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 been helped to a bewildering variety, declined it. But Marilla, seeing the disappointment on Anne’s face, said smilingly:

“Oh, you must take a piece of this, Mrs. Allan. Anne made it on purpose for you.”

“In that case I must sample it,” laughed Mrs. Allan, helping herself to a plump triangle, as did also the minister and Marilla.

Mrs. Allan took a mouthful of hers and a most peculiar expression crossed her face; not a word did she say, however, but steadily ate away at it. Marilla saw the expression and hastened to taste the cake.

“Anne Shirley!” she exclaimed, “what on earth did you put into that cake?”

“Nothing but what the recipe said, Marilla,” cried Anne with a look of anguish. “Oh, isn’t it all right?”

“All right! It’s simply horrible. Mrs. Allan, don’t try to eat it. Anne, taste it yourself. What flavouring did you use?”

“Vanilla,” said Anne, her face scarlet with mortification after tasting the cake. “Only vanilla. Oh, Marilla, it must have been the baking-powder. I had my suspicions of that bak—”

“Baking-powder fiddlesticks! Go and bring me the bottle of vanilla you used.”

Anne fled to the pantry and returned with a small bottle partially filled with a brown liquid and labelled yellowly, “Best Vanilla.”