went up tonight. And the brooch is gone, there's nothing surer.

I suppose she has lost it and is afraid to own up for fear she'll
be punished. It's a dreadful thing to think she tells falsehoods.

It's a far worse thing than her fit of temper. It's a fearful
responsibility to have a child in your house you can't trust.

Slyness and untruthfulness--that's what she has displayed.
I declare I feel worse about that than about the brooch. If

she'd only have told the truth about it I wouldn't mind so much."
Marilla went to her room at intervals all through the evening and

searched for the brooch, without finding it. A bedtime visit to
the east gable produced no result. Anne persisted in denying

that she knew anything about the brooch but Marilla was only the
more firmlyconvinced that she did.

She told Matthew the story the next morning. Matthew was
confounded and puzzled; he could not so quickly lose faith in

Anne but he had to admit that circumstances were against her.
"You're sure it hasn't fell down behind the bureau?" was the only

suggestion he could offer.
"I've moved the bureau and I've taken out the drawers and I've

looked in every crack and cranny" was Marilla's positive answer.
"The brooch is gone and that child has taken it and lied about it.

That's the plain, ugly truth, Matthew Cuthbert, and we might as
well look it in the face."

"Well now, what are you going to do about it?" Matthew asked
forlornly, feeling secretlythankful that Marilla and not he had

to deal with the situation. He felt no desire to put his oar in
this time.

"She'll stay in her room until she confesses," said Marilla
grimly, remembering the success of this method in the former

case. "Then we'll see. Perhaps we'll be able to find the brooch
if she'll only tell where she took it; but in any case she'll

have to be severely" target="_blank" title="ad.剧烈地；严格地">severelypunished, Matthew."
"Well now, you'll have to punish her," said Matthew, reaching for

his hat. "I've nothing to do with it, remember. You warned me
off yourself."

Marilla felt deserted by everyone. She could not even go to Mrs.
Lynde for advice. She went up to the east gable with a very

serious face and left it with a face more serious still. Anne
steadfastly refused to confess. She persisted in asserting that

she had not taken the brooch. The child had evidently been
crying and Marilla felt a pang of pity which she sternly

repressed. By night she was, as she expressed it, "beat out."
"You'll stay in this room until you confess, Anne. You can make

up your mind to that," she said firmly.
"But the picnic is tomorrow, Marilla," cried Anne. "You won't

keep me from going to that, will you? You'll just let me out for
the afternoon, won't you? Then I'll stay here as long as you

like AFTERWARDS cheerfully" target="_blank" title="ad.高兴地，愉快地">cheerfully. But I MUST go to the picnic."
"You'll not go to picnics nor anywhere else until you've

confessed, Anne."
"Oh, Marilla," gasped Anne.

But Marilla had gone out and shut the door.
Wednesday morning dawned as bright and fair as if expressly made

to order for the picnic. Birds sang around Green Gables; the
Madonna lilies in the garden sent out whiffs of perfume that

entered in on viewless winds at every door and window, and
wandered through halls and rooms like spirits of benediction.

The birches in the hollow waved joyful hands as if watching for
Anne's usual morning greeting from the east gable. But Anne was

not at her window. When Marilla took her breakfast up to her she
found the child sitting primly on her bed, pale and resolute,

with tight-shut lips and gleaming eyes.
"Marilla, I'm ready to confess."

"Ah!" Marilla laid down her tray. Once again her method had
succeeded; but her success was very bitter to her. "Let me hear

what you have to say then, Anne."
"I took the amethyst brooch," said Anne, as if repeating a lesson

she had learned. "I took it just as you said. I didn't mean to
take it when I went in. But it did look so beautiful, Marilla,

when I pinned it on my breast that I was overcome by an
irresistible temptation. I imagined how perfectly thrilling it

would be to take it to Idlewild and play I was the Lady Cordelia
Fitzgerald. It would be so much easier to imagine I was the Lady

Cordelia if I had a real amethyst brooch on. Diana and I make
necklaces of roseberries but what are roseberries compared to

amethysts? So I took the brooch. I thought I could put it back
before you came home. I went all the way around by the road to

lengthen out the time. When I was going over the bridge across
the Lake of Shining Waters I took the brooch off to have another

look at it. Oh, how it did shine in the sunlight! And then, when
I was leaning over the bridge, it just slipped through my

fingers--so--and went down--down--down, all purplysparkling, and
sank forevermore beneath the Lake of Shining Waters. And that's

the best I can do at confessing, Marilla."
Marilla felt hot anger surge up into her heart again. This child

had taken and lost her treasured amethyst brooch and now sat
there calmly reciting the details thereof without the least

apparent compunction or repentance.
"Anne, this is terrible," she said, trying to speak calmly.

"You are the very wickedest girl I ever heard of"
"Yes, I suppose I am," agreed Anne tranquilly. "And I know I'll

have to be punished. It'll be your duty to punish me, Marilla.
Won't you please get it over right off because I'd like to go to

the picnic with nothing on my mind."
"Picnic, indeed! You'll go to no picnic today, Anne Shirley.

That shall be your punishment. And it isn't half severe enough
either for what you've done!"

"Not go to the picnic!" Anne sprang to her feet and clutched
Marilla's hand. "But you PROMISED me I might! Oh, Marilla, I

must go to the picnic. That was why I confessed. Punish me any
way you like but that. Oh, Marilla, please, please, let me go to

the picnic. Think of the ice cream! For anything you know I may
never have a chance to taste ice cream again."

Marilla disengaged Anne's clinging hands stonily.
"You needn't plead, Anne. You are not going to the picnic and

that's final. No, not a word."
Anne realized that Marilla was not to be moved. She clasped her

hands together, gave a piercingshriek, and then flung herself
face downward on the bed, crying and writhing in an utter

abandonment of disappointment and despair.
"For the land's sake!" gasped Marilla, hastening from the room.

"I believe the child is crazy. No child in her senses would
behave as she does. If she isn't she's utterly bad. Oh dear,

I'm afraid Rachel was right from the first. But I've put my hand
to the plow and I won't look back."

That was a dismal morning. Marilla worked fiercely and scrubbed
the porch floor and the dairy shelves when she could find nothing

else to do. Neither the shelves nor the porch needed it--but
Marilla did. Then she went out and raked the yard.

When dinner was ready she went to the stairs and called Anne. A
tear-stained face appeared, looking tragically over the banisters.