mintflossie

Ta Beatkę przebrzydłą to tylko wziąć i udusiorkać własnymi łapkami. Znaczy się ćwirczą mamusię. No bo jak tak można. Właśnie przyszedł Ćwirki kolega. Mamusia władowała  Go Ćwirce do pokoju...A Ćwirka  w samych majtusiach....ojojoj... hihihi:oP Upsssss What's a shame:o)))A na dodatek się smiechotkuje i mówi: "A co on majtek nie widział"...hehe:o))

When Mr. Phillips was in the back of the room hearing Prissy

Andrews's Latin, Diana whispered to Anne,

"That's Gilbert Blythe sitting right across the aisle from you,

Anne. Just look at him and see if you don't think he's handsome."

Anne looked accordingly. She had a good chance to do so, for the

said Gilbert Blythe was absorbed in stealthily pinning the long

yellow braid of Ruby Gillis, who sat in front of him, to the back

of her seat. He was a tall boy, with curly brown hair, roguish

hazel eyes, and a mouth twisted into a teasing smile. Presently

Ruby Gillis started up to take a sum to the master; she fell back

into her seat with a little shriek, believing that her hair was

pulled out by the roots. Everybody looked at her and Mr.

Phillips glared so sternly that Ruby began to cry. Gilbert had

whisked the pin out of sight and was studying his history with

the soberest face in the world; but when the commotion subsided

he looked at Anne and winked with inexpressible drollery.

"I think your Gilbert Blythe IS handsome," confided Anne to Diana,

"but I think he's very bold. It isn't good manners to wink at a

strange girl."

But it was not until the afternoon that things really began to happen.

Mr. Phillips was back in the corner explaining a problem in

algebra to Prissy Andrews and the rest of the scholars were doing

pretty much as they pleased eating green apples, whispering,

drawing pictures on their slates, and driving crickets harnessed

to strings, up and down aisle. Gilbert Blythe was trying to make

Anne Shirley look at him and failing utterly, because Anne was at

that moment totally oblivious not only to the very existence of

Gilbert Blythe, but of every other scholar in Avonlea school itself.

With her chin propped on her hands and her eyes fixed on the blue

glimpse of the Lake of Shining Waters that the west window afforded,

she was far away in a gorgeous dreamland hearing and seeing nothing

save her own wonderful visions.

Gilbert Blythe wasn't used to putting himself out to make a girl

look at him and meeting with failure. She SHOULD look at him, that

red-haired Shirley girl with the little pointed chin and the big

eyes that weren't like the eyes of any other girl in Avonlea school.

Gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne's

long red braid, held it out at arm's length and said in a

piercing whisper:

"Carrots! Carrots!"

Then Anne looked at him with a vengeance!

She did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright

fancies fallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant

glance at Gilbert from eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly

quenched in equally angry tears.

"You mean, hateful boy!" she exclaimed passionately. "How dare you!"

And then--thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's

head and cracked it--slate not head--clear across.

Avonlea school always enjoyed a scene. This was an especially

enjoyable one. Everybody said "Oh" in horrified delight. Diana

gasped. Ruby Gillis, who was inclined to be hysterical, began to

cry. Tommy Sloane let his team of crickets escape him altogether

while he stared open-mouthed at the tableau.

Mr. Phillips stalked down the aisle and laid his hand heavily on

Anne's shoulder.

"Anne Shirley, what does this mean?" he said angrily. Anne

returned no answer. It was asking too much of flesh and blood to

expect her to tell before the whole school that she had been

called "carrots." Gilbert it was who spoke up stoutly.

"It was my fault Mr. Phillips. I teased her."

Mr. Phillips paid no heed to Gilbert.

"I am sorry to see a pupil of mine displaying such a temper and

such a vindictive spirit," he said in a solemn tone, as if the

mere fact of being a pupil of his ought to root out all evil

passions from the hearts of small imperfect mortals. "Anne, go

and stand on the platform in front of the blackboard for the rest

of the afternoon."

Anne would have infinitely preferred a whipping to this

punishment under which her sensitive spirit quivered as from a

whiplash. With a white, set face she obeyed. Mr. Phillips took

a chalk crayon and wrote on the blackboard above her head.

"Ann Shirley has a very bad temper. Ann Shirley must learn to

control her temper," and then read it out loud so that even the

primer class, who couldn't read writing, should understand it.

Anne stood there the rest of the afternoon with that legend above

her. She did not cry or hang her head. Anger was still too hot

in her heart for that and it sustained her amid all her agony of

humiliation. With resentful eyes and passion-red cheeks she

confronted alike Diana's sympathetic gaze and Charlie Sloane's

indignant nods and Josie Pye's malicious smiles. As for Gilbert

Blythe, she would not even look at him. She would NEVER look at

him again! She would never speak to him!!