visiting her aunt over at Carmody just now. You'll have
to be careful how you behave yourself, though. Mrs. Barry
is a very particular woman. She won't let Diana play with
any little girl who isn't nice and good."

Anne looked at Marilla through the apple blossoms, her
eyes aglow with interest.

"What is Diana like? Her hair isn't red, is it? Oh, I hope
not. It's bad enough to have red hair myself, but I
positively couldn't endure it in a bosom friend."

"Diana is a very pretty little girl. She has black eyes
and hair and rosy cheeks. And she is good and smart, which
is better than being pretty."

Marilla was as fond of morals as the Duchess in Wonderland,
and was firmly convinced that one should be tacked on to
every remark made to a child who was being brought up.

But Anne waved the moral inconsequently aside and seized
only on the delightful possibilities before it.

"Oh, I'm so glad she's pretty. Next to being beautiful
oneself--and that's impossible in my case--it would be
best to have a beautiful bosom friend. When I lived with
Mrs. Thomas she had a bookcase in her sitting room with
glass doors. There weren't any books in it; Mrs. Thomas
kept her best china and her preserves there--when she
had any preserves to keep. One of the doors was broken.