himpered Davy. "You've told me not to do such an awful lot
of things that I can't remember them all."

"Well, you march upstairs and stay there till after dinner. Perhaps
you'll get them sorted out in your memory by that time. No, Anne, never
you mind interceding for him. I'm not punishing him because he
spoiled your pies . . . that was an accident. I'm punishing him for his
disobedience. Go, Davy, I say."

"Ain't I to have any dinner?" wailed Davy.

"You can come down after dinner is over and have yours in the kitchen."

"Oh, all right," said Davy, somewhat comforted. "I know Anne'll save
some nice bones for me, won't you, Anne? 'Cause you know I didn't mean
to fall on the pies. Say, Anne, since they ARE spoiled can't I take some
of the pieces upstairs with me?"

"No, no lemon pie for you, Master Davy," said Marilla, pushing him
toward the hall.

"What shall we do for dessert?" asked Anne, looking regretfully at the
wreck and ruin.

"Get out a crock of strawberry preserves," said Marilla consolingly.
"There's plenty of whipped cream left in the bowl for it."

One o'clock came . . . but no Priscilla or Mrs. Morgan. Anne was in an
agony. Everything was done to a turn and the soup was just what soup
should be, but couldn't be depended on to remain so for any length of
time.

"I don't believe they're coming after all," said Marilla crossly.

Anne and Diana sought comfort in each other's eyes.

At half past one Marilla again emerged from the parlor.

"Girls, we MUST have dinner. Everybody is hungry and it's no use waiting
any longer. Priscilla and Mrs. Morgan are not coming, that's plain, and
nothing is being improved by waiting."

Anne and Diana set about lifting the dinner, with all the zest gone out
of the performance.

"I don't believe I'll be able to eat a mouthful," said Diana dolefully.

"Nor I. But I hope everything will be nice for Miss Stacy's and Mr. and
Mrs. Allan's sakes," said Anne listlessly.

When Diana dished the peas she tasted them and a very peculiar
expression crossed her face.

"Anne, did YOU put sugar in these peas?"

"Yes," said Anne, mashing the potatoes with the air of one expected to
do her duty. "I put a spoonful of sugar in. We always do. Don't you like
it?"

"But _I_ put a spoonful in too, when I set them on the stove," said
Diana.

Anne dropped her masher and tasted the peas also. Then she made a
grimace.

"How awful! I never dreamed you had put sugar in, because I