"O-o-o-h," faltered Anne.
Her sensitive little face suddenly flushed scarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow.
"Oh, they MEANT to be-I know they meant to be just as good and kind as possible.
And when people mean to be good to you, you don't mind very much when they're not quite-always.
They had a good deal to worry them, you know.
It's very trying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying to have twins three times in succession, don't you think? But I feel sure they meant to be good to me."
Marilla asked no more questions.
Anne gave herself up to a silent rapture over the shore road and Marilla guided the sorrel abstractedly while she pondered deeply.
Pity was suddenly stirring in her heart for the child.
What a starved, unloved life she had had-a life of drudgery and poverty and neglect; for Marilla was shrewd enough to read between the lines of Anne's history and divine the truth.