Anne walked slowly back. "I do not mind telling him the story," she answered with grave dignity. "I'm always telling stories to the girls. But he must ask me proper. I don't 'low for to be spoken to that way."
"Martha said 'please' to you," mumbled Dunlop, digging his toe in the turf.
"You want me to tell the story," said Anne.
There was a brief silence.
"I'll cry," he threatened.
"I don't have to keep you from crying," said Anne, with spirit. "Come on, Honey-Sweet."
"Please, you little girl," said Dunlop, hastily.
"And the princess walked on and on," continued Anne, as if the story had not been interrupted. "The low briers tore her dress, the tall briers scratched her hands and pulled her hair. It was getting da-a-rk so she could hardly see the path. Then all at once she saw a bright light ahead of her. It got brighter and brighter and it came from a little cabin in the woods."
And in the happy land of 'make believe' Anne roamed until the tea-bell called her back to the real world.
Where, meanwhile, were Anne's old friends, Miss Drayton and Pat? Let me hasten to assure you that Pat was not so unmindful of his little adopted sister as he seemed. He hated to write letters and never wrote any except the briefest of duty letters to his father and his Aunt Sarah. He took it for granted that the separation from Anne was only for a time. She could not come to a boys' camp and she would have to attend a girls' school. Later, she would be with them—father, Aunt Sarah, and himself. Of course she would, always. Mother had said she was his adopted sister. And she was a jolly dear little thing.