Anne Shirley.
"There, did I do all right?" she asked eagerly, getting up. "I could have made it much more flowery if I'd had a little more time to think it over."
Poor Marilla was only preserved from complete collapse by remembering that it was not irreverence, but simply spiritual ignorance on the part of Anne that was responsible for this extraordinary petition.
She tucked the child up in bed, mentally vowing that she should be taught a prayer the very next day, and was leaving the room with the light when Anne called her back.
"I've just thought of it now. I should have said, 'Amen' in place of 'yours respectfully,' shouldn't I?-the way the ministers do. I'd forgotten it, but I felt a prayer should be finished off in some way, so I put in the other. Do you suppose it will make any difference?"
"I-I don't suppose it will," said Marilla. "Go to sleep now like a good child. Good night."
"I can only say good night tonight with a clear conscience," said Anne, cuddling luxuriously down among her pillows.
Marilla retreated to the kitchen, set the candle firmly on the table, and glared at Matthew.
"Matthew Cuthbert, it's about time somebody adopted that child and taught her something.
She's next door to a perfect heathen.