asked her a thousand already. I suppose I had, too, but how
you going to find out about things if you don't ask
questions? And what DOES make the roads red?"

"Well now, I dunno," said Matthew.

"Well, that is one of the things to find out sometime.
Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to
find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--
it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so
interesting if we know all about everything, would it?
There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there? But
am I talking too much? People are always telling me I do.
Would you rather I didn't talk? If you say so I'll stop. I
can STOP when I make up my mind to it, although it's difficult."

Matthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself.
Like most quiet folks he liked talkative people when they
were willing to do the talking themselves and did not expect
him to keep up his end of it. But he had never expected to
enjoy the society of a little girl. Women were bad enough
in all conscience, but little girls were worse. He detested
the way they had of sidling past him timidly, with sidewise
glances, as if they expected him to gobble them up at a
mouthful if they ventured to say a word. That was the
Avonlea type of well-bred little girl. But this freckled
witch was very different, and although he found it rather
difficult for his slower intelligence to keep up with her
brisk mental processes he thought that he "kind of liked her
chatter." So he said as shyly as usual: