" 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.

Davy had finished ravelling out his herring net and had wound the twine
into a ball. Then he had gone into the pantry to put it up on the shelf
above the table, where he already kept a score or so of similar balls,
which, so far as could be discovered, served no useful purpose save to
yield the joy of possession. Davy had to climb on the table and reach
over to the shelf at a dangerous angle . . . something he had been
forbidden by Marilla to do, as he had come to grief once before in the
experiment. The result in this instance was disastrous. Davy slipped
and came sprawling squarely down on the lemon pies. His clean blouse was
ruined for that time and the pies for all time. It is, however, an ill
wind that blows nobody good, and the pig was eventually the gainer by
Davy's mischance.

"Davy Keith," said Marilla, shaking him by the shoulder, "didn't I
forbid you to climb up on that table again? Didn't I?"

"I forgot," w