ANNE'S APOLOGY 93
"Well now, of course I do. It's terrible lonesome down-stairs without you. Just go and smooth it over—that's a good girl."
"Very well," said Anne resignedly. "I'll tell Manila as soon as she comes in that I've repented."
"That's right—that's right, Anne. But don't tell Marilla I said anything about it. She might think I was putting my oar in and I promised not to do that."
"Wild horses won't drag the secret from me," promised Anne solemnly. "How would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow ?"
But Matthew was gone, scared at his own success. He fled hastily to the remotest corner of the horse pasture lest Marilla should suspect what he had been up to. Marilla herself, upon her return to the house, was agreeably surprised to hear a plaintive voice calling, "Marilla," over the banisters.
"Well ?" she said, going into the hall.
"I'm sorry I lost my temper and said rude things, and I'm willing to go and tell Mrs. Lynde so."
"Very well." Manila's crispness gave no sign of her relief. She had been wondering what under the canopy she should do if Anne did not give in. "I'll take you down after milking."
Accordingly, after milking, behold Marilla and Anne walking down the lane, the former erect and triumphant, the latter drooping and dejected. But half-way down Anne's dejection vanished as if by enchantment. She lifted her head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the sunset sky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her. Marilla