“Well, that’s a relief, Davy. Who is the lady?”
“Stella Fletcher; she’s in my class at school. And say, Anne, she’s the prettiest
girl you ever saw. If I die before I grow up you’ll keep an eye on her, won’t
you?”
“Davy Keith, do stop talking such nonsense,” said Marilla severely.
“‘Tisn’t nonsense,” protested Davy in an injured tone. “She’s my promised
wife, and if I was to die she’d be my promised widow, wouldn’t she? And she
hasn’t got a soul to look after her except her old grandmother.”
“Come and have your supper, Anne,” said Marilla, “and don’t encourage that
child in his absurd talk.”