turned, and went indoors. But Anna ran and ran until she was tired.
As she ran she kept saying to herself, over and over, "I won't be like
that, I won't, I won't."

It seemed to her as though she were running away from Hillsboro itself,
running away from Mrs. Wicket, from her mother, from Thomas Frye, from
Anna Barly, from everything she wouldn't be. . . .

"I won't," she cried, "I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't."

"Never."

Mr. Jeminy, who was seated on his coat by the side of the road, got up
with a smile. "Well, Anna Barly," he said.

"Ak," she whispered, clapping both hands to her mouth, "how you scared
me." She could feel her heart beating with fright; her lips trembled,
her eyes filled with tears. She stood staring at Mr. Jeminy, who
stared gravely back at her. "Are you going to run away from me, too?"
he asked, at last.

"No," said Anna. Then, all at once, she burst out crying. "I can't
help it," she cried, between her sobs. "I can't help it. Don't look
at me."

"No," said Mr. Jeminy, "I won't." And he gazed up at the tree tops,
dark and sharp against the cold, gray sky.

Anna cried herself out. Then pale and ashamed, she started home again
with Mr. Jeminy. "I don't know what got into me," she said. "I don't