onths passed, busy with work and study. Anne welcomed the
mild spring days which came at last and allowed out-of-door games.
During the autumn, the boxwood playhouse had been a place of delight to
her and Dunlop and Arthur. Now, after a spring cleaning patterned after
Mrs. Marshall's, she and Honey-Sweet again took up quarters there.

One Saturday afternoon, however, Dunlop came strutting out in an Indian
suit which his mamma had just bought him and announced that he was "heap
big chief" and was going to have the boxwood for his wigwam.

Anne objected. She had found the treehouse and it was hers; the others
were to play there all they pleased; but she would go straight home
unless the boxwood was to remain, as it had always been, her "private
property," as she proudly said.

For answer, Dunlop fitted an arrow on his bow and rushed in, yelling,
"You squaw! This is my papa's place. You get out of my wigwam. Get out,
I say."

Without a word, Anne gathered up Honey-Sweet and marched off, with her
chin in the air. For a whole long week she did not come to 'Roseland.'
Worst of all, on Saturday she played all afternoon with the other girls
on the 'Home' grounds, without once looking over the hedge.

Arthur threw himself into Martha's arms. "I want my Anne," he sobbed, "I
want her to come back. 'Lop's a bad, bad boy to make my Anne go 'way."

Shortly before teatime, Anne left the other girls and without seeming to
see any one beyond the hedge, sat down just out of earshot and began to
tell Honey-Sweet a story. This was more than could be borne. Arthur
wailed aloud.

Suddenly Dunlop broke his way through the hedge, stopped just in front
of Anne, and screamed: "It's your old house. You come on."

Anne looked at him but did not move.

He stamped his foot. "Please!" he shouted fiercely.

"Good and all? Private property?" asked Anne.

Dunlop nodded.

Anne rose. "We better go through the gap," she said in an offhand way.
"Miss Emma'll try to have me whipped if we break down the hedge."

Dunlop trotted by her side in silence. As they crossed the hedge, he
slipped his grimy hand in hers. "Mamma says we are going to the country
next week," he announced; "and I told her you'd have to go, too."

Indeed, Dunlop flatly refused to go away without Anne. He would not
yield to coaxing and he scorned threats. His wishes finally prevailed
and it was decided that Anne should go with them to spend the week-end
and return to town wit