“Isn’t it?” she whispered. “Just like that! He was looking for devils and there was God! And I think He just said, ‛You nice, brave boy!’ And Joyce Kilmer got right up and ran over to Him. But he left his body looking down over the edge, because they found it there. It makes me cold!” Anne’s hands were icy as she caught Kit around the neck and hid her face on his shoulder; her body was shaking. “There, there, little Anne, don’t! I wouldn’t think such things; they aren’t good for you. It’s all over,” Kit said. He looked appealingly across to Joan and Anne Dallas, who did not heed him; the baby at that moment had captured her mother’s scissors. Little Anne straightened herself and stared at Kit in amazement. “Why, of course it’s good for me! It’s _very_ good for my soul to think of it, and I love to feel so cold, and to shake the way that makes me shake! It’s noble shaking; not common scared. If ever I’m a nun I’ll meditate and meditate! You get up in the middle of the night to when you’re a Carmelite, and I think I’ll be Carmelites, they’re the strictest----” “Anne! Anne Berkley!” Peter’s indignant voice interrupted Anne from upstairs, calling over the banisters. “Yes, Peter-two,” said little Anne, getting down from Kit’s lap and going serenely toward the door. “Who let out all the hens? I’ll bet I know!” growled Peter. “Oh, yes; so do I,” said little Anne. “It was me, Petey, but they didn’t go away. They stayed around; I watched ’em--a while.” “Yes, a while!” Peter scorned her. “How long? Didn’t father say I had no business to keep hens in town, and I’d have to give ’em up if they annoyed the neighbours? They’re annoying them all right, all right! Over at Davis’s next door scratching up the last lettuce leaf this minute, and all their peas done for! Now dad’ll make me sell ’em, after I’ve bought feed at the price it was all winter, and now it’s spring and the hens were going to pay back some of it! And I was going to set ’em!” “And have dear little fluffy chicks? I know, Peter dear; you told me,” cried Anne with feeling. “Oh, you don’t think father’ll be so cruel as to stop us?” “_Us!_ Well, I like your nerve!” Peter’s contempt was beyond his power of expression. “Sure he’ll make me sell ’em. What in the dev--what made you let ’em out? Of all the contemptible tricks! And of all troublesome, meddlesome children! They spoil you, Anne Berkley. You’re a spoiled kid, and I hate to think what’ll become of you.”