heard them
talking in the kitchen as I was going through the hall. I heard Mary Joe
say, 'Dat Paul, he is de queeres' leetle boy. He talks dat queer. I tink
dere's someting wrong in his upper story.' I couldn't sleep last night
for ever so long, thinking of it, and wondering if Mary Joe was right. I
couldn't bear to ask Grandma about it somehow, but I made up my mind I'd
ask you. I'm so glad you think I'm all right in my upper story."

"Of course you are. Mary Joe is a silly, ignorant girl, and you are
never to worry about anything she says," said Anne indignantly, secretly
resolving to give Mrs. Irving a discreet hint as to the advisability of
restraining Mary Joe's tongue.

"Well, that's a weight off my mind," said Paul. "I'm perfectly happy
now, teacher, thanks to you. It wouldn't be nice to have something wrong
in your upper story, would it, teacher? I suppose the reason Mary
Joe imagines I have is because I tell her what I think about things
sometimes."

"It is a rather dangerous practice," admitted Anne, out of the depths of
her own experience.

"Well, by and by I'll tell you the thoughts I told Mary Joe and you can
see for yourself if there's anything queer in them," said Paul, "but
I'll wait till it begins to get dark. That is the time I ache to tell
people things, and when nobody else is handy I just HAVE to tell Mary
Joe. But after this I won't, if it makes her imagine I'm wrong in my
upper story. I'll just ache and bear it."

"And if the ache gets too bad you can come up to Green Gables and tell
me your thoughts," suggested Anne, with all the gravity that endeared
her to children, who so dearly love to be taken seriously.

"Yes, I will. But I hope Davy won't be there when I go because he makes
faces at me. I don't mind VERY much because he is such a little boy and
I am quite a big one, but still it is not pleasant to have faces made
at you. And Davy makes such terrible ones. Sometimes I am frightened he
will never get his face straightened out again. He makes them at me
in church when I ought to be thinking of sacred things. Dora likes me
though, and I like her, but not so well as I did before she told
Minnie May Barry that she meant to marry me when I grew up. I may marry
somebody when I grow up but I'm far too young to be thinking of it yet,
don't you think, teacher?"

"Rather young," agreed teacher.

"Speaking of marrying, reminds me of another thing that has been
troubling me of late," continued