Peterkin
they had planted the primroses together, and together laughed at a contemptuous, and indignant gardener. Now he felt that he hated the memory of the wood and those primroses He sat down on the little plank seat he had put up for her, and stared moodily at the ground.
"What an infernal mess I've made of everything," said he to the thrushes and linnets.
Lightly a hand was laid on his shoulder.
"Have you?" Anne asked.
"Yes," he said sulkily, without looking up.
"Are you very miserable, Georgie?"
"It's a rotten world." He flung a piece of bark at a noisy wren.
"Oh!" Anne caught her breath. "You are very cruel, Georgie. Cruel and hard."
"Call me anything you like!" cried he. "Heap it on. And it isn't hardness, anyhow, that's brought me to this!"
Anne was silent
"I suppose," she said at last. "This
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