Chapter XI. Anne’s Impressions of Sunday-School

           Well,howdoyoulikethem?”saidMarilla.

           Annewasstandinginthegableroom,lookingsolemnlyatthreenewdressesspreadoutonthebed.OnewasofsnuffycoloredginghamwhichMarillahadbeentemptedtobuyfromapeddlertheprecedingsummerbecauseitlookedsoserviceable;onewasofblack-and-whitecheckeredsateenwhichshehadpickedupatabargaincounterinthewinter;andonewasastiffprintofanuglyblueshadewhichshehadpurchasedthatweekataCarmodystore.

           Shehadmadethemupherself,andtheywereallmadealike—plainskirtsfulledtightlytoplainwaists,withsleevesasplainaswaistandskirtandtightassleevescouldbe.

           “I’llimaginethatIlikethem,”saidAnnesoberly.

           “Idon’twantyoutoimagineit,”saidMarilla,offended.“Oh,Icanseeyoudon’tlikethedresses!Whatisthematterwiththem?Aren’ttheyneatandcleanandnew?”

           “Yes.”

           “Thenwhydon’tyoulikethem?”

           “They’re—they’renot—pretty,”saidAnnereluctantly.

           “Pretty!”Marillasniffed.“Ididn’ttroublemyheadaboutgettingprettydressesforyou.Idon’tbelieveinpamperingvanity,Anne,I’lltellyouthatrightoff.Thosedressesaregood,sensible,serviceabledresses,withoutanyfrillsorfurbelowsaboutthem,andthey’reallyou’llgetthissummer.Thebrownginghamandtheblueprintwilldoyouforschoolwhenyoubegintogo.ThesateenisforchurchandSundayschool.I’llexpectyoutokeepthemneatandcleanandnottotearthem.Ishouldthinkyou’dbegratefultogetmostanythingafterthoseskimpywinceythingsyou’vebeenwearing.