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Mrs. Blewett darted her eyes over Anne from head to foot.

"How old are you and what's your name?" she demanded.

"Anne Shirley," faltered the shrinking child, not daring to make any stipulations regarding the spelling thereof, "and I'm eleven years old."

"Humph! You don't look as if there was much to you.

But you're wiry.

I don't know but the wiry ones are the best after all.

Well, if I take you you'll have to be a good girl, you know-good and smart and respectful.

I'll expect you to earn your keep, and no mistake about that.

Yes, I suppose I might as well take her off your hands, Miss Cuthbert.

The baby's awful fractious, and I'm clean worn out attending to him.

If you like I can take her right home now."

Marilla looked at Anne and softened at sight of the child's pale face with its look of mute misery-the misery of a helpless little creature who finds itself once more caught in the trap from which it had escaped.

Marilla felt an uncomfortable conviction that, if she denied the appeal of that look, it would haunt her to her dying day.

More-over, she did not fancy Mrs. Blewett.

To hand a sensitive, "highstrung" child over to such a woman! No, she could not take the responsibility of doing that!

"Well, I don't know," she said slowly.

"I didn't say that Matthew and I had absolutely decided that we wouldn't keep her.

In fact I may say that Matthew is disposed to keep her.

I just came over to find out how the mistake had occurred.

I think I'd better take her home again and talk it over with Matthew.

I feel that I oughtn't to decide on anything without consulting him.

If we make up our mind not to keep her we'll bring or send her over to you tomorrow night.

If we don't you may know that she is going to stay with us.

Will that suit you, Mrs. Blewett?"

"I suppose it'll have to," said Mrs. Blewett ungraciously.

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