Miss Cornelia took the whole situation in at a glance.  So did Mary.  The latter stopped short in her mad career and before Miss Cornelia could speak she had whirled around and was running up as fast as she had run down.  Miss Cornelia’s lips tightened ominously, but she knew it was no use to think of chasing her.  So she picked up poor, sobbing, dishevelled Rilla instead and took her home.  Rilla was heart-broken.  Her dress and slippers and hat were ruined and her six year old pride had received terrible bruises.

Susan, white with indignation, heard Miss Cornelia’s story of Mary Vance’s exploit.

“Oh, the hussy—­oh, the littly hussy!” she said, as she carried Rilla away for purification and comfort.

“This thing has gone far enough, Anne dearie,” said Miss Cornelia resolutely.  “Something must be done.  Who is this creature who is staying at the manse and where does she come from?”

“I understood she was a little girl from over-harbour who was visiting at the manse,” answered Anne, who saw the comical side of the codfish chase and secretly thought Rilla was rather vain and needed a lesson or two.

“I know all the over-harbour families who come to our church and that imp doesn’t belong to any of them,” retorted Miss Cornelia.  “She is almost in rags and when she goes to church she wears Faith Meredith’s old clothes.  There’s some mystery here, and I’m going to investigate it, since it seems nobody else will.  I believe she was at the bottom of their goings-on in Warren Mead’s spruce bush the other day.  Did you hear of their frightening his mother into a fit?”

“No.  I knew Gilbert had been called to see her, but I did not hear what the trouble was.”

“Well, you know she has a weak heart.  And one day last week, when she was all alone on the veranda, she heard the most awful shrieks of ‘murder’ and ‘help’ coming from the bush—­positively frightful sounds, Anne dearie.  Her heart gave out at once.  Warren heard them himself at the barn, and went straight to the bush to investigate, and there he found all the manse children sitting on a fallen tree and screaming ‘murder’ at the top of their lungs.  They told him they were only in fun and didn’t think anyone would hear them.  They were just playing Indian ambush.  Warren went back to the house and found his poor mother unconscious on the veranda.”

Susan, who had returned, sniffed contemptuously.

“I think she was very far from being unconscious, Mrs. Marshall Elliott, and that you may tie to.  I have been hearing of Amelia Warren’s weak heart for forty years.  She had it when she was twenty.  She enjoys making a fuss and having the doctor, and any excuse will do.”

“I don’t think Gilbert thought her attack very serious,” said Anne.