“Ont bedy-milk,” announced Violet.
“Yes, yes; go to Marilla.”
The child had laid the caps in the drawer and hung up the coats. Both children came out and clamored for supper and pulled on her skirt until they almost tipped her over.
Then the great bell clanged for the boarders’ supper. They had dinner at noon on Sundays. Mr. Borden returned and escorted the ladies over. This was always a rather chatty, long-drawn-out meal.
Marilla fed the babies, washed and put away her few dishes, then took the children out on the porch. Violet wanted to be “wocked,” so she sat beside her in the big porch chair. Pansy ran up and down uttering queer unmusical noises. The piano in the 156 other part of the house was accompanying a singer.
The mistress of that part leaned out of the window and said in a sharp tone—“Can’t you keep that child still? She’s an awful nuisance.”
“Let us go indoors,” said Marilla. “Come, and I’ll tell you a story about a bunny that got lost away from all his folks.”
But Pansy had no mind to come. She screamed when Marilla took hold of her arm and then kicked, jerking away, she rolled down the three steps, landing on the grass. Marilla, frightened, picked her up in her arms and ran through the hall with her. The suddenness had really taken the breath out of the little body for a moment, then she looked rather wildly at her rescuer.
“It didn’t hurt you much and you were a naughty baby to run away! Don’t cry any more and you shall have––” she cast about to see what solace there was—“oh, you shall have some sugar—see—” and she offered her some in a spoon.
Pansy laughed and reached out for the sugar, quite restored to good humor. 157