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Matthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself.

Like most quiet folks he liked talkative people when they were willing to do the talking themselves and did not expect him to keep up his end of it.

But he had never expected to enjoy the society of a little girl.

Women were bad enough in all conscience, but little girls were worse.

He detested the way they had of sidling past him timidly, with sidewise glances, as if they expected him to gobble them up at a mouthful if they ventured to say a word.

That was the Avonlea type of well-bred little girl.

But this freckled witch was very different, and although he found it rather difficult for his slower intelligence to keep up with her brisk mental processes he thought that he "kind of liked her chatter." So he said as shyly as usual:

"Oh, you can talk as much as you like. I don't mind."

"Oh, I'm so glad.

I know you and I are going to get along together fine.

It's such a relief to talk when one wants to and not be told that children should be seen and not heard.

I've had that said to me a million times if I have once.

And people laugh at me because I use big words.

But if you have big ideas you have to use big words to express them, haven't you?"

"Well now, that seems reasonable," said Matthew.

"Mrs. Spencer said that my tongue must be hung in the middle.

But it isn't-it's firmly fastened at one end.

Mrs. Spencer said your place was named Green Gables.

I asked her all about it.

And she said there were trees all around it.

I was gladder than ever.

I just love trees.

And there weren't any at all about the asylum, only a few poor weeny-teeny things out in front with little whitewashed cagey things about them.

They just looked like orphans themselves, those trees did.

It used to make me want to cry to look at them.

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