“I do hope I’ll be able to say something once in a while, and not sit like a mute,” said Diana anxiously.  “All Mrs. Morgan’s heroines converse so beautifully.  But I’m afraid I’ll be tongue-tied and stupid.  And I’ll be sure to say ‘I seen.’  I haven’t often said it since Miss Stacy taught here; but in moments of excitement it’s sure to pop out.  Anne, if I were to say ‘I seen’ before Mrs. Morgan I’d die of mortification.  And it would be almost as bad to have nothing to say.”

“I’m nervous about a good many things,” said Anne, “but I don’t think there is much fear that I won’t be able to talk.”

And, to do her justice, there wasn’t.

Anne shrouded her muslin glories in a big apron and went down to concoct her soup.  Marilla had dressed herself and the twins, and looked more excited than she had ever been known to look before.  At half past twelve the Allans and Miss Stacy came.  Everything was going well but Anne was beginning to feel nervous.  It was surely time for Priscilla and Mrs. Morgan to arrive.  She made frequent trips to the gate and looked as anxiously down the lane as ever her namesake in the Bluebeard story peered from the tower casement.

“Suppose they don’t come at all?” she said piteously.

“Don’t suppose it.  It would be too mean,” said Diana, who, however, was beginning to have uncomfortable misgivings on the subject.

“Anne,” said Marilla, coming out from the parlor, “Miss Stacy wants to see Miss Barry’s willowware platter.”

Anne hastened to the sitting room closet to get the platter.  She had, in accordance with her promise to Mrs. Lynde, written to Miss Barry of Charlottetown, asking for the loan of it.  Miss Barry was an old friend of Anne’s, and she promptly sent the platter out, with a letter exhorting Anne to be very careful of it, for she had paid twenty dollars for it.  The platter had served its purpose at the Aid bazaar and had then been returned to the Green Gables closet, for Anne would not trust anybody but herself to take it back to town.

She carried the platter carefully to the front door where her guests were enjoying the cool breeze that blew up from the brook.  It was examined and admired; then, just as Anne had taken it back into her own hands, a terrific crash and clatter sounded from the kitchen pantry.  Marilla, Diana, and Anne fled out, the latter pausing only long enough to set the precious platter hastily down on the second step of the stairs.

When they reached the pantry a truly harrowing spectacle met their eyes . . . a guilty looking small boy scrambling down from the table, with his clean print blouse liberally plastered with yellow filling, and on the table the shattered remnants of what had been two brave, becreamed lemon pies.