a ball?" asked Marilla.

"Why, girls don't go to balls! They are for the big folks. My grown up
sister does and they're just splendid."

She had half a mind to tell them about the beautiful dream and how she
had danced with the Prince. But Pansy was going on at such a rate that
she pushed the carriage along and by the time they reached home she
had forgotten her trouble.

And there was a letter from Dr. Richards.

She wanted to kiss it, she was so glad, but Mrs. Borden stood there,
so she simply said--"Thank you," and opened it.

It was quite to a child's capacity. Marilla smiled in some places,
looked sad in others. The little boy who had been so dreadfully
injured by an automobile had died, but he would have been a terrible
cripple if he had lived. There had been two very hot weeks and the
poor babies had suffered. He was very glad to hear that the twins were
doing so nicely, and had all their teeth safe and sound. And was she
growing stronger, and did she have a chance to take the baths he
advised? Miss Armitage was having a fine time. And a friend was to
take them in his yacht around the islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence
and come down to Nova Scotia, so she wouldn't be home as soon as they
expected. And he was so busy he couldn't have any vacation at all; but
then he had taken years before and must be satisfied.

There were bits of fun and queer sayings interspersed that made a sort
of jolliness in her face.

"Don't you want to read it?" she asked, rather timidly.

Mrs. Borden just did. She and Florence had wondered whether Marilla
had made any invidious comparisons about the change to actual service
instead of being treated as a guest in a fine house.

"If--you'd like me to," with the proper hesitation.

"Oh, yes. And I used to tell him about the babies, that they were so
good and hardly ever cried, and how I told them stories and they
laughed just as if they understood--didn't they?"

"You _made_ them understand. You're an odd little girl, Marilla, and I
don't know what we would do without you, but then you do really belong
to us. I do suppose the baths would be a good thing if you were not
afraid. Now, we can't coax Jack to go in the water, though he delights
to run along the edge barefooted. That's fun for the children. But you
see if we all went some one must look after the children. Then there's
the time for their nap and there'd be no one to go with you. There
seems so many things to do in the