into the familiar kitchen, holding fast the bits of box and the
periwinkle flowers, quite ready to answer her grandmother's questions,
though she was only too certain that it would be impossible to tell
any one the whole dear story of that June Sunday.

A little later, as Marilla came sedately home, she noticed in the
driveway some fresh hoofmarks which pointed toward the street, and
quickly assured herself that they could not have been made very long
before. "I wonder what the two of 'em have been doing all the
afternoon?" she said to herself. "She's a little lady, that child is;
and it's a burnin' shame she should be left to run wild. I never set
so much by her mother's looks as some did, but growin' things has
blooms as much as they have roots and prickles--and even them Thachers
will flower out once in a while."




VI

IN SUMMER WEATHER


One morning Dr. Leslie remembered an old patient whom he liked to go
to see now and then, perhaps more from the courtesy and friendliness
of the thing than from any hope of giving professional assistance. The
old sailor, Captain Finch, had long before been condemned as
unseaworthy, having suffered for many years from the effects of a bad
fall on shipboard. He was a cheerful and wise person, and the doctor
was much attached to him, besides knowing that he had borne his