybody doesn’t.  And Anthony never will now.  Oh, I just made an idiot of myself today, Marilla.  I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Marilla listened to the whole story, and if she smiled at certain parts of it Anne never knew.  When the tale was ended she said briskly,

“Well, never mind.  This day’s done and there’s a new one coming tomorrow, with no mistakes in it yet, as you used to say yourself.  Just come downstairs and have your supper.  You’ll see if a good cup of tea and those plum puffs I made today won’t hearten you up.”