seems real popular
among them, somehow. I never thought she'd take with them so well."

"Then you really think I'd better let her stay home," said Marilla in
amazement.

"Yes. That is I wouldn't say school to her again until she said it
herself. Depend upon it, Marilla, she'll cool off in a week or so and
be ready enough to go back of her own accord, that's what, while, if
you were to make her go back right off, dear knows what freak or tantrum
she'd take next and make more trouble than ever. The less fuss made the
better, in my opinion. She won't miss much by not going to school, as
far as THAT goes. Mr. Phillips isn't any good at all as a teacher. The
order he keeps is scandalous, that's what, and he neglects the young
fry and puts all his time on those big scholars he's getting ready for
Queen's. He'd never have got the school for another year if his uncle
hadn't been a trustee--THE trustee, for he just leads the other two
around by the nose, that's what. I declare, I don't know what education
in this Island is coming to."

Mrs. Rachel shook her head, as much as to say if she were only at the
head of the educational system of the Province things would be much
better managed.

Marilla took Mrs. Rachel's advice and not another word was said to Anne
about going back to school. She learned her lessons at home, did her
chores, and played with Diana in the chilly purple autumn twilights;
but when she met Gilbert Blythe on the road or encountered him in Sunday
school she passed him by with an icy contempt that was no whit thawed by
his evident desire to appease her. Even Diana's efforts as a peacemaker
were of no avail. Anne had evidently made up her mind to hate Gilbert
Blythe to the end of life.

As much as she hated Gilbert, however, did she love Diana, with all the
love of her passionate little heart, equally intense in its likes and
dislikes. One evening Marilla, coming in from the orchard with a basket
of apples, found Anne sitting along by the east window in the twilight,
crying bitterly.

"Whatever's the matter now, Anne?" she asked.

"It's about Diana," sobbed Anne luxuriously. "I love Diana so, Marilla.
I cannot ever live without her. But I know very well when we grow up
that Diana will get married and go away and leave me. And oh, what shall
I do? I hate her husband--I just hate him furiously. I've been imagining
it all out--the wedding and everything--Diana dressed in snowy garments,
with a veil, and lo