“Why, what in the world have you to say about Dick Moore?”

“I’ve been thinking a great deal about him lately. Do you remember that time last summer I treated him for those carbuncles on his neck?”

“Yes—yes.”

“ I took the opportunity to examine the scars on his head thoroughly. I’ve always thought Dick was a very interesting case from a medical point of view. Lately I’ve been studying the history of trephining and the cases where it has been employed. Anne, I have come to the conclusion that if Dick Moore were taken to a good hospital and the operation of trephining performed on several places in his skull, his memory and faculties might be restored.”

“Gilbert!” Anne’s voice was full of protest. “Surely you don’t mean it!”

“I do, indeed. And I have decided that it is my duty to broach the subject to Leslie.”

“Gilbert Blythe, you shall not do any such thing,” cried Anne vehemently. “Oh, Gilbert, you won’t—you won’t. You couldn’t be so cruel. Promise me you won’t.”

“Why, Anne-girl, I didn’t suppose you would take it like this. Be reasonable—”

“I won’t be reasonable—I can’t be reasonable—I am reasonable. It is you who are unreasonable. Gilbert, have you ever once thought what it would mean for Leslie if Dick Moore were to be restored to his