Anne of Green Gables
XI. Anne's Impressions of Sunday-School
"Well, how do you like them?" said Marilla.
Anne was standing in the gable room, looking solemnly at three new dresses spread out
on the bed. One was of snuffy colored gingham which Marilla had been tempted to buy
from a peddler the preceding summer because it looked so serviceable; one was of
black-and-white checkered sateen which she had picked up at a bargain counter in the
winter; and one was a stiff print of an ugly blue shade which she had purchased that
week at a Carmody store.
She had made them up herself, and they were all made alike--plain skirts fulled tightly to
plain waists, with sleeves as plain as waist and skirt and tight as sleeves could be.
"I'll imagine that I like them," said Anne soberly.
"I don't want you to imagine it," said Marilla, offended. "Oh, I can see you don't like the
dresses! What is the matter with them? Aren't they neat and clean and new?"
"Then why don't you like them?"
"They're--they're not--pretty," said Anne reluctantly.
"Pretty!" Marilla sniffed. "I didn't trouble my head about getting pretty dresses for you. I
don't believe in pampering vanity, Anne, I'll tell you that right off. Those dresses are
good, sensible, serviceable dresses, without any frills or furbelows about them, and
they're all you'll get this summer. The brown gingham and the blue print will do you for
school when you begin to go. The sateen is for church and Sunday school. I'll expect
you to keep them neat and clean and not to tear them. I should think you'd be grateful to
get most anything after those skimpy wincey things you've been wearing."
"Oh, I AM grateful," protested Anne. "But I'd be ever so much gratefuller if--if you'd
made just one of them with puffed sleeves. Puffed sleeves are so fashionable now. It
would give me such a thrill, Marilla, just to wear a dress with puffed sleeves."
"Well, you'll have to do without your thrill. I hadn't any material to waste on puffed
sleeves. I think they are ridiculous-looking things anyhow. I prefer the plain, sensible
"But I'd rather look ridiculous when everybody else does than plain and sensible all by
myself," persisted Anne mournfully.