From the first, Anne was a puzzle to the sober-minded lady. A few days
after Anne entered the home, she was sent into the office to be
reproved. Slim and erect in her short blue frock, she stood before the
superintendent. Miss Farlow looked at the slip of paper from the pupil
teacher: "Anne Lewis; disorderly; laughed aloud in the Sunday study
class."
"Why did you laugh during the Bible lesson, Anne Lewis?" asked Miss
Farlow. She always called each girl by her full name. "You knew that it
was naughty, did you not?"
"I did not mean to be naughty," said Anne, penitently. "I just laughed
at myself."
"Laughed at yourself?" Miss Farlow was puzzled.
"I was thinking," Anne explained. "My eyes were half-shut and--it was
the way the light was shining--I could see us all from our chins down in
the shiny desk. Then I thought, suppose all the mirrors in the world
were broken so we could never see our faces! We'd never know whether we
were ourselves or one of the other girls--we're so exactly alike, you
know. And I thought how funny it would be not to know whether you were
yourself or some one else, and maybe comb some one else's hair when you
meant to get the tangles out of your own--and I laughed out loud.
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