"Oh, at the asylum Sunday-school. They made us learn
the whole catechism. I liked it pretty well. There's
something splendid about some of the words. `Infinite,
eternal and unchangeable.' Isn't that grand? It has such a
roll to it--just like a big organ playing. You couldn't
quite call it poetry, I suppose, but it sounds a lot like
it, doesn't it?"

"We're not talking about poetry, Anne--we are talking
about saying your prayers. Don't you know it's a terrible
wicked thing not to say your prayers every night? I'm
afraid you are a very bad little girl."

"You'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red
hair," said Anne reproachfully. "People who haven't red
hair don't know what trouble is. Mrs. Thomas told me that
God made my hair red ON PURPOSE, and I've never cared about
Him since. And anyhow I'd always be too tired at night
to bother saying prayers. People who have to look after
twins can't be expected to say their prayers. Now, do
you honestly think they can?"

Marilla decided that Anne's religious training must be
begun at once. Plainly there was no time to be lost.

"You must say your prayers while you are under my roof, Anne."

"Why, of course, if you want me to," assented Anne cheerfully.
"I'd do anything to oblige you. But you'll have to tell me what