Dora said primly that she liked school; but she was very quiet, even for her; and when at twilight Marilla bade her go upstairs to bed she hesitated and began to cry.
"I'm...I'm frightened," she sobbed. "I...I don't want to go upstairs alone in the dark."
"What notion have you got into your head now?" demanded Marilla. "I'm sure you've gone to bed alone all summer and never been frightened before."
Dora still continued to cry, so Anne picked her up, cuddled her sympathetically, and whispered,
"Tell Anne all about it, sweetheart. What are you frightened of?"
"Of...of Mirabel Cotton's uncle," sobbed Dora. "Mirabel Cotton told me all about her family today in school. Nearly everybody in her family has died...all her grandfathers and grandmothers and ever so many uncles and aunts. They have a habit of dying, Mirabel says. Mirabel's awful proud of having so many dead relations, and she told me what they all died of, and what they said, and how they looked in their coffins. And Mirabel says one of her uncles was seen walking around the house after he was buried. Her mother saw him. I don't mind the rest so much but I can't help thinking about that uncle."
Anne went upstairs with Dora and sat by her until she fell asleep. The next day Mirabel Cotton was kept in at recess and "gently but firmly" given to understand that when you were so unfortunate as to possess an uncle who persisted in walking about houses after he had been decently interred it was not in good taste to talk about that eccentric gentleman to your deskmate of tender years. Mirabel thought this very harsh. The Cottons had not much to boast of. How was she to keep up her prestige among her schoolmates if she were forbidden to make capital out of the family ghost?
good times, good times. I made pound cake today, and we had it with cream and fresh strawberries from saechao's. in the mail I got a refund check for $11 from the dmv, which is strange, because I paid the amount they told me to plus the late fee. but hey, I'm not going to send them their money back. they clearly said it's mine now. I attribute this miraculous occurrance to the fact that yesterday I made out a check for tithing on my last few paychecks, which I hadn't done because I lost my checkbook temporarily. so it's ready to be handed to the bishop tomorrow, and while I'm not expecting a flood of random monies to come, I do believe with all my heart that financial matters will somehow work out for me. that may only mean that I've got a place to live and someone to feed me, or it may mean I'll have enough money to hold me through my move to utah; whatever the case, I have absolute confidence in the promise of tithing.