punishing him for his disobedience. Go, Davy, I say.”
“Ain’t I to have any dinner?” wailed Davy.
“You can come down after dinner is over and have yours in the kitchen.”
“Oh, all right,” said Davy, somewhat comforted. “I know Anne’ll save some nice bones for me, won’t you, Anne? ’Cause you know I didn’t mean to fall on the pies. Say, Anne, since they are spoiled can’t I take some of the pieces upstairs with me?”
“No, no lemon pie for you, Master Davy,” said Marilla, pushing him toward the hall.
“What shall we do for dessert?” asked Anne, looking regretfully at the wreck and ruin.
“Get out a crock of strawberry preserves,” said Marilla consolingly. “There’s plenty of whipped cream left in the bowl for it.”
One o’clock came . . . but no Priscilla or Mrs. Morgan. Anne was in an agony. Everything was done to a turn and the soup was just what soup should be, but couldn’t be depended on to remain so for any length of time.
“I don’t believe they’re coming after all,” said Marilla crossly.
Anne and Diana sought comfort in each other’s eyes.
At half past one Marilla again emerged from the parlour.
“Girls, we must have dinner. Everybody is hungry and it’s no use waiting any longer. Priscilla and
