turned posts. In the other corner was the aforesaid three-
corner table adorned with a fat, red velvet pin-cushion hard
enough to turn the point of the most adventurous pin. Above
it hung a little six-by-eight mirror. Midway between table
and bed was the window, with an icy white muslin frill over
it, and opposite it was the wash-stand. The whole apartment
was of a rigidity not to be described in words, but which
sent a shiver to the very marrow of Anne's bones. With a
sob she hastily discarded her garments, put on the skimpy
nightgown and sprang into bed where she burrowed face
downward into the pillow and pulled the clothes over her
head. When Marilla came up for the light various skimpy
articles of raiment scattered most untidily over the floor
and a certain tempestuous appearance of the bed were the
only indications of any presence save her own.

She deliberately picked up Anne's clothes, placed them
neatly on a prim yellow chair, and then, taking up the
candle, went over to the bed.

"Good night," she said, a little awkwardly, but not unkindly.

Anne's white face and big eyes appeared over the bedclothes
with a startling suddenness.

"How can you call it a GOOD night when you know it must be
the very worst night I've ever had?" she said reproachfully.

Then she dived down into invisibility again.