Rilla decided to call.

There were times afterwards when she wished she hadn't, but in the long run she was very thankful that she did.
The Anderson house was a small and tumbledown affair, crouching in a grove of battered spruces near the shore as if rather ashamed of itself and anxious to hide.

Rilla tied her grey nag to the rickety fence and went to the door.

It was open; and the sight she saw bereft her temporarily of the power of speech or motion.
Through the open door of the small bedroom opposite her, Rilla saw Mrs.
Anderson lying on the untidy bed; and Mrs.Anderson was dead.

There was no doubt of that; neither was there any doubt that the big, frowzy, red-headed, red-faced, over-fat woman sitting near the door-way, smoking a pipe quite comfortably, was very much alive.