“I don’t then,” retorted Marilla. “Who’s bringing this child up, Matthew, you or me?”
“Well now, you,” admitted Matthew.
“Don’t interfere then.”
“Well now, I ain’t interfering. It ain’t interfering to have your own opinion. And my opinion is that you ought to let Anne go.”
“You’d think I ought to let Anne go to the moon if she took the notion, I’ve no doubt,” was Marilla’s amiable rejoinder. “I might have let her spend the night with Diana, if that was all. But I don’t approve of this concert plan. She’d go there and catch cold like as not, and have her head filled up with nonsense and excitement. It would unsettle her for a week. I understand that child’s disposition and what’s good for it better than you, Matthew.”
“I think you ought to let Anne go,” repeated Matthew firmly. Argument was not his strong point, but holding fast to his opinion certainly was. Marilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took refuge in silence. The next morning, when Anne was washing the breakfast dishes in the pantry, Matthew paused on his way out to the barn to say to Marilla again:
“I think you ought to let Anne go, Marilla.”
For a moment Marilla looked things not lawful to be uttered. Then she yielded to the inevitable and said tartly:
“Very well, she can go, since nothing else ‘ll please you.”
Anne flew out of the pantry, dripping dishcloth in hand.