reach the
schoolhouse in time but without a second to spare. The
boys, who had to
wrigglehastily down from the trees, were later;
and Anne, who had not been picking gum at all but was wandering
happily in the far end of the grove, waist deep among the
bracken, singing
softly to herself, with a
wreath of rice lilies
on her hair as if she were some wild
divinity of the shadowy
places, was latest of all. Anne could run like a deer, however;
run she did with the impish result that she
overtook the boys at
the door and was swept into the
schoolhouse among them just as
Mr. Phillips was in the act of
hanging up his hat.
Mr. Phillips's brief
reforming
energy was over; he didn't want
the
bother of punishing a dozen pupils; but it was necessary to
do something to save his word, so he looked about for a scapegoat
and found it in Anne, who had dropped into her seat, gasping for
breath, with a forgotten lily
wreathhanging askew over one ear
and giving her a particularly rakish and disheveled appearance.
"Anne Shirley, since you seem to be so fond of the boys' company
we shall
indulge your taste for it this afternoon," he said
sarcastically. "Take those flowers out of your hair and sit with
Gilbert Blythe."
The other boys snickered. Diana, turning pale with pity, plucked
the
wreath from Anne's hair and squeezed her hand. Anne stared
at the master as if turned to stone.
"Did you hear what I said, Anne?" queried Mr. Phillips
sternly.
"Yes, sir," said Anne slowly "but I didn't suppose you really meant it."
"I assure you I did"--still with the sarcastic inflection which all
the children, and Anne especially, hated. It flicked on the raw.
"Obey me at once."
For a moment Anne looked as if she meant to
disobey. Then,
realizing that there was no help for it, she rose haughtily,
stepped across the aisle, sat down beside Gilbert Blythe, and
buried her face in her arms on the desk. Ruby Gillis, who got a
glimpse of it as it went down, told the others going home from
school that she'd "acksually never seen anything like it--it was
so white, with awful little red spots in it."
To Anne, this was as the end of all things. It was bad enough to
be singled out for
punishment from among a dozen
equally guilty
ones; it was worse still to be sent to sit with a boy, but that
that boy should be Gilbert Blythe was heaping
insult on
injury to
a degree utterly
unbearable. Anne felt that she could not bear
it and it would be of no use to try. Her whole being seethed
with shame and anger and humiliation.
At first the other
scholars looked and whispered and giggled and
nudged. But as Anne never lifted her head and as Gilbert worked
fractions as if his whole soul was absorbed in them and them only,
they soon returned to their own tasks and Anne was forgotten.
When Mr. Phillips called the history class out Anne should have
gone, but Anne did not move, and Mr. Phillips, who had been
writing some verses "To Priscilla" before he called the class,
was thinking about an
obstinate rhyme still and never missed her.
Once, when nobody was looking, Gilbert took from his desk a little
pink candy heart with a gold motto on it, "You are sweet," and
slipped it under the curve of Anne's arm. Whereupon Anne arose,
took the pink heart gingerly between the tips of her fingers,
dropped it on the floor, ground it to powder beneath her heel,
and resumed her position without deigning to
bestow a glance on Gilbert.
When school went out Anne marched to her desk, ostentatiously took
out everything
therein, books and
writingtablet, pen and ink,
testament and
arithmetic, and piled them neatly on her
cracked slate.
"What are you
taking all those things home for, Anne?" Diana
wanted to know, as soon as they were out on the road. She had
not dared to ask the question before.
"I am not coming back to school any more," said Anne.
Diana gasped and stared at Anne to see if she meant it.
"Will Marilla let you stay home?" she asked.
"She'll have to," said Anne. "I'll NEVER go to school to
that man again."
"Oh, Anne!" Diana looked as if she were ready to cry. "I do
think you're mean. What shall I do? Mr. Phillips will make me
sit with that
horrid Gertie Pye--I know he will because she is
sitting alone. Do come back, Anne."
"I'd do almost anything in the world for you, Diana," said Anne sadly.
"I'd let myself be torn limb from limb if it would do you any good.
But I can't do this, so please don't ask it. You
harrow up my very soul."
"Just think of all the fun you will miss," mourned Diana. "We
are going to build the loveliest new house down by the brook; and
we'll be playing ball next week and you've never played ball, Anne.