ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

 By Lucy Maud Montgomery

Table of Contents

 CHAPTER I Mrs. Rachel Lynde Is Surprised CHAPTER II Matthew Cuthbert Is Surprised CHAPTER III Marilla Cuthbert Is Surprised CHAPTER IV Morning at Green Gables CHAPTER V Anne's History CHAPTER VI Marilla Makes Up Her Mind CHAPTER VII Anne Says Her Prayers CHAPTER VIII Anne's Bringing-Up Is Begun CHAPTER IX Mrs. Rachel Lynde Is Properly Horrified CHAPTER X Anne's Apology CHAPTER XI Anne's Impressions of Sunday School CHAPTER XII A Solemn Vow and Promise CHAPTER XIII The Delights of Anticipation CHAPTER XIV Anne's Confession CHAPTER XV A Tempest in the School Teapot CHAPTER XVI Diana Is Invited to Tea with Tragic Results CHAPTER XVII A New Interest in Life CHAPTER XVIII Anne to the Rescue CHAPTER XIX A Concert a Catastrophe and a Confession CHAPTER XX A Good Imagination Gone Wrong CHAPTER XXI A New Departure in Flavorings CHAPTER XXII Anne is Invited Out to Tea CHAPTER XXIII Anne Comes to Grief in an Affair of Honor CHAPTER XXIV Miss Stacy and Her Pupils Get Up a Concert CHAPTER XXV Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves CHAPTER XXVI The Story Club Is Formed CHAPTER XXVII Vanity and Vexation of Spirit CHAPTER XXVIII An Unfortunate Lily Maid CHAPTER XXIX An Epoch in Anne's Life CHAPTER XXX The Queens Class Is Organized CHAPTER XXXI Where the Brook and River Meet CHAPTER XXXII The Pass List Is Out CHAPTER XXXIII The Hotel Concert CHAPTER XXXIV A Queen's Girl CHAPTER XXXV The Winter at Queen's CHAPTER XXXVI The Glory and the Dream CHAPTER XXXVII The Reaper Whose Name Is Death CHAPTER XXXVIII The Bend in the road

ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

CHAPTER I. Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised

Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped downinto a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops andtraversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of theold Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brookin its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pooland cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; itprobably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and childrenup, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would neverrest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof. 

There are plenty of people in Avonlea and out of it, who can attendclosely to their neighbor's business by dint of neglecting their own;but Mrs. Rachel Lynde was one of those capable creatures who can managetheir own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain. She was anotable housewife; her work was always done and well done; she "ran" theSewing Circle, helped run the Sunday-school, and was the strongest propof the Church Aid Society and Foreign Missions Auxiliary. Yet with allthis Mrs. Rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchenwindow, knitting "cotton warp" quilts--she had knitted sixteen of them, as Avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awed voices--and keepinga sharp eye on the main road that crossed the hollow and wound upthe steep red hill beyond. Since Avonlea occupied a little triangularpeninsula jutting out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence with water on twosides of it, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass over thathill road and so run the unseen gauntlet of Mrs. Rachel's all-seeingeye. 

She was sitting there one afternoon in early June. The sun was coming inat the window warm and bright; the orchard on the slope below the housewas in a bridal flush of pinky-white bloom, hummed over by a myriad ofbees. Thomas Lynde--a meek little man whom Avonlea people called "RachelLynde's husband"--was sowing his late turnip seed on the hill fieldbeyond the barn; and Matthew Cuthbert ought to have been sowing his onthe big red brook field away over by Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel knewthat he ought because she had heard him tell Peter Morrison the eveningbefore in William J. Blair's store over at Carmody that he meant to sowhis turnip seed the next afternoon. Peter had asked him, of course, forMatthew Cuthbert had never been known to volunteer information aboutanything in his whole life. 

And yet here was Matthew Cuthbert, at half-past three on the afternoonof a busy day, placidly driving over the hollow and up the hill;moreover, he wore a white collar and his best suit of clothes, which wasplain proof that he was going out of Avonlea; and he had the buggyand the sorrel mare, which betokened that he was going a considerabledistance. Now, where was Matthew Cuthbert going and why was he goingthere?

Had it been any other man in Avonlea, Mrs. Rachel, deftly putting thisand that together, might have given a pretty good guess as to bothquestions. But Matthew so rarely went from home that it must besomething pressing and unusual which was taking him; he was the shyestman alive and hated to have to go among strangers or to any place wherehe might have to talk. Matthew, dressed up with a white collar anddriving in a buggy, was something that didn't happen often. Mrs. Rachel, ponder as she might, could make nothing of it and her afternoon'senjoyment was spoiled. 

"I'll just step over to Green Gables after tea and find out from Marillawhere he's gone and why, " the worthy woman finally concluded. "Hedoesn't generally go to town this time of year and he NEVER visits; ifhe'd run out of turnip seed he wouldn't dress up and take the buggy togo for more; he wasn't driving fast enough to be going for a doctor. Yet something must have happened since last night to start him off. I'mclean puzzled, that's what, and I won't know a minute's peace of mind orconscience until I know what has taken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonleatoday. "

Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had not far to go; thebig, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the Cuthberts lived was ascant quarter of a mile up the road from Lynde's Hollow. To be sure, thelong lane made it a good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert's father, asshy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possiblycould from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woodswhen he founded his homestead. Green Gables was built at the furthestedge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visiblefrom the main road along which all the other Avonlea houses were sosociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living in such a placeLIVING at all. 

"It's just STAYING, that's what, " she said as she stepped along thedeep-rutted, grassy lane bordered with wild rose bushes. "It's no wonderMatthew and Marilla are both a little odd, living away back here bythemselves. Trees aren't much company, though dear knows if they werethere'd be enough of them. I'd ruther look at people. To be sure, theyseem contented enough; but then, I suppose, they're used to it. A bodycan get used to anything, even to being hanged, as the Irishman said. "

With this Mrs. Rachel stepped out of the lane into the backyard of GreenGables. Very green and neat and precise was that yard, set about on oneside with great patriarchal willows and the other with prim Lombardies. Not a stray stick nor stone was to be seen, for Mrs. Rachel would haveseen it if there had been. Privately she was of the opinion that MarillaCuthbert swept that yard over as often as she swept her house. One couldhave eaten a meal off the ground without overbrimming the proverbialpeck of dirt. 

Mrs. Rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped inwhen bidden to do so. The kitchen at Green Gables was a cheerfulapartment--or would have been cheerful if it had not been so painfullyclean as to give it something of the appearance of an unused parlor. Itswindows looked east and west; through the west one, looking out onthe back yard, came a flood of mellow June sunlight; but the east one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the leftorchard and nodding, slender birches down in the hollow by the brook, was greened over by a tangle of vines. Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, whenshe sat at all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed toher too dancing and irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant tobe taken seriously; and here she sat now, knitting, and the table behindher was laid for supper. 

Mrs. Rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, had taken a mentalnote of everything that was on that table. There were three plates laid, so that Marilla must be expecting some one home with Matthew to tea; butthe dishes were everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preservesand one kind of cake, so that the expected company could not be anyparticular company. Yet what of Matthew's white collar and the sorrelmare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy with this unusual mysteryabout quiet, unmysterious Green Gables. 

"Good evening, Rachel, " Marilla said briskly. "This is a real fineevening, isn't it? Won't you sit down? How are all your folks?"

Something that for lack of any other name might be called friendshipexisted and always had existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of--or perhaps because of--their dissimilarity. 

Marilla was a tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her darkhair showed some gray streaks and was always twisted up in a hard littleknot behind with two wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it. Shelooked like a woman of narrow experience and rigid conscience, which shewas; but there was a saving something about her mouth which, if it hadbeen ever so slightly developed, might have been considered indicativeof a sense of humor. 

"We're all pretty well, " said Mrs. Rachel. "I was kind of afraid YOUweren't, though, when I saw Matthew starting off today. I thought maybehe was going to the doctor's. "

Marilla's lips twitched understandingly. She had expected Mrs. Rachel up; she had known that the sight of Matthew jaunting off sounaccountably would be too much for her neighbor's curiosity. 

"Oh, no, I'm quite well although I had a bad headache yesterday, " shesaid. "Matthew went to Bright River. We're getting a little boy from anorphan asylum in Nova Scotia and he's coming on the train tonight. "

If Marilla had said that Matthew had gone to Bright River to meet akangaroo from Australia Mrs. Rachel could not have been more astonished. She was actually stricken dumb for five seconds. It was unsupposablethat Marilla was making fun of her, but Mrs. Rachel was almost forced tosuppose it. 

"Are you in earnest, Marilla?" she demanded when voice returned to her. 

"Yes, of course, " said Marilla, as if getting boys from orphan asylumsin Nova Scotia were part of the usual spring work on any well-regulatedAvonlea farm instead of being an unheard of innovation. 

Mrs. Rachel felt that she had received a severe mental jolt. She thoughtin exclamation points. A boy! Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert of all peopleadopting a boy! From an orphan asylum! Well, the world was certainlyturning upside down! She would be surprised at nothing after this!Nothing!

"What on earth put such a notion into your head?" she demandeddisapprovingly. 

This had been done without her advice being asked, and must perforce bedisapproved. 

"Well, we've been thinking about it for some time--all winter in fact, "returned Marilla. "Mrs. Alexander Spencer was up here one day beforeChristmas and she said she was going to get a little girl from theasylum over in Hopeton in the spring. Her cousin lives there and Mrs. Spencer has visited here and knows all about it. So Matthew and I havetalked it over off and on ever since. We thought we'd get a boy. Matthewis getting up in years, you know--he's sixty--and he isn't so spry as heonce was. His heart troubles him a good deal. And you know how desperatehard it's got to be to get hired help. There's never anybody to be hadbut those stupid, half-grown little French boys; and as soon as you doget one broke into your ways and taught something he's up and off to thelobster canneries or the States. At first Matthew suggested getting aHome boy. But I said 'no' flat to that. 'They may be all right--I'm notsaying they're not--but no London street Arabs for me, ' I said. 'Giveme a native born at least. There'll be a risk, no matter who we get. ButI'll feel easier in my mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a bornCanadian. ' So in the end we decided to ask Mrs. Spencer to pick us outone when she went over to get her little girl. We heard last week shewas going, so we sent her word by Richard Spencer's folks at Carmodyto bring us a smart, likely boy of about ten or eleven. We decided thatwould be the best age--old enough to be of some use in doing choresright off and young enough to be trained up proper. We mean to give hima good home and schooling. We had a telegram from Mrs. Alexander Spencertoday--the mail-man brought it from the station--saying they were comingon the five-thirty train tonight. So Matthew went to Bright River tomeet him. Mrs. Spencer will drop him off there. Of course she goes on toWhite Sands station herself. "

Mrs. Rachel prided herself on always speaking her mind; she proceeded tospeak it now, having adjusted her mental attitude to this amazing pieceof news. 

"Well, Marilla, I'll just tell you plain that I think you're doing amighty foolish thing--a risky thing, that's what. You don't know whatyou're getting. You're bringing a strange child into your house and homeand you don't know a single thing about him nor what his disposition islike nor what sort of parents he had nor how he's likely to turn out. Why, it was only last week I read in the paper how a man and his wife upwest of the Island took a boy out of an orphan asylum and he set fire tothe house at night--set it ON PURPOSE, Marilla--and nearly burnt them toa crisp in their beds. And I know another case where an adopted boy usedto suck the eggs--they couldn't break him of it. If you had asked myadvice in the matter--which you didn't do, Marilla--I'd have said formercy's sake not to think of such a thing, that's what. "

This Job's comforting seemed neither to offend nor to alarm Marilla. Sheknitted steadily on. 

"I don't deny there's something in what you say, Rachel. I've had somequalms myself. But Matthew was terrible set on it. I could see that, soI gave in. It's so seldom Matthew sets his mind on anything that when hedoes I always feel it's my duty to give in. And as for the risk, there'srisks in pretty near everything a body does in this world. There's risksin people's having children of their own if it comes to that--they don'talways turn out well. And then Nova Scotia is right close to the Island. It isn't as if we were getting him from England or the States. He can'tbe much different from ourselves. "

"Well, I hope it will turn out all right, " said Mrs. Rachel in a tonethat plainly indicated her painful doubts. "Only don't say I didn'twarn you if he burns Green Gables down or puts strychnine in the well--Iheard of a case over in New Brunswick where an orphan asylum child didthat and the whole family died in fearful agonies. Only, it was a girlin that instance. "

"Well, we're not getting a girl, " said Marilla, as if poisoning wellswere a purely feminine accomplishment and not to be dreaded in the caseof a boy. "I'd never dream of taking a girl to bring up. I wonder atMrs. Alexander Spencer for doing it. But there, SHE wouldn't shrink fromadopting a whole orphan asylum if she took it into her head. "

Mrs. Rachel would have liked to stay until Matthew came home with hisimported orphan. But reflecting that it would be a good two hours atleast before his arrival she concluded to go up the road to RobertBell's and tell the news. It would certainly make a sensation secondto none, and Mrs. Rachel dearly loved to make a sensation. So she tookherself away, somewhat to Marilla's relief, for the latter felther doubts and fears reviving under the influence of Mrs. Rachel'spessimism. 

"Well, of all things that ever were or will be!" ejaculated Mrs. Rachelwhen she was safely out in the lane. "It does really seem as if I mustbe dreaming. Well, I'm sorry for that poor young one and no mistake. Matthew and Marilla don't know anything about children and they'llexpect him to be wiser and steadier that his own grandfather, if so be'she ever had a grandfather, which is doubtful. It seems uncanny to thinkof a child at Green Gables somehow; there's never been one there, forMatthew and Marilla were grown up when the new house was built--if theyever WERE children, which is hard to believe when one looks at them. I wouldn't be in that orphan's shoes for anything. My, but I pity him, that's what. "

So said Mrs. Rachel to the wild rose bushes out of the fulness of herheart; but if she could have seen the child who was waiting patientlyat the Bright River station at that very moment her pity would have beenstill deeper and more profound. 

CHAPTER II. Matthew Cuthbert is surprised

Matthew Cuthbert and the sorrel mare jogged comfortably over the eightmiles to Bright River. It was a pretty road, running along betweensnug farmsteads, with now and again a bit of balsamy fir wood to drivethrough or a hollow where wild plums hung out their filmy bloom. The airwas sweet with the breath of many apple orchards and the meadows slopedaway in the distance to horizon mists of pearl and purple; while

 "The little birds sang as if it were The one day of summer in all the year. "

Matthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during themoments when he met women and had to nod to them--for in Prince Edwardisland you are supposed to nod to all and sundry you meet on the roadwhether you know them or not. 

Matthew dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had anuncomfortable feeling that the mysterious creatures were secretlylaughing at him. He may have been quite right in thinking so, for hewas an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-grayhair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beardwhich he had worn ever since he was twenty. In fact, he had lookedat twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of thegrayness. 

When he reached Bright River there was no sign of any train; he thoughthe was too early, so he tied his horse in the yard of the small BrightRiver hotel and went over to the station house. The long platform wasalmost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl who wassitting on a pile of shingles at the extreme end. Matthew, barely notingthat it WAS a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible withoutlooking at her. Had he looked he could hardly have failed to notice thetense rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression. She wassitting there waiting for something or somebody and, since sitting andwaiting was the only thing to do just then, she sat and waited with allher might and main. 

Matthew encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket officepreparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirtytrain would soon be along. 

"The five-thirty train has been in and gone half an hour ago, " answeredthat brisk official. "But there was a passenger dropped off for you--alittle girl. She's sitting out there on the shingles. I asked her togo into the ladies' waiting room, but she informed me gravely that shepreferred to stay outside. 'There was more scope for imagination, ' shesaid. She's a case, I should say. "

"I'm not expecting a girl, " said Matthew blankly. "It's a boy I've comefor. He should be here. Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to bring him overfrom Nova Scotia for me. "

The stationmaster whistled. 

"Guess there's some mistake, " he said. "Mrs. Spencer came off the trainwith that girl and gave her into my charge. Said you and your sisterwere adopting her from an orphan asylum and that you would be along forher presently. That's all I know about it--and I haven't got any moreorphans concealed hereabouts. "

"I don't understand, " said Matthew helplessly, wishing that Marilla wasat hand to cope with the situation. 

"Well, you'd better question the girl, " said the station-mastercarelessly. "I dare say she'll be able to explain--she's got a tongueof her own, that's certain. Maybe they were out of boys of the brand youwanted. "

He walked jauntily away, being hungry, and the unfortunate Matthew wasleft to do that which was harder for him than bearding a lion in itsden--walk up to a girl--a strange girl--an orphan girl--and demand ofher why she wasn't a boy. Matthew groaned in spirit as he turned aboutand shuffled gently down the platform towards her. 

She had been watching him ever since he had passed her and she had hereyes on him now. Matthew was not looking at her and would not have seenwhat she was really like if he had been, but an ordinary observer wouldhave seen this: A child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, verytight, very ugly dress of yellowish-gray wincey. She wore a faded brownsailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braidsof very thick, decidedly red hair. Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, whichlooked green in some lights and moods and gray in others. 

So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seenthat the chin was very pointed and pronounced; that the big eyeswere full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lippedand expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that nocommonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child of whomshy Matthew Cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid. 

Matthew, however, was spared the ordeal of speaking first, for as soonas she concluded that he was coming to her she stood up, grasping withone thin brown hand the handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpet-bag;the other she held out to him. 

"I suppose you are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?" she said ina peculiarly clear, sweet voice. "I'm very glad to see you. I wasbeginning to be afraid you weren't coming for me and I was imaginingall the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made upmy mind that if you didn't come for me to-night I'd go down the track tothat big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay allnight. I wouldn't be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in awild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don't you think?You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn't you? AndI was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn'tto-night. "

Matthew had taken the scrawny little hand awkwardly in his; then andthere he decided what to do. He could not tell this child with theglowing eyes that there had been a mistake; he would take her home andlet Marilla do that. She couldn't be left at Bright River anyhow, nomatter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanationsmight as well be deferred until he was safely back at Green Gables. 

"I'm sorry I was late, " he said shyly. "Come along. The horse is over inthe yard. Give me your bag. "

"Oh, I can carry it, " the child responded cheerfully. "It isn't heavy. I've got all my worldly goods in it, but it isn't heavy. And if it isn'tcarried in just a certain way the handle pulls out--so I'd betterkeep it because I know the exact knack of it. It's an extremely oldcarpet-bag. Oh, I'm very glad you've come, even if it would have beennice to sleep in a wild cherry-tree. We've got to drive a long piece, haven't we? Mrs. Spencer said it was eight miles. I'm glad because Ilove driving. Oh, it seems so wonderful that I'm going to live with youand belong to you. I've never belonged to anybody--not really. But theasylum was the worst. I've only been in it four months, but that wasenough. I don't suppose you ever were an orphan in an asylum, so youcan't possibly understand what it is like. It's worse than anything youcould imagine. Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk likethat, but I didn't mean to be wicked. It's so easy to be wicked withoutknowing it, isn't it? They were good, you know--the asylum people. Butthere is so little scope for the imagination in an asylum--only justin the other orphans. It was pretty interesting to imagine things aboutthem--to imagine that perhaps the girl who sat next to you was reallythe daughter of a belted earl, who had been stolen away from her parentsin her infancy by a cruel nurse who died before she could confess. Iused to lie awake at nights and imagine things like that, becauseI didn't have time in the day. I guess that's why I'm so thin--I AMdreadful thin, ain't I? There isn't a pick on my bones. I do love toimagine I'm nice and plump, with dimples in my elbows. "

With this Matthew's companion stopped talking, partly because she wasout of breath and partly because they had reached the buggy. Not anotherword did she say until they had left the village and were driving downa steep little hill, the road part of which had been cut so deeply intothe soft soil, that the banks, fringed with blooming wild cherry-treesand slim white birches, were several feet above their heads. 

The child put out her hand and broke off a branch of wild plum thatbrushed against the side of the buggy. 

"Isn't that beautiful? What did that tree, leaning out from the bank, all white and lacy, make you think of?" she asked. 

"Well now, I dunno, " said Matthew. 

"Why, a bride, of course--a bride all in white with a lovely misty veil. I've never seen one, but I can imagine what she would look like. I don'tever expect to be a bride myself. I'm so homely nobody will ever want tomarry me--unless it might be a foreign missionary. I suppose a foreignmissionary mightn't be very particular. But I do hope that some day Ishall have a white dress. That is my highest ideal of earthly bliss. Ijust love pretty clothes. And I've never had a pretty dress in my lifethat I can remember--but of course it's all the more to look forwardto, isn't it? And then I can imagine that I'm dressed gorgeously. Thismorning when I left the asylum I felt so ashamed because I had to wearthis horrid old wincey dress. All the orphans had to wear them, youknow. A merchant in Hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards ofwincey to the asylum. Some people said it was because he couldn't sellit, but I'd rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart, wouldn't you? When we got on the train I felt as if everybody must belooking at me and pitying me. But I just went to work and imagined thatI had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress--because when you AREimagining you might as well imagine something worth while--and a bighat all flowers and nodding plumes, and a gold watch, and kid gloves andboots. I felt cheered up right away and I enjoyed my trip to the Islandwith all my might. I wasn't a bit sick coming over in the boat. Neitherwas Mrs. Spencer although she generally is. She said she hadn't timeto get sick, watching to see that I didn't fall overboard. She said shenever saw the beat of me for prowling about. But if it kept her frombeing seasick it's a mercy I did prowl, isn't it? And I wanted to seeeverything that was to be seen on that boat, because I didn't knowwhether I'd ever have another opportunity. Oh, there are a lot morecherry-trees all in bloom! This Island is the bloomiest place. I justlove it already, and I'm so glad I'm going to live here. I've alwaysheard that Prince Edward Island was the prettiest place in the world, and I used to imagine I was living here, but I never really expected Iwould. It's delightful when your imaginations come true, isn't it?But those red roads are so funny. When we got into the train atCharlottetown and the red roads began to flash past I asked Mrs. Spencerwhat made them red and she said she didn't know and for pity's sake notto ask her any more questions. She said I must have asked her a thousandalready. I suppose I had, too, but how you going to find out aboutthings if you don't ask questions? And what DOES make the roads red?"

"Well now, I dunno, " said Matthew. 

"Well, that is one of the things to find out sometime. Isn't it splendidto think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makesme feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't behalf so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'dbe no scope for imagination then, would there? But am I talking toomuch? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn'ttalk? If you say so I'll stop. I can STOP when I make up my mind to it, although it's difficult. "

Matthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself. Like most quietfolks he liked talkative people when they were willing to do the talkingthemselves and did not expect him to keep up his end of it. But he hadnever expected to enjoy the society of a little girl. Women were badenough in all conscience, but little girls were worse. He detested theway they had of sidling past him timidly, with sidewise glances, as ifthey expected him to gobble them up at a mouthful if they ventured tosay a word. That was the Avonlea type of well-bred little girl. Butthis freckled witch was very different, and although he found it ratherdifficult for his slower intelligence to keep up with her brisk mentalprocesses he thought that he "kind of liked her chatter. " So he said asshyly as usual:

"Oh, you can talk as much as you like. I don't mind. "

"Oh, I'm so glad. I know you and I are going to get along togetherfine. It's such a relief to talk when one wants to and not be toldthat children should be seen and not heard. I've had that said to me amillion times if I have once. And people laugh at me because I use bigwords. But if you have big ideas you have to use big words to expressthem, haven't you?"

"Well now, that seems reasonable, " said Matthew. 

"Mrs. Spencer said that my tongue must be hung in the middle. But itisn't--it's firmly fastened at one end. Mrs. Spencer said your place wasnamed Green Gables. I asked her all about it. And she said there weretrees all around it. I was gladder than ever. I just love trees. Andthere weren't any at all about the asylum, only a few poor weeny-teenythings out in front with little whitewashed cagey things about them. They just looked like orphans themselves, those trees did. It used tomake me want to cry to look at them. I used to say to them, 'Oh, youPOOR little things! If you were out in a great big woods with othertrees all around you and little mosses and Junebells growing over yourroots and a brook not far away and birds singing in you branches, youcould grow, couldn't you? But you can't where you are. I know justexactly how you feel, little trees. ' I felt sorry to leave them behindthis morning. You do get so attached to things like that, don't you? Isthere a brook anywhere near Green Gables? I forgot to ask Mrs. Spencerthat. "

"Well now, yes, there's one right below the house. "

"Fancy. It's always been one of my dreams to live near a brook. Inever expected I would, though. Dreams don't often come true, do they?Wouldn't it be nice if they did? But just now I feel pretty nearlyperfectly happy. I can't feel exactly perfectly happy because--well, what color would you call this?"

She twitched one of her long glossy braids over her thin shoulder andheld it up before Matthew's eyes. Matthew was not used to deciding onthe tints of ladies' tresses, but in this case there couldn't be muchdoubt. 

"It's red, ain't it?" he said. 

The girl let the braid drop back with a sigh that seemed to come fromher very toes and to exhale forth all the sorrows of the ages. 

"Yes, it's red, " she said resignedly. "Now you see why I can't beperfectly happy. Nobody could who has red hair. I don't mind the otherthings so much--the freckles and the green eyes and my skinniness. Ican imagine them away. I can imagine that I have a beautiful rose-leafcomplexion and lovely starry violet eyes. But I CANNOT imagine that redhair away. I do my best. I think to myself, 'Now my hair is a gloriousblack, black as the raven's wing. ' But all the time I KNOW it is justplain red and it breaks my heart. It will be my lifelong sorrow. I readof a girl once in a novel who had a lifelong sorrow but it wasn't redhair. Her hair was pure gold rippling back from her alabaster brow. Whatis an alabaster brow? I never could find out. Can you tell me?"

"Well now, I'm afraid I can't, " said Matthew, who was getting a littledizzy. He felt as he had once felt in his rash youth when another boyhad enticed him on the merry-go-round at a picnic. 

"Well, whatever it was it must have been something nice because she wasdivinely beautiful. Have you ever imagined what it must feel like to bedivinely beautiful?"

"Well now, no, I haven't, " confessed Matthew ingenuously. 

"I have, often. Which would you rather be if you had thechoice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?"

"Well now, I--I don't know exactly. "

"Neither do I. I can never decide. But it doesn't make much realdifference for it isn't likely I'll ever be either. It's certain I'llnever be angelically good. Mrs. Spencer says--oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!"

That was not what Mrs. Spencer had said; neither had the child tumbledout of the buggy nor had Matthew done anything astonishing. They hadsimply rounded a curve in the road and found themselves in the "Avenue. "

The "Avenue, " so called by the Newbridge people, was a stretch of roadfour or five hundred yards long, completely arched over with huge, wide-spreading apple-trees, planted years ago by an eccentric oldfarmer. Overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below theboughs the air was full of a purple twilight and far ahead a glimpseof painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end of acathedral aisle. 

Its beauty seemed to strike the child dumb. She leaned back in thebuggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face lifted rapturously tothe white splendor above. Even when they had passed out and were drivingdown the long slope to Newbridge she never moved or spoke. Still withrapt face she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that sawvisions trooping splendidly across that glowing background. ThroughNewbridge, a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and smallboys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows, they drove, stillin silence. When three more miles had dropped away behind them the childhad not spoken. She could keep silence, it was evident, as energeticallyas she could talk. 

"I guess you're feeling pretty tired and hungry, " Matthew ventured tosay at last, accounting for her long visitation of dumbness with theonly reason he could think of. "But we haven't very far to go now--onlyanother mile. "

She came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with thedreamy gaze of a soul that had been wondering afar, star-led. 

"Oh, Mr. Cuthbert, " she whispered, "that place we came through--thatwhite place--what was it?"

"Well now, you must mean the Avenue, " said Matthew after a few moments'profound reflection. "It is a kind of pretty place. "

"Pretty? Oh, PRETTY doesn't seem the right word to use. Nor beautiful, either. They don't go far enough. Oh, it was wonderful--wonderful. It's the first thing I ever saw that couldn't be improved upon byimagination. It just satisfies me here"--she put one hand on herbreast--"it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache. Didyou ever have an ache like that, Mr. Cuthbert?"

"Well now, I just can't recollect that I ever had. "

"I have it lots of time--whenever I see anything royally beautiful. Butthey shouldn't call that lovely place the Avenue. There is no meaningin a name like that. They should call it--let me see--the White Way ofDelight. Isn't that a nice imaginative name? When I don't like the nameof a place or a person I always imagine a new one and always think ofthem so. There was a girl at the asylum whose name was Hepzibah Jenkins, but I always imagined her as Rosalia DeVere. Other people may call thatplace the Avenue, but I shall always call it the White Way of Delight. Have we really only another mile to go before we get home? I'm glad andI'm sorry. I'm sorry because this drive has been so pleasant and I'malways sorry when pleasant things end. Something still pleasanter maycome after, but you can never be sure. And it's so often the case thatit isn't pleasanter. That has been my experience anyhow. But I'm glad tothink of getting home. You see, I've never had a real home since I canremember. It gives me that pleasant ache again just to think of comingto a really truly home. Oh, isn't that pretty!"

They had driven over the crest of a hill. Below them was a pond, lookingalmost like a river so long and winding was it. A bridge spanned itmidway and from there to its lower end, where an amber-hued belt ofsand-hills shut it in from the dark blue gulf beyond, the water was aglory of many shifting hues--the most spiritual shadings of crocus androse and ethereal green, with other elusive tintings for which no namehas ever been found. Above the bridge the pond ran up into fringinggroves of fir and maple and lay all darkly translucent in their waveringshadows. Here and there a wild plum leaned out from the bank like awhite-clad girl tip-toeing to her own reflection. From the marsh at thehead of the pond came the clear, mournfully-sweet chorus of the frogs. There was a little gray house peering around a white apple orchard ona slope beyond and, although it was not yet quite dark, a light wasshining from one of its windows. 

"That's Barry's pond, " said Matthew. 

"Oh, I don't like that name, either. I shall call it--let me see--theLake of Shining Waters. Yes, that is the right name for it. I knowbecause of the thrill. When I hit on a name that suits exactly it givesme a thrill. Do things ever give you a thrill?"

Matthew ruminated. 

"Well now, yes. It always kind of gives me a thrill to see them uglywhite grubs that spade up in the cucumber beds. I hate the look ofthem. "

"Oh, I don't think that can be exactly the same kind of a thrill. Do youthink it can? There doesn't seem to be much connection between grubsand lakes of shining waters, does there? But why do other people call itBarry's pond?"

"I reckon because Mr. Barry lives up there in that house. OrchardSlope's the name of his place. If it wasn't for that big bush behind ityou could see Green Gables from here. But we have to go over the bridgeand round by the road, so it's near half a mile further. "

"Has Mr. Barry any little girls? Well, not so very little either--aboutmy size. "

"He's got one about eleven. Her name is Diana. "

"Oh!" with a long indrawing of breath. "What a perfectly lovely name!"

"Well now, I dunno. There's something dreadful heathenish about it, seems to me. I'd ruther Jane or Mary or some sensible name like that. But when Diana was born there was a schoolmaster boarding there and theygave him the naming of her and he called her Diana. "

"I wish there had been a schoolmaster like that around when I was born, then. Oh, here we are at the bridge. I'm going to shut my eyes tight. I'm always afraid going over bridges. I can't help imagining thatperhaps just as we get to the middle, they'll crumple up like ajack-knife and nip us. So I shut my eyes. But I always have to open themfor all when I think we're getting near the middle. Because, you see, if the bridge DID crumple up I'd want to SEE it crumple. What a jollyrumble it makes! I always like the rumble part of it. Isn't it splendidthere are so many things to like in this world? There we're over. NowI'll look back. Good night, dear Lake of Shining Waters. I always saygood night to the things I love, just as I would to people. I think theylike it. That water looks as if it was smiling at me. "

When they had driven up the further hill and around a corner Matthewsaid:

"We're pretty near home now. That's Green Gables over--"

"Oh, don't tell me, " she interrupted breathlessly, catching at hispartially raised arm and shutting her eyes that she might not see hisgesture. "Let me guess. I'm sure I'll guess right. "

She opened her eyes and looked about her. They were on the crest of ahill. The sun had set some time since, but the landscape was stillclear in the mellow afterlight. To the west a dark church spire roseup against a marigold sky. Below was a little valley and beyond a long, gently-rising slope with snug farmsteads scattered along it. From oneto another the child's eyes darted, eager and wistful. At last theylingered on one away to the left, far back from the road, dimly whitewith blossoming trees in the twilight of the surrounding woods. Over it, in the stainless southwest sky, a great crystal-white star was shininglike a lamp of guidance and promise. 

"That's it, isn't it?" she said, pointing. 

Matthew slapped the reins on the sorrel's back delightedly. 

"Well now, you've guessed it! But I reckon Mrs. Spencer described itso's you could tell. "

"No, she didn't--really she didn't. All she said might just as well havebeen about most of those other places. I hadn't any real idea what itlooked like. But just as soon as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, itseems as if I must be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black andblue from the elbow up, for I've pinched myself so many times today. Every little while a horrible sickening feeling would come over me andI'd be so afraid it was all a dream. Then I'd pinch myself to see if itwas real--until suddenly I remembered that even supposing it was onlya dream I'd better go on dreaming as long as I could; so I stoppedpinching. But it IS real and we're nearly home. "

With a sigh of rapture she relapsed into silence. Matthew stirreduneasily. He felt glad that it would be Marilla and not he who wouldhave to tell this waif of the world that the home she longed for wasnot to be hers after all. They drove over Lynde's Hollow, where it wasalready quite dark, but not so dark that Mrs. Rachel could not see themfrom her window vantage, and up the hill and into the long lane of GreenGables. By the time they arrived at the house Matthew was shrinking fromthe approaching revelation with an energy he did not understand. It wasnot of Marilla or himself he was thinking of the trouble this mistakewas probably going to make for them, but of the child's disappointment. When he thought of that rapt light being quenched in her eyes he hadan uncomfortable feeling that he was going to assist at murderingsomething--much the same feeling that came over him when he had to killa lamb or calf or any other innocent little creature. 

The yard was quite dark as they turned into it and the poplar leaveswere rustling silkily all round it. 

"Listen to the trees talking in their sleep, " she whispered, as helifted her to the ground. "What nice dreams they must have!"

Then, holding tightly to the carpet-bag which contained "all her worldlygoods, " she followed him into the house. 

CHAPTER III. Marilla Cuthbert is Surprised

Marilla came briskly forward as Matthew opened the door. But when hereyes fell of the odd little figure in the stiff, ugly dress, with thelong braids of red hair and the eager, luminous eyes, she stopped shortin amazement. 

"Matthew Cuthbert, who's that?" she ejaculated. "Where is the boy?"

"There wasn't any boy, " said Matthew wretchedly. "There was only HER. "

He nodded at the child, remembering that he had never even asked hername. 

"No boy! But there MUST have been a boy, " insisted Marilla. "We sentword to Mrs. Spencer to bring a boy. "

"Well, she didn't. She brought HER. I asked the station-master. And Ihad to bring her home. She couldn't be left there, no matter where themistake had come in. "

"Well, this is a pretty piece of business!" ejaculated Marilla. 

During this dialogue the child had remained silent, her eyes roving fromone to the other, all the animation fading out of her face. Suddenlyshe seemed to grasp the full meaning of what had been said. Dropping herprecious carpet-bag she sprang forward a step and clasped her hands. 

"You don't want me!" she cried. "You don't want me because I'm not aboy! I might have expected it. Nobody ever did want me. I might haveknown it was all too beautiful to last. I might have known nobody reallydid want me. Oh, what shall I do? I'm going to burst into tears!"

Burst into tears she did. Sitting down on a chair by the table, flingingher arms out upon it, and burying her face in them, she proceeded to crystormily. Marilla and Matthew looked at each other deprecatingly acrossthe stove. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Finally Marillastepped lamely into the breach. 

"Well, well, there's no need to cry so about it. "

"Yes, there IS need!" The child raised her head quickly, revealing atear-stained face and trembling lips. "YOU would cry, too, if you werean orphan and had come to a place you thought was going to be home andfound that they didn't want you because you weren't a boy. Oh, this isthe most TRAGICAL thing that ever happened to me!"

Something like a reluctant smile, rather rusty from long disuse, mellowed Marilla's grim expression. 

"Well, don't cry any more. We're not going to turn you out-of-doorsto-night. You'll have to stay here until we investigate this affair. What's your name?"

The child hesitated for a moment. 

"Will you please call me Cordelia?" she said eagerly. 

"CALL you Cordelia? Is that your name?"

"No-o-o, it's not exactly my name, but I would love to be calledCordelia. It's such a perfectly elegant name. "

"I don't know what on earth you mean. If Cordelia isn't your name, whatis?"

"Anne Shirley, " reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, "but, oh, please do call me Cordelia. It can't matter much to you what youcall me if I'm only going to be here a little while, can it? And Anne issuch an unromantic name. "

"Unromantic fiddlesticks!" said the unsympathetic Marilla. "Anne is areal good plain sensible name. You've no need to be ashamed of it. "

"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it, " explained Anne, "only I like Cordeliabetter. I've always imagined that my name was Cordelia--at least, Ialways have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it wasGeraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anneplease call me Anne spelled with an E. "

"What difference does it make how it's spelled?" asked Marilla withanother rusty smile as she picked up the teapot. 

"Oh, it makes SUCH a difference. It LOOKS so much nicer. When you hear aname pronounced can't you always see it in your mind, just as if it wasprinted out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks so muchmore distinguished. If you'll only call me Anne spelled with an E Ishall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia. "

"Very well, then, Anne spelled with an E, can you tell us how thismistake came to be made? We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring us a boy. Were there no boys at the asylum?"

"Oh, yes, there was an abundance of them. But Mrs. Spencer saidDISTINCTLY that you wanted a girl about eleven years old. And the matronsaid she thought I would do. You don't know how delighted I was. Icouldn't sleep all last night for joy. Oh, " she added reproachfully, turning to Matthew, "why didn't you tell me at the station that youdidn't want me and leave me there? If I hadn't seen the White Way ofDelight and the Lake of Shining Waters it wouldn't be so hard. "

"What on earth does she mean?" demanded Marilla, staring at Matthew. 

"She--she's just referring to some conversation we had on the road, "said Matthew hastily. "I'm going out to put the mare in, Marilla. Havetea ready when I come back. "

"Did Mrs. Spencer bring anybody over besides you?" continued Marillawhen Matthew had gone out. 

"She brought Lily Jones for herself. Lily is only five years old and sheis very beautiful and had nut-brown hair. If I was very beautiful andhad nut-brown hair would you keep me?"

"No. We want a boy to help Matthew on the farm. A girl would be ofno use to us. Take off your hat. I'll lay it and your bag on the halltable. "

Anne took off her hat meekly. Matthew came back presently and they satdown to supper. But Anne could not eat. In vain she nibbled at thebread and butter and pecked at the crab-apple preserve out of the littlescalloped glass dish by her plate. She did not really make any headwayat all. 

"You're not eating anything, " said Marilla sharply, eying her as if itwere a serious shortcoming. Anne sighed. 

"I can't. I'm in the depths of despair. Can you eat when you are in thedepths of despair?"

"I've never been in the depths of despair, so I can't say, " respondedMarilla. 

"Weren't you? Well, did you ever try to IMAGINE you were in the depthsof despair?"

"No, I didn't. "

"Then I don't think you can understand what it's like. It's veryuncomfortable feeling indeed. When you try to eat a lump comes rightup in your throat and you can't swallow anything, not even if it was achocolate caramel. I had one chocolate caramel once two years ago and itwas simply delicious. I've often dreamed since then that I had a lotof chocolate caramels, but I always wake up just when I'm going to eatthem. I do hope you won't be offended because I can't eat. Everything isextremely nice, but still I cannot eat. "

"I guess she's tired, " said Matthew, who hadn't spoken since his returnfrom the barn. "Best put her to bed, Marilla. "

Marilla had been wondering where Anne should be put to bed. She hadprepared a couch in the kitchen chamber for the desired and expectedboy. But, although it was neat and clean, it did not seem quite thething to put a girl there somehow. But the spare room was out of thequestion for such a stray waif, so there remained only the east gableroom. Marilla lighted a candle and told Anne to follow her, which Annespiritlessly did, taking her hat and carpet-bag from the hall table asshe passed. The hall was fearsomely clean; the little gable chamber inwhich she presently found herself seemed still cleaner. 

Marilla set the candle on a three-legged, three-cornered table andturned down the bedclothes. 

"I suppose you have a nightgown?" she questioned. 

Anne nodded. 

"Yes, I have two. The matron of the asylum made them for me. They'refearfully skimpy. There is never enough to go around in an asylum, sothings are always skimpy--at least in a poor asylum like ours. I hateskimpy night-dresses. But one can dream just as well in them asin lovely trailing ones, with frills around the neck, that's oneconsolation. "

"Well, undress as quick as you can and go to bed. I'll come back in afew minutes for the candle. I daren't trust you to put it out yourself. You'd likely set the place on fire. "

When Marilla had gone Anne looked around her wistfully. The whitewashedwalls were so painfully bare and staring that she thought they must acheover their own bareness. The floor was bare, too, except for a roundbraided mat in the middle such as Anne had never seen before. Inone corner was the bed, a high, old-fashioned one, with four dark, low-turned posts. In the other corner was the aforesaid three-cornertable adorned with a fat, red velvet pin-cushion hard enough to turn thepoint of the most adventurous pin. Above it hung a little six-by-eightmirror. Midway between table and bed was the window, with an icy whitemuslin frill over it, and opposite it was the wash-stand. The wholeapartment was of a rigidity not to be described in words, but whichsent a shiver to the very marrow of Anne's bones. With a sob she hastilydiscarded her garments, put on the skimpy nightgown and sprang into bedwhere she burrowed face downward into the pillow and pulled the clothesover her head. When Marilla came up for the light various skimpyarticles of raiment scattered most untidily over the floor and a certaintempestuous appearance of the bed were the only indications of anypresence save her own. 

She deliberately picked up Anne's clothes, placed them neatly on a primyellow chair, and then, taking up the candle, went over to the bed. 

"Good night, " she said, a little awkwardly, but not unkindly. 

Anne's white face and big eyes appeared over the bedclothes with astartling suddenness. 

"How can you call it a GOOD night when you know it must be the veryworst night I've ever had?" she said reproachfully. 

Then she dived down into invisibility again. 

Marilla went slowly down to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the supperdishes. Matthew was smoking--a sure sign of perturbation of mind. Heseldom smoked, for Marilla set her face against it as a filthy habit;but at certain times and seasons he felt driven to it and them Marillawinked at the practice, realizing that a mere man must have some ventfor his emotions. 

"Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish, " she said wrathfully. "This iswhat comes of sending word instead of going ourselves. Richard Spencer'sfolks have twisted that message somehow. One of us will have to driveover and see Mrs. Spencer tomorrow, that's certain. This girl will haveto be sent back to the asylum. "

"Yes, I suppose so, " said Matthew reluctantly. 

"You SUPPOSE so! Don't you know it?"

"Well now, she's a real nice little thing, Marilla. It's kind of a pityto send her back when she's so set on staying here. "

"Matthew Cuthbert, you don't mean to say you think we ought to keepher!"

Marilla's astonishment could not have been greater if Matthew hadexpressed a predilection for standing on his head. 

"Well, now, no, I suppose not--not exactly, " stammered Matthew, uncomfortably driven into a corner for his precise meaning. "Isuppose--we could hardly be expected to keep her. "

"I should say not. What good would she be to us?"

"We might be some good to her, " said Matthew suddenly and unexpectedly. 

"Matthew Cuthbert, I believe that child has bewitched you! I can see asplain as plain that you want to keep her. "

"Well now, she's a real interesting little thing, " persisted Matthew. "You should have heard her talk coming from the station. "

"Oh, she can talk fast enough. I saw that at once. It's nothing in herfavour, either. I don't like children who have so much to say. I don'twant an orphan girl and if I did she isn't the style I'd pick out. There's something I don't understand about her. No, she's got to bedespatched straight-way back to where she came from. "

"I could hire a French boy to help me, " said Matthew, "and she'd becompany for you. "

"I'm not suffering for company, " said Marilla shortly. "And I'm notgoing to keep her. "

"Well now, it's just as you say, of course, Marilla, " said Matthewrising and putting his pipe away. "I'm going to bed. "

To bed went Matthew. And to bed, when she had put her dishes away, wentMarilla, frowning most resolutely. And up-stairs, in the east gable, alonely, heart-hungry, friendless child cried herself to sleep. 

CHAPTER IV. Morning at Green Gables

It was broad daylight when Anne awoke and sat up in bed, staringconfusedly at the window through which a flood of cheery sunshine waspouring and outside of which something white and feathery waved acrossglimpses of blue sky. 

For a moment she could not remember where she was. First came adelightful thrill, as something very pleasant; then a horribleremembrance. This was Green Gables and they didn't want her because shewasn't a boy!

But it was morning and, yes, it was a cherry-tree in full bloom outsideof her window. With a bound she was out of bed and across the floor. She pushed up the sash--it went up stiffly and creakily, as if it hadn'tbeen opened for a long time, which was the case; and it stuck so tightthat nothing was needed to hold it up. 

Anne dropped on her knees and gazed out into the June morning, her eyesglistening with delight. Oh, wasn't it beautiful? Wasn't it a lovelyplace? Suppose she wasn't really going to stay here! She would imagineshe was. There was scope for imagination here. 

A huge cherry-tree grew outside, so close that its boughs tapped againstthe house, and it was so thick-set with blossoms that hardly a leafwas to be seen. On both sides of the house was a big orchard, one ofapple-trees and one of cherry-trees, also showered over with blossoms;and their grass was all sprinkled with dandelions. In the garden belowwere lilac-trees purple with flowers, and their dizzily sweet fragrancedrifted up to the window on the morning wind. 

Below the garden a green field lush with clover sloped down to thehollow where the brook ran and where scores of white birches grew, upspringing airily out of an undergrowth suggestive of delightfulpossibilities in ferns and mosses and woodsy things generally. Beyond itwas a hill, green and feathery with spruce and fir; there was a gap init where the gray gable end of the little house she had seen from theother side of the Lake of Shining Waters was visible. 

Off to the left were the big barns and beyond them, away down overgreen, low-sloping fields, was a sparkling blue glimpse of sea. 

Anne's beauty-loving eyes lingered on it all, taking everything greedilyin. She had looked on so many unlovely places in her life, poor child;but this was as lovely as anything she had ever dreamed. 

She knelt there, lost to everything but the loveliness around her, untilshe was startled by a hand on her shoulder. Marilla had come in unheardby the small dreamer. 

"It's time you were dressed, " she said curtly. 

Marilla really did not know how to talk to the child, and heruncomfortable ignorance made her crisp and curt when she did not mean tobe. 

Anne stood up and drew a long breath. 

"Oh, isn't it wonderful?" she said, waving her hand comprehensively atthe good world outside. 

"It's a big tree, " said Marilla, "and it blooms great, but the fruitdon't amount to much never--small and wormy. "

"Oh, I don't mean just the tree; of course it's lovely--yes, it'sRADIANTLY lovely--it blooms as if it meant it--but I meant everything, the garden and the orchard and the brook and the woods, the whole bigdear world. Don't you feel as if you just loved the world on a morninglike this? And I can hear the brook laughing all the way up here. Have you ever noticed what cheerful things brooks are? They're alwayslaughing. Even in winter-time I've heard them under the ice. I'm so gladthere's a brook near Green Gables. Perhaps you think it doesn't make anydifference to me when you're not going to keep me, but it does. I shallalways like to remember that there is a brook at Green Gables even ifI never see it again. If there wasn't a brook I'd be HAUNTED by theuncomfortable feeling that there ought to be one. I'm not in the depthsof despair this morning. I never can be in the morning. Isn't it asplendid thing that there are mornings? But I feel very sad. I've justbeen imagining that it was really me you wanted after all and that I wasto stay here for ever and ever. It was a great comfort while it lasted. But the worst of imagining things is that the time comes when you haveto stop and that hurts. "

"You'd better get dressed and come down-stairs and never mind yourimaginings, " said Marilla as soon as she could get a word in edgewise. "Breakfast is waiting. Wash your face and comb your hair. Leave thewindow up and turn your bedclothes back over the foot of the bed. Be assmart as you can. "

Anne could evidently be smart to some purpose for she was down-stairsin ten minutes' time, with her clothes neatly on, her hair brushed andbraided, her face washed, and a comfortable consciousness pervading hersoul that she had fulfilled all Marilla's requirements. As a matter offact, however, she had forgotten to turn back the bedclothes. 

"I'm pretty hungry this morning, " she announced as she slipped into thechair Marilla placed for her. "The world doesn't seem such a howlingwilderness as it did last night. I'm so glad it's a sunshiny morning. But I like rainy mornings real well, too. All sorts of mornings areinteresting, don't you think? You don't know what's going to happenthrough the day, and there's so much scope for imagination. But I'mglad it's not rainy today because it's easier to be cheerful and bearup under affliction on a sunshiny day. I feel that I have a good dealto bear up under. It's all very well to read about sorrows and imagineyourself living through them heroically, but it's not so nice when youreally come to have them, is it?"

"For pity's sake hold your tongue, " said Marilla. "You talk entirely toomuch for a little girl. "

Thereupon Anne held her tongue so obediently and thoroughly that hercontinued silence made Marilla rather nervous, as if in the presence ofsomething not exactly natural. Matthew also held his tongue, --but thiswas natural, --so that the meal was a very silent one. 

As it progressed Anne became more and more abstracted, eatingmechanically, with her big eyes fixed unswervingly and unseeingly on thesky outside the window. This made Marilla more nervous than ever; shehad an uncomfortable feeling that while this odd child's body mightbe there at the table her spirit was far away in some remote airycloudland, borne aloft on the wings of imagination. Who would want sucha child about the place?

Yet Matthew wished to keep her, of all unaccountable things! Marillafelt that he wanted it just as much this morning as he had the nightbefore, and that he would go on wanting it. That was Matthew's way--takea whim into his head and cling to it with the most amazing silentpersistency--a persistency ten times more potent and effectual in itsvery silence than if he had talked it out. 

When the meal was ended Anne came out of her reverie and offered to washthe dishes. 

"Can you wash dishes right?" asked Marilla distrustfully. 

"Pretty well. I'm better at looking after children, though. I've had somuch experience at that. It's such a pity you haven't any here for me tolook after. "

"I don't feel as if I wanted any more children to look after than I'vegot at present. YOU'RE problem enough in all conscience. What's to bedone with you I don't know. Matthew is a most ridiculous man. "

"I think he's lovely, " said Anne reproachfully. "He is so verysympathetic. He didn't mind how much I talked--he seemed to like it. Ifelt that he was a kindred spirit as soon as ever I saw him. "

"You're both queer enough, if that's what you mean by kindred spirits, "said Marilla with a sniff. "Yes, you may wash the dishes. Take plenty ofhot water, and be sure you dry them well. I've got enough to attend tothis morning for I'll have to drive over to White Sands in the afternoonand see Mrs. Spencer. You'll come with me and we'll settle what's to bedone with you. After you've finished the dishes go up-stairs and makeyour bed. "

Anne washed the dishes deftly enough, as Marilla who kept a sharp eye onthe process, discerned. Later on she made her bed less successfully, forshe had never learned the art of wrestling with a feather tick. But iswas done somehow and smoothed down; and then Marilla, to get rid of her, told her she might go out-of-doors and amuse herself until dinner time. 

Anne flew to the door, face alight, eyes glowing. On the very thresholdshe stopped short, wheeled about, came back and sat down by the table, light and glow as effectually blotted out as if some one had clapped anextinguisher on her. 

"What's the matter now?" demanded Marilla. 

"I don't dare go out, " said Anne, in the tone of a martyr relinquishingall earthly joys. "If I can't stay here there is no use in my lovingGreen Gables. And if I go out there and get acquainted with all thosetrees and flowers and the orchard and the brook I'll not be able to helploving it. It's hard enough now, so I won't make it any harder. I wantto go out so much--everything seems to be calling to me, 'Anne, Anne, come out to us. Anne, Anne, we want a playmate'--but it's better not. There is no use in loving things if you have to be torn from them, isthere? And it's so hard to keep from loving things, isn't it? That waswhy I was so glad when I thought I was going to live here. I thoughtI'd have so many things to love and nothing to hinder me. But that briefdream is over. I am resigned to my fate now, so I don't think I'llgo out for fear I'll get unresigned again. What is the name of thatgeranium on the window-sill, please?"

"That's the apple-scented geranium. "

"Oh, I don't mean that sort of a name. I mean just a name you gave ityourself. Didn't you give it a name? May I give it one then? May I callit--let me see--Bonny would do--may I call it Bonny while I'm here? Oh, do let me!"

"Goodness, I don't care. But where on earth is the sense of naming ageranium?"

"Oh, I like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums. Itmakes them seem more like people. How do you know but that it hurts ageranium's feelings just to be called a geranium and nothing else? Youwouldn't like to be called nothing but a woman all the time. Yes, Ishall call it Bonny. I named that cherry-tree outside my bedroom windowthis morning. I called it Snow Queen because it was so white. Of course, it won't always be in blossom, but one can imagine that it is, can'tone?"

"I never in all my life saw or heard anything to equal her, " mutteredMarilla, beating a retreat down to the cellar after potatoes. "Sheis kind of interesting as Matthew says. I can feel already that I'mwondering what on earth she'll say next. She'll be casting a spell overme, too. She's cast it over Matthew. That look he gave me when he wentout said everything he said or hinted last night over again. I wish hewas like other men and would talk things out. A body could answer backthen and argue him into reason. But what's to be done with a man whojust LOOKS?"

Anne had relapsed into reverie, with her chin in her hands and her eyeson the sky, when Marilla returned from her cellar pilgrimage. ThereMarilla left her until the early dinner was on the table. 

"I suppose I can have the mare and buggy this afternoon, Matthew?" saidMarilla. 

Matthew nodded and looked wistfully at Anne. Marilla intercepted thelook and said grimly:

"I'm going to drive over to White Sands and settle this thing. I'll takeAnne with me and Mrs. Spencer will probably make arrangements to sendher back to Nova Scotia at once. I'll set your tea out for you and I'llbe home in time to milk the cows. "

Still Matthew said nothing and Marilla had a sense of having wastedwords and breath. There is nothing more aggravating than a man who won'ttalk back--unless it is a woman who won't. 

Matthew hitched the sorrel into the buggy in due time and Marilla andAnne set off. Matthew opened the yard gate for them and as they droveslowly through, he said, to nobody in particular as it seemed:

"Little Jerry Buote from the Creek was here this morning, and I told himI guessed I'd hire him for the summer. "

Marilla made no reply, but she hit the unlucky sorrel such a viciousclip with the whip that the fat mare, unused to such treatment, whizzedindignantly down the lane at an alarming pace. Marilla looked back onceas the buggy bounced along and saw that aggravating Matthew leaning overthe gate, looking wistfully after them. 

CHAPTER V. Anne's History

"Do you know, " said Anne confidentially, "I've made up my mind to enjoythis drive. It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoythings if you make up your mind firmly that you will. Of course, youmust make it up FIRMLY. I am not going to think about going back to theasylum while we're having our drive. I'm just going to think aboutthe drive. Oh, look, there's one little early wild rose out! Isn't itlovely? Don't you think it must be glad to be a rose? Wouldn't itbe nice if roses could talk? I'm sure they could tell us such lovelythings. And isn't pink the most bewitching color in the world? I loveit, but I can't wear it. Redheaded people can't wear pink, not even inimagination. Did you ever know of anybody whose hair was red when shewas young, but got to be another color when she grew up?"

"No, I don't know as I ever did, " said Marilla mercilessly, "and Ishouldn't think it likely to happen in your case either. "

Anne sighed. 

"Well, that is another hope gone. 'My life is a perfect graveyard ofburied hopes. ' That's a sentence I read in a book once, and I say itover to comfort myself whenever I'm disappointed in anything. "

"I don't see where the comforting comes in myself, " said Marilla. 

"Why, because it sounds so nice and romantic, just as if I were aheroine in a book, you know. I am so fond of romantic things, and agraveyard full of buried hopes is about as romantic a thing as one canimagine isn't it? I'm rather glad I have one. Are we going across theLake of Shining Waters today?"

"We're not going over Barry's pond, if that's what you mean by your Lakeof Shining Waters. We're going by the shore road. "

"Shore road sounds nice, " said Anne dreamily. "Is it as nice as itsounds? Just when you said 'shore road' I saw it in a picture in mymind, as quick as that! And White Sands is a pretty name, too; but Idon't like it as well as Avonlea. Avonlea is a lovely name. It justsounds like music. How far is it to White Sands?"

"It's five miles; and as you're evidently bent on talking you might aswell talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself. "

"Oh, what I KNOW about myself isn't really worth telling, " said Anneeagerly. "If you'll only let me tell you what I IMAGINE about myselfyou'll think it ever so much more interesting. "

"No, I don't want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts. Begin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you?"

"I was eleven last March, " said Anne, resigning herself to bald factswith a little sigh. "And I was born in Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia. My father's name was Walter Shirley, and he was a teacher in theBolingbroke High School. My mother's name was Bertha Shirley. Aren'tWalter and Bertha lovely names? I'm so glad my parents had nice names. It would be a real disgrace to have a father named--well, say Jedediah, wouldn't it?"

"I guess it doesn't matter what a person's name is as long as he behaveshimself, " said Marilla, feeling herself called upon to inculcate a goodand useful moral. 

"Well, I don't know. " Anne looked thoughtful. "I read in a book oncethat a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never beenable to believe it. I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it wascalled a thistle or a skunk cabbage. I suppose my father could have beena good man even if he had been called Jedediah; but I'm sure it wouldhave been a cross. Well, my mother was a teacher in the High school, too, but when she married father she gave up teaching, of course. Ahusband was enough responsibility. Mrs. Thomas said that they werea pair of babies and as poor as church mice. They went to live in aweeny-teeny little yellow house in Bolingbroke. I've never seen thathouse, but I've imagined it thousands of times. I think it must havehad honeysuckle over the parlor window and lilacs in the front yard andlilies of the valley just inside the gate. Yes, and muslin curtains inall the windows. Muslin curtains give a house such an air. I was bornin that house. Mrs. Thomas said I was the homeliest baby she ever saw, Iwas so scrawny and tiny and nothing but eyes, but that mother thought Iwas perfectly beautiful. I should think a mother would be a better judgethan a poor woman who came in to scrub, wouldn't you? I'm glad shewas satisfied with me anyhow, I would feel so sad if I thought I was adisappointment to her--because she didn't live very long after that, yousee. She died of fever when I was just three months old. I do wish she'dlived long enough for me to remember calling her mother. I think itwould be so sweet to say 'mother, ' don't you? And father died four daysafterwards from fever too. That left me an orphan and folks were attheir wits' end, so Mrs. Thomas said, what to do with me. You see, nobody wanted me even then. It seems to be my fate. Father and motherhad both come from places far away and it was well known they hadn't anyrelatives living. Finally Mrs. Thomas said she'd take me, though she waspoor and had a drunken husband. She brought me up by hand. Do you knowif there is anything in being brought up by hand that ought to makepeople who are brought up that way better than other people? Becausewhenever I was naughty Mrs. Thomas would ask me how I could be such abad girl when she had brought me up by hand--reproachful-like. 

"Mr. And Mrs. Thomas moved away from Bolingbroke to Marysville, and Ilived with them until I was eight years old. I helped look after theThomas children--there were four of them younger than me--and I can tellyou they took a lot of looking after. Then Mr. Thomas was killedfalling under a train and his mother offered to take Mrs. Thomas and thechildren, but she didn't want me. Mrs. Thomas was at HER wits' end, soshe said, what to do with me. Then Mrs. Hammond from up the river camedown and said she'd take me, seeing I was handy with children, andI went up the river to live with her in a little clearing among thestumps. It was a very lonesome place. I'm sure I could never havelived there if I hadn't had an imagination. Mr. Hammond worked a littlesawmill up there, and Mrs. Hammond had eight children. She had twinsthree times. I like babies in moderation, but twins three times insuccession is TOO MUCH. I told Mrs. Hammond so firmly, when the lastpair came. I used to get so dreadfully tired carrying them about. 

"I lived up river with Mrs. Hammond over two years, and then Mr. Hammonddied and Mrs. Hammond broke up housekeeping. She divided her childrenamong her relatives and went to the States. I had to go to the asylumat Hopeton, because nobody would take me. They didn't want me at theasylum, either; they said they were over-crowded as it was. But they hadto take me and I was there four months until Mrs. Spencer came. "

Anne finished up with another sigh, of relief this time. Evidentlyshe did not like talking about her experiences in a world that had notwanted her. 

"Did you ever go to school?" demanded Marilla, turning the sorrel maredown the shore road. 

"Not a great deal. I went a little the last year I stayed with Mrs. Thomas. When I went up river we were so far from a school that Icouldn't walk it in winter and there was a vacation in summer, so Icould only go in the spring and fall. But of course I went while I wasat the asylum. I can read pretty well and I know ever so many pieces ofpoetry off by heart--'The Battle of Hohenlinden' and 'Edinburgh afterFlodden, ' and 'Bingen of the Rhine, ' and most of the 'Lady of the Lake'and most of 'The Seasons' by James Thompson. Don't you just love poetrythat gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back? There is a piecein the Fifth Reader--'The Downfall of Poland'--that is just full ofthrills. Of course, I wasn't in the Fifth Reader--I was only in theFourth--but the big girls used to lend me theirs to read. "

"Were those women--Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond--good to you?" askedMarilla, looking at Anne out of the corner of her eye. 

"O-o-o-h, " faltered Anne. Her sensitive little face suddenly flushedscarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow. "Oh, they MEANT to be--I knowthey meant to be just as good and kind as possible. And when peoplemean to be good to you, you don't mind very much when they're notquite--always. They had a good deal to worry them, you know. It's verytrying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying tohave twins three times in succession, don't you think? But I feel surethey meant to be good to me. "

Marilla asked no more questions. Anne gave herself up to a silentrapture over the shore road and Marilla guided the sorrel abstractedlywhile she pondered deeply. Pity was suddenly stirring in her heart forthe child. What a starved, unloved life she had had--a life of drudgeryand poverty and neglect; for Marilla was shrewd enough to read betweenthe lines of Anne's history and divine the truth. No wonder she had beenso delighted at the prospect of a real home. It was a pity she had to besent back. What if she, Marilla, should indulge Matthew's unaccountablewhim and let her stay? He was set on it; and the child seemed a nice, teachable little thing. 

"She's got too much to say, " thought Marilla, "but she might be trainedout of that. And there's nothing rude or slangy in what she does say. She's ladylike. It's likely her people were nice folks. "

The shore road was "woodsy and wild and lonesome. " On the right hand, scrub firs, their spirits quite unbroken by long years of tussle withthe gulf winds, grew thickly. On the left were the steep red sandstonecliffs, so near the track in places that a mare of less steadiness thanthe sorrel might have tried the nerves of the people behind her. Downat the base of the cliffs were heaps of surf-worn rocks or little sandycoves inlaid with pebbles as with ocean jewels; beyond lay the sea, shimmering and blue, and over it soared the gulls, their pinionsflashing silvery in the sunlight. 

"Isn't the sea wonderful?" said Anne, rousing from a long, wide-eyedsilence. "Once, when I lived in Marysville, Mr. Thomas hired an expresswagon and took us all to spend the day at the shore ten miles away. I enjoyed every moment of that day, even if I had to look after thechildren all the time. I lived it over in happy dreams for years. But this shore is nicer than the Marysville shore. Aren't those gullssplendid? Would you like to be a gull? I think I would--that is, if Icouldn't be a human girl. Don't you think it would be nice to wake up atsunrise and swoop down over the water and away out over that lovely blueall day; and then at night to fly back to one's nest? Oh, I can justimagine myself doing it. What big house is that just ahead, please?"

"That's the White Sands Hotel. Mr. Kirke runs it, but the season hasn'tbegun yet. There are heaps of Americans come there for the summer. Theythink this shore is just about right. "

"I was afraid it might be Mrs. Spencer's place, " said Anne mournfully. "I don't want to get there. Somehow, it will seem like the end ofeverything. "

CHAPTER VI. Marilla Makes Up Her Mind

Get there they did, however, in due season. Mrs. Spencer lived in a bigyellow house at White Sands Cove, and she came to the door with surpriseand welcome mingled on her benevolent face. 

"Dear, dear, " she exclaimed, "you're the last folks I was looking fortoday, but I'm real glad to see you. You'll put your horse in? And howare you, Anne?"

"I'm as well as can be expected, thank you, " said Anne smilelessly. Ablight seemed to have descended on her. 

"I suppose we'll stay a little while to rest the mare, " said Marilla, "but I promised Matthew I'd be home early. The fact is, Mrs. Spencer, there's been a queer mistake somewhere, and I've come over to see whereit is. We send word, Matthew and I, for you to bring us a boy from theasylum. We told your brother Robert to tell you we wanted a boy ten oreleven years old. "

"Marilla Cuthbert, you don't say so!" said Mrs. Spencer in distress. "Why, Robert sent word down by his daughter Nancy and she said youwanted a girl--didn't she Flora Jane?" appealing to her daughter who hadcome out to the steps. 

"She certainly did, Miss Cuthbert, " corroborated Flora Jane earnestly. 

"I'm dreadful sorry, " said Mrs. Spencer. "It's too bad; but it certainlywasn't my fault, you see, Miss Cuthbert. I did the best I could and Ithought I was following your instructions. Nancy is a terrible flightything. I've often had to scold her well for her heedlessness. "

"It was our own fault, " said Marilla resignedly. "We should have cometo you ourselves and not left an important message to be passed along byword of mouth in that fashion. Anyhow, the mistake has been made and theonly thing to do is to set it right. Can we send the child back to theasylum? I suppose they'll take her back, won't they?"

"I suppose so, " said Mrs. Spencer thoughtfully, "but I don't thinkit will be necessary to send her back. Mrs. Peter Blewett was up hereyesterday, and she was saying to me how much she wished she'd sent by mefor a little girl to help her. Mrs. Peter has a large family, you know, and she finds it hard to get help. Anne will be the very girl for you. Icall it positively providential. "

Marilla did not look as if she thought Providence had much to do withthe matter. Here was an unexpectedly good chance to get this unwelcomeorphan off her hands, and she did not even feel grateful for it. 

She knew Mrs. Peter Blewett only by sight as a small, shrewish-facedwoman without an ounce of superfluous flesh on her bones. But she hadheard of her. "A terrible worker and driver, " Mrs. Peter was said tobe; and discharged servant girls told fearsome tales of her temper andstinginess, and her family of pert, quarrelsome children. Marilla felta qualm of conscience at the thought of handing Anne over to her tendermercies. 

"Well, I'll go in and we'll talk the matter over, " she said. 

"And if there isn't Mrs. Peter coming up the lane this blessed minute!"exclaimed Mrs. Spencer, bustling her guests through the hall into theparlor, where a deadly chill struck on them as if the air had beenstrained so long through dark green, closely drawn blinds that it hadlost every particle of warmth it had ever possessed. "That is reallucky, for we can settle the matter right away. Take the armchair, MissCuthbert. Anne, you sit here on the ottoman and don't wiggle. Letme take your hats. Flora Jane, go out and put the kettle on. Goodafternoon, Mrs. Blewett. We were just saying how fortunate it was youhappened along. Let me introduce you two ladies. Mrs. Blewett, MissCuthbert. Please excuse me for just a moment. I forgot to tell FloraJane to take the buns out of the oven. "

Mrs. Spencer whisked away, after pulling up the blinds. Anne sittingmutely on the ottoman, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staredat Mrs Blewett as one fascinated. Was she to be given into the keepingof this sharp-faced, sharp-eyed woman? She felt a lump coming up in herthroat and her eyes smarted painfully. She was beginning to be afraidshe couldn't keep the tears back when Mrs. Spencer returned, flushedand beaming, quite capable of taking any and every difficulty, physical, mental or spiritual, into consideration and settling it out of hand. 

"It seems there's been a mistake about this little girl, Mrs. Blewett, "she said. "I was under the impression that Mr. And Miss Cuthbert wanteda little girl to adopt. I was certainly told so. But it seems it was aboy they wanted. So if you're still of the same mind you were yesterday, I think she'll be just the thing for you. "

Mrs. Blewett darted her eyes over Anne from head to foot. 

"How old are you and what's your name?" she demanded. 

"Anne Shirley, " faltered the shrinking child, not daring to make anystipulations regarding the spelling thereof, "and I'm eleven years old. "

"Humph! You don't look as if there was much to you. But you're wiry. Idon't know but the wiry ones are the best after all. Well, if I take youyou'll have to be a good girl, you know--good and smart and respectful. I'll expect you to earn your keep, and no mistake about that. Yes, Isuppose I might as well take her off your hands, Miss Cuthbert. Thebaby's awful fractious, and I'm clean worn out attending to him. If youlike I can take her right home now. "

Marilla looked at Anne and softened at sight of the child's pale facewith its look of mute misery--the misery of a helpless little creaturewho finds itself once more caught in the trap from which it had escaped. Marilla felt an uncomfortable conviction that, if she denied the appealof that look, it would haunt her to her dying day. More-over, she didnot fancy Mrs. Blewett. To hand a sensitive, "highstrung" child over tosuch a woman! No, she could not take the responsibility of doing that!

"Well, I don't know, " she said slowly. "I didn't say that Matthew and Ihad absolutely decided that we wouldn't keep her. In fact I may say thatMatthew is disposed to keep her. I just came over to find out how themistake had occurred. I think I'd better take her home again and talk itover with Matthew. I feel that I oughtn't to decide on anything withoutconsulting him. If we make up our mind not to keep her we'll bring orsend her over to you tomorrow night. If we don't you may know that sheis going to stay with us. Will that suit you, Mrs. Blewett?"

"I suppose it'll have to, " said Mrs. Blewett ungraciously. 

During Marilla's speech a sunrise had been dawning on Anne's face. Firstthe look of despair faded out; then came a faint flush of hope;here eyes grew deep and bright as morning stars. The child was quitetransfigured; and, a moment later, when Mrs. Spencer and Mrs. Blewettwent out in quest of a recipe the latter had come to borrow she sprangup and flew across the room to Marilla. 

"Oh, Miss Cuthbert, did you really say that perhaps you would let mestay at Green Gables?" she said, in a breathless whisper, as if speakingaloud might shatter the glorious possibility. "Did you really say it? Ordid I only imagine that you did?"

"I think you'd better learn to control that imagination of yours, Anne, if you can't distinguish between what is real and what isn't, " saidMarilla crossly. "Yes, you did hear me say just that and no more. Itisn't decided yet and perhaps we will conclude to let Mrs. Blewett takeyou after all. She certainly needs you much more than I do. "

"I'd rather go back to the asylum than go to live with her, " said Annepassionately. "She looks exactly like a--like a gimlet. "

Marilla smothered a smile under the conviction that Anne must bereproved for such a speech. 

"A little girl like you should be ashamed of talking so about a lady anda stranger, " she said severely. "Go back and sit down quietly and holdyour tongue and behave as a good girl should. "

"I'll try to do and be anything you want me, if you'll only keep me, "said Anne, returning meekly to her ottoman. 

When they arrived back at Green Gables that evening Matthew met them inthe lane. Marilla from afar had noted him prowling along it and guessedhis motive. She was prepared for the relief she read in his face when hesaw that she had at least brought back Anne back with her. But she saidnothing, to him, relative to the affair, until they were both out in theyard behind the barn milking the cows. Then she briefly told him Anne'shistory and the result of the interview with Mrs. Spencer. 

"I wouldn't give a dog I liked to that Blewett woman, " said Matthew withunusual vim. 

"I don't fancy her style myself, " admitted Marilla, "but it's thator keeping her ourselves, Matthew. And since you seem to want her, Isuppose I'm willing--or have to be. I've been thinking over the ideauntil I've got kind of used to it. It seems a sort of duty. I've neverbrought up a child, especially a girl, and I dare say I'll make aterrible mess of it. But I'll do my best. So far as I'm concerned, Matthew, she may stay. "

Matthew's shy face was a glow of delight. 

"Well now, I reckoned you'd come to see it in that light, Marilla, " hesaid. "She's such an interesting little thing. "

"It'd be more to the point if you could say she was a useful littlething, " retorted Marilla, "but I'll make it my business to see she'strained to be that. And mind, Matthew, you're not to go interfering withmy methods. Perhaps an old maid doesn't know much about bringing upa child, but I guess she knows more than an old bachelor. So you justleave me to manage her. When I fail it'll be time enough to put your oarin. "

"There, there, Marilla, you can have your own way, " said Matthewreassuringly. "Only be as good and kind to her as you can withoutspoiling her. I kind of think she's one of the sort you can do anythingwith if you only get her to love you. "

Marilla sniffed, to express her contempt for Matthew's opinionsconcerning anything feminine, and walked off to the dairy with thepails. 

"I won't tell her tonight that she can stay, " she reflected, as shestrained the milk into the creamers. "She'd be so excited that shewouldn't sleep a wink. Marilla Cuthbert, you're fairly in for it. Didyou ever suppose you'd see the day when you'd be adopting an orphangirl? It's surprising enough; but not so surprising as that Matthewshould be at the bottom of it, him that always seemed to have such amortal dread of little girls. Anyhow, we've decided on the experimentand goodness only knows what will come of it. "

CHAPTER VII. Anne Says Her Prayers

When Marilla took Anne up to bed that night she said stiffly:

"Now, Anne, I noticed last night that you threw your clothes all aboutthe floor when you took them off. That is a very untidy habit, and Ican't allow it at all. As soon as you take off any article of clothingfold it neatly and place it on the chair. I haven't any use at all forlittle girls who aren't neat. "

"I was so harrowed up in my mind last night that I didn't think about myclothes at all, " said Anne. "I'll fold them nicely tonight. They alwaysmade us do that at the asylum. Half the time, though, I'd forget, I'd bein such a hurry to get into bed nice and quiet and imagine things. "

"You'll have to remember a little better if you stay here, " admonishedMarilla. "There, that looks something like. Say your prayers now and getinto bed. "

"I never say any prayers, " announced Anne. 

Marilla looked horrified astonishment. 

"Why, Anne, what do you mean? Were you never taught to say your prayers?God always wants little girls to say their prayers. Don't you know whoGod is, Anne?"

"'God is a spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable, in His being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth, '" responded Annepromptly and glibly. 

Marilla looked rather relieved. 

"So you do know something then, thank goodness! You're not quite aheathen. Where did you learn that?"

"Oh, at the asylum Sunday-school. They made us learn the wholecatechism. I liked it pretty well. There's something splendid about someof the words. 'Infinite, eternal and unchangeable. ' Isn't that grand? Ithas such a roll to it--just like a big organ playing. You couldn't quitecall it poetry, I suppose, but it sounds a lot like it, doesn't it?"

"We're not talking about poetry, Anne--we are talking about saying yourprayers. Don't you know it's a terrible wicked thing not to say yourprayers every night? I'm afraid you are a very bad little girl. "

"You'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair, " saidAnne reproachfully. "People who haven't red hair don't know what troubleis. Mrs. Thomas told me that God made my hair red ON PURPOSE, and I'venever cared about Him since. And anyhow I'd always be too tired at nightto bother saying prayers. People who have to look after twins can't beexpected to say their prayers. Now, do you honestly think they can?"

Marilla decided that Anne's religious training must be begun at once. Plainly there was no time to be lost. 

"You must say your prayers while you are under my roof, Anne. "

"Why, of course, if you want me to, " assented Anne cheerfully. "I'd doanything to oblige you. But you'll have to tell me what to say for thisonce. After I get into bed I'll imagine out a real nice prayer to sayalways. I believe that it will be quite interesting, now that I come tothink of it. "

"You must kneel down, " said Marilla in embarrassment. 

Anne knelt at Marilla's knee and looked up gravely. 

"Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I'lltell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field all aloneor into the deep, deep, woods, and I'd look up into thesky--up--up--up--into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was noend to its blueness. And then I'd just FEEL a prayer. Well, I'm ready. What am I to say?"

Marilla felt more embarrassed than ever. She had intended to teach Annethe childish classic, "Now I lay me down to sleep. " But she had, asI have told you, the glimmerings of a sense of humor--which is simplyanother name for a sense of fitness of things; and it suddenly occurredto her that that simple little prayer, sacred to white-robed childhoodlisping at motherly knees, was entirely unsuited to this freckled witchof a girl who knew and cared nothing bout God's love, since she hadnever had it translated to her through the medium of human love. 

"You're old enough to pray for yourself, Anne, " she said finally. "Justthank God for your blessings and ask Him humbly for the things youwant. "

"Well, I'll do my best, " promised Anne, burying her face in Marilla'slap. "Gracious heavenly Father--that's the way the ministers say it inchurch, so I suppose it's all right in private prayer, isn't it?" sheinterjected, lifting her head for a moment. 

 "Gracious heavenly Father, I thank Thee for the White Way of Delight and the Lake of Shining Waters and Bonny and the Snow Queen. I'm really extremely grateful for them. And that's all the blessings I can think of just now to thank Thee for. As for the things I want, they're so numerous that it would take a great deal of time to name them all so I will only mention the two most important. Please let me stay at Green Gables; and please let me be good-looking when I grow up. I remain, "Yours respectfully, Anne Shirley. 

"There, did I do all right?" she asked eagerly, getting up. "I couldhave made it much more flowery if I'd had a little more time to think itover. "

Poor Marilla was only preserved from complete collapse by rememberingthat it was not irreverence, but simply spiritual ignorance on the partof Anne that was responsible for this extraordinary petition. She tuckedthe child up in bed, mentally vowing that she should be taught a prayerthe very next day, and was leaving the room with the light when Annecalled her back. 

"I've just thought of it now. I should have said, 'Amen' in placeof 'yours respectfully, ' shouldn't I?--the way the ministers do. I'dforgotten it, but I felt a prayer should be finished off in some way, soI put in the other. Do you suppose it will make any difference?"

"I--I don't suppose it will, " said Marilla. "Go to sleep now like a goodchild. Good night. "

"I can only say good night tonight with a clear conscience, " said Anne, cuddling luxuriously down among her pillows. 

Marilla retreated to the kitchen, set the candle firmly on the table, and glared at Matthew. 

"Matthew Cuthbert, it's about time somebody adopted that child andtaught her something. She's next door to a perfect heathen. Will youbelieve that she never said a prayer in her life till tonight? I'll sendher to the manse tomorrow and borrow the Peep of the Day series, that'swhat I'll do. And she shall go to Sunday-school just as soon as I canget some suitable clothes made for her. I foresee that I shall havemy hands full. Well, well, we can't get through this world without ourshare of trouble. I've had a pretty easy life of it so far, but my timehas come at last and I suppose I'll just have to make the best of it. "

CHAPTER VIII. Anne's Bringing-up Is Begun

For reasons best known to herself, Marilla did not tell Anne thatshe was to stay at Green Gables until the next afternoon. During theforenoon she kept the child busy with various tasks and watched over herwith a keen eye while she did them. By noon she had concluded that Annewas smart and obedient, willing to work and quick to learn; her mostserious shortcoming seemed to be a tendency to fall into daydreams inthe middle of a task and forget all about it until such time as she wassharply recalled to earth by a reprimand or a catastrophe. 

When Anne had finished washing the dinner dishes she suddenly confrontedMarilla with the air and expression of one desperately determined tolearn the worst. Her thin little body trembled from head to foot; herface flushed and her eyes dilated until they were almost black; sheclasped her hands tightly and said in an imploring voice:

"Oh, please, Miss Cuthbert, won't you tell me if you are going to sendme away or not? I've tried to be patient all the morning, but I reallyfeel that I cannot bear not knowing any longer. It's a dreadful feeling. Please tell me. "

"You haven't scalded the dishcloth in clean hot water as I told you todo, " said Marilla immovably. "Just go and do it before you ask any morequestions, Anne. "

Anne went and attended to the dishcloth. Then she returned to Marillaand fastened imploring eyes of the latter's face. "Well, " said Marilla, unable to find any excuse for deferring her explanation longer, "Isuppose I might as well tell you. Matthew and I have decided to keepyou--that is, if you will try to be a good little girl and show yourselfgrateful. Why, child, whatever is the matter?"

"I'm crying, " said Anne in a tone of bewilderment. "I can't think why. I'm glad as glad can be. Oh, GLAD doesn't seem the right word at all. Iwas glad about the White Way and the cherry blossoms--but this! Oh, it'ssomething more than glad. I'm so happy. I'll try to be so good. Itwill be uphill work, I expect, for Mrs. Thomas often told me I wasdesperately wicked. However, I'll do my very best. But can you tell mewhy I'm crying?"

"I suppose it's because you're all excited and worked up, " said Marilladisapprovingly. "Sit down on that chair and try to calm yourself. I'mafraid you both cry and laugh far too easily. Yes, you can stay here andwe will try to do right by you. You must go to school; but it's only afortnight till vacation so it isn't worth while for you to start beforeit opens again in September. "

"What am I to call you?" asked Anne. "Shall I always say Miss Cuthbert?Can I call you Aunt Marilla?"

"No; you'll call me just plain Marilla. I'm not used to being calledMiss Cuthbert and it would make me nervous. "

"It sounds awfully disrespectful to just say Marilla, " protested Anne. 

"I guess there'll be nothing disrespectful in it if you're carefulto speak respectfully. Everybody, young and old, in Avonlea calls meMarilla except the minister. He says Miss Cuthbert--when he thinks ofit. "

"I'd love to call you Aunt Marilla, " said Anne wistfully. "I've neverhad an aunt or any relation at all--not even a grandmother. It wouldmake me feel as if I really belonged to you. Can't I call you AuntMarilla?"

"No. I'm not your aunt and I don't believe in calling people names thatdon't belong to them. "

"But we could imagine you were my aunt. "

"I couldn't, " said Marilla grimly. 

"Do you never imagine things different from what they really are?" askedAnne wide-eyed. 

"No. "

"Oh!" Anne drew a long breath. "Oh, Miss--Marilla, how much you miss!"

"I don't believe in imagining things different from what they reallyare, " retorted Marilla. "When the Lord puts us in certain circumstancesHe doesn't mean for us to imagine them away. And that reminds me. Gointo the sitting room, Anne--be sure your feet are clean and don'tlet any flies in--and bring me out the illustrated card that's on themantelpiece. The Lord's Prayer is on it and you'll devote your sparetime this afternoon to learning it off by heart. There's to be no moreof such praying as I heard last night. "

"I suppose I was very awkward, " said Anne apologetically, "but then, yousee, I'd never had any practice. You couldn't really expect a personto pray very well the first time she tried, could you? I thought out asplendid prayer after I went to bed, just as I promised you I would. It was nearly as long as a minister's and so poetical. But would youbelieve it? I couldn't remember one word when I woke up this morning. And I'm afraid I'll never be able to think out another one as good. Somehow, things never are so good when they're thought out a secondtime. Have you ever noticed that?"

"Here is something for you to notice, Anne. When I tell you to doa thing I want you to obey me at once and not stand stock-still anddiscourse about it. Just you go and do as I bid you. "

Anne promptly departed for the sitting-room across the hall; she failedto return; after waiting ten minutes Marilla laid down her knittingand marched after her with a grim expression. She found Anne standingmotionless before a picture hanging on the wall between the two windows, with her eyes astar with dreams. The white and green light strainedthrough apple trees and clustering vines outside fell over the raptlittle figure with a half-unearthly radiance. 

"Anne, whatever are you thinking of?" demanded Marilla sharply. 

Anne came back to earth with a start. 

"That, " she said, pointing to the picture--a rather vivid chromoentitled, "Christ Blessing Little Children"--"and I was just imagining Iwas one of them--that I was the little girl in the blue dress, standingoff by herself in the corner as if she didn't belong to anybody, likeme. She looks lonely and sad, don't you think? I guess she hadn't anyfather or mother of her own. But she wanted to be blessed, too, so shejust crept shyly up on the outside of the crowd, hoping nobody wouldnotice her--except Him. I'm sure I know just how she felt. Her heartmust have beat and her hands must have got cold, like mine did when Iasked you if I could stay. She was afraid He mightn't notice her. Butit's likely He did, don't you think? I've been trying to imagine it allout--her edging a little nearer all the time until she was quite closeto Him; and then He would look at her and put His hand on her hair andoh, such a thrill of joy as would run over her! But I wish the artisthadn't painted Him so sorrowful looking. All His pictures are like that, if you've noticed. But I don't believe He could really have looked sosad or the children would have been afraid of Him. "

"Anne, " said Marilla, wondering why she had not broken into this speechlong before, "you shouldn't talk that way. It's irreverent--positivelyirreverent. "

Anne's eyes marveled. 

"Why, I felt just as reverent as could be. I'm sure I didn't mean to beirreverent. "

"Well I don't suppose you did--but it doesn't sound right to talk sofamiliarly about such things. And another thing, Anne, when I send youafter something you're to bring it at once and not fall into mooning andimagining before pictures. Remember that. Take that card and come rightto the kitchen. Now, sit down in the corner and learn that prayer off byheart. "

Anne set the card up against the jugful of apple blossoms she hadbrought in to decorate the dinner-table--Marilla had eyed thatdecoration askance, but had said nothing--propped her chin on her hands, and fell to studying it intently for several silent minutes. 

"I like this, " she announced at length. "It's beautiful. I've heard itbefore--I heard the superintendent of the asylum Sunday school say itover once. But I didn't like it then. He had such a cracked voice andhe prayed it so mournfully. I really felt sure he thought praying was adisagreeable duty. This isn't poetry, but it makes me feel just the sameway poetry does. 'Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be Thy name. 'That is just like a line of music. Oh, I'm so glad you thought of makingme learn this, Miss--Marilla. "

"Well, learn it and hold your tongue, " said Marilla shortly. 

Anne tipped the vase of apple blossoms near enough to bestow a softkiss on a pink-cupped bud, and then studied diligently for some momentslonger. 

"Marilla, " she demanded presently, "do you think that I shall ever havea bosom friend in Avonlea?"

"A--a what kind of friend?"

"A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know--a really kindred spiritto whom I can confide my inmost soul. I've dreamed of meeting her allmy life. I never really supposed I would, but so many of my loveliestdreams have come true all at once that perhaps this one will, too. Doyou think it's possible?"

"Diana Barry lives over at Orchard Slope and she's about your age. She'sa very nice little girl, and perhaps she will be a playmate for you whenshe comes home. She's visiting her aunt over at Carmody just now. You'llhave to be careful how you behave yourself, though. Mrs. Barry is avery particular woman. She won't let Diana play with any little girl whoisn't nice and good. "

Anne looked at Marilla through the apple blossoms, her eyes aglow withinterest. 

"What is Diana like? Her hair isn't red, is it? Oh, I hope not. It's badenough to have red hair myself, but I positively couldn't endure it in abosom friend. "

"Diana is a very pretty little girl. She has black eyes and hair androsy cheeks. And she is good and smart, which is better than beingpretty. "

Marilla was as fond of morals as the Duchess in Wonderland, and wasfirmly convinced that one should be tacked on to every remark made to achild who was being brought up. 

But Anne waved the moral inconsequently aside and seized only on thedelightful possibilities before it. 

"Oh, I'm so glad she's pretty. Next to being beautiful oneself--andthat's impossible in my case--it would be best to have a beautiful bosomfriend. When I lived with Mrs. Thomas she had a bookcase in her sittingroom with glass doors. There weren't any books in it; Mrs. Thomas kepther best china and her preserves there--when she had any preserves tokeep. One of the doors was broken. Mr. Thomas smashed it one nightwhen he was slightly intoxicated. But the other was whole and I used topretend that my reflection in it was another little girl who lived init. I called her Katie Maurice, and we were very intimate. I used totalk to her by the hour, especially on Sunday, and tell her everything. Katie was the comfort and consolation of my life. We used to pretendthat the bookcase was enchanted and that if I only knew the spell Icould open the door and step right into the room where Katie Mauricelived, instead of into Mrs. Thomas' shelves of preserves and china. Andthen Katie Maurice would have taken me by the hand and led me out into awonderful place, all flowers and sunshine and fairies, and we would havelived there happy for ever after. When I went to live with Mrs. Hammondit just broke my heart to leave Katie Maurice. She felt it dreadfully, too, I know she did, for she was crying when she kissed me good-byethrough the bookcase door. There was no bookcase at Mrs. Hammond's. Butjust up the river a little way from the house there was a long greenlittle valley, and the loveliest echo lived there. It echoed back everyword you said, even if you didn't talk a bit loud. So I imagined that itwas a little girl called Violetta and we were great friends and I lovedher almost as well as I loved Katie Maurice--not quite, but almost, youknow. The night before I went to the asylum I said good-bye to Violetta, and oh, her good-bye came back to me in such sad, sad tones. I hadbecome so attached to her that I hadn't the heart to imagine a bosomfriend at the asylum, even if there had been any scope for imaginationthere. "

"I think it's just as well there wasn't, " said Marilla drily. "Idon't approve of such goings-on. You seem to half believe your ownimaginations. It will be well for you to have a real live friend toput such nonsense out of your head. But don't let Mrs. Barry hear youtalking about your Katie Maurices and your Violettas or she'll think youtell stories. "

"Oh, I won't. I couldn't talk of them to everybody--their memories aretoo sacred for that. But I thought I'd like to have you know about them. Oh, look, here's a big bee just tumbled out of an apple blossom. Justthink what a lovely place to live--in an apple blossom! Fancy going tosleep in it when the wind was rocking it. If I wasn't a human girl Ithink I'd like to be a bee and live among the flowers. "

"Yesterday you wanted to be a sea gull, " sniffed Marilla. "I think youare very fickle minded. I told you to learn that prayer and not talk. But it seems impossible for you to stop talking if you've got anybodythat will listen to you. So go up to your room and learn it. "

"Oh, I know it pretty nearly all now--all but just the last line. "

"Well, never mind, do as I tell you. Go to your room and finish learningit well, and stay there until I call you down to help me get tea. "

"Can I take the apple blossoms with me for company?" pleaded Anne. 

"No; you don't want your room cluttered up with flowers. You should haveleft them on the tree in the first place. "

"I did feel a little that way, too, " said Anne. "I kind of felt Ishouldn't shorten their lovely lives by picking them--I wouldn't wantto be picked if I were an apple blossom. But the temptation wasIRRESISTIBLE. What do you do when you meet with an irresistibletemptation?"

"Anne, did you hear me tell you to go to your room?"

Anne sighed, retreated to the east gable, and sat down in a chair by thewindow. 

"There--I know this prayer. I learned that last sentence comingupstairs. Now I'm going to imagine things into this room so that they'llalways stay imagined. The floor is covered with a white velvet carpetwith pink roses all over it and there are pink silk curtains at thewindows. The walls are hung with gold and silver brocade tapestry. Thefurniture is mahogany. I never saw any mahogany, but it does sound SOluxurious. This is a couch all heaped with gorgeous silken cushions, pink and blue and crimson and gold, and I am reclining gracefully on it. I can see my reflection in that splendid big mirror hanging on the wall. I am tall and regal, clad in a gown of trailing white lace, with apearl cross on my breast and pearls in my hair. My hair is of midnightdarkness and my skin is a clear ivory pallor. My name is the LadyCordelia Fitzgerald. No, it isn't--I can't make THAT seem real. "

She danced up to the little looking-glass and peered into it. Herpointed freckled face and solemn gray eyes peered back at her. 

"You're only Anne of Green Gables, " she said earnestly, "and I see you, just as you are looking now, whenever I try to imagine I'm the LadyCordelia. But it's a million times nicer to be Anne of Green Gables thanAnne of nowhere in particular, isn't it?"

She bent forward, kissed her reflection affectionately, and betookherself to the open window. 

"Dear Snow Queen, good afternoon. And good afternoon dear birches downin the hollow. And good afternoon, dear gray house up on the hill. Iwonder if Diana is to be my bosom friend. I hope she will, and I shalllove her very much. But I must never quite forget Katie Mauriceand Violetta. They would feel so hurt if I did and I'd hate to hurtanybody's feelings, even a little bookcase girl's or a little echogirl's. I must be careful to remember them and send them a kiss everyday. "

Anne blew a couple of airy kisses from her fingertips past the cherryblossoms and then, with her chin in her hands, drifted luxuriously outon a sea of daydreams. 

CHAPTER IX. Mrs. Rachel Lynde Is Properly Horrified

Anne had been a fortnight at Green Gables before Mrs. Lynde arrived toinspect her. Mrs. Rachel, to do her justice, was not to blame for this. A severe and unseasonable attack of grippe had confined that good ladyto her house ever since the occasion of her last visit to Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel was not often sick and had a well-defined contempt forpeople who were; but grippe, she asserted, was like no other illness onearth and could only be interpreted as one of the special visitationsof Providence. As soon as her doctor allowed her to put her footout-of-doors she hurried up to Green Gables, bursting with curiosity tosee Matthew and Marilla's orphan, concerning whom all sorts of storiesand suppositions had gone abroad in Avonlea. 

Anne had made good use of every waking moment of that fortnight. Alreadyshe was acquainted with every tree and shrub about the place. She haddiscovered that a lane opened out below the apple orchard and ran upthrough a belt of woodland; and she had explored it to its furthest endin all its delicious vagaries of brook and bridge, fir coppice and wildcherry arch, corners thick with fern, and branching byways of maple andmountain ash. 

She had made friends with the spring down in the hollow--that wonderfuldeep, clear icy-cold spring; it was set about with smooth red sandstonesand rimmed in by great palm-like clumps of water fern; and beyond it wasa log bridge over the brook. 

That bridge led Anne's dancing feet up over a wooded hill beyond, whereperpetual twilight reigned under the straight, thick-growing firs andspruces; the only flowers there were myriads of delicate "June bells, "those shyest and sweetest of woodland blooms, and a few pale, aerialstarflowers, like the spirits of last year's blossoms. Gossamersglimmered like threads of silver among the trees and the fir boughs andtassels seemed to utter friendly speech. 

All these raptured voyages of exploration were made in the odd halfhours which she was allowed for play, and Anne talked Matthew andMarilla half-deaf over her discoveries. Not that Matthew complained, tobe sure; he listened to it all with a wordless smile of enjoyment on hisface; Marilla permitted the "chatter" until she found herself becomingtoo interested in it, whereupon she always promptly quenched Anne by acurt command to hold her tongue. 

Anne was out in the orchard when Mrs. Rachel came, wandering at herown sweet will through the lush, tremulous grasses splashed with ruddyevening sunshine; so that good lady had an excellent chance to talkher illness fully over, describing every ache and pulse beat withsuch evident enjoyment that Marilla thought even grippe must bring itscompensations. When details were exhausted Mrs. Rachel introduced thereal reason of her call. 

"I've been hearing some surprising things about you and Matthew. "

"I don't suppose you are any more surprised than I am myself, " saidMarilla. "I'm getting over my surprise now. "

"It was too bad there was such a mistake, " said Mrs. Rachelsympathetically. "Couldn't you have sent her back?"

"I suppose we could, but we decided not to. Matthew took a fancy to her. And I must say I like her myself--although I admit she has her faults. The house seems a different place already. She's a real bright littlething. "

Marilla said more than she had intended to say when she began, for sheread disapproval in Mrs. Rachel's expression. 

"It's a great responsibility you've taken on yourself, " said thatlady gloomily, "especially when you've never had any experience withchildren. You don't know much about her or her real disposition, Isuppose, and there's no guessing how a child like that will turn out. But I don't want to discourage you I'm sure, Marilla. "

"I'm not feeling discouraged, " was Marilla's dry response, "when I makeup my mind to do a thing it stays made up. I suppose you'd like to seeAnne. I'll call her in. "

Anne came running in presently, her face sparkling with the delight ofher orchard rovings; but, abashed at finding the delight herself inthe unexpected presence of a stranger, she halted confusedly insidethe door. She certainly was an odd-looking little creature in the shorttight wincey dress she had worn from the asylum, below which her thinlegs seemed ungracefully long. Her freckles were more numerous andobtrusive than ever; the wind had ruffled her hatless hair intoover-brilliant disorder; it had never looked redder than at that moment. 

"Well, they didn't pick you for your looks, that's sure and certain, "was Mrs. Rachel Lynde's emphatic comment. Mrs. Rachel was one of thosedelightful and popular people who pride themselves on speaking theirmind without fear or favor. "She's terrible skinny and homely, Marilla. Come here, child, and let me have a look at you. Lawful heart, didany one ever see such freckles? And hair as red as carrots! Come here, child, I say. "

Anne "came there, " but not exactly as Mrs. Rachel expected. With onebound she crossed the kitchen floor and stood before Mrs. Rachel, herface scarlet with anger, her lips quivering, and her whole slender formtrembling from head to foot. 

"I hate you, " she cried in a choked voice, stamping her foot on thefloor. "I hate you--I hate you--I hate you--" a louder stamp with eachassertion of hatred. "How dare you call me skinny and ugly? How dareyou say I'm freckled and redheaded? You are a rude, impolite, unfeelingwoman!"

"Anne!" exclaimed Marilla in consternation. 

But Anne continued to face Mrs. Rachel undauntedly, head up, eyesblazing, hands clenched, passionate indignation exhaling from her likean atmosphere. 

"How dare you say such things about me?" she repeated vehemently. "Howwould you like to have such things said about you? How would you liketo be told that you are fat and clumsy and probably hadn't a spark ofimagination in you? I don't care if I do hurt your feelings by sayingso! I hope I hurt them. You have hurt mine worse than they were everhurt before even by Mrs. Thomas' intoxicated husband. And I'll NEVERforgive you for it, never, never!"

Stamp! Stamp!

"Did anybody ever see such a temper!" exclaimed the horrified Mrs. Rachel. 

"Anne go to your room and stay there until I come up, " said Marilla, recovering her powers of speech with difficulty. 

Anne, bursting into tears, rushed to the hall door, slammed it until thetins on the porch wall outside rattled in sympathy, and fled through thehall and up the stairs like a whirlwind. A subdued slam above told thatthe door of the east gable had been shut with equal vehemence. 

"Well, I don't envy you your job bringing THAT up, Marilla, " said Mrs. Rachel with unspeakable solemnity. 

Marilla opened her lips to say she knew not what of apology ordeprecation. What she did say was a surprise to herself then and everafterwards. 

"You shouldn't have twitted her about her looks, Rachel. "

"Marilla Cuthbert, you don't mean to say that you are upholding her insuch a terrible display of temper as we've just seen?" demanded Mrs. Rachel indignantly. 

"No, " said Marilla slowly, "I'm not trying to excuse her. She's beenvery naughty and I'll have to give her a talking to about it. But wemust make allowances for her. She's never been taught what is right. Andyou WERE too hard on her, Rachel. "

Marilla could not help tacking on that last sentence, although she wasagain surprised at herself for doing it. Mrs. Rachel got up with an airof offended dignity. 

"Well, I see that I'll have to be very careful what I say after this, Marilla, since the fine feelings of orphans, brought from goodnessknows where, have to be considered before anything else. Oh, no, I'm notvexed--don't worry yourself. I'm too sorry for you to leave any room foranger in my mind. You'll have your own troubles with that child. Butif you'll take my advice--which I suppose you won't do, although I'vebrought up ten children and buried two--you'll do that 'talking to' youmention with a fair-sized birch switch. I should think THAT would be themost effective language for that kind of a child. Her temper matches herhair I guess. Well, good evening, Marilla. I hope you'll come down tosee me often as usual. But you can't expect me to visit here again in ahurry, if I'm liable to be flown at and insulted in such a fashion. It'ssomething new in MY experience. "

Whereat Mrs. Rachel swept out and away--if a fat woman who alwayswaddled COULD be said to sweep away--and Marilla with a very solemn facebetook herself to the east gable. 

On the way upstairs she pondered uneasily as to what she ought to do. She felt no little dismay over the scene that had just been enacted. How unfortunate that Anne should have displayed such temper before Mrs. Rachel Lynde, of all people! Then Marilla suddenly became aware of anuncomfortable and rebuking consciousness that she felt more humiliationover this than sorrow over the discovery of such a serious defectin Anne's disposition. And how was she to punish her? The amiablesuggestion of the birch switch--to the efficiency of which all of Mrs. Rachel's own children could have borne smarting testimony--did notappeal to Marilla. She did not believe she could whip a child. No, some other method of punishment must be found to bring Anne to a properrealization of the enormity of her offense. 

Marilla found Anne face downward on her bed, crying bitterly, quiteoblivious of muddy boots on a clean counterpane. 

"Anne, " she said not ungently. 

No answer. 

"Anne, " with greater severity, "get off that bed this minute and listento what I have to say to you. "

Anne squirmed off the bed and sat rigidly on a chair beside it, her faceswollen and tear-stained and her eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor. 

"This is a nice way for you to behave. Anne! Aren't you ashamed ofyourself?"

"She hadn't any right to call me ugly and redheaded, " retorted Anne, evasive and defiant. 

"You hadn't any right to fly into such a fury and talk the way you didto her, Anne. I was ashamed of you--thoroughly ashamed of you. Iwanted you to behave nicely to Mrs. Lynde, and instead of that you havedisgraced me. I'm sure I don't know why you should lose your temper likethat just because Mrs. Lynde said you were red-haired and homely. Yousay it yourself often enough. "

"Oh, but there's such a difference between saying a thing yourself andhearing other people say it, " wailed Anne. "You may know a thing isso, but you can't help hoping other people don't quite think it is. Isuppose you think I have an awful temper, but I couldn't help it. Whenshe said those things something just rose right up in me and choked me. I HAD to fly out at her. "

"Well, you made a fine exhibition of yourself I must say. Mrs. Lyndewill have a nice story to tell about you everywhere--and she'll tellit, too. It was a dreadful thing for you to lose your temper like that, Anne. "

"Just imagine how you would feel if somebody told you to your face thatyou were skinny and ugly, " pleaded Anne tearfully. 

An old remembrance suddenly rose up before Marilla. She had been a verysmall child when she had heard one aunt say of her to another, "What apity she is such a dark, homely little thing. " Marilla was every day offifty before the sting had gone out of that memory. 

"I don't say that I think Mrs. Lynde was exactly right in saying whatshe did to you, Anne, " she admitted in a softer tone. "Rachel is toooutspoken. But that is no excuse for such behavior on your part. Shewas a stranger and an elderly person and my visitor--all three very goodreasons why you should have been respectful to her. You were rude andsaucy and"--Marilla had a saving inspiration of punishment--"you must goto her and tell her you are very sorry for your bad temper and ask herto forgive you. "

"I can never do that, " said Anne determinedly and darkly. "You canpunish me in any way you like, Marilla. You can shut me up in a dark, damp dungeon inhabited by snakes and toads and feed me only on bread andwater and I shall not complain. But I cannot ask Mrs. Lynde to forgiveme. "

"We're not in the habit of shutting people up in dark damp dungeons, "said Marilla drily, "especially as they're rather scarce in Avonlea. Butapologize to Mrs. Lynde you must and shall and you'll stay here in yourroom until you can tell me you're willing to do it. "

"I shall have to stay here forever then, " said Anne mournfully, "becauseI can't tell Mrs. Lynde I'm sorry I said those things to her. How canI? I'm NOT sorry. I'm sorry I've vexed you; but I'm GLAD I told her justwhat I did. It was a great satisfaction. I can't say I'm sorry when I'mnot, can I? I can't even IMAGINE I'm sorry. "

"Perhaps your imagination will be in better working order by themorning, " said Marilla, rising to depart. "You'll have the night tothink over your conduct in and come to a better frame of mind. You saidyou would try to be a very good girl if we kept you at Green Gables, butI must say it hasn't seemed very much like it this evening. "

Leaving this Parthian shaft to rankle in Anne's stormy bosom, Marilladescended to the kitchen, grievously troubled in mind and vexed insoul. She was as angry with herself as with Anne, because, whenever sherecalled Mrs. Rachel's dumbfounded countenance her lips twitched withamusement and she felt a most reprehensible desire to laugh. 

CHAPTER X. Anne's Apology

Marilla said nothing to Matthew about the affair that evening; but whenAnne proved still refractory the next morning an explanation had to bemade to account for her absence from the breakfast table. Marilla toldMatthew the whole story, taking pains to impress him with a due sense ofthe enormity of Anne's behavior. 

"It's a good thing Rachel Lynde got a calling down; she's a meddlesomeold gossip, " was Matthew's consolatory rejoinder. 

"Matthew Cuthbert, I'm astonished at you. You know that Anne's behaviorwas dreadful, and yet you take her part! I suppose you'll be saying nextthing that she oughtn't to be punished at all!"

"Well now--no--not exactly, " said Matthew uneasily. "I reckon sheought to be punished a little. But don't be too hard on her, Marilla. Recollect she hasn't ever had anyone to teach her right. You're--you'regoing to give her something to eat, aren't you?"

"When did you ever hear of me starving people into good behavior?"demanded Marilla indignantly. "She'll have her meals regular, andI'll carry them up to her myself. But she'll stay up there until she'swilling to apologize to Mrs. Lynde, and that's final, Matthew. "

Breakfast, dinner, and supper were very silent meals--for Anne stillremained obdurate. After each meal Marilla carried a well-filled trayto the east gable and brought it down later on not noticeably depleted. Matthew eyed its last descent with a troubled eye. Had Anne eatenanything at all?

When Marilla went out that evening to bring the cows from the backpasture, Matthew, who had been hanging about the barns and watching, slipped into the house with the air of a burglar and crept upstairs. Asa general thing Matthew gravitated between the kitchen and the littlebedroom off the hall where he slept; once in a while he ventureduncomfortably into the parlor or sitting room when the minister came totea. But he had never been upstairs in his own house since the spring hehelped Marilla paper the spare bedroom, and that was four years ago. 

He tiptoed along the hall and stood for several minutes outside thedoor of the east gable before he summoned courage to tap on it with hisfingers and then open the door to peep in. 

Anne was sitting on the yellow chair by the window gazing mournfully outinto the garden. Very small and unhappy she looked, and Matthew's heartsmote him. He softly closed the door and tiptoed over to her. 

"Anne, " he whispered, as if afraid of being overheard, "how are youmaking it, Anne?"

Anne smiled wanly. 

"Pretty well. I imagine a good deal, and that helps to pass the time. Ofcourse, it's rather lonesome. But then, I may as well get used to that. "

Anne smiled again, bravely facing the long years of solitaryimprisonment before her. 

Matthew recollected that he must say what he had come to say withoutloss of time, lest Marilla return prematurely. "Well now, Anne, don'tyou think you'd better do it and have it over with?" he whispered. "It'll have to be done sooner or later, you know, for Marilla's adreadful deter-mined woman--dreadful determined, Anne. Do it right off, I say, and have it over. "

"Do you mean apologize to Mrs. Lynde?"

"Yes--apologize--that's the very word, " said Matthew eagerly. "Justsmooth it over so to speak. That's what I was trying to get at. "

"I suppose I could do it to oblige you, " said Anne thoughtfully. "Itwould be true enough to say I am sorry, because I AM sorry now. I wasn'ta bit sorry last night. I was mad clear through, and I stayed mad allnight. I know I did because I woke up three times and I was justfurious every time. But this morning it was over. I wasn't in a temperanymore--and it left a dreadful sort of goneness, too. I felt so ashamedof myself. But I just couldn't think of going and telling Mrs. Lyndeso. It would be so humiliating. I made up my mind I'd stay shut up hereforever rather than do that. But still--I'd do anything for you--if youreally want me to--"

"Well now, of course I do. It's terrible lonesome downstairs withoutyou. Just go and smooth things over--that's a good girl. "

"Very well, " said Anne resignedly. "I'll tell Marilla as soon as shecomes in I've repented. "

"That's right--that's right, Anne. But don't tell Marilla I saidanything about it. She might think I was putting my oar in and Ipromised not to do that. "

"Wild horses won't drag the secret from me, " promised Anne solemnly. "How would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow?"

But Matthew was gone, scared at his own success. He fled hastily to theremotest corner of the horse pasture lest Marilla should suspect whathe had been up to. Marilla herself, upon her return to the house, wasagreeably surprised to hear a plaintive voice calling, "Marilla" overthe banisters. 

"Well?" she said, going into the hall. 

"I'm sorry I lost my temper and said rude things, and I'm willing to goand tell Mrs. Lynde so. "

"Very well. " Marilla's crispness gave no sign of her relief. She hadbeen wondering what under the canopy she should do if Anne did not givein. "I'll take you down after milking. "

Accordingly, after milking, behold Marilla and Anne walking down thelane, the former erect and triumphant, the latter drooping and dejected. But halfway down Anne's dejection vanished as if by enchantment. Shelifted her head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the sunsetsky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her. Marilla beheld thechange disapprovingly. This was no meek penitent such as it behooved herto take into the presence of the offended Mrs. Lynde. 

"What are you thinking of, Anne?" she asked sharply. 

"I'm imagining out what I must say to Mrs. Lynde, " answered Annedreamily. 

This was satisfactory--or should have been so. But Marilla could notrid herself of the notion that something in her scheme of punishment wasgoing askew. Anne had no business to look so rapt and radiant. 

Rapt and radiant Anne continued until they were in the very presenceof Mrs. Lynde, who was sitting knitting by her kitchen window. Then theradiance vanished. Mournful penitence appeared on every feature. Beforea word was spoken Anne suddenly went down on her knees before theastonished Mrs. Rachel and held out her hands beseechingly. 

"Oh, Mrs. Lynde, I am so extremely sorry, " she said with a quiver inher voice. "I could never express all my sorrow, no, not if I used upa whole dictionary. You must just imagine it. I behaved terribly toyou--and I've disgraced the dear friends, Matthew and Marilla, who havelet me stay at Green Gables although I'm not a boy. I'm a dreadfullywicked and ungrateful girl, and I deserve to be punished and cast outby respectable people forever. It was very wicked of me to fly into atemper because you told me the truth. It WAS the truth; every word yousaid was true. My hair is red and I'm freckled and skinny and ugly. What I said to you was true, too, but I shouldn't have said it. Oh, Mrs. Lynde, please, please, forgive me. If you refuse it will be a lifelongsorrow on a poor little orphan girl, would you, even if she had adreadful temper? Oh, I am sure you wouldn't. Please say you forgive me, Mrs. Lynde. "

Anne clasped her hands together, bowed her head, and waited for the wordof judgment. 

There was no mistaking her sincerity--it breathed in every tone of hervoice. Both Marilla and Mrs. Lynde recognized its unmistakable ring. But the former under-stood in dismay that Anne was actually enjoyingher valley of humiliation--was reveling in the thoroughness of herabasement. Where was the wholesome punishment upon which she, Marilla, had plumed herself? Anne had turned it into a species of positivepleasure. 

Good Mrs. Lynde, not being overburdened with perception, did not seethis. She only perceived that Anne had made a very thorough apology andall resentment vanished from her kindly, if somewhat officious, heart. 

"There, there, get up, child, " she said heartily. "Of course I forgiveyou. I guess I was a little too hard on you, anyway. But I'm such anoutspoken person. You just mustn't mind me, that's what. It can't bedenied your hair is terrible red; but I knew a girl once--went to schoolwith her, in fact--whose hair was every mite as red as yours when shewas young, but when she grew up it darkened to a real handsome auburn. Iwouldn't be a mite surprised if yours did, too--not a mite. "

"Oh, Mrs. Lynde!" Anne drew a long breath as she rose to her feet. "Youhave given me a hope. I shall always feel that you are a benefactor. Oh, I could endure anything if I only thought my hair would be a handsomeauburn when I grew up. It would be so much easier to be good if one'shair was a handsome auburn, don't you think? And now may I go out intoyour garden and sit on that bench under the apple-trees while you andMarilla are talking? There is so much more scope for imagination outthere. "

"Laws, yes, run along, child. And you can pick a bouquet of them whiteJune lilies over in the corner if you like. "

As the door closed behind Anne Mrs. Lynde got briskly up to light alamp. 

"She's a real odd little thing. Take this chair, Marilla; it's easierthan the one you've got; I just keep that for the hired boy to siton. Yes, she certainly is an odd child, but there is something kind oftaking about her after all. I don't feel so surprised at you and Matthewkeeping her as I did--nor so sorry for you, either. She may turn out allright. Of course, she has a queer way of expressing herself--a littletoo--well, too kind of forcible, you know; but she'll likely get overthat now that she's come to live among civilized folks. And then, hertemper's pretty quick, I guess; but there's one comfort, a child thathas a quick temper, just blaze up and cool down, ain't never likely tobe sly or deceitful. Preserve me from a sly child, that's what. On thewhole, Marilla, I kind of like her. "

When Marilla went home Anne came out of the fragrant twilight of theorchard with a sheaf of white narcissi in her hands. 

"I apologized pretty well, didn't I?" she said proudly as they wentdown the lane. "I thought since I had to do it I might as well do itthoroughly. "

"You did it thoroughly, all right enough, " was Marilla's comment. Marilla was dismayed at finding herself inclined to laugh over therecollection. She had also an uneasy feeling that she ought to scoldAnne for apologizing so well; but then, that was ridiculous! Shecompromised with her conscience by saying severely:

"I hope you won't have occasion to make many more such apologies. I hopeyou'll try to control your temper now, Anne. "

"That wouldn't be so hard if people wouldn't twit me about my looks, "said Anne with a sigh. "I don't get cross about other things; but I'mSO tired of being twitted about my hair and it just makes me boil rightover. Do you suppose my hair will really be a handsome auburn when Igrow up?"

"You shouldn't think so much about your looks, Anne. I'm afraid you area very vain little girl. "

"How can I be vain when I know I'm homely?" protested Anne. "I lovepretty things; and I hate to look in the glass and see something thatisn't pretty. It makes me feel so sorrowful--just as I feel when I lookat any ugly thing. I pity it because it isn't beautiful. "

"Handsome is as handsome does, " quoted Marilla. "I've had that saidto me before, but I have my doubts about it, " remarked skeptical Anne, sniffing at her narcissi. "Oh, aren't these flowers sweet! It was lovelyof Mrs. Lynde to give them to me. I have no hard feelings against Mrs. Lynde now. It gives you a lovely, comfortable feeling to apologize andbe forgiven, doesn't it? Aren't the stars bright tonight? If you couldlive in a star, which one would you pick? I'd like that lovely clear bigone away over there above that dark hill. "

"Anne, do hold your tongue. " said Marilla, thoroughly worn out trying tofollow the gyrations of Anne's thoughts. 

Anne said no more until they turned into their own lane. A little gypsywind came down it to meet them, laden with the spicy perfume of youngdew-wet ferns. Far up in the shadows a cheerful light gleamed outthrough the trees from the kitchen at Green Gables. Anne suddenly cameclose to Marilla and slipped her hand into the older woman's hard palm. 

"It's lovely to be going home and know it's home, " she said. "I loveGreen Gables already, and I never loved any place before. No place everseemed like home. Oh, Marilla, I'm so happy. I could pray right now andnot find it a bit hard. "

Something warm and pleasant welled up in Marilla's heart at touch ofthat thin little hand in her own--a throb of the maternity she hadmissed, perhaps. Its very unaccustomedness and sweetness disturbedher. She hastened to restore her sensations to their normal calm byinculcating a moral. 

"If you'll be a good girl you'll always be happy, Anne. And you shouldnever find it hard to say your prayers. "

"Saying one's prayers isn't exactly the same thing as praying, " saidAnne meditatively. "But I'm going to imagine that I'm the wind that isblowing up there in those tree tops. When I get tired of the trees I'llimagine I'm gently waving down here in the ferns--and then I'll fly overto Mrs. Lynde's garden and set the flowers dancing--and then I'll gowith one great swoop over the clover field--and then I'll blow over theLake of Shining Waters and ripple it all up into little sparkling waves. Oh, there's so much scope for imagination in a wind! So I'll not talkany more just now, Marilla. "

"Thanks be to goodness for that, " breathed Marilla in devout relief. 

CHAPTER XI. Anne's Impressions of Sunday-School

"Well, how do you like them?" said Marilla. 

Anne was standing in the gable room, looking solemnly at three newdresses spread out on the bed. One was of snuffy colored gingham whichMarilla had been tempted to buy from a peddler the preceding summerbecause it looked so serviceable; one was of black-and-white checkeredsateen which she had picked up at a bargain counter in the winter; andone was a stiff print of an ugly blue shade which she had purchased thatweek at a Carmody store. 

She had made them up herself, and they were all made alike--plain skirtsfulled tightly to plain waists, with sleeves as plain as waist and skirtand tight as sleeves could be. 

"I'll imagine that I like them, " said Anne soberly. 

"I don't want you to imagine it, " said Marilla, offended. "Oh, I can seeyou don't like the dresses! What is the matter with them? Aren't theyneat and clean and new?"

"Yes. "

"Then why don't you like them?"

"They're--they're not--pretty, " said Anne reluctantly. 

"Pretty!" Marilla sniffed. "I didn't trouble my head about gettingpretty dresses for you. I don't believe in pampering vanity, Anne, I'lltell you that right off. Those dresses are good, sensible, serviceabledresses, without any frills or furbelows about them, and they're allyou'll get this summer. The brown gingham and the blue print will doyou for school when you begin to go. The sateen is for church and Sundayschool. I'll expect you to keep them neat and clean and not to tearthem. I should think you'd be grateful to get most anything after thoseskimpy wincey things you've been wearing. "

"Oh, I AM grateful, " protested Anne. "But I'd be ever so muchgratefuller if--if you'd made just one of them with puffed sleeves. Puffed sleeves are so fashionable now. It would give me such a thrill, Marilla, just to wear a dress with puffed sleeves. "

"Well, you'll have to do without your thrill. I hadn't any materialto waste on puffed sleeves. I think they are ridiculous-looking thingsanyhow. I prefer the plain, sensible ones. "

"But I'd rather look ridiculous when everybody else does than plain andsensible all by myself, " persisted Anne mournfully. 

"Trust you for that! Well, hang those dresses carefully up in yourcloset, and then sit down and learn the Sunday school lesson. I gota quarterly from Mr. Bell for you and you'll go to Sunday schooltomorrow, " said Marilla, disappearing downstairs in high dudgeon. 

Anne clasped her hands and looked at the dresses. 

"I did hope there would be a white one with puffed sleeves, " shewhispered disconsolately. "I prayed for one, but I didn't much expect iton that account. I didn't suppose God would have time to bother abouta little orphan girl's dress. I knew I'd just have to depend onMarilla for it. Well, fortunately I can imagine that one of them is ofsnow-white muslin with lovely lace frills and three-puffed sleeves. "

The next morning warnings of a sick headache prevented Marilla fromgoing to Sunday-school with Anne. 

"You'll have to go down and call for Mrs. Lynde, Anne. " she said. "She'll see that you get into the right class. Now, mind you behaveyourself properly. Stay to preaching afterwards and ask Mrs. Lynde toshow you our pew. Here's a cent for collection. Don't stare at peopleand don't fidget. I shall expect you to tell me the text when you comehome. "

Anne started off irreproachable, arrayed in the stiff black-and-whitesateen, which, while decent as regards length and certainly not open tothe charge of skimpiness, contrived to emphasize every corner and angleof her thin figure. Her hat was a little, flat, glossy, new sailor, theextreme plainness of which had likewise much disappointed Anne, whohad permitted herself secret visions of ribbon and flowers. The latter, however, were supplied before Anne reached the main road, for beingconfronted halfway down the lane with a golden frenzy of wind-stirredbuttercups and a glory of wild roses, Anne promptly and liberallygarlanded her hat with a heavy wreath of them. Whatever other peoplemight have thought of the result it satisfied Anne, and she trippedgaily down the road, holding her ruddy head with its decoration of pinkand yellow very proudly. 

When she had reached Mrs. Lynde's house she found that lady gone. Nothing daunted, Anne proceeded onward to the church alone. In the porchshe found a crowd of little girls, all more or less gaily attired inwhites and blues and pinks, and all staring with curious eyes at thisstranger in their midst, with her extraordinary head adornment. Avonlealittle girls had already heard queer stories about Anne. Mrs. Lynde saidshe had an awful temper; Jerry Buote, the hired boy at Green Gables, said she talked all the time to herself or to the trees and flowerslike a crazy girl. They looked at her and whispered to each other behindtheir quarterlies. Nobody made any friendly advances, then or lateron when the opening exercises were over and Anne found herself in MissRogerson's class. 

Miss Rogerson was a middle-aged lady who had taught a Sunday-schoolclass for twenty years. Her method of teaching was to ask the printedquestions from the quarterly and look sternly over its edge at theparticular little girl she thought ought to answer the question. Shelooked very often at Anne, and Anne, thanks to Marilla's drilling, answered promptly; but it may be questioned if she understood very muchabout either question or answer. 

She did not think she liked Miss Rogerson, and she felt very miserable;every other little girl in the class had puffed sleeves. Anne felt thatlife was really not worth living without puffed sleeves. 

"Well, how did you like Sunday school?" Marilla wanted to know when Annecame home. Her wreath having faded, Anne had discarded it in the lane, so Marilla was spared the knowledge of that for a time. 

"I didn't like it a bit. It was horrid. "

"Anne Shirley!" said Marilla rebukingly. 

Anne sat down on the rocker with a long sigh, kissed one of Bonny'sleaves, and waved her hand to a blossoming fuchsia. 

"They might have been lonesome while I was away, " she explained. "Andnow about the Sunday school. I behaved well, just as you told me. Mrs. Lynde was gone, but I went right on myself. I went into the church, witha lot of other little girls, and I sat in the corner of a pew by thewindow while the opening exercises went on. Mr. Bell made an awfullylong prayer. I would have been dreadfully tired before he got throughif I hadn't been sitting by that window. But it looked right out on theLake of Shining Waters, so I just gazed at that and imagined all sortsof splendid things. "

"You shouldn't have done anything of the sort. You should have listenedto Mr. Bell. "

"But he wasn't talking to me, " protested Anne. "He was talking to Godand he didn't seem to be very much inter-ested in it, either. I thinkhe thought God was too far off though. There was a long row of whitebirches hanging over the lake and the sunshine fell down throughthem, 'way, 'way down, deep into the water. Oh, Marilla, it was like abeautiful dream! It gave me a thrill and I just said, 'Thank you for it, God, ' two or three times. "

"Not out loud, I hope, " said Marilla anxiously. 

"Oh, no, just under my breath. Well, Mr. Bell did get through at lastand they told me to go into the classroom with Miss Rogerson's class. There were nine other girls in it. They all had puffed sleeves. I triedto imagine mine were puffed, too, but I couldn't. Why couldn't I? It wasas easy as could be to imagine they were puffed when I was alone inthe east gable, but it was awfully hard there among the others who hadreally truly puffs. "

"You shouldn't have been thinking about your sleeves in Sunday school. You should have been attending to the lesson. I hope you knew it. "

"Oh, yes; and I answered a lot of questions. Miss Rogerson asked ever somany. I don't think it was fair for her to do all the asking. There werelots I wanted to ask her, but I didn't like to because I didn't thinkshe was a kindred spirit. Then all the other little girls recited aparaphrase. She asked me if I knew any. I told her I didn't, but I couldrecite, 'The Dog at His Master's Grave' if she liked. That's in theThird Royal Reader. It isn't a really truly religious piece of poetry, but it's so sad and melancholy that it might as well be. She said itwouldn't do and she told me to learn the nineteenth paraphrase for nextSunday. I read it over in church afterwards and it's splendid. There aretwo lines in particular that just thrill me. 

 "'Quick as the slaughtered squadrons fell In Midian's evil day. '

"I don't know what 'squadrons' means nor 'Midian, ' either, but it soundsSO tragical. I can hardly wait until next Sunday to recite it. I'll practice it all the week. After Sunday school I asked MissRogerson--because Mrs. Lynde was too far away--to show me your pew. I sat just as still as I could and the text was Revelations, thirdchapter, second and third verses. It was a very long text. If I was aminister I'd pick the short, snappy ones. The sermon was awfully long, too. I suppose the minister had to match it to the text. I didn't thinkhe was a bit interesting. The trouble with him seems to be that hehasn't enough imagination. I didn't listen to him very much. I just letmy thoughts run and I thought of the most surprising things. "

Marilla felt helplessly that all this should be sternly reproved, butshe was hampered by the undeniable fact that some of the things Anne hadsaid, especially about the minister's sermons and Mr. Bell's prayers, were what she herself had really thought deep down in her heart foryears, but had never given expression to. It almost seemed to her thatthose secret, unuttered, critical thoughts had suddenly taken visibleand accusing shape and form in the person of this outspoken morsel ofneglected humanity. 

CHAPTER XII. A Solemn Vow and Promise

It was not until the next Friday that Marilla heard the story of theflower-wreathed hat. She came home from Mrs. Lynde's and called Anne toaccount. 

"Anne, Mrs. Rachel says you went to church last Sunday with your hatrigged out ridiculous with roses and buttercups. What on earth put youup to such a caper? A pretty-looking object you must have been!"

"Oh. I know pink and yellow aren't becoming to me, " began Anne. 

"Becoming fiddlesticks! It was putting flowers on your hat at all, no matter what color they were, that was ridiculous. You are the mostaggravating child!"

"I don't see why it's any more ridiculous to wear flowers on your hatthan on your dress, " protested Anne. "Lots of little girls there hadbouquets pinned on their dresses. What's the difference?"

Marilla was not to be drawn from the safe concrete into dubious paths ofthe abstract. 

"Don't answer me back like that, Anne. It was very silly of you to dosuch a thing. Never let me catch you at such a trick again. Mrs. Rachelsays she thought she would sink through the floor when she saw you comein all rigged out like that. She couldn't get near enough to tell youto take them off till it was too late. She says people talked about itsomething dreadful. Of course they would think I had no better sensethan to let you go decked out like that. "

"Oh, I'm so sorry, " said Anne, tears welling into her eyes. "I neverthought you'd mind. The roses and buttercups were so sweet and prettyI thought they'd look lovely on my hat. Lots of the little girls hadartificial flowers on their hats. I'm afraid I'm going to be a dreadfultrial to you. Maybe you'd better send me back to the asylum. That wouldbe terrible; I don't think I could endure it; most likely I would gointo consumption; I'm so thin as it is, you see. But that would bebetter than being a trial to you. "

"Nonsense, " said Marilla, vexed at herself for having made the childcry. "I don't want to send you back to the asylum, I'm sure. All I wantis that you should behave like other little girls and not make yourselfridiculous. Don't cry any more. I've got some news for you. Diana Barrycame home this afternoon. I'm going up to see if I can borrow a skirtpattern from Mrs. Barry, and if you like you can come with me and getacquainted with Diana. "

Anne rose to her feet, with clasped hands, the tears still glistening onher cheeks; the dish towel she had been hemming slipped unheeded to thefloor. 

"Oh, Marilla, I'm frightened--now that it has come I'm actuallyfrightened. What if she shouldn't like me! It would be the most tragicaldisappointment of my life. "

"Now, don't get into a fluster. And I do wish you wouldn't use such longwords. It sounds so funny in a little girl. I guess Diana'll like youwell enough. It's her mother you've got to reckon with. If she doesn'tlike you it won't matter how much Diana does. If she has heard aboutyour outburst to Mrs. Lynde and going to church with buttercups roundyour hat I don't know what she'll think of you. You must be polite andwell behaved, and don't make any of your startling speeches. For pity'ssake, if the child isn't actually trembling!"

Anne WAS trembling. Her face was pale and tense. 

"Oh, Marilla, you'd be excited, too, if you were going to meet a littlegirl you hoped to be your bosom friend and whose mother mightn't likeyou, " she said as she hastened to get her hat. 

They went over to Orchard Slope by the short cut across the brook and upthe firry hill grove. Mrs. Barry came to the kitchen door in answer toMarilla's knock. She was a tall black-eyed, black-haired woman, with avery resolute mouth. She had the reputation of being very strict withher children. 

"How do you do, Marilla?" she said cordially. "Come in. And this is thelittle girl you have adopted, I suppose?"

"Yes, this is Anne Shirley, " said Marilla. 

"Spelled with an E, " gasped Anne, who, tremulous and excited as she was, was determined there should be no misunderstanding on that importantpoint. 

Mrs. Barry, not hearing or not comprehending, merely shook hands andsaid kindly:

"How are you?"

"I am well in body although considerable rumpled up in spirit, thank youma'am, " said Anne gravely. Then aside to Marilla in an audible whisper, "There wasn't anything startling in that, was there, Marilla?"

Diana was sitting on the sofa, reading a book which she dropped when thecallers entered. She was a very pretty little girl, with her mother'sblack eyes and hair, and rosy cheeks, and the merry expression which washer inheritance from her father. 

"This is my little girl Diana, " said Mrs. Barry. "Diana, you might takeAnne out into the garden and show her your flowers. It will be betterfor you than straining your eyes over that book. She reads entirelytoo much--" this to Marilla as the little girls went out--"and I can'tprevent her, for her father aids and abets her. She's always poring overa book. I'm glad she has the prospect of a playmate--perhaps it willtake her more out-of-doors. "

Outside in the garden, which was full of mellow sunset light streamingthrough the dark old firs to the west of it, stood Anne and Diana, gazing bashfully at each other over a clump of gorgeous tiger lilies. 

The Barry garden was a bowery wilderness of flowers which would havedelighted Anne's heart at any time less fraught with destiny. It wasencircled by huge old willows and tall firs, beneath which flourishedflowers that loved the shade. Prim, right-angled paths neatly borderedwith clamshells, intersected it like moist red ribbons and in the bedsbetween old-fashioned flowers ran riot. There were rosy bleeding-heartsand great splendid crimson peonies; white, fragrant narcissi and thorny, sweet Scotch roses; pink and blue and white columbines and lilac-tintedBouncing Bets; clumps of southernwood and ribbon grass and mint; purpleAdam-and-Eve, daffodils, and masses of sweet clover white with itsdelicate, fragrant, feathery sprays; scarlet lightning that shotits fiery lances over prim white musk-flowers; a garden it was wheresunshine lingered and bees hummed, and winds, beguiled into loitering, purred and rustled. 

"Oh, Diana, " said Anne at last, clasping her hands and speaking almostin a whisper, "oh, do you think you can like me a little--enough to bemy bosom friend?"

Diana laughed. Diana always laughed before she spoke. 

"Why, I guess so, " she said frankly. "I'm awfully glad you've come tolive at Green Gables. It will be jolly to have somebody to play with. There isn't any other girl who lives near enough to play with, and I'veno sisters big enough. "

"Will you swear to be my friend forever and ever?" demanded Anneeagerly. 

Diana looked shocked. 

"Why it's dreadfully wicked to swear, " she said rebukingly. 

"Oh no, not my kind of swearing. There are two kinds, you know. "

"I never heard of but one kind, " said Diana doubtfully. 

"There really is another. Oh, it isn't wicked at all. It just meansvowing and promising solemnly. "

"Well, I don't mind doing that, " agreed Diana, relieved. "How do you doit?"

"We must join hands--so, " said Anne gravely. "It ought to be overrunning water. We'll just imagine this path is running water. I'llrepeat the oath first. I solemnly swear to be faithful to my bosomfriend, Diana Barry, as long as the sun and moon shall endure. Now yousay it and put my name in. "

Diana repeated the "oath" with a laugh fore and aft. Then she said:

"You're a queer girl, Anne. I heard before that you were queer. But Ibelieve I'm going to like you real well. "

When Marilla and Anne went home Diana went with them as for as the logbridge. The two little girls walked with their arms about each other. At the brook they parted with many promises to spend the next afternoontogether. 

"Well, did you find Diana a kindred spirit?" asked Marilla as they wentup through the garden of Green Gables. 

"Oh yes, " sighed Anne, blissfully unconscious of any sarcasm onMarilla's part. "Oh Marilla, I'm the happiest girl on Prince EdwardIsland this very moment. I assure you I'll say my prayers with a rightgood-will tonight. Diana and I are going to build a playhouse in Mr. William Bell's birch grove tomorrow. Can I have those broken pieces ofchina that are out in the woodshed? Diana's birthday is in February andmine is in March. Don't you think that is a very strange coincidence?Diana is going to lend me a book to read. She says it's perfectlysplendid and tremendously exciting. She's going to show me a place backin the woods where rice lilies grow. Don't you think Diana has got verysoulful eyes? I wish I had soulful eyes. Diana is going to teach me tosing a song called 'Nelly in the Hazel Dell. ' She's going to give me apicture to put up in my room; it's a perfectly beautiful picture, shesays--a lovely lady in a pale blue silk dress. A sewing-machine agentgave it to her. I wish I had something to give Diana. I'm an inch tallerthan Diana, but she is ever so much fatter; she says she'd like to bethin because it's so much more graceful, but I'm afraid she only saidit to soothe my feelings. We're going to the shore some day to gathershells. We have agreed to call the spring down by the log bridge theDryad's Bubble. Isn't that a perfectly elegant name? I read a storyonce about a spring called that. A dryad is sort of a grown-up fairy, Ithink. "

"Well, all I hope is you won't talk Diana to death, " said Marilla. "Butremember this in all your planning, Anne. You're not going to play allthe time nor most of it. You'll have your work to do and it'll have tobe done first. "

Anne's cup of happiness was full, and Matthew caused it to overflow. Hehad just got home from a trip to the store at Carmody, and he sheepishlyproduced a small parcel from his pocket and handed it to Anne, with adeprecatory look at Marilla. 

"I heard you say you liked chocolate sweeties, so I got you some, " hesaid. 

"Humph, " sniffed Marilla. "It'll ruin her teeth and stomach. There, there, child, don't look so dismal. You can eat those, since Matthewhas gone and got them. He'd better have brought you peppermints. They'rewholesomer. Don't sicken yourself eating all them at once now. "

"Oh, no, indeed, I won't, " said Anne eagerly. "I'll just eat onetonight, Marilla. And I can give Diana half of them, can't I? Theother half will taste twice as sweet to me if I give some to her. It'sdelightful to think I have something to give her. "

"I will say it for the child, " said Marilla when Anne had gone toher gable, "she isn't stingy. I'm glad, for of all faults I deteststinginess in a child. Dear me, it's only three weeks since she came, and it seems as if she'd been here always. I can't imagine the placewithout her. Now, don't be looking I told-you-so, Matthew. That's badenough in a woman, but it isn't to be endured in a man. I'm perfectlywilling to own up that I'm glad I consented to keep the child and thatI'm getting fond of her, but don't you rub it in, Matthew Cuthbert. "

CHAPTER XIII. The Delights of Anticipation

"It's time Anne was in to do her sewing, " said Marilla, glancing at theclock and then out into the yellow August afternoon where everythingdrowsed in the heat. "She stayed playing with Diana more than half anhour more'n I gave her leave to; and now she's perched out there onthe woodpile talking to Matthew, nineteen to the dozen, when she knowsperfectly well she ought to be at her work. And of course he's listeningto her like a perfect ninny. I never saw such an infatuated man. The more she talks and the odder the things she says, the more he'sdelighted evidently. Anne Shirley, you come right in here this minute, do you hear me!"

A series of staccato taps on the west window brought Anne flying in fromthe yard, eyes shining, cheeks faintly flushed with pink, unbraided hairstreaming behind her in a torrent of brightness. 

"Oh, Marilla, " she exclaimed breathlessly, "there's going to be aSunday-school picnic next week--in Mr. Harmon Andrews's field, rightnear the lake of Shining Waters. And Mrs. Superintendent Bell and Mrs. Rachel Lynde are going to make ice cream--think of it, Marilla--ICECREAM! And, oh, Marilla, can I go to it?"

"Just look at the clock, if you please, Anne. What time did I tell youto come in?"

"Two o'clock--but isn't it splendid about the picnic, Marilla? Pleasecan I go? Oh, I've never been to a picnic--I've dreamed of picnics, butI've never--"

"Yes, I told you to come at two o'clock. And it's a quarter to three. I'd like to know why you didn't obey me, Anne. "

"Why, I meant to, Marilla, as much as could be. But you have no ideahow fascinating Idlewild is. And then, of course, I had to tell Matthewabout the picnic. Matthew is such a sympathetic listener. Please can Igo?"

"You'll have to learn to resist the fascination ofIdle-whatever-you-call-it. When I tell you to come in at a certain timeI mean that time and not half an hour later. And you needn't stop todiscourse with sympathetic listeners on your way, either. As for thepicnic, of course you can go. You're a Sunday-school scholar, and it'snot likely I'd refuse to let you go when all the other little girls aregoing. "

"But--but, " faltered Anne, "Diana says that everybody must take a basketof things to eat. I can't cook, as you know, Marilla, and--and--I don'tmind going to a picnic without puffed sleeves so much, but I'd feelterribly humiliated if I had to go without a basket. It's been preyingon my mind ever since Diana told me. "

"Well, it needn't prey any longer. I'll bake you a basket. "

"Oh, you dear good Marilla. Oh, you are so kind to me. Oh, I'm so muchobliged to you. "

Getting through with her "ohs" Anne cast herself into Marilla's arms andrapturously kissed her sallow cheek. It was the first time in her wholelife that childish lips had voluntarily touched Marilla's face. Againthat sudden sensation of startling sweetness thrilled her. She wassecretly vastly pleased at Anne's impulsive caress, which was probablythe reason why she said brusquely:

"There, there, never mind your kissing nonsense. I'd sooner see youdoing strictly as you're told. As for cooking, I mean to begin givingyou lessons in that some of these days. But you're so featherbrained, Anne, I've been waiting to see if you'd sober down a little and learnto be steady before I begin. You've got to keep your wits about you incooking and not stop in the middle of things to let your thoughts roveall over creation. Now, get out your patchwork and have your square donebefore teatime. "

"I do NOT like patchwork, " said Anne dolefully, hunting out herworkbasket and sitting down before a little heap of red and whitediamonds with a sigh. "I think some kinds of sewing would be nice; butthere's no scope for imagination in patchwork. It's just one little seamafter another and you never seem to be getting anywhere. But of courseI'd rather be Anne of Green Gables sewing patchwork than Anne of anyother place with nothing to do but play. I wish time went as quicksewing patches as it does when I'm playing with Diana, though. Oh, wedo have such elegant times, Marilla. I have to furnish most of theimagination, but I'm well able to do that. Diana is simply perfect inevery other way. You know that little piece of land across the brookthat runs up between our farm and Mr. Barry's. It belongs to Mr. WilliamBell, and right in the corner there is a little ring of white birchtrees--the most romantic spot, Marilla. Diana and I have our playhousethere. We call it Idlewild. Isn't that a poetical name? I assure you ittook me some time to think it out. I stayed awake nearly a whole nightbefore I invented it. Then, just as I was dropping off to sleep, it camelike an inspiration. Diana was ENRAPTURED when she heard it. We have gotour house fixed up elegantly. You must come and see it, Marilla--won'tyou? We have great big stones, all covered with moss, for seats, andboards from tree to tree for shelves. And we have all our dishes onthem. Of course, they're all broken but it's the easiest thing in theworld to imagine that they are whole. There's a piece of a plate with aspray of red and yellow ivy on it that is especially beautiful. We keepit in the parlor and we have the fairy glass there, too. The fairy glassis as lovely as a dream. Diana found it out in the woods behind theirchicken house. It's all full of rainbows--just little young rainbowsthat haven't grown big yet--and Diana's mother told her it was brokenoff a hanging lamp they once had. But it's nice to imagine the fairieslost it one night when they had a ball, so we call it the fairy glass. Matthew is going to make us a table. Oh, we have named that little roundpool over in Mr. Barry's field Willowmere. I got that name out of thebook Diana lent me. That was a thrilling book, Marilla. The heroinehad five lovers. I'd be satisfied with one, wouldn't you? She was veryhandsome and she went through great tribulations. She could faint aseasy as anything. I'd love to be able to faint, wouldn't you, Marilla?It's so romantic. But I'm really very healthy for all I'm so thin. Ibelieve I'm getting fatter, though. Don't you think I am? I look at myelbows every morning when I get up to see if any dimples are coming. Diana is having a new dress made with elbow sleeves. She is going towear it to the picnic. Oh, I do hope it will be fine next Wednesday. Idon't feel that I could endure the disappointment if anything happenedto prevent me from getting to the picnic. I suppose I'd live through it, but I'm certain it would be a lifelong sorrow. It wouldn't matter ifI got to a hundred picnics in after years; they wouldn't make up formissing this one. They're going to have boats on the Lake of ShiningWaters--and ice cream, as I told you. I have never tasted ice cream. Diana tried to explain what it was like, but I guess ice cream is one ofthose things that are beyond imagination. "

"Anne, you have talked even on for ten minutes by the clock, " saidMarilla. "Now, just for curiosity's sake, see if you can hold yourtongue for the same length of time. "

Anne held her tongue as desired. But for the rest of the week she talkedpicnic and thought picnic and dreamed picnic. On Saturday it rained andshe worked herself up into such a frantic state lest it should keepon raining until and over Wednesday that Marilla made her sew an extrapatchwork square by way of steadying her nerves. 

On Sunday Anne confided to Marilla on the way home from church that shegrew actually cold all over with excitement when the minister announcedthe picnic from the pulpit. 

"Such a thrill as went up and down my back, Marilla! I don't think I'dever really believed until then that there was honestly going to bea picnic. I couldn't help fearing I'd only imagined it. But when aminister says a thing in the pulpit you just have to believe it. "

"You set your heart too much on things, Anne, " said Marilla, with asigh. "I'm afraid there'll be a great many disappointments in store foryou through life. "

"Oh, Marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them, "exclaimed Anne. "You mayn't get the things themselves; but nothing canprevent you from having the fun of looking forward to them. Mrs. Lynde says, 'Blessed are they who expect nothing for they shall not bedisappointed. ' But I think it would be worse to expect nothing than tobe disappointed. "

Marilla wore her amethyst brooch to church that day as usual. Marillaalways wore her amethyst brooch to church. She would have thought itrather sacrilegious to leave it off--as bad as forgetting her Bible orher collection dime. That amethyst brooch was Marilla's most treasuredpossession. A seafaring uncle had given it to her mother who in turnhad bequeathed it to Marilla. It was an old-fashioned oval, containinga braid of her mother's hair, surrounded by a border of very fineamethysts. Marilla knew too little about precious stones to realize howfine the amethysts actually were; but she thought them very beautifuland was always pleasantly conscious of their violet shimmer at herthroat, above her good brown satin dress, even although she could notsee it. 

Anne had been smitten with delighted admiration when she first saw thatbrooch. 

"Oh, Marilla, it's a perfectly elegant brooch. I don't know how youcan pay attention to the sermon or the prayers when you have it on. Icouldn't, I know. I think amethysts are just sweet. They are what I usedto think diamonds were like. Long ago, before I had ever seen a diamond, I read about them and I tried to imagine what they would be like. Ithought they would be lovely glimmering purple stones. When I saw areal diamond in a lady's ring one day I was so disappointed I cried. Ofcourse, it was very lovely but it wasn't my idea of a diamond. Will youlet me hold the brooch for one minute, Marilla? Do you think amethystscan be the souls of good violets?"

CHAPTER XIV. Anne's Confession

ON the Monday evening before the picnic Marilla came down from her roomwith a troubled face. 

"Anne, " she said to that small personage, who was shelling peas by thespotless table and singing, "Nelly of the Hazel Dell" with a vigor andexpression that did credit to Diana's teaching, "did you see anythingof my amethyst brooch? I thought I stuck it in my pincushion when I camehome from church yesterday evening, but I can't find it anywhere. "

"I--I saw it this afternoon when you were away at the Aid Society, " saidAnne, a little slowly. "I was passing your door when I saw it on thecushion, so I went in to look at it. "

"Did you touch it?" said Marilla sternly. 

"Y-e-e-s, " admitted Anne, "I took it up and I pinned it on my breastjust to see how it would look. "

"You had no business to do anything of the sort. It's very wrong in alittle girl to meddle. You shouldn't have gone into my room in the firstplace and you shouldn't have touched a brooch that didn't belong to youin the second. Where did you put it?"

"Oh, I put it back on the bureau. I hadn't it on a minute. Truly, Ididn't mean to meddle, Marilla. I didn't think about its being wrong togo in and try on the brooch; but I see now that it was and I'll neverdo it again. That's one good thing about me. I never do the same naughtything twice. "

"You didn't put it back, " said Marilla. "That brooch isn't anywhere onthe bureau. You've taken it out or something, Anne. "

"I did put it back, " said Anne quickly--pertly, Marilla thought. "Idon't just remember whether I stuck it on the pincushion or laid it inthe china tray. But I'm perfectly certain I put it back. "

"I'll go and have another look, " said Marilla, determining to be just. "If you put that brooch back it's there still. If it isn't I'll know youdidn't, that's all!"

Marilla went to her room and made a thorough search, not only over thebureau but in every other place she thought the brooch might possiblybe. It was not to be found and she returned to the kitchen. 

"Anne, the brooch is gone. By your own admission you were the lastperson to handle it. Now, what have you done with it? Tell me the truthat once. Did you take it out and lose it?"

"No, I didn't, " said Anne solemnly, meeting Marilla's angry gazesquarely. "I never took the brooch out of your room and that is thetruth, if I was to be led to the block for it--although I'm not verycertain what a block is. So there, Marilla. "

Anne's "so there" was only intended to emphasize her assertion, butMarilla took it as a display of defiance. 

"I believe you are telling me a falsehood, Anne, " she said sharply. "Iknow you are. There now, don't say anything more unless you are preparedto tell the whole truth. Go to your room and stay there until you areready to confess. "

"Will I take the peas with me?" said Anne meekly. 

"No, I'll finish shelling them myself. Do as I bid you. "

When Anne had gone Marilla went about her evening tasks in a verydisturbed state of mind. She was worried about her valuable brooch. Whatif Anne had lost it? And how wicked of the child to deny having takenit, when anybody could see she must have! With such an innocent face, too!

"I don't know what I wouldn't sooner have had happen, " thought Marilla, as she nervously shelled the peas. "Of course, I don't suppose she meantto steal it or anything like that. She's just taken it to play withor help along that imagination of hers. She must have taken it, that'sclear, for there hasn't been a soul in that room since she was in it, byher own story, until I went up tonight. And the brooch is gone, there'snothing surer. I suppose she has lost it and is afraid to own up forfear she'll be punished. It's a dreadful thing to think she tellsfalsehoods. It's a far worse thing than her fit of temper. It's afearful responsibility to have a child in your house you can't trust. Slyness and untruthfulness--that's what she has displayed. I declare Ifeel worse about that than about the brooch. If she'd only have told thetruth about it I wouldn't mind so much. "

Marilla went to her room at intervals all through the evening andsearched for the brooch, without finding it. A bedtime visit to theeast gable produced no result. Anne persisted in denying that she knewanything about the brooch but Marilla was only the more firmly convincedthat she did. 

She told Matthew the story the next morning. Matthew was confounded andpuzzled; he could not so quickly lose faith in Anne but he had to admitthat circumstances were against her. 

"You're sure it hasn't fell down behind the bureau?" was the onlysuggestion he could offer. 

"I've moved the bureau and I've taken out the drawers and I've lookedin every crack and cranny" was Marilla's positive answer. "The broochis gone and that child has taken it and lied about it. That's the plain, ugly truth, Matthew Cuthbert, and we might as well look it in the face. "

"Well now, what are you going to do about it?" Matthew asked forlornly, feeling secretly thankful that Marilla and not he had to deal with thesituation. He felt no desire to put his oar in this time. 

"She'll stay in her room until she confesses, " said Marilla grimly, remembering the success of this method in the former case. "Then we'llsee. Perhaps we'll be able to find the brooch if she'll only tellwhere she took it; but in any case she'll have to be severely punished, Matthew. "

"Well now, you'll have to punish her, " said Matthew, reaching for hishat. "I've nothing to do with it, remember. You warned me off yourself. "

Marilla felt deserted by everyone. She could not even go to Mrs. Lyndefor advice. She went up to the east gable with a very serious face andleft it with a face more serious still. Anne steadfastly refused toconfess. She persisted in asserting that she had not taken the brooch. The child had evidently been crying and Marilla felt a pang of pitywhich she sternly repressed. By night she was, as she expressed it, "beat out. "

"You'll stay in this room until you confess, Anne. You can make up yourmind to that, " she said firmly. 

"But the picnic is tomorrow, Marilla, " cried Anne. "You won't keep mefrom going to that, will you? You'll just let me out for the afternoon, won't you? Then I'll stay here as long as you like AFTERWARDScheerfully. But I MUST go to the picnic. "

"You'll not go to picnics nor anywhere else until you've confessed, Anne. "

"Oh, Marilla, " gasped Anne. 

But Marilla had gone out and shut the door. 

Wednesday morning dawned as bright and fair as if expressly made toorder for the picnic. Birds sang around Green Gables; the Madonna liliesin the garden sent out whiffs of perfume that entered in on viewlesswinds at every door and window, and wandered through halls and roomslike spirits of benediction. The birches in the hollow waved joyfulhands as if watching for Anne's usual morning greeting from the eastgable. But Anne was not at her window. When Marilla took her breakfastup to her she found the child sitting primly on her bed, pale andresolute, with tight-shut lips and gleaming eyes. 

"Marilla, I'm ready to confess. "

"Ah!" Marilla laid down her tray. Once again her method had succeeded;but her success was very bitter to her. "Let me hear what you have tosay then, Anne. "

"I took the amethyst brooch, " said Anne, as if repeating a lesson shehad learned. "I took it just as you said. I didn't mean to take it whenI went in. But it did look so beautiful, Marilla, when I pinned it on mybreast that I was overcome by an irresistible temptation. I imagined howperfectly thrilling it would be to take it to Idlewild and play I wasthe Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald. It would be so much easier to imagine Iwas the Lady Cordelia if I had a real amethyst brooch on. Diana andI make necklaces of roseberries but what are roseberries compared toamethysts? So I took the brooch. I thought I could put it back beforeyou came home. I went all the way around by the road to lengthen out thetime. When I was going over the bridge across the Lake of Shining WatersI took the brooch off to have another look at it. Oh, how it did shinein the sunlight! And then, when I was leaning over the bridge, itjust slipped through my fingers--so--and went down--down--down, allpurply-sparkling, and sank forevermore beneath the Lake of ShiningWaters. And that's the best I can do at confessing, Marilla. "

Marilla felt hot anger surge up into her heart again. This child hadtaken and lost her treasured amethyst brooch and now sat there calmlyreciting the details thereof without the least apparent compunction orrepentance. 

"Anne, this is terrible, " she said, trying to speak calmly. "You are thevery wickedest girl I ever heard of. "

"Yes, I suppose I am, " agreed Anne tranquilly. "And I know I'll have tobe punished. It'll be your duty to punish me, Marilla. Won't you pleaseget it over right off because I'd like to go to the picnic with nothingon my mind. "

"Picnic, indeed! You'll go to no picnic today, Anne Shirley. That shallbe your punishment. And it isn't half severe enough either for whatyou've done!"

"Not go to the picnic!" Anne sprang to her feet and clutched Marilla'shand. "But you PROMISED me I might! Oh, Marilla, I must go to thepicnic. That was why I confessed. Punish me any way you like but that. Oh, Marilla, please, please, let me go to the picnic. Think of the icecream! For anything you know I may never have a chance to taste icecream again. "

Marilla disengaged Anne's clinging hands stonily. 

"You needn't plead, Anne. You are not going to the picnic and that'sfinal. No, not a word. "

Anne realized that Marilla was not to be moved. She clasped her handstogether, gave a piercing shriek, and then flung herself facedownward on the bed, crying and writhing in an utter abandonment ofdisappointment and despair. 

"For the land's sake!" gasped Marilla, hastening from the room. "Ibelieve the child is crazy. No child in her senses would behave as shedoes. If she isn't she's utterly bad. Oh dear, I'm afraid Rachel wasright from the first. But I've put my hand to the plow and I won't lookback. "

That was a dismal morning. Marilla worked fiercely and scrubbed theporch floor and the dairy shelves when she could find nothing else todo. Neither the shelves nor the porch needed it--but Marilla did. Thenshe went out and raked the yard. 

When dinner was ready she went to the stairs and called Anne. Atear-stained face appeared, looking tragically over the banisters. 

"Come down to your dinner, Anne. "

"I don't want any dinner, Marilla, " said Anne, sobbingly. "I couldn'teat anything. My heart is broken. You'll feel remorse of consciencesomeday, I expect, for breaking it, Marilla, but I forgive you. Rememberwhen the time comes that I forgive you. But please don't ask me to eatanything, especially boiled pork and greens. Boiled pork and greens areso unromantic when one is in affliction. "

Exasperated, Marilla returned to the kitchen and poured out her taleof woe to Matthew, who, between his sense of justice and his unlawfulsympathy with Anne, was a miserable man. 

"Well now, she shouldn't have taken the brooch, Marilla, or told storiesabout it, " he admitted, mournfully surveying his plateful of unromanticpork and greens as if he, like Anne, thought it a food unsuited tocrises of feeling, "but she's such a little thing--such an interestinglittle thing. Don't you think it's pretty rough not to let her go to thepicnic when she's so set on it?"

"Matthew Cuthbert, I'm amazed at you. I think I've let her off entirelytoo easy. And she doesn't appear to realize how wicked she's been atall--that's what worries me most. If she'd really felt sorry it wouldn'tbe so bad. And you don't seem to realize it, neither; you're makingexcuses for her all the time to yourself--I can see that. "

"Well now, she's such a little thing, " feebly reiterated Matthew. "Andthere should be allowances made, Marilla. You know she's never had anybringing up. "

"Well, she's having it now" retorted Marilla. 

The retort silenced Matthew if it did not convince him. That dinner wasa very dismal meal. The only cheerful thing about it was Jerry Buote, the hired boy, and Marilla resented his cheerfulness as a personalinsult. 

When her dishes were washed and her bread sponge set and her hens fedMarilla remembered that she had noticed a small rent in her best blacklace shawl when she had taken it off on Monday afternoon on returningfrom the Ladies' Aid. 

She would go and mend it. The shawl was in a box in her trunk. AsMarilla lifted it out, the sunlight, falling through the vines thatclustered thickly about the window, struck upon something caught in theshawl--something that glittered and sparkled in facets of violet light. Marilla snatched at it with a gasp. It was the amethyst brooch, hangingto a thread of the lace by its catch!

"Dear life and heart, " said Marilla blankly, "what does this mean?Here's my brooch safe and sound that I thought was at the bottom ofBarry's pond. Whatever did that girl mean by saying she took it and lostit? I declare I believe Green Gables is bewitched. I remember now thatwhen I took off my shawl Monday afternoon I laid it on the bureau for aminute. I suppose the brooch got caught in it somehow. Well!"

Marilla betook herself to the east gable, brooch in hand. Anne had criedherself out and was sitting dejectedly by the window. 

"Anne Shirley, " said Marilla solemnly, "I've just found my broochhanging to my black lace shawl. Now I want to know what that rigmaroleyou told me this morning meant. "

"Why, you said you'd keep me here until I confessed, " returned Annewearily, "and so I decided to confess because I was bound to get to thepicnic. I thought out a confession last night after I went to bed andmade it as interesting as I could. And I said it over and over so that Iwouldn't forget it. But you wouldn't let me go to the picnic after all, so all my trouble was wasted. "

Marilla had to laugh in spite of herself. But her conscience prickedher. 

"Anne, you do beat all! But I was wrong--I see that now. I shouldn'thave doubted your word when I'd never known you to tell a story. Of course, it wasn't right for you to confess to a thing you hadn'tdone--it was very wrong to do so. But I drove you to it. So if you'llforgive me, Anne, I'll forgive you and we'll start square again. And nowget yourself ready for the picnic. "

Anne flew up like a rocket. 

"Oh, Marilla, isn't it too late?"

"No, it's only two o'clock. They won't be more than well gathered yetand it'll be an hour before they have tea. Wash your face and comb yourhair and put on your gingham. I'll fill a basket for you. There's plentyof stuff baked in the house. And I'll get Jerry to hitch up the sorreland drive you down to the picnic ground. "

"Oh, Marilla, " exclaimed Anne, flying to the washstand. "Five minutesago I was so miserable I was wishing I'd never been born and now Iwouldn't change places with an angel!"

That night a thoroughly happy, completely tired-out Anne returned toGreen Gables in a state of beatification impossible to describe. 

"Oh, Marilla, I've had a perfectly scrumptious time. Scrumptious is anew word I learned today. I heard Mary Alice Bell use it. Isn't it veryexpressive? Everything was lovely. We had a splendid tea and then Mr. Harmon Andrews took us all for a row on the Lake of Shining Waters--sixof us at a time. And Jane Andrews nearly fell overboard. She was leaningout to pick water lilies and if Mr. Andrews hadn't caught her by hersash just in the nick of time she'd fallen in and prob'ly been drowned. I wish it had been me. It would have been such a romantic experience tohave been nearly drowned. It would be such a thrilling tale to tell. Andwe had the ice cream. Words fail me to describe that ice cream. Marilla, I assure you it was sublime. "

That evening Marilla told the whole story to Matthew over her stockingbasket. 

"I'm willing to own up that I made a mistake, " she concluded candidly, "but I've learned a lesson. I have to laugh when I think of Anne's'confession, ' although I suppose I shouldn't for it really was afalsehood. But it doesn't seem as bad as the other would have been, somehow, and anyhow I'm responsible for it. That child is hard tounderstand in some respects. But I believe she'll turn out all rightyet. And there's one thing certain, no house will ever be dull thatshe's in. "

CHAPTER XV. A Tempest in the School Teapot

"What a splendid day!" said Anne, drawing a long breath. "Isn't it goodjust to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't bornyet for missing it. They may have good days, of course, but they cannever have this one. And it's splendider still to have such a lovely wayto go to school by, isn't it?"

"It's a lot nicer than going round by the road; that is so dustyand hot, " said Diana practically, peeping into her dinner basket andmentally calculating if the three juicy, toothsome, raspberry tartsreposing there were divided among ten girls how many bites each girlwould have. 

The little girls of Avonlea school always pooled their lunches, andto eat three raspberry tarts all alone or even to share them only withone's best chum would have forever and ever branded as "awful mean" thegirl who did it. And yet, when the tarts were divided among ten girlsyou just got enough to tantalize you. 

The way Anne and Diana went to school WAS a pretty one. Anne thoughtthose walks to and from school with Diana couldn't be improved uponeven by imagination. Going around by the main road would have been sounromantic; but to go by Lover's Lane and Willowmere and Violet Vale andthe Birch Path was romantic, if ever anything was. 

Lover's Lane opened out below the orchard at Green Gables and stretchedfar up into the woods to the end of the Cuthbert farm. It was the way bywhich the cows were taken to the back pasture and the wood hauled homein winter. Anne had named it Lover's Lane before she had been a month atGreen Gables. 

"Not that lovers ever really walk there, " she explained to Marilla, "but Diana and I are reading a perfectly magnificent book and there's aLover's Lane in it. So we want to have one, too. And it's a very prettyname, don't you think? So romantic! We can't imagine the lovers into it, you know. I like that lane because you can think out loud there withoutpeople calling you crazy. "

Anne, starting out alone in the morning, went down Lover's Lane as faras the brook. Here Diana met her, and the two little girls went onup the lane under the leafy arch of maples--"maples are such sociabletrees, " said Anne; "they're always rustling and whispering toyou"--until they came to a rustic bridge. Then they left the laneand walked through Mr. Barry's back field and past Willowmere. BeyondWillowmere came Violet Vale--a little green dimple in the shadow of Mr. Andrew Bell's big woods. "Of course there are no violets there now, "Anne told Marilla, "but Diana says there are millions of them in spring. Oh, Marilla, can't you just imagine you see them? It actually takes awaymy breath. I named it Violet Vale. Diana says she never saw the beatof me for hitting on fancy names for places. It's nice to be clever atsomething, isn't it? But Diana named the Birch Path. She wanted to, soI let her; but I'm sure I could have found something more poetical thanplain Birch Path. Anybody can think of a name like that. But the BirchPath is one of the prettiest places in the world, Marilla. "

It was. Other people besides Anne thought so when they stumbled on it. It was a little narrow, twisting path, winding down over a long hillstraight through Mr. Bell's woods, where the light came down siftedthrough so many emerald screens that it was as flawless as the heartof a diamond. It was fringed in all its length with slim young birches, white stemmed and lissom boughed; ferns and starflowers and wildlilies-of-the-valley and scarlet tufts of pigeonberries grew thicklyalong it; and always there was a delightful spiciness in the air andmusic of bird calls and the murmur and laugh of wood winds in the treesoverhead. Now and then you might see a rabbit skipping across the roadif you were quiet--which, with Anne and Diana, happened about once ina blue moon. Down in the valley the path came out to the main road andthen it was just up the spruce hill to the school. 

The Avonlea school was a whitewashed building, low in the eaves andwide in the windows, furnished inside with comfortable substantialold-fashioned desks that opened and shut, and were carved all over theirlids with the initials and hieroglyphics of three generations of schoolchildren. The schoolhouse was set back from the road and behind it wasa dusky fir wood and a brook where all the children put their bottles ofmilk in the morning to keep cool and sweet until dinner hour. 

Marilla had seen Anne start off to school on the first day of Septemberwith many secret misgivings. Anne was such an odd girl. How would sheget on with the other children? And how on earth would she ever manageto hold her tongue during school hours?

Things went better than Marilla feared, however. Anne came home thatevening in high spirits. 

"I think I'm going to like school here, " she announced. "I don't thinkmuch of the master, through. He's all the time curling his mustacheand making eyes at Prissy Andrews. Prissy is grown up, you know. She'ssixteen and she's studying for the entrance examination into Queen'sAcademy at Charlottetown next year. Tillie Boulter says the master isDEAD GONE on her. She's got a beautiful complexion and curly brown hairand she does it up so elegantly. She sits in the long seat at the backand he sits there, too, most of the time--to explain her lessons, hesays. But Ruby Gillis says she saw him writing something on her slateand when Prissy read it she blushed as red as a beet and giggled; andRuby Gillis says she doesn't believe it had anything to do with thelesson. "

"Anne Shirley, don't let me hear you talking about your teacher in thatway again, " said Marilla sharply. "You don't go to school to criticizethe master. I guess he can teach YOU something, and it's your businessto learn. And I want you to understand right off that you are not tocome home telling tales about him. That is something I won't encourage. I hope you were a good girl. "

"Indeed I was, " said Anne comfortably. "It wasn't so hard as you mightimagine, either. I sit with Diana. Our seat is right by the window andwe can look down to the Lake of Shining Waters. There are a lot of nicegirls in school and we had scrumptious fun playing at dinnertime. It'sso nice to have a lot of little girls to play with. But of course I likeDiana best and always will. I ADORE Diana. I'm dreadfully far behind theothers. They're all in the fifth book and I'm only in the fourth. I feelthat it's kind of a disgrace. But there's not one of them has such animagination as I have and I soon found that out. We had reading andgeography and Canadian history and dictation today. Mr. Phillips said myspelling was disgraceful and he held up my slate so that everybody couldsee it, all marked over. I felt so mortified, Marilla; he might havebeen politer to a stranger, I think. Ruby Gillis gave me an apple andSophia Sloane lent me a lovely pink card with 'May I see you home?' onit. I'm to give it back to her tomorrow. And Tillie Boulter let me wearher bead ring all the afternoon. Can I have some of those pearl beadsoff the old pincushion in the garret to make myself a ring? And oh, Marilla, Jane Andrews told me that Minnie MacPherson told her that sheheard Prissy Andrews tell Sara Gillis that I had a very pretty nose. Marilla, that is the first compliment I have ever had in my life and youcan't imagine what a strange feeling it gave me. Marilla, have I reallya pretty nose? I know you'll tell me the truth. "

"Your nose is well enough, " said Marilla shortly. Secretly she thoughtAnne's nose was a remarkable pretty one; but she had no intention oftelling her so. 

That was three weeks ago and all had gone smoothly so far. And now, thiscrisp September morning, Anne and Diana were tripping blithely down theBirch Path, two of the happiest little girls in Avonlea. 

"I guess Gilbert Blythe will be in school today, " said Diana. "He's beenvisiting his cousins over in New Brunswick all summer and he only camehome Saturday night. He's AW'FLY handsome, Anne. And he teases the girlssomething terrible. He just torments our lives out. "

Diana's voice indicated that she rather liked having her life tormentedout than not. 

"Gilbert Blythe?" said Anne. "Isn't his name that's written up on theporch wall with Julia Bell's and a big 'Take Notice' over them?"

"Yes, " said Diana, tossing her head, "but I'm sure he doesn't like JuliaBell so very much. I've heard him say he studied the multiplicationtable by her freckles. "

"Oh, don't speak about freckles to me, " implored Anne. "It isn'tdelicate when I've got so many. But I do think that writing take-noticesup on the wall about the boys and girls is the silliest ever. I shouldjust like to see anybody dare to write my name up with a boy's. Not, ofcourse, " she hastened to add, "that anybody would. "

Anne sighed. She didn't want her name written up. But it was a littlehumiliating to know that there was no danger of it. 

"Nonsense, " said Diana, whose black eyes and glossy tresses had playedsuch havoc with the hearts of Avonlea schoolboys that her name figuredon the porch walls in half a dozen take-notices. "It's only meant asa joke. And don't you be too sure your name won't ever be written up. Charlie Sloane is DEAD GONE on you. He told his mother--his MOTHER, mindyou--that you were the smartest girl in school. That's better than beinggood looking. "

"No, it isn't, " said Anne, feminine to the core. "I'd rather be prettythan clever. And I hate Charlie Sloane, I can't bear a boy with goggleeyes. If anyone wrote my name up with his I'd never GET over it, DianaBarry. But it IS nice to keep head of your class. "

"You'll have Gilbert in your class after this, " said Diana, "and he'sused to being head of his class, I can tell you. He's only in the fourthbook although he's nearly fourteen. Four years ago his father was sickand had to go out to Alberta for his health and Gilbert went with him. They were there three years and Gil didn't go to school hardly anyuntil they came back. You won't find it so easy to keep head after this, Anne. "

"I'm glad, " said Anne quickly. "I couldn't really feel proud of keepinghead of little boys and girls of just nine or ten. I got up yesterdayspelling 'ebullition. ' Josie Pye was head and, mind you, she peepedin her book. Mr. Phillips didn't see her--he was looking at PrissyAndrews--but I did. I just swept her a look of freezing scorn and shegot as red as a beet and spelled it wrong after all. "

"Those Pye girls are cheats all round, " said Diana indignantly, as theyclimbed the fence of the main road. "Gertie Pye actually went and puther milk bottle in my place in the brook yesterday. Did you ever? Idon't speak to her now. "

When Mr. Phillips was in the back of the room hearing Prissy Andrews'sLatin, Diana whispered to Anne, "That's Gilbert Blythe sitting right across the aisle from you, Anne. Just look at him and see if you don't think he's handsome. "

Anne looked accordingly. She had a good chance to do so, for the saidGilbert Blythe was absorbed in stealthily pinning the long yellow braidof Ruby Gillis, who sat in front of him, to the back of her seat. Hewas a tall boy, with curly brown hair, roguish hazel eyes, and a mouthtwisted into a teasing smile. Presently Ruby Gillis started up to takea sum to the master; she fell back into her seat with a little shriek, believing that her hair was pulled out by the roots. Everybody looked ather and Mr. Phillips glared so sternly that Ruby began to cry. Gilberthad whisked the pin out of sight and was studying his history with thesoberest face in the world; but when the commotion subsided he looked atAnne and winked with inexpressible drollery. 

"I think your Gilbert Blythe IS handsome, " confided Anne to Diana, "but I think he's very bold. It isn't good manners to wink at a strangegirl. "

But it was not until the afternoon that things really began to happen. 

Mr. Phillips was back in the corner explaining a problem in algebra toPrissy Andrews and the rest of the scholars were doing pretty much asthey pleased eating green apples, whispering, drawing pictures on theirslates, and driving crickets harnessed to strings, up and down aisle. Gilbert Blythe was trying to make Anne Shirley look at him and failingutterly, because Anne was at that moment totally oblivious not onlyto the very existence of Gilbert Blythe, but of every other scholar inAvonlea school itself. With her chin propped on her hands and her eyesfixed on the blue glimpse of the Lake of Shining Waters that the westwindow afforded, she was far away in a gorgeous dreamland hearing andseeing nothing save her own wonderful visions. 

Gilbert Blythe wasn't used to putting himself out to make a girl lookat him and meeting with failure. She SHOULD look at him, that red-hairedShirley girl with the little pointed chin and the big eyes that weren'tlike the eyes of any other girl in Avonlea school. 

Gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne's long redbraid, held it out at arm's length and said in a piercing whisper:

"Carrots! Carrots!"

Then Anne looked at him with a vengeance!

She did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright fanciesfallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant glance at Gilbertfrom eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angrytears. 

"You mean, hateful boy!" she exclaimed passionately. "How dare you!"

And then--thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head andcracked it--slate not head--clear across. 

Avonlea school always enjoyed a scene. This was an especially enjoyableone. Everybody said "Oh" in horrified delight. Diana gasped. RubyGillis, who was inclined to be hysterical, began to cry. TommySloane let his team of crickets escape him altogether while he staredopen-mouthed at the tableau. 

Mr. Phillips stalked down the aisle and laid his hand heavily on Anne'sshoulder. 

"Anne Shirley, what does this mean?" he said angrily. Anne returned noanswer. It was asking too much of flesh and blood to expect her to tellbefore the whole school that she had been called "carrots. " Gilbert itwas who spoke up stoutly. 

"It was my fault Mr. Phillips. I teased her. "

Mr. Phillips paid no heed to Gilbert. 

"I am sorry to see a pupil of mine displaying such a temper and sucha vindictive spirit, " he said in a solemn tone, as if the mere fact ofbeing a pupil of his ought to root out all evil passions from the heartsof small imperfect mortals. "Anne, go and stand on the platform in frontof the blackboard for the rest of the afternoon. "

Anne would have infinitely preferred a whipping to this punishment underwhich her sensitive spirit quivered as from a whiplash. With a white, set face she obeyed. Mr. Phillips took a chalk crayon and wrote on theblackboard above her head. 

"Ann Shirley has a very bad temper. Ann Shirley must learn to controlher temper, " and then read it out loud so that even the primer class, who couldn't read writing, should understand it. 

Anne stood there the rest of the afternoon with that legend above her. She did not cry or hang her head. Anger was still too hot in her heartfor that and it sustained her amid all her agony of humiliation. Withresentful eyes and passion-red cheeks she confronted alike Diana'ssympathetic gaze and Charlie Sloane's indignant nods and Josie Pye'smalicious smiles. As for Gilbert Blythe, she would not even look at him. She would NEVER look at him again! She would never speak to him!!

When school was dismissed Anne marched out with her red head held high. Gilbert Blythe tried to intercept her at the porch door. 

"I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair, Anne, " he whisperedcontritely. "Honest I am. Don't be mad for keeps, now. "

Anne swept by disdainfully, without look or sign of hearing. "Ohhow could you, Anne?" breathed Diana as they went down the road halfreproachfully, half admiringly. Diana felt that SHE could never haveresisted Gilbert's plea. 

"I shall never forgive Gilbert Blythe, " said Anne firmly. "And Mr. Phillips spelled my name without an e, too. The iron has entered into mysoul, Diana. "

Diana hadn't the least idea what Anne meant but she understood it wassomething terrible. 

"You mustn't mind Gilbert making fun of your hair, " she said soothingly. "Why, he makes fun of all the girls. He laughs at mine because it'sso black. He's called me a crow a dozen times; and I never heard himapologize for anything before, either. "

"There's a great deal of difference between being called a crow andbeing called carrots, " said Anne with dignity. "Gilbert Blythe has hurtmy feelings EXCRUCIATINGLY, Diana. "

It is possible the matter might have blown over without moreexcruciation if nothing else had happened. But when things begin tohappen they are apt to keep on. 

Avonlea scholars often spent noon hour picking gum in Mr. Bell's sprucegrove over the hill and across his big pasture field. From there theycould keep an eye on Eben Wright's house, where the master boarded. Whenthey saw Mr. Phillips emerging therefrom they ran for the schoolhouse;but the distance being about three times longer than Mr. Wright's lanethey were very apt to arrive there, breathless and gasping, some threeminutes too late. 

On the following day Mr. Phillips was seized with one of his spasmodicfits of reform and announced before going home to dinner, that he shouldexpect to find all the scholars in their seats when he returned. Anyonewho came in late would be punished. 

All the boys and some of the girls went to Mr. Bell's spruce grove asusual, fully intending to stay only long enough to "pick a chew. " Butspruce groves are seductive and yellow nuts of gum beguiling; theypicked and loitered and strayed; and as usual the first thing thatrecalled them to a sense of the flight of time was Jimmy Glover shoutingfrom the top of a patriarchal old spruce "Master's coming. "

The girls who were on the ground, started first and managed to reach theschoolhouse in time but without a second to spare. The boys, who had towriggle hastily down from the trees, were later; and Anne, who had notbeen picking gum at all but was wandering happily in the far end of thegrove, waist deep among the bracken, singing softly to herself, with awreath of rice lilies on her hair as if she were some wild divinityof the shadowy places, was latest of all. Anne could run like a deer, however; run she did with the impish result that she overtook the boysat the door and was swept into the schoolhouse among them just as Mr. Phillips was in the act of hanging up his hat. 

Mr. Phillips's brief reforming energy was over; he didn't want thebother of punishing a dozen pupils; but it was necessary to do somethingto save his word, so he looked about for a scapegoat and found itin Anne, who had dropped into her seat, gasping for breath, with aforgotten lily wreath hanging askew over one ear and giving her aparticularly rakish and disheveled appearance. 

"Anne Shirley, since you seem to be so fond of the boys' company weshall indulge your taste for it this afternoon, " he said sarcastically. "Take those flowers out of your hair and sit with Gilbert Blythe. "

The other boys snickered. Diana, turning pale with pity, plucked thewreath from Anne's hair and squeezed her hand. Anne stared at the masteras if turned to stone. 

"Did you hear what I said, Anne?" queried Mr. Phillips sternly. 

"Yes, sir, " said Anne slowly "but I didn't suppose you really meant it. "

"I assure you I did"--still with the sarcastic inflection which all thechildren, and Anne especially, hated. It flicked on the raw. "Obey me atonce. "

For a moment Anne looked as if she meant to disobey. Then, realizingthat there was no help for it, she rose haughtily, stepped across theaisle, sat down beside Gilbert Blythe, and buried her face in her armson the desk. Ruby Gillis, who got a glimpse of it as it went down, told the others going home from school that she'd "acksually never seenanything like it--it was so white, with awful little red spots in it. "

To Anne, this was as the end of all things. It was bad enough to besingled out for punishment from among a dozen equally guilty ones; itwas worse still to be sent to sit with a boy, but that that boy shouldbe Gilbert Blythe was heaping insult on injury to a degree utterlyunbearable. Anne felt that she could not bear it and it would be ofno use to try. Her whole being seethed with shame and anger andhumiliation. 

At first the other scholars looked and whispered and giggled and nudged. But as Anne never lifted her head and as Gilbert worked fractions as ifhis whole soul was absorbed in them and them only, they soon returnedto their own tasks and Anne was forgotten. When Mr. Phillips called thehistory class out Anne should have gone, but Anne did not move, andMr. Phillips, who had been writing some verses "To Priscilla" before hecalled the class, was thinking about an obstinate rhyme still and nevermissed her. Once, when nobody was looking, Gilbert took from his deska little pink candy heart with a gold motto on it, "You are sweet, " andslipped it under the curve of Anne's arm. Whereupon Anne arose, took thepink heart gingerly between the tips of her fingers, dropped it on thefloor, ground it to powder beneath her heel, and resumed her positionwithout deigning to bestow a glance on Gilbert. 

When school went out Anne marched to her desk, ostentatiously took outeverything therein, books and writing tablet, pen and ink, testament andarithmetic, and piled them neatly on her cracked slate. 

"What are you taking all those things home for, Anne?" Diana wanted toknow, as soon as they were out on the road. She had not dared to ask thequestion before. 

"I am not coming back to school any more, " said Anne. Diana gasped andstared at Anne to see if she meant it. 

"Will Marilla let you stay home?" she asked. 

"She'll have to, " said Anne. "I'll NEVER go to school to that managain. "

"Oh, Anne!" Diana looked as if she were ready to cry. "I do think you'remean. What shall I do? Mr. Phillips will make me sit with that horridGertie Pye--I know he will because she is sitting alone. Do come back, Anne. "

"I'd do almost anything in the world for you, Diana, " said Anne sadly. "I'd let myself be torn limb from limb if it would do you any good. ButI can't do this, so please don't ask it. You harrow up my very soul. "

"Just think of all the fun you will miss, " mourned Diana. "We are goingto build the loveliest new house down by the brook; and we'll be playingball next week and you've never played ball, Anne. It's tremendouslyexciting. And we're going to learn a new song--Jane Andrews ispracticing it up now; and Alice Andrews is going to bring a new Pansybook next week and we're all going to read it out loud, chapter about, down by the brook. And you know you are so fond of reading out loud, Anne. "

Nothing moved Anne in the least. Her mind was made up. She would not goto school to Mr. Phillips again; she told Marilla so when she got home. 

"Nonsense, " said Marilla. 

"It isn't nonsense at all, " said Anne, gazing at Marilla with solemn, reproachful eyes. "Don't you understand, Marilla? I've been insulted. "

"Insulted fiddlesticks! You'll go to school tomorrow as usual. "

"Oh, no. " Anne shook her head gently. "I'm not going back, Marilla. I'lllearn my lessons at home and I'll be as good as I can be and hold mytongue all the time if it's possible at all. But I will not go back toschool, I assure you. "

Marilla saw something remarkably like unyielding stubbornness lookingout of Anne's small face. She understood that she would have trouble inovercoming it; but she re-solved wisely to say nothing more just then. "I'll run down and see Rachel about it this evening, " she thought. "There's no use reasoning with Anne now. She's too worked up and I'vean idea she can be awful stubborn if she takes the notion. Far as I canmake out from her story, Mr. Phillips has been carrying matters with arather high hand. But it would never do to say so to her. I'll just talkit over with Rachel. She's sent ten children to school and she ought toknow something about it. She'll have heard the whole story, too, by thistime. "

Marilla found Mrs. Lynde knitting quilts as industriously and cheerfullyas usual. 

"I suppose you know what I've come about, " she said, a littleshamefacedly. 

Mrs. Rachel nodded. 

"About Anne's fuss in school, I reckon, " she said. "Tillie Boulter wasin on her way home from school and told me about it. " "I don't knowwhat to do with her, " said Marilla. "She declares she won't go back toschool. I never saw a child so worked up. I've been expecting troubleever since she started to school. I knew things were going too smooth tolast. She's so high strung. What would you advise, Rachel?"

"Well, since you've asked my advice, Marilla, " said Mrs. Lyndeamiably--Mrs. Lynde dearly loved to be asked for advice--"I'd justhumor her a little at first, that's what I'd do. It's my belief thatMr. Phillips was in the wrong. Of course, it doesn't do to say so to thechildren, you know. And of course he did right to punish her yesterdayfor giving way to temper. But today it was different. The others whowere late should have been punished as well as Anne, that's what. And Idon't believe in making the girls sit with the boys for punishment. Itisn't modest. Tillie Boulter was real indignant. She took Anne's partright through and said all the scholars did too. Anne seems real popularamong them, somehow. I never thought she'd take with them so well. "

"Then you really think I'd better let her stay home, " said Marilla inamazement. 

"Yes. That is I wouldn't say school to her again until she said itherself. Depend upon it, Marilla, she'll cool off in a week or so andbe ready enough to go back of her own accord, that's what, while, ifyou were to make her go back right off, dear knows what freak or tantrumshe'd take next and make more trouble than ever. The less fuss made thebetter, in my opinion. She won't miss much by not going to school, asfar as THAT goes. Mr. Phillips isn't any good at all as a teacher. Theorder he keeps is scandalous, that's what, and he neglects the youngfry and puts all his time on those big scholars he's getting ready forQueen's. He'd never have got the school for another year if his unclehadn't been a trustee--THE trustee, for he just leads the other twoaround by the nose, that's what. I declare, I don't know what educationin this Island is coming to. "

Mrs. Rachel shook her head, as much as to say if she were only at thehead of the educational system of the Province things would be muchbetter managed. 

Marilla took Mrs. Rachel's advice and not another word was said to Anneabout going back to school. She learned her lessons at home, did herchores, and played with Diana in the chilly purple autumn twilights;but when she met Gilbert Blythe on the road or encountered him in Sundayschool she passed him by with an icy contempt that was no whit thawed byhis evident desire to appease her. Even Diana's efforts as a peacemakerwere of no avail. Anne had evidently made up her mind to hate GilbertBlythe to the end of life. 

As much as she hated Gilbert, however, did she love Diana, with all thelove of her passionate little heart, equally intense in its likes anddislikes. One evening Marilla, coming in from the orchard with a basketof apples, found Anne sitting along by the east window in the twilight, crying bitterly. 

"Whatever's the matter now, Anne?" she asked. 

"It's about Diana, " sobbed Anne luxuriously. "I love Diana so, Marilla. I cannot ever live without her. But I know very well when we grow upthat Diana will get married and go away and leave me. And oh, what shallI do? I hate her husband--I just hate him furiously. I've been imaginingit all out--the wedding and everything--Diana dressed in snowy garments, with a veil, and looking as beautiful and regal as a queen; and me thebridesmaid, with a lovely dress too, and puffed sleeves, but with abreaking heart hid beneath my smiling face. And then bidding Dianagoodbye-e-e--" Here Anne broke down entirely and wept with increasingbitterness. 

Marilla turned quickly away to hide her twitching face; but it was nouse; she collapsed on the nearest chair and burst into such a hearty andunusual peal of laughter that Matthew, crossing the yard outside, haltedin amazement. When had he heard Marilla laugh like that before?

"Well, Anne Shirley, " said Marilla as soon as she could speak, "if youmust borrow trouble, for pity's sake borrow it handier home. I shouldthink you had an imagination, sure enough. "

CHAPTER XVI. Diana Is Invited to Tea with Tragic Results

OCTOBER was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in thehollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchardwere royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on theloveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunnedthemselves in aftermaths. 

Anne reveled in the world of color about her. 

"Oh, Marilla, " she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing inwith her arms full of gorgeous boughs, "I'm so glad I live in a worldwhere there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped fromSeptember to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don'tthey give you a thrill--several thrills? I'm going to decorate my roomwith them. "

"Messy things, " said Marilla, whose aesthetic sense was not noticeablydeveloped. "You clutter up your room entirely too much with out-of-doorsstuff, Anne. Bedrooms were made to sleep in. "

"Oh, and dream in too, Marilla. And you know one can dream so muchbetter in a room where there are pretty things. I'm going to put theseboughs in the old blue jug and set them on my table. "

"Mind you don't drop leaves all over the stairs then. I'm going on ameeting of the Aid Society at Carmody this afternoon, Anne, and I won'tlikely be home before dark. You'll have to get Matthew and Jerry theirsupper, so mind you don't forget to put the tea to draw until you sitdown at the table as you did last time. "

"It was dreadful of me to forget, " said Anne apologetically, "but thatwas the afternoon I was trying to think of a name for Violet Vale and itcrowded other things out. Matthew was so good. He never scolded a bit. He put the tea down himself and said we could wait awhile as well asnot. And I told him a lovely fairy story while we were waiting, sohe didn't find the time long at all. It was a beautiful fairy story, Marilla. I forgot the end of it, so I made up an end for it myself andMatthew said he couldn't tell where the join came in. "

"Matthew would think it all right, Anne, if you took a notion to get upand have dinner in the middle of the night. But you keep your wits aboutyou this time. And--I don't really know if I'm doing right--it may makeyou more addlepated than ever--but you can ask Diana to come over andspend the afternoon with you and have tea here. "

"Oh, Marilla!" Anne clasped her hands. "How perfectly lovely! You AREable to imagine things after all or else you'd never have understood howI've longed for that very thing. It will seem so nice and grown-uppish. No fear of my forgetting to put the tea to draw when I have company. Oh, Marilla, can I use the rosebud spray tea set?"

"No, indeed! The rosebud tea set! Well, what next? You know I never usethat except for the minister or the Aids. You'll put down the old browntea set. But you can open the little yellow crock of cherry preserves. It's time it was being used anyhow--I believe it's beginning to work. And you can cut some fruit cake and have some of the cookies and snaps. "

"I can just imagine myself sitting down at the head of the table andpouring out the tea, " said Anne, shutting her eyes ecstatically. "Andasking Diana if she takes sugar! I know she doesn't but of course I'llask her just as if I didn't know. And then pressing her to take anotherpiece of fruit cake and another helping of preserves. Oh, Marilla, it'sa wonderful sensation just to think of it. Can I take her into the spareroom to lay off her hat when she comes? And then into the parlor tosit?"

"No. The sitting room will do for you and your company. But there's abottle half full of raspberry cordial that was left over from the churchsocial the other night. It's on the second shelf of the sitting-roomcloset and you and Diana can have it if you like, and a cooky to eatwith it along in the afternoon, for I daresay Matthew'll be late comingin to tea since he's hauling potatoes to the vessel. "

Anne flew down to the hollow, past the Dryad's Bubble and up the sprucepath to Orchard Slope, to ask Diana to tea. As a result just afterMarilla had driven off to Carmody, Diana came over, dressed in HERsecond-best dress and looking exactly as it is proper to look when askedout to tea. At other times she was wont to run into the kitchen withoutknocking; but now she knocked primly at the front door. And when Anne, dressed in her second best, as primly opened it, both little girlsshook hands as gravely as if they had never met before. This unnaturalsolemnity lasted until after Diana had been taken to the east gable tolay off her hat and then had sat for ten minutes in the sitting room, toes in position. 

"How is your mother?" inquired Anne politely, just as if she had notseen Mrs. Barry picking apples that morning in excellent health andspirits. 

"She is very well, thank you. I suppose Mr. Cuthbert is hauling potatoesto the LILY SANDS this afternoon, is he?" said Diana, who had riddendown to Mr. Harmon Andrews's that morning in Matthew's cart. 

"Yes. Our potato crop is very good this year. I hope your father's cropis good too. "

"It is fairly good, thank you. Have you picked many of your apples yet?"

"Oh, ever so many, " said Anne forgetting to be dignified and jumping upquickly. "Let's go out to the orchard and get some of the Red Sweetings, Diana. Marilla says we can have all that are left on the tree. Marillais a very generous woman. She said we could have fruit cake and cherrypreserves for tea. But it isn't good manners to tell your company whatyou are going to give them to eat, so I won't tell you what she said wecould have to drink. Only it begins with an R and a C and it's brightred color. I love bright red drinks, don't you? They taste twice as goodas any other color. "

The orchard, with its great sweeping boughs that bent to the groundwith fruit, proved so delightful that the little girls spent most of theafternoon in it, sitting in a grassy corner where the frost had sparedthe green and the mellow autumn sunshine lingered warmly, eating applesand talking as hard as they could. Diana had much to tell Anne of whatwent on in school. She had to sit with Gertie Pye and she hatedit; Gertie squeaked her pencil all the time and it just madeher--Diana's--blood run cold; Ruby Gillis had charmed all her wartsaway, true's you live, with a magic pebble that old Mary Joe from theCreek gave her. You had to rub the warts with the pebble and then throwit away over your left shoulder at the time of the new moon and thewarts would all go. Charlie Sloane's name was written up with Em White'son the porch wall and Em White was AWFUL MAD about it; Sam Boulter had"sassed" Mr. Phillips in class and Mr. Phillips whipped him and Sam'sfather came down to the school and dared Mr. Phillips to lay a hand onone of his children again; and Mattie Andrews had a new red hood and ablue crossover with tassels on it and the airs she put on about it wereperfectly sickening; and Lizzie Wright didn't speak to Mamie Wilsonbecause Mamie Wilson's grown-up sister had cut out Lizzie Wright'sgrown-up sister with her beau; and everybody missed Anne so and wishedshe's come to school again; and Gilbert Blythe--

But Anne didn't want to hear about Gilbert Blythe. She jumped uphurriedly and said suppose they go in and have some raspberry cordial. 

Anne looked on the second shelf of the room pantry but there was nobottle of raspberry cordial there. Search revealed it away back on thetop shelf. Anne put it on a tray and set it on the table with a tumbler. 

"Now, please help yourself, Diana, " she said politely. "I don't believeI'll have any just now. I don't feel as if I wanted any after all thoseapples. "

Diana poured herself out a tumblerful, looked at its bright-red hueadmiringly, and then sipped it daintily. 

"That's awfully nice raspberry cordial, Anne, " she said. "I didn't knowraspberry cordial was so nice. "

"I'm real glad you like it. Take as much as you want. I'm going torun out and stir the fire up. There are so many responsibilities on aperson's mind when they're keeping house, isn't there?"

When Anne came back from the kitchen Diana was drinking her secondglassful of cordial; and, being entreated thereto by Anne, she offeredno particular objection to the drinking of a third. The tumblerfuls weregenerous ones and the raspberry cordial was certainly very nice. 

"The nicest I ever drank, " said Diana. "It's ever so much nicer thanMrs. Lynde's, although she brags of hers so much. It doesn't taste a bitlike hers. "

"I should think Marilla's raspberry cordial would prob'ly be much nicerthan Mrs. Lynde's, " said Anne loyally. "Marilla is a famous cook. She istrying to teach me to cook but I assure you, Diana, it is uphill work. There's so little scope for imagination in cookery. You just have to goby rules. The last time I made a cake I forgot to put the flour in. Iwas thinking the loveliest story about you and me, Diana. I thought youwere desperately ill with smallpox and everybody deserted you, but Iwent boldly to your bedside and nursed you back to life; and then I tookthe smallpox and died and I was buried under those poplar trees in thegraveyard and you planted a rosebush by my grave and watered it withyour tears; and you never, never forgot the friend of your youth whosacrificed her life for you. Oh, it was such a pathetic tale, Diana. The tears just rained down over my cheeks while I mixed the cake. ButI forgot the flour and the cake was a dismal failure. Flour is soessential to cakes, you know. Marilla was very cross and I don't wonder. I'm a great trial to her. She was terribly mortified about the puddingsauce last week. We had a plum pudding for dinner on Tuesday and therewas half the pudding and a pitcherful of sauce left over. Marilla saidthere was enough for another dinner and told me to set it on the pantryshelf and cover it. I meant to cover it just as much as could be, Diana, but when I carried it in I was imagining I was a nun--of course I'm aProtestant but I imagined I was a Catholic--taking the veil to bury abroken heart in cloistered seclusion; and I forgot all about coveringthe pudding sauce. I thought of it next morning and ran to the pantry. Diana, fancy if you can my extreme horror at finding a mouse drowned inthat pudding sauce! I lifted the mouse out with a spoon and threw it outin the yard and then I washed the spoon in three waters. Marilla was outmilking and I fully intended to ask her when she came in if I'd give thesauce to the pigs; but when she did come in I was imagining that I wasa frost fairy going through the woods turning the trees red and yellow, whichever they wanted to be, so I never thought about the pudding sauceagain and Marilla sent me out to pick apples. Well, Mr. And Mrs. ChesterRoss from Spencervale came here that morning. You know they are verystylish people, especially Mrs. Chester Ross. When Marilla called me indinner was all ready and everybody was at the table. I tried to be aspolite and dignified as I could be, for I wanted Mrs. Chester Ross tothink I was a ladylike little girl even if I wasn't pretty. Everythingwent right until I saw Marilla coming with the plum pudding in one handand the pitcher of pudding sauce WARMED UP, in the other. Diana, thatwas a terrible moment. I remembered everything and I just stood up inmy place and shrieked out 'Marilla, you mustn't use that pudding sauce. There was a mouse drowned in it. I forgot to tell you before. ' Oh, Diana, I shall never forget that awful moment if I live to be a hundred. Mrs. Chester Ross just LOOKED at me and I thought I would sink throughthe floor with mortification. She is such a perfect housekeeper andfancy what she must have thought of us. Marilla turned red as fire butshe never said a word--then. She just carried that sauce and pudding outand brought in some strawberry preserves. She even offered me some, butI couldn't swallow a mouthful. It was like heaping coals of fire onmy head. After Mrs. Chester Ross went away, Marilla gave me a dreadfulscolding. Why, Diana, what is the matter?"

Diana had stood up very unsteadily; then she sat down again, putting herhands to her head. 

"I'm--I'm awful sick, " she said, a little thickly. "I--I--must go righthome. "

"Oh, you mustn't dream of going home without your tea, " cried Anne indistress. "I'll get it right off--I'll go and put the tea down this veryminute. "

"I must go home, " repeated Diana, stupidly but determinedly. 

"Let me get you a lunch anyhow, " implored Anne. "Let me give you a bitof fruit cake and some of the cherry preserves. Lie down on the sofa fora little while and you'll be better. Where do you feel bad?"

"I must go home, " said Diana, and that was all she would say. In vainAnne pleaded. 

"I never heard of company going home without tea, " she mourned. "Oh, Diana, do you suppose that it's possible you're really taking thesmallpox? If you are I'll go and nurse you, you can depend on that. I'llnever forsake you. But I do wish you'd stay till after tea. Where do youfeel bad?"

"I'm awful dizzy, " said Diana. 

And indeed, she walked very dizzily. Anne, with tears of disappointmentin her eyes, got Diana's hat and went with her as far as the Barryyard fence. Then she wept all the way back to Green Gables, where shesorrowfully put the remainder of the raspberry cordial back into thepantry and got tea ready for Matthew and Jerry, with all the zest goneout of the performance. 

The next day was Sunday and as the rain poured down in torrents fromdawn till dusk Anne did not stir abroad from Green Gables. Mondayafternoon Marilla sent her down to Mrs. Lynde's on an errand. In a veryshort space of time Anne came flying back up the lane with tears rollingdown her cheeks. Into the kitchen she dashed and flung herself facedownward on the sofa in an agony. 

"Whatever has gone wrong now, Anne?" queried Marilla in doubt anddismay. "I do hope you haven't gone and been saucy to Mrs. Lynde again. "

No answer from Anne save more tears and stormier sobs!

"Anne Shirley, when I ask you a question I want to be answered. Sitright up this very minute and tell me what you are crying about. "

Anne sat up, tragedy personified. 

"Mrs. Lynde was up to see Mrs. Barry today and Mrs. Barry was in anawful state, " she wailed. "She says that I set Diana DRUNK Saturdayand sent her home in a disgraceful condition. And she says I must be athoroughly bad, wicked little girl and she's never, never going to letDiana play with me again. Oh, Marilla, I'm just overcome with woe. "

Marilla stared in blank amazement. 

"Set Diana drunk!" she said when she found her voice. "Anne are you orMrs. Barry crazy? What on earth did you give her?"

"Not a thing but raspberry cordial, " sobbed Anne. "I never thoughtraspberry cordial would set people drunk, Marilla--not even if theydrank three big tumblerfuls as Diana did. Oh, it sounds so--so--likeMrs. Thomas's husband! But I didn't mean to set her drunk. "

"Drunk fiddlesticks!" said Marilla, marching to the sitting room pantry. There on the shelf was a bottle which she at once recognized as onecontaining some of her three-year-old homemade currant wine for whichshe was celebrated in Avonlea, although certain of the stricter sort, Mrs. Barry among them, disapproved strongly of it. And at the same timeMarilla recollected that she had put the bottle of raspberry cordialdown in the cellar instead of in the pantry as she had told Anne. 

She went back to the kitchen with the wine bottle in her hand. Her facewas twitching in spite of herself. 

"Anne, you certainly have a genius for getting into trouble. You wentand gave Diana currant wine instead of raspberry cordial. Didn't youknow the difference yourself?"

"I never tasted it, " said Anne. "I thought it was the cordial. I meantto be so--so--hospitable. Diana got awfully sick and had to go home. Mrs. Barry told Mrs. Lynde she was simply dead drunk. She just laughedsilly-like when her mother asked her what was the matter and went tosleep and slept for hours. Her mother smelled her breath and knew shewas drunk. She had a fearful headache all day yesterday. Mrs. Barry isso indignant. She will never believe but what I did it on purpose. "

"I should think she would better punish Diana for being so greedy as todrink three glassfuls of anything, " said Marilla shortly. "Why, threeof those big glasses would have made her sick even if it had only beencordial. Well, this story will be a nice handle for those folks who areso down on me for making currant wine, although I haven't made any forthree years ever since I found out that the minister didn't approve. Ijust kept that bottle for sickness. There, there, child, don't cry. Ican't see as you were to blame although I'm sorry it happened so. "

"I must cry, " said Anne. "My heart is broken. The stars in their coursesfight against me, Marilla. Diana and I are parted forever. Oh, Marilla, I little dreamed of this when first we swore our vows of friendship. "

"Don't be foolish, Anne. Mrs. Barry will think better of it when shefinds you're not to blame. I suppose she thinks you've done it for asilly joke or something of that sort. You'd best go up this evening andtell her how it was. "

"My courage fails me at the thought of facing Diana's injured mother, "sighed Anne. "I wish you'd go, Marilla. You're so much more dignifiedthan I am. Likely she'd listen to you quicker than to me. "

"Well, I will, " said Marilla, reflecting that it would probably be thewiser course. "Don't cry any more, Anne. It will be all right. "

Marilla had changed her mind about it being all right by the time shegot back from Orchard Slope. Anne was watching for her coming and flewto the porch door to meet her. 

"Oh, Marilla, I know by your face that it's been no use, " she saidsorrowfully. "Mrs. Barry won't forgive me?"

"Mrs. Barry indeed!" snapped Marilla. "Of all the unreasonable womenI ever saw she's the worst. I told her it was all a mistake and youweren't to blame, but she just simply didn't believe me. And she rubbedit well in about my currant wine and how I'd always said it couldn'thave the least effect on anybody. I just told her plainly that currantwine wasn't meant to be drunk three tumblerfuls at a time and that if achild I had to do with was so greedy I'd sober her up with a right goodspanking. "

Marilla whisked into the kitchen, grievously disturbed, leaving a verymuch distracted little soul in the porch behind her. Presently Annestepped out bareheaded into the chill autumn dusk; very determinedly andsteadily she took her way down through the sere clover field over thelog bridge and up through the spruce grove, lighted by a pale littlemoon hanging low over the western woods. Mrs. Barry, coming to the doorin answer to a timid knock, found a white-lipped eager-eyed suppliant onthe doorstep. 

Her face hardened. Mrs. Barry was a woman of strong prejudices anddislikes, and her anger was of the cold, sullen sort which is alwayshardest to overcome. To do her justice, she really believed Anne hadmade Diana drunk out of sheer malice prepense, and she was honestlyanxious to preserve her little daughter from the contamination offurther intimacy with such a child. 

"What do you want?" she said stiffly. 

Anne clasped her hands. 

"Oh, Mrs. Barry, please forgive me. I did not mean to--to--intoxicateDiana. How could I? Just imagine if you were a poor little orphan girlthat kind people had adopted and you had just one bosom friend in allthe world. Do you think you would intoxicate her on purpose? I thoughtit was only raspberry cordial. I was firmly convinced it was raspberrycordial. Oh, please don't say that you won't let Diana play with me anymore. If you do you will cover my life with a dark cloud of woe. "

This speech which would have softened good Mrs. Lynde's heart in atwinkling, had no effect on Mrs. Barry except to irritate her stillmore. She was suspicious of Anne's big words and dramatic gestures andimagined that the child was making fun of her. So she said, coldly andcruelly:

"I don't think you are a fit little girl for Diana to associate with. You'd better go home and behave yourself. "

Anne's lips quivered. 

"Won't you let me see Diana just once to say farewell?" she implored. 

"Diana has gone over to Carmody with her father, " said Mrs. Barry, goingin and shutting the door. 

Anne went back to Green Gables calm with despair. 

"My last hope is gone, " she told Marilla. "I went up and saw Mrs. Barrymyself and she treated me very insultingly. Marilla, I do NOT think sheis a well-bred woman. There is nothing more to do except to pray and Ihaven't much hope that that'll do much good because, Marilla, I do notbelieve that God Himself can do very much with such an obstinate personas Mrs. Barry. "

"Anne, you shouldn't say such things" rebuked Marilla, striving toovercome that unholy tendency to laughter which she was dismayed to findgrowing upon her. And indeed, when she told the whole story to Matthewthat night, she did laugh heartily over Anne's tribulations. 

But when she slipped into the east gable before going to bed and foundthat Anne had cried herself to sleep an unaccustomed softness crept intoher face. 

"Poor little soul, " she murmured, lifting a loose curl of hair from thechild's tear-stained face. Then she bent down and kissed the flushedcheek on the pillow. 

CHAPTER XVII. A New Interest in Life

THE next afternoon Anne, bending over her patchwork at the kitchenwindow, happened to glance out and beheld Diana down by the Dryad'sBubble beckoning mysteriously. In a trice Anne was out of the houseand flying down to the hollow, astonishment and hope struggling inher expressive eyes. But the hope faded when she saw Diana's dejectedcountenance. 

"Your mother hasn't relented?" she gasped. 

Diana shook her head mournfully. 

"No; and oh, Anne, she says I'm never to play with you again. I've criedand cried and I told her it wasn't your fault, but it wasn't any use. Ihad ever such a time coaxing her to let me come down and say good-bye toyou. She said I was only to stay ten minutes and she's timing me by theclock. "

"Ten minutes isn't very long to say an eternal farewell in, " said Annetearfully. "Oh, Diana, will you promise faithfully never to forgetme, the friend of your youth, no matter what dearer friends may caressthee?"

"Indeed I will, " sobbed Diana, "and I'll never have another bosomfriend--I don't want to have. I couldn't love anybody as I love you. "

"Oh, Diana, " cried Anne, clasping her hands, "do you LOVE me?"

"Why, of course I do. Didn't you know that?"

"No. " Anne drew a long breath. "I thought you LIKED me of course but Inever hoped you LOVED me. Why, Diana, I didn't think anybody couldlove me. Nobody ever has loved me since I can remember. Oh, this iswonderful! It's a ray of light which will forever shine on the darknessof a path severed from thee, Diana. Oh, just say it once again. "

"I love you devotedly, Anne, " said Diana stanchly, "and I always will, you may be sure of that. "

"And I will always love thee, Diana, " said Anne, solemnly extending herhand. "In the years to come thy memory will shine like a star over mylonely life, as that last story we read together says. Diana, wiltthou give me a lock of thy jet-black tresses in parting to treasureforevermore?"

"Have you got anything to cut it with?" queried Diana, wiping away thetears which Anne's affecting accents had caused to flow afresh, andreturning to practicalities. 

"Yes. I've got my patchwork scissors in my apron pocket fortunately, "said Anne. She solemnly clipped one of Diana's curls. "Fare thee well, my beloved friend. Henceforth we must be as strangers though living sideby side. But my heart will ever be faithful to thee. "

Anne stood and watched Diana out of sight, mournfully waving her handto the latter whenever she turned to look back. Then she returned tothe house, not a little consoled for the time being by this romanticparting. 

"It is all over, " she informed Marilla. "I shall never have anotherfriend. I'm really worse off than ever before, for I haven't KatieMaurice and Violetta now. And even if I had it wouldn't be the same. Somehow, little dream girls are not satisfying after a real friend. Diana and I had such an affecting farewell down by the spring. It willbe sacred in my memory forever. I used the most pathetic language Icould think of and said 'thou' and 'thee. ' 'Thou' and 'thee' seem somuch more romantic than 'you. ' Diana gave me a lock of her hair and I'mgoing to sew it up in a little bag and wear it around my neck all mylife. Please see that it is buried with me, for I don't believe I'lllive very long. Perhaps when she sees me lying cold and dead before herMrs. Barry may feel remorse for what she has done and will let Dianacome to my funeral. "

"I don't think there is much fear of your dying of grief as long as youcan talk, Anne, " said Marilla unsympathetically. 

The following Monday Anne surprised Marilla by coming down from her roomwith her basket of books on her arm and hip and her lips primmed up intoa line of determination. 

"I'm going back to school, " she announced. "That is all there is leftin life for me, now that my friend has been ruthlessly torn from me. Inschool I can look at her and muse over days departed. "

"You'd better muse over your lessons and sums, " said Marilla, concealingher delight at this development of the situation. "If you're going backto school I hope we'll hear no more of breaking slates over people'sheads and such carryings on. Behave yourself and do just what yourteacher tells you. "

"I'll try to be a model pupil, " agreed Anne dolefully. "There won't bemuch fun in it, I expect. Mr. Phillips said Minnie Andrews was a modelpupil and there isn't a spark of imagination or life in her. She isjust dull and poky and never seems to have a good time. But I feel sodepressed that perhaps it will come easy to me now. I'm going round bythe road. I couldn't bear to go by the Birch Path all alone. I shouldweep bitter tears if I did. "

Anne was welcomed back to school with open arms. Her imagination hadbeen sorely missed in games, her voice in the singing and her dramaticability in the perusal aloud of books at dinner hour. Ruby Gillissmuggled three blue plums over to her during testament reading; Ella MayMacPherson gave her an enormous yellow pansy cut from the covers of afloral catalogue--a species of desk decoration much prized in Avonleaschool. Sophia Sloane offered to teach her a perfectly elegant newpattern of knit lace, so nice for trimming aprons. Katie Boulter gaveher a perfume bottle to keep slate water in, and Julia Bell copiedcarefully on a piece of pale pink paper scalloped on the edges thefollowing effusion:

 When twilight drops her curtain down And pins it with a star Remember that you have a friend Though she may wander far. 

"It's so nice to be appreciated, " sighed Anne rapturously to Marillathat night. 

The girls were not the only scholars who "appreciated" her. When Annewent to her seat after dinner hour--she had been told by Mr. Phillips tosit with the model Minnie Andrews--she found on her desk a big luscious"strawberry apple. " Anne caught it up all ready to take a bite when sheremembered that the only place in Avonlea where strawberry apples grewwas in the old Blythe orchard on the other side of the Lake of ShiningWaters. Anne dropped the apple as if it were a red-hot coal andostentatiously wiped her fingers on her handkerchief. The apple layuntouched on her desk until the next morning, when little TimothyAndrews, who swept the school and kindled the fire, annexed it as oneof his perquisites. Charlie Sloane's slate pencil, gorgeously bedizenedwith striped red and yellow paper, costing two cents where ordinarypencils cost only one, which he sent up to her after dinner hour, metwith a more favorable reception. Anne was graciously pleased to acceptit and rewarded the donor with a smile which exalted that infatuatedyouth straightway into the seventh heaven of delight and caused him tomake such fearful errors in his dictation that Mr. Phillips kept him inafter school to rewrite it. 

But as, The Caesar's pageant shorn of Brutus' bust Did but of Rome's best son remind her more. 

so the marked absence of any tribute or recognition from Diana Barry whowas sitting with Gertie Pye embittered Anne's little triumph. 

"Diana might just have smiled at me once, I think, " she mourned toMarilla that night. But the next morning a note most fearfully andwonderfully twisted and folded, and a small parcel were passed across toAnne. 

Dear Anne (ran the former)

Mother says I'm not to play with you or talk to you even in school. Itisn't my fault and don't be cross at me, because I love you as muchas ever. I miss you awfully to tell all my secrets to and I don't likeGertie Pye one bit. I made you one of the new bookmarkers out of redtissue paper. They are awfully fashionable now and only three girls inschool know how to make them. When you look at it remember

Your true friend

Diana Barry. 

Anne read the note, kissed the bookmark, and dispatched a prompt replyback to the other side of the school. 

My own darling Diana:--

Of course I am not cross at you because you have to obey your mother. Our spirits can commune. I shall keep your lovely present forever. Minnie Andrews is a very nice little girl--although she has noimagination--but after having been Diana's busum friend I cannot beMinnie's. Please excuse mistakes because my spelling isn't very goodyet, although much improoved. 

Yours until death us do part

Anne or Cordelia Shirley. 

P. S. I shall sleep with your letter under my pillow tonight. A. OR C. S. 

Marilla pessimistically expected more trouble since Anne had again begunto go to school. But none developed. Perhaps Anne caught something ofthe "model" spirit from Minnie Andrews; at least she got on very wellwith Mr. Phillips thenceforth. She flung herself into her studies heartand soul, determined not to be outdone in any class by Gilbert Blythe. The rivalry between them was soon apparent; it was entirely good naturedon Gilbert's side; but it is much to be feared that the same thingcannot be said of Anne, who had certainly an unpraiseworthy tenacity forholding grudges. She was as intense in her hatreds as in her loves. Shewould not stoop to admit that she meant to rival Gilbert in schoolwork, because that would have been to acknowledge his existence which Annepersistently ignored; but the rivalry was there and honors fluctuatedbetween them. Now Gilbert was head of the spelling class; now Anne, witha toss of her long red braids, spelled him down. One morning Gilbert hadall his sums done correctly and had his name written on the blackboardon the roll of honor; the next morning Anne, having wrestled wildly withdecimals the entire evening before, would be first. One awful day theywere ties and their names were written up together. It was almost as badas a take-notice and Anne's mortification was as evident as Gilbert'ssatisfaction. When the written examinations at the end of each monthwere held the suspense was terrible. The first month Gilbert came outthree marks ahead. The second Anne beat him by five. But her triumph wasmarred by the fact that Gilbert congratulated her heartily before thewhole school. It would have been ever so much sweeter to her if he hadfelt the sting of his defeat. 

Mr. Phillips might not be a very good teacher; but a pupil so inflexiblydetermined on learning as Anne was could hardly escape making progressunder any kind of teacher. By the end of the term Anne and Gilbert wereboth promoted into the fifth class and allowed to begin studying theelements of "the branches"--by which Latin, geometry, French, andalgebra were meant. In geometry Anne met her Waterloo. 

"It's perfectly awful stuff, Marilla, " she groaned. "I'm sure I'll neverbe able to make head or tail of it. There is no scope for imagination init at all. Mr. Phillips says I'm the worst dunce he ever saw at it. And Gil--I mean some of the others are so smart at it. It is extremelymortifying, Marilla. 

"Even Diana gets along better than I do. But I don't mind being beatenby Diana. Even although we meet as strangers now I still love her withan INEXTINGUISHABLE love. It makes me very sad at times to think abouther. But really, Marilla, one can't stay sad very long in such aninteresting world, can one?"

CHAPTER XVIII. Anne to the Rescue

ALL things great are wound up with all things little. At first glanceit might not seem that the decision of a certain Canadian Premier toinclude Prince Edward Island in a political tour could have much oranything to do with the fortunes of little Anne Shirley at Green Gables. But it had. 

It was a January the Premier came, to address his loyal supporters andsuch of his nonsupporters as chose to be present at the monster massmeeting held in Charlottetown. Most of the Avonlea people were onPremier's side of politics; hence on the night of the meeting nearlyall the men and a goodly proportion of the women had gone to town thirtymiles away. Mrs. Rachel Lynde had gone too. Mrs. Rachel Lynde was ared-hot politician and couldn't have believed that the political rallycould be carried through without her, although she was on the oppositeside of politics. So she went to town and took her husband--Thomas wouldbe useful in looking after the horse--and Marilla Cuthbert with her. Marilla had a sneaking interest in politics herself, and as she thoughtit might be her only chance to see a real live Premier, she promptlytook it, leaving Anne and Matthew to keep house until her return thefollowing day. 

Hence, while Marilla and Mrs. Rachel were enjoying themselves hugelyat the mass meeting, Anne and Matthew had the cheerful kitchen at GreenGables all to themselves. A bright fire was glowing in the old-fashionedWaterloo stove and blue-white frost crystals were shining on thewindowpanes. Matthew nodded over a FARMERS' ADVOCATE on the sofa andAnne at the table studied her lessons with grim determination, despitesundry wistful glances at the clock shelf, where lay a new book thatJane Andrews had lent her that day. Jane had assured her that it waswarranted to produce any number of thrills, or words to that effect, andAnne's fingers tingled to reach out for it. But that would mean GilbertBlythe's triumph on the morrow. Anne turned her back on the clock shelfand tried to imagine it wasn't there. 

"Matthew, did you ever study geometry when you went to school?"

"Well now, no, I didn't, " said Matthew, coming out of his doze with astart. 

"I wish you had, " sighed Anne, "because then you'd be able to sympathizewith me. You can't sympathize properly if you've never studied it. It iscasting a cloud over my whole life. I'm such a dunce at it, Matthew. "

"Well now, I dunno, " said Matthew soothingly. "I guess you're all rightat anything. Mr. Phillips told me last week in Blair's store at Carmodythat you was the smartest scholar in school and was making rapidprogress. 'Rapid progress' was his very words. There's them as runs downTeddy Phillips and says he ain't much of a teacher, but I guess he's allright. "

Matthew would have thought anyone who praised Anne was "all right. "

"I'm sure I'd get on better with geometry if only he wouldn't changethe letters, " complained Anne. "I learn the proposition off by heart andthen he draws it on the blackboard and puts different letters from whatare in the book and I get all mixed up. I don't think a teacher shouldtake such a mean advantage, do you? We're studying agriculture now andI've found out at last what makes the roads red. It's a great comfort. I wonder how Marilla and Mrs. Lynde are enjoying themselves. Mrs. Lyndesays Canada is going to the dogs the way things are being run at Ottawaand that it's an awful warning to the electors. She says if women wereallowed to vote we would soon see a blessed change. What way do youvote, Matthew?"

"Conservative, " said Matthew promptly. To vote Conservative was part ofMatthew's religion. 

"Then I'm Conservative too, " said Anne decidedly. "I'm glad becauseGil--because some of the boys in school are Grits. I guess Mr. Phillipsis a Grit too because Prissy Andrews's father is one, and Ruby Gillissays that when a man is courting he always has to agree with the girl'smother in religion and her father in politics. Is that true, Matthew?"

"Well now, I dunno, " said Matthew. 

"Did you ever go courting, Matthew?"

"Well now, no, I dunno's I ever did, " said Matthew, who had certainlynever thought of such a thing in his whole existence. 

Anne reflected with her chin in her hands. 

"It must be rather interesting, don't you think, Matthew? Ruby Gillissays when she grows up she's going to have ever so many beaus on thestring and have them all crazy about her; but I think that would be tooexciting. I'd rather have just one in his right mind. But Ruby Gillisknows a great deal about such matters because she has so many bigsisters, and Mrs. Lynde says the Gillis girls have gone off like hotcakes. Mr. Phillips goes up to see Prissy Andrews nearly every evening. He says it is to help her with her lessons but Miranda Sloane isstudying for Queen's too, and I should think she needed help a lot morethan Prissy because she's ever so much stupider, but he never goes tohelp her in the evenings at all. There are a great many things in thisworld that I can't understand very well, Matthew. "

"Well now, I dunno as I comprehend them all myself, " acknowledgedMatthew. 

"Well, I suppose I must finish up my lessons. I won't allow myself toopen that new book Jane lent me until I'm through. But it's a terribletemptation, Matthew. Even when I turn my back on it I can see it therejust as plain. Jane said she cried herself sick over it. I love a bookthat makes me cry. But I think I'll carry that book into the sittingroom and lock it in the jam closet and give you the key. And you mustNOT give it to me, Matthew, until my lessons are done, not even ifI implore you on my bended knees. It's all very well to say resisttemptation, but it's ever so much easier to resist it if you can't getthe key. And then shall I run down the cellar and get some russets, Matthew? Wouldn't you like some russets?"

"Well now, I dunno but what I would, " said Matthew, who never aterussets but knew Anne's weakness for them. 

Just as Anne emerged triumphantly from the cellar with her plateful ofrussets came the sound of flying footsteps on the icy board walk outsideand the next moment the kitchen door was flung open and in rushed DianaBarry, white faced and breathless, with a shawl wrapped hastily aroundher head. Anne promptly let go of her candle and plate in her surprise, and plate, candle, and apples crashed together down the cellar ladderand were found at the bottom embedded in melted grease, the next day, by Marilla, who gathered them up and thanked mercy the house hadn't beenset on fire. 

"Whatever is the matter, Diana?" cried Anne. "Has your mother relentedat last?"

"Oh, Anne, do come quick, " implored Diana nervously. "Minnie May isawful sick--she's got croup. Young Mary Joe says--and Father and Motherare away to town and there's nobody to go for the doctor. Minnie May isawful bad and Young Mary Joe doesn't know what to do--and oh, Anne, I'mso scared!"

Matthew, without a word, reached out for cap and coat, slipped pastDiana and away into the darkness of the yard. 

"He's gone to harness the sorrel mare to go to Carmody for the doctor, "said Anne, who was hurrying on hood and jacket. "I know it as well asif he'd said so. Matthew and I are such kindred spirits I can read histhoughts without words at all. "

"I don't believe he'll find the doctor at Carmody, " sobbed Diana. "Iknow that Dr. Blair went to town and I guess Dr. Spencer would go too. Young Mary Joe never saw anybody with croup and Mrs. Lynde is away. Oh, Anne!"

"Don't cry, Di, " said Anne cheerily. "I know exactly what to do forcroup. You forget that Mrs. Hammond had twins three times. When you lookafter three pairs of twins you naturally get a lot of experience. Theyall had croup regularly. Just wait till I get the ipecac bottle--youmayn't have any at your house. Come on now. "

The two little girls hastened out hand in hand and hurried throughLover's Lane and across the crusted field beyond, for the snow was toodeep to go by the shorter wood way. Anne, although sincerely sorryfor Minnie May, was far from being insensible to the romance of thesituation and to the sweetness of once more sharing that romance with akindred spirit. 

The night was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of snowyslope; big stars were shining over the silent fields; here and there thedark pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and thewind whistling through them. Anne thought it was truly delightful to goskimming through all this mystery and loveliness with your bosom friendwho had been so long estranged. 

Minnie May, aged three, was really very sick. She lay on the kitchensofa feverish and restless, while her hoarse breathing could be heardall over the house. Young Mary Joe, a buxom, broad-faced French girlfrom the creek, whom Mrs. Barry had engaged to stay with the childrenduring her absence, was helpless and bewildered, quite incapable ofthinking what to do, or doing it if she thought of it. 

Anne went to work with skill and promptness. 

"Minnie May has croup all right; she's pretty bad, but I've seen themworse. First we must have lots of hot water. I declare, Diana, thereisn't more than a cupful in the kettle! There, I've filled it up, and, Mary Joe, you may put some wood in the stove. I don't want to hurt yourfeelings but it seems to me you might have thought of this before ifyou'd any imagination. Now, I'll undress Minnie May and put her to bedand you try to find some soft flannel cloths, Diana. I'm going to giveher a dose of ipecac first of all. "

Minnie May did not take kindly to the ipecac but Anne had not brought upthree pairs of twins for nothing. Down that ipecac went, not only once, but many times during the long, anxious night when the two little girlsworked patiently over the suffering Minnie May, and Young Mary Joe, honestly anxious to do all she could, kept up a roaring fire and heatedmore water than would have been needed for a hospital of croupy babies. 

It was three o'clock when Matthew came with a doctor, for he had beenobliged to go all the way to Spencervale for one. But the pressing needfor assistance was past. Minnie May was much better and was sleepingsoundly. 

"I was awfully near giving up in despair, " explained Anne. "She gotworse and worse until she was sicker than ever the Hammond twins were, even the last pair. I actually thought she was going to choke to death. I gave her every drop of ipecac in that bottle and when the last dosewent down I said to myself--not to Diana or Young Mary Joe, because Ididn't want to worry them any more than they were worried, but I hadto say it to myself just to relieve my feelings--'This is the lastlingering hope and I fear, tis a vain one. ' But in about three minutesshe coughed up the phlegm and began to get better right away. You mustjust imagine my relief, doctor, because I can't express it in words. Youknow there are some things that cannot be expressed in words. "

"Yes, I know, " nodded the doctor. He looked at Anne as if he werethinking some things about her that couldn't be expressed in words. Later on, however, he expressed them to Mr. And Mrs. Barry. 

"That little redheaded girl they have over at Cuthbert's is as smart asthey make 'em. I tell you she saved that baby's life, for it would havebeen too late by the time I got there. She seems to have a skill andpresence of mind perfectly wonderful in a child of her age. I never sawanything like the eyes of her when she was explaining the case to me. "

Anne had gone home in the wonderful, white-frosted winter morning, heavyeyed from loss of sleep, but still talking unweariedly to Matthew asthey crossed the long white field and walked under the glittering fairyarch of the Lover's Lane maples. 

"Oh, Matthew, isn't it a wonderful morning? The world looks likesomething God had just imagined for His own pleasure, doesn't it? Thosetrees look as if I could blow them away with a breath--pouf! I'm so gladI live in a world where there are white frosts, aren't you? And I'm soglad Mrs. Hammond had three pairs of twins after all. If she hadn't Imightn't have known what to do for Minnie May. I'm real sorry I wasever cross with Mrs. Hammond for having twins. But, oh, Matthew, I'm sosleepy. I can't go to school. I just know I couldn't keep my eyes openand I'd be so stupid. But I hate to stay home, for Gil--some ofthe others will get head of the class, and it's so hard to get upagain--although of course the harder it is the more satisfaction youhave when you do get up, haven't you?"

"Well now, I guess you'll manage all right, " said Matthew, looking atAnne's white little face and the dark shadows under her eyes. "You justgo right to bed and have a good sleep. I'll do all the chores. "

Anne accordingly went to bed and slept so long and soundly that itwas well on in the white and rosy winter afternoon when she awoke anddescended to the kitchen where Marilla, who had arrived home in themeantime, was sitting knitting. 

"Oh, did you see the Premier?" exclaimed Anne at once. "What did he looklike Marilla?"

"Well, he never got to be Premier on account of his looks, " saidMarilla. "Such a nose as that man had! But he can speak. I was proud ofbeing a Conservative. Rachel Lynde, of course, being a Liberal, had nouse for him. Your dinner is in the oven, Anne, and you can get yourselfsome blue plum preserve out of the pantry. I guess you're hungry. Matthew has been telling me about last night. I must say it wasfortunate you knew what to do. I wouldn't have had any idea myself, forI never saw a case of croup. There now, never mind talking till you'vehad your dinner. I can tell by the look of you that you're just full upwith speeches, but they'll keep. "

Marilla had something to tell Anne, but she did not tell it just thenfor she knew if she did Anne's consequent excitement would lift herclear out of the region of such material matters as appetite or dinner. Not until Anne had finished her saucer of blue plums did Marilla say:

"Mrs. Barry was here this afternoon, Anne. She wanted to see you, but Iwouldn't wake you up. She says you saved Minnie May's life, and she isvery sorry she acted as she did in that affair of the currant wine. Shesays she knows now you didn't mean to set Diana drunk, and she hopesyou'll forgive her and be good friends with Diana again. You're to goover this evening if you like for Diana can't stir outside the dooron account of a bad cold she caught last night. Now, Anne Shirley, forpity's sake don't fly up into the air. "

The warning seemed not unnecessary, so uplifted and aerial was Anne'sexpression and attitude as she sprang to her feet, her face irradiatedwith the flame of her spirit. 

"Oh, Marilla, can I go right now--without washing my dishes? I'll washthem when I come back, but I cannot tie myself down to anything sounromantic as dishwashing at this thrilling moment. "

"Yes, yes, run along, " said Marilla indulgently. "Anne Shirley--are youcrazy? Come back this instant and put something on you. I might as wellcall to the wind. She's gone without a cap or wrap. Look at her tearingthrough the orchard with her hair streaming. It'll be a mercy if shedoesn't catch her death of cold. "

Anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowyplaces. Afar in the southwest was the great shimmering, pearl-likesparkle of an evening star in a sky that was pale golden and etherealrose over gleaming white spaces and dark glens of spruce. The tinklesof sleigh bells among the snowy hills came like elfin chimes throughthe frosty air, but their music was not sweeter than the song in Anne'sheart and on her lips. 

"You see before you a perfectly happy person, Marilla, " she announced. "I'm perfectly happy--yes, in spite of my red hair. Just at present Ihave a soul above red hair. Mrs. Barry kissed me and cried and said shewas so sorry and she could never repay me. I felt fearfully embarrassed, Marilla, but I just said as politely as I could, 'I have no hardfeelings for you, Mrs. Barry. I assure you once for all that I did notmean to intoxicate Diana and henceforth I shall cover the past with themantle of oblivion. ' That was a pretty dignified way of speaking wasn'tit, Marilla?"

"I felt that I was heaping coals of fire on Mrs. Barry's head. And Dianaand I had a lovely afternoon. Diana showed me a new fancy crochet stitchher aunt over at Carmody taught her. Not a soul in Avonlea knows it butus, and we pledged a solemn vow never to reveal it to anyone else. Dianagave me a beautiful card with a wreath of roses on it and a verse ofpoetry:

 "If you love me as I love you Nothing but death can part us two. 

"And that is true, Marilla. We're going to ask Mr. Phillips to let us sittogether in school again, and Gertie Pye can go with Minnie Andrews. Wehad an elegant tea. Mrs. Barry had the very best china set out, Marilla, just as if I was real company. I can't tell you what a thrill it gaveme. Nobody ever used their very best china on my account before. And wehad fruit cake and pound cake and doughnuts and two kinds of preserves, Marilla. And Mrs. Barry asked me if I took tea and said 'Pa, why don'tyou pass the biscuits to Anne?' It must be lovely to be grown up, Marilla, when just being treated as if you were is so nice. "

"I don't know about that, " said Marilla, with a brief sigh. 

"Well, anyway, when I am grown up, " said Anne decidedly, "I'm alwaysgoing to talk to little girls as if they were too, and I'll never laughwhen they use big words. I know from sorrowful experience how that hurtsone's feelings. After tea Diana and I made taffy. The taffy wasn't verygood, I suppose because neither Diana nor I had ever made any before. Diana left me to stir it while she buttered the plates and I forgot andlet it burn; and then when we set it out on the platform to cool the catwalked over one plate and that had to be thrown away. But the making ofit was splendid fun. Then when I came home Mrs. Barry asked me to comeover as often as I could and Diana stood at the window and threw kissesto me all the way down to Lover's Lane. I assure you, Marilla, that Ifeel like praying tonight and I'm going to think out a special brand-newprayer in honor of the occasion. "

CHAPTER XIX. A Concert a Catastrophe and a Confession

"MARILLA, can I go over to see Diana just for a minute?" asked Anne, running breathlessly down from the east gable one February evening. 

"I don't see what you want to be traipsing about after dark for, " saidMarilla shortly. "You and Diana walked home from school together andthen stood down there in the snow for half an hour more, your tonguesgoing the whole blessed time, clickety-clack. So I don't think you'revery badly off to see her again. "

"But she wants to see me, " pleaded Anne. "She has something veryimportant to tell me. "

"How do you know she has?"

"Because she just signaled to me from her window. We have arranged away to signal with our candles and cardboard. We set the candle on thewindow sill and make flashes by passing the cardboard back and forth. Somany flashes mean a certain thing. It was my idea, Marilla. "

"I'll warrant you it was, " said Marilla emphatically. "And the nextthing you'll be setting fire to the curtains with your signalingnonsense. "

"Oh, we're very careful, Marilla. And it's so interesting. Two flashesmean, 'Are you there?' Three mean 'yes' and four 'no. ' Five mean, 'Comeover as soon as possible, because I have something important to reveal. 'Diana has just signaled five flashes, and I'm really suffering to knowwhat it is. "

"Well, you needn't suffer any longer, " said Marilla sarcastically. "Youcan go, but you're to be back here in just ten minutes, remember that. "

Anne did remember it and was back in the stipulated time, althoughprobably no mortal will ever know just what it cost her to confine thediscussion of Diana's important communication within the limits of tenminutes. But at least she had made good use of them. 

"Oh, Marilla, what do you think? You know tomorrow is Diana's birthday. Well, her mother told her she could ask me to go home with her fromschool and stay all night with her. And her cousins are coming over fromNewbridge in a big pung sleigh to go to the Debating Club concert atthe hall tomorrow night. And they are going to take Diana and me to theconcert--if you'll let me go, that is. You will, won't you, Marilla? Oh, I feel so excited. "

"You can calm down then, because you're not going. You're better at homein your own bed, and as for that club concert, it's all nonsense, andlittle girls should not be allowed to go out to such places at all. "

"I'm sure the Debating Club is a most respectable affair, " pleaded Anne. 

"I'm not saying it isn't. But you're not going to begin gadding aboutto concerts and staying out all hours of the night. Pretty doings forchildren. I'm surprised at Mrs. Barry's letting Diana go. "

"But it's such a very special occasion, " mourned Anne, on the verge oftears. "Diana has only one birthday in a year. It isn't as if birthdayswere common things, Marilla. Prissy Andrews is going to recite 'CurfewMust Not Ring Tonight. ' That is such a good moral piece, Marilla, I'msure it would do me lots of good to hear it. And the choir are going tosing four lovely pathetic songs that are pretty near as good as hymns. And oh, Marilla, the minister is going to take part; yes, indeed, he is;he's going to give an address. That will be just about the same thing asa sermon. Please, mayn't I go, Marilla?"

"You heard what I said, Anne, didn't you? Take off your boots now and goto bed. It's past eight. "

"There's just one more thing, Marilla, " said Anne, with the air ofproducing the last shot in her locker. "Mrs. Barry told Diana that wemight sleep in the spare-room bed. Think of the honor of your littleAnne being put in the spare-room bed. "

"It's an honor you'll have to get along without. Go to bed, Anne, anddon't let me hear another word out of you. "

When Anne, with tears rolling over her cheeks, had gone sorrowfullyupstairs, Matthew, who had been apparently sound asleep on the loungeduring the whole dialogue, opened his eyes and said decidedly:

"Well now, Marilla, I think you ought to let Anne go. "

"I don't then, " retorted Marilla. "Who's bringing this child up, Matthew, you or me?"

"Well now, you, " admitted Matthew. 

"Don't interfere then. "

"Well now, I ain't interfering. It ain't interfering to have your ownopinion. And my opinion is that you ought to let Anne go. "

"You'd think I ought to let Anne go to the moon if she took the notion, I've no doubt" was Marilla's amiable rejoinder. "I might have let herspend the night with Diana, if that was all. But I don't approve of thisconcert plan. She'd go there and catch cold like as not, and have herhead filled up with nonsense and excitement. It would unsettle her fora week. I understand that child's disposition and what's good for itbetter than you, Matthew. "

"I think you ought to let Anne go, " repeated Matthew firmly. Argumentwas not his strong point, but holding fast to his opinion certainly was. Marilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took refuge in silence. Thenext morning, when Anne was washing the breakfast dishes in the pantry, Matthew paused on his way out to the barn to say to Marilla again:

"I think you ought to let Anne go, Marilla. "

For a moment Marilla looked things not lawful to be uttered. Then sheyielded to the inevitable and said tartly:

"Very well, she can go, since nothing else'll please you. "

Anne flew out of the pantry, dripping dishcloth in hand. 

"Oh, Marilla, Marilla, say those blessed words again. "

"I guess once is enough to say them. This is Matthew's doings and Iwash my hands of it. If you catch pneumonia sleeping in a strange bed orcoming out of that hot hall in the middle of the night, don't blame me, blame Matthew. Anne Shirley, you're dripping greasy water all over thefloor. I never saw such a careless child. "

"Oh, I know I'm a great trial to you, Marilla, " said Anne repentantly. "I make so many mistakes. But then just think of all the mistakes Idon't make, although I might. I'll get some sand and scrub up the spotsbefore I go to school. Oh, Marilla, my heart was just set on going tothat concert. I never was to a concert in my life, and when the othergirls talk about them in school I feel so out of it. You didn't knowjust how I felt about it, but you see Matthew did. Matthew understandsme, and it's so nice to be understood, Marilla. "

Anne was too excited to do herself justice as to lessons that morning inschool. Gilbert Blythe spelled her down in class and left her clear outof sight in mental arithmetic. Anne's consequent humiliation wasless than it might have been, however, in view of the concert and thespare-room bed. She and Diana talked so constantly about it all day thatwith a stricter teacher than Mr. Phillips dire disgrace must inevitablyhave been their portion. 

Anne felt that she could not have borne it if she had not been goingto the concert, for nothing else was discussed that day in school. TheAvonlea Debating Club, which met fortnightly all winter, had had severalsmaller free entertainments; but this was to be a big affair, admissionten cents, in aid of the library. The Avonlea young people had beenpracticing for weeks, and all the scholars were especially interested init by reason of older brothers and sisters who were going to take part. Everybody in school over nine years of age expected to go, except CarrieSloane, whose father shared Marilla's opinions about small girls goingout to night concerts. Carrie Sloane cried into her grammar all theafternoon and felt that life was not worth living. 

For Anne the real excitement began with the dismissal of school andincreased therefrom in crescendo until it reached to a crash of positiveecstasy in the concert itself. They had a "perfectly elegant tea;" andthen came the delicious occupation of dressing in Diana's little roomupstairs. Diana did Anne's front hair in the new pompadour style andAnne tied Diana's bows with the especial knack she possessed; and theyexperimented with at least half a dozen different ways of arrangingtheir back hair. At last they were ready, cheeks scarlet and eyesglowing with excitement. 

True, Anne could not help a little pang when she contrasted her plainblack tam and shapeless, tight-sleeved, homemade gray-cloth coat withDiana's jaunty fur cap and smart little jacket. But she remembered intime that she had an imagination and could use it. 

Then Diana's cousins, the Murrays from Newbridge, came; they all crowdedinto the big pung sleigh, among straw and furry robes. Anne reveled inthe drive to the hall, slipping along over the satin-smooth roads withthe snow crisping under the runners. There was a magnificent sunset, andthe snowy hills and deep-blue water of the St. Lawrence Gulf seemed torim in the splendor like a huge bowl of pearl and sapphire brimmed withwine and fire. Tinkles of sleigh bells and distant laughter, that seemedlike the mirth of wood elves, came from every quarter. 

"Oh, Diana, " breathed Anne, squeezing Diana's mittened hand under thefur robe, "isn't it all like a beautiful dream? Do I really look thesame as usual? I feel so different that it seems to me it must show inmy looks. "

"You look awfully nice, " said Diana, who having just received acompliment from one of her cousins, felt that she ought to pass it on. "You've got the loveliest color. "

The program that night was a series of "thrills" for at least onelistener in the audience, and, as Anne assured Diana, every succeedingthrill was thrillier than the last. When Prissy Andrews, attired ina new pink-silk waist with a string of pearls about her smooth whitethroat and real carnations in her hair--rumor whispered that the masterhad sent all the way to town for them for her--"climbed the slimyladder, dark without one ray of light, " Anne shivered in luxurioussympathy; when the choir sang "Far Above the Gentle Daisies" Anne gazedat the ceiling as if it were frescoed with angels; when Sam Sloaneproceeded to explain and illustrate "How Sockery Set a Hen" Anne laugheduntil people sitting near her laughed too, more out of sympathy with herthan with amusement at a selection that was rather threadbare even inAvonlea; and when Mr. Phillips gave Mark Antony's oration over thedead body of Caesar in the most heart-stirring tones--looking at PrissyAndrews at the end of every sentence--Anne felt that she could rise andmutiny on the spot if but one Roman citizen led the way. 

Only one number on the program failed to interest her. When GilbertBlythe recited "Bingen on the Rhine" Anne picked up Rhoda Murray'slibrary book and read it until he had finished, when she sat rigidlystiff and motionless while Diana clapped her hands until they tingled. 

It was eleven when they got home, sated with dissipation, but with theexceeding sweet pleasure of talking it all over still to come. Everybodyseemed asleep and the house was dark and silent. Anne and Diana tiptoedinto the parlor, a long narrow room out of which the spare room opened. It was pleasantly warm and dimly lighted by the embers of a fire in thegrate. 

"Let's undress here, " said Diana. "It's so nice and warm. "

"Hasn't it been a delightful time?" sighed Anne rapturously. "It mustbe splendid to get up and recite there. Do you suppose we will ever beasked to do it, Diana?"

"Yes, of course, someday. They're always wanting the big scholars torecite. Gilbert Blythe does often and he's only two years older than us. Oh, Anne, how could you pretend not to listen to him? When he came tothe line, "THERE'S ANOTHER, not A SISTER, he looked right down at you. "

"Diana, " said Anne with dignity, "you are my bosom friend, but I cannotallow even you to speak to me of that person. Are you ready for bed?Let's run a race and see who'll get to the bed first. "

The suggestion appealed to Diana. The two little white-clad figures flewdown the long room, through the spare-room door, and bounded on the bedat the same moment. And then--something--moved beneath them, there was agasp and a cry--and somebody said in muffled accents:

"Merciful goodness!"

Anne and Diana were never able to tell just how they got off that bedand out of the room. They only knew that after one frantic rush theyfound themselves tiptoeing shiveringly upstairs. 

"Oh, who was it--WHAT was it?" whispered Anne, her teeth chattering withcold and fright. 

"It was Aunt Josephine, " said Diana, gasping with laughter. "Oh, Anne, it was Aunt Josephine, however she came to be there. Oh, and I know shewill be furious. It's dreadful--it's really dreadful--but did you everknow anything so funny, Anne?"

"Who is your Aunt Josephine?"

"She's father's aunt and she lives in Charlottetown. She's awfullyold--seventy anyhow--and I don't believe she was EVER a little girl. Wewere expecting her out for a visit, but not so soon. She's awfully primand proper and she'll scold dreadfully about this, I know. Well, we'llhave to sleep with Minnie May--and you can't think how she kicks. "

Miss Josephine Barry did not appear at the early breakfast the nextmorning. Mrs. Barry smiled kindly at the two little girls. 

"Did you have a good time last night? I tried to stay awake until youcame home, for I wanted to tell you Aunt Josephine had come and that youwould have to go upstairs after all, but I was so tired I fell asleep. Ihope you didn't disturb your aunt, Diana. "

Diana preserved a discreet silence, but she and Anne exchanged furtivesmiles of guilty amusement across the table. Anne hurried home afterbreakfast and so remained in blissful ignorance of the disturbance whichpresently resulted in the Barry household until the late afternoon, whenshe went down to Mrs. Lynde's on an errand for Marilla. 

"So you and Diana nearly frightened poor old Miss Barry to death lastnight?" said Mrs. Lynde severely, but with a twinkle in her eye. "Mrs. Barry was here a few minutes ago on her way to Carmody. She's feelingreal worried over it. Old Miss Barry was in a terrible temper when shegot up this morning--and Josephine Barry's temper is no joke, I can tellyou that. She wouldn't speak to Diana at all. "

"It wasn't Diana's fault, " said Anne contritely. "It was mine. Isuggested racing to see who would get into bed first. "

"I knew it!" said Mrs. Lynde, with the exultation of a correct guesser. "I knew that idea came out of your head. Well, it's made a nice lot oftrouble, that's what. Old Miss Barry came out to stay for a month, butshe declares she won't stay another day and is going right back to towntomorrow, Sunday and all as it is. She'd have gone today if they couldhave taken her. She had promised to pay for a quarter's music lessonsfor Diana, but now she is determined to do nothing at all for such atomboy. Oh, I guess they had a lively time of it there this morning. TheBarrys must feel cut up. Old Miss Barry is rich and they'd like to keepon the good side of her. Of course, Mrs. Barry didn't say just that tome, but I'm a pretty good judge of human nature, that's what. "

"I'm such an unlucky girl, " mourned Anne. "I'm always getting intoscrapes myself and getting my best friends--people I'd shed my heart'sblood for--into them too. Can you tell me why it is so, Mrs. Lynde?"

"It's because you're too heedless and impulsive, child, that's what. Younever stop to think--whatever comes into your head to say or do you sayor do it without a moment's reflection. "

"Oh, but that's the best of it, " protested Anne. "Something just flashesinto your mind, so exciting, and you must out with it. If you stop tothink it over you spoil it all. Haven't you never felt that yourself, Mrs. Lynde?"

No, Mrs. Lynde had not. She shook her head sagely. 

"You must learn to think a little, Anne, that's what. The proverb youneed to go by is 'Look before you leap'--especially into spare-roombeds. "

Mrs. Lynde laughed comfortably over her mild joke, but Anne remainedpensive. She saw nothing to laugh at in the situation, which to hereyes appeared very serious. When she left Mrs. Lynde's she took her wayacross the crusted fields to Orchard Slope. Diana met her at the kitchendoor. 

"Your Aunt Josephine was very cross about it, wasn't she?" whisperedAnne. 

"Yes, " answered Diana, stifling a giggle with an apprehensive glanceover her shoulder at the closed sitting-room door. "She was fairlydancing with rage, Anne. Oh, how she scolded. She said I was theworst-behaved girl she ever saw and that my parents ought to be ashamedof the way they had brought me up. She says she won't stay and I'm sureI don't care. But Father and Mother do. "

"Why didn't you tell them it was my fault?" demanded Anne. 

"It's likely I'd do such a thing, isn't it?" said Diana with just scorn. "I'm no telltale, Anne Shirley, and anyhow I was just as much to blameas you. "

"Well, I'm going in to tell her myself, " said Anne resolutely. 

Diana stared. 

"Anne Shirley, you'd never! why--she'll eat you alive!"

"Don't frighten me any more than I am frightened, " implored Anne. "I'drather walk up to a cannon's mouth. But I've got to do it, Diana. Itwas my fault and I've got to confess. I've had practice in confessing, fortunately. "

"Well, she's in the room, " said Diana. "You can go in if you want to. Iwouldn't dare. And I don't believe you'll do a bit of good. "

With this encouragement Anne bearded the lion in its den--that is tosay, walked resolutely up to the sitting-room door and knocked faintly. A sharp "Come in" followed. 

Miss Josephine Barry, thin, prim, and rigid, was knitting fiercely bythe fire, her wrath quite unappeased and her eyes snapping through hergold-rimmed glasses. She wheeled around in her chair, expecting to seeDiana, and beheld a white-faced girl whose great eyes were brimmed upwith a mixture of desperate courage and shrinking terror. 

"Who are you?" demanded Miss Josephine Barry, without ceremony. 

"I'm Anne of Green Gables, " said the small visitor tremulously, claspingher hands with her characteristic gesture, "and I've come to confess, ifyou please. "

"Confess what?"

"That it was all my fault about jumping into bed on you last night. Isuggested it. Diana would never have thought of such a thing, I am sure. Diana is a very ladylike girl, Miss Barry. So you must see how unjust itis to blame her. "

"Oh, I must, hey? I rather think Diana did her share of the jumping atleast. Such carryings on in a respectable house!"

"But we were only in fun, " persisted Anne. "I think you ought to forgiveus, Miss Barry, now that we've apologized. And anyhow, please forgiveDiana and let her have her music lessons. Diana's heart is set on hermusic lessons, Miss Barry, and I know too well what it is to set yourheart on a thing and not get it. If you must be cross with anyone, becross with me. I've been so used in my early days to having people crossat me that I can endure it much better than Diana can. "

Much of the snap had gone out of the old lady's eyes by this timeand was replaced by a twinkle of amused interest. But she still saidseverely:

"I don't think it is any excuse for you that you were only in fun. Little girls never indulged in that kind of fun when I was young. Youdon't know what it is to be awakened out of a sound sleep, after a longand arduous journey, by two great girls coming bounce down on you. "

"I don't KNOW, but I can IMAGINE, " said Anne eagerly. "I'm sure it musthave been very disturbing. But then, there is our side of it too. Haveyou any imagination, Miss Barry? If you have, just put yourself inour place. We didn't know there was anybody in that bed and you nearlyscared us to death. It was simply awful the way we felt. And then wecouldn't sleep in the spare room after being promised. I suppose you areused to sleeping in spare rooms. But just imagine what you would feellike if you were a little orphan girl who had never had such an honor. "

All the snap had gone by this time. Miss Barry actually laughed--asound which caused Diana, waiting in speechless anxiety in the kitchenoutside, to give a great gasp of relief. 

"I'm afraid my imagination is a little rusty--it's so long since I usedit, " she said. "I dare say your claim to sympathy is just as strong asmine. It all depends on the way we look at it. Sit down here and tell meabout yourself. "

"I am very sorry I can't, " said Anne firmly. "I would like to, becauseyou seem like an interesting lady, and you might even be a kindredspirit although you don't look very much like it. But it is my duty togo home to Miss Marilla Cuthbert. Miss Marilla Cuthbert is a very kindlady who has taken me to bring up properly. She is doing her best, butit is very discouraging work. You must not blame her because I jumped onthe bed. But before I go I do wish you would tell me if you will forgiveDiana and stay just as long as you meant to in Avonlea. "

"I think perhaps I will if you will come over and talk to meoccasionally, " said Miss Barry. 

That evening Miss Barry gave Diana a silver bangle bracelet and told thesenior members of the household that she had unpacked her valise. 

"I've made up my mind to stay simply for the sake of getting betteracquainted with that Anne-girl, " she said frankly. "She amuses me, andat my time of life an amusing person is a rarity. "

Marilla's only comment when she heard the story was, "I told you so. "This was for Matthew's benefit. 

Miss Barry stayed her month out and over. She was a more agreeable guestthan usual, for Anne kept her in good humor. They became firm friends. 

When Miss Barry went away she said:

"Remember, you Anne-girl, when you come to town you're to visit me andI'll put you in my very sparest spare-room bed to sleep. "

"Miss Barry was a kindred spirit, after all, " Anne confided to Marilla. "You wouldn't think so to look at her, but she is. You don't find itright out at first, as in Matthew's case, but after a while you cometo see it. Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It'ssplendid to find out there are so many of them in the world. "

CHAPTER XX. A Good Imagination Gone Wrong

Spring had come once more to Green Gables--the beautiful capricious, reluctant Canadian spring, lingering along through April and May in asuccession of sweet, fresh, chilly days, with pink sunsets and miraclesof resurrection and growth. The maples in Lover's Lane were red buddedand little curly ferns pushed up around the Dryad's Bubble. Away up inthe barrens, behind Mr. Silas Sloane's place, the Mayflowers blossomedout, pink and white stars of sweetness under their brown leaves. All theschool girls and boys had one golden afternoon gathering them, cominghome in the clear, echoing twilight with arms and baskets full offlowery spoil. 

"I'm so sorry for people who live in lands where there are noMayflowers, " said Anne. "Diana says perhaps they have something better, but there couldn't be anything better than Mayflowers, could there, Marilla? And Diana says if they don't know what they are like they don'tmiss them. But I think that is the saddest thing of all. I think itwould be TRAGIC, Marilla, not to know what Mayflowers are like and NOTto miss them. Do you know what I think Mayflowers are, Marilla? I thinkthey must be the souls of the flowers that died last summer and thisis their heaven. But we had a splendid time today, Marilla. We had ourlunch down in a big mossy hollow by an old well--such a ROMANTIC spot. Charlie Sloane dared Arty Gillis to jump over it, and Arty did becausehe wouldn't take a dare. Nobody would in school. It is very FASHIONABLEto dare. Mr. Phillips gave all the Mayflowers he found to Prissy Andrewsand I heard him to say 'sweets to the sweet. ' He got that out of abook, I know; but it shows he has some imagination. I was offered someMayflowers too, but I rejected them with scorn. I can't tell you theperson's name because I have vowed never to let it cross my lips. Wemade wreaths of the Mayflowers and put them on our hats; and when thetime came to go home we marched in procession down the road, two by two, with our bouquets and wreaths, singing 'My Home on the Hill. ' Oh, it wasso thrilling, Marilla. All Mr. Silas Sloane's folks rushed out to see usand everybody we met on the road stopped and stared after us. We made areal sensation. "

"Not much wonder! Such silly doings!" was Marilla's response. 

After the Mayflowers came the violets, and Violet Vale was empurpledwith them. Anne walked through it on her way to school with reverentsteps and worshiping eyes, as if she trod on holy ground. 

"Somehow, " she told Diana, "when I'm going through here I don't reallycare whether Gil--whether anybody gets ahead of me in class or not. Butwhen I'm up in school it's all different and I care as much as ever. There's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that iswhy I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it wouldbe ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half sointeresting. "

One June evening, when the orchards were pink blossomed again, when thefrogs were singing silverly sweet in the marshes about the head of theLake of Shining Waters, and the air was full of the savor of cloverfields and balsamic fir woods, Anne was sitting by her gable window. She had been studying her lessons, but it had grown too dark to see thebook, so she had fallen into wide-eyed reverie, looking out past theboughs of the Snow Queen, once more bestarred with its tufts of blossom. 

In all essential respects the little gable chamber was unchanged. Thewalls were as white, the pincushion as hard, the chairs as stifflyand yellowly upright as ever. Yet the whole character of the room wasaltered. It was full of a new vital, pulsing personality that seemed topervade it and to be quite independent of schoolgirl books and dressesand ribbons, and even of the cracked blue jug full of apple blossomson the table. It was as if all the dreams, sleeping and waking, of itsvivid occupant had taken a visible although unmaterial form and hadtapestried the bare room with splendid filmy tissues of rainbow andmoonshine. Presently Marilla came briskly in with some of Anne's freshlyironed school aprons. She hung them over a chair and sat down witha short sigh. She had had one of her headaches that afternoon, andalthough the pain had gone she felt weak and "tuckered out, " as sheexpressed it. Anne looked at her with eyes limpid with sympathy. 

"I do truly wish I could have had the headache in your place, Marilla. Iwould have endured it joyfully for your sake. "

"I guess you did your part in attending to the work and letting merest, " said Marilla. "You seem to have got on fairly well and made fewermistakes than usual. Of course it wasn't exactly necessary to starchMatthew's handkerchiefs! And most people when they put a pie in the ovento warm up for dinner take it out and eat it when it gets hot instead ofleaving it to be burned to a crisp. But that doesn't seem to be your wayevidently. "

Headaches always left Marilla somewhat sarcastic. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, " said Anne penitently. "I never thought about thatpie from the moment I put it in the oven till now, although I feltINSTINCTIVELY that there was something missing on the dinner table. Iwas firmly resolved, when you left me in charge this morning, not toimagine anything, but keep my thoughts on facts. I did pretty well untilI put the pie in, and then an irresistible temptation came to me toimagine I was an enchanted princess shut up in a lonely tower with ahandsome knight riding to my rescue on a coal-black steed. So thatis how I came to forget the pie. I didn't know I starched thehandkerchiefs. All the time I was ironing I was trying to think of aname for a new island Diana and I have discovered up the brook. It's themost ravishing spot, Marilla. There are two maple trees on it and thebrook flows right around it. At last it struck me that it would besplendid to call it Victoria Island because we found it on the Queen'sbirthday. Both Diana and I are very loyal. But I'm sorry about that pieand the handkerchiefs. I wanted to be extra good today because it's ananniversary. Do you remember what happened this day last year, Marilla?"

"No, I can't think of anything special. "

"Oh, Marilla, it was the day I came to Green Gables. I shall neverforget it. It was the turning point in my life. Of course it wouldn'tseem so important to you. I've been here for a year and I've been sohappy. Of course, I've had my troubles, but one can live down troubles. Are you sorry you kept me, Marilla?"

"No, I can't say I'm sorry, " said Marilla, who sometimes wondered howshe could have lived before Anne came to Green Gables, "no, not exactlysorry. If you've finished your lessons, Anne, I want you to run over andask Mrs. Barry if she'll lend me Diana's apron pattern. "

"Oh--it's--it's too dark, " cried Anne. 

"Too dark? Why, it's only twilight. And goodness knows you've gone overoften enough after dark. "

"I'll go over early in the morning, " said Anne eagerly. "I'll get up atsunrise and go over, Marilla. "

"What has got into your head now, Anne Shirley? I want that pattern tocut out your new apron this evening. Go at once and be smart too. "

"I'll have to go around by the road, then, " said Anne, taking up her hatreluctantly. 

"Go by the road and waste half an hour! I'd like to catch you!"

"I can't go through the Haunted Wood, Marilla, " cried Anne desperately. 

Marilla stared. 

"The Haunted Wood! Are you crazy? What under the canopy is the HauntedWood?"

"The spruce wood over the brook, " said Anne in a whisper. 

"Fiddlesticks! There is no such thing as a haunted wood anywhere. Whohas been telling you such stuff?"

"Nobody, " confessed Anne. "Diana and I just imagined the wood washaunted. All the places around here are so--so--COMMONPLACE. We just gotthis up for our own amusement. We began it in April. A haunted wood isso very romantic, Marilla. We chose the spruce grove because it's sogloomy. Oh, we have imagined the most harrowing things. There's a whitelady walks along the brook just about this time of the night and wringsher hands and utters wailing cries. She appears when there is to be adeath in the family. And the ghost of a little murdered child haunts thecorner up by Idlewild; it creeps up behind you and lays its cold fingerson your hand--so. Oh, Marilla, it gives me a shudder to think of it. Andthere's a headless man stalks up and down the path and skeletons glowerat you between the boughs. Oh, Marilla, I wouldn't go through theHaunted Wood after dark now for anything. I'd be sure that white thingswould reach out from behind the trees and grab me. "

 "Did ever anyone hear the like!" ejaculated Marilla, who hadlistened in dumb amazement. "Anne Shirley, do you mean to tell me youbelieve all that wicked nonsense of your own imagination?"

"Not believe EXACTLY, " faltered Anne. "At least, I don't believe it indaylight. But after dark, Marilla, it's different. That is when ghostswalk. "

"There are no such things as ghosts, Anne. "

"Oh, but there are, Marilla, " cried Anne eagerly. "I know people whohave seen them. And they are respectable people. Charlie Sloane saysthat his grandmother saw his grandfather driving home the cows one nightafter he'd been buried for a year. You know Charlie Sloane's grandmotherwouldn't tell a story for anything. She's a very religious woman. AndMrs. Thomas's father was pursued home one night by a lamb of fire withits head cut off hanging by a strip of skin. He said he knew it was thespirit of his brother and that it was a warning he would die within ninedays. He didn't, but he died two years after, so you see it was reallytrue. And Ruby Gillis says--"

"Anne Shirley, " interrupted Marilla firmly, "I never want to hear youtalking in this fashion again. I've had my doubts about that imaginationof yours right along, and if this is going to be the outcome of it, Iwon't countenance any such doings. You'll go right over to Barry's, andyou'll go through that spruce grove, just for a lesson and a warning toyou. And never let me hear a word out of your head about haunted woodsagain. "

Anne might plead and cry as she liked--and did, for her terror was veryreal. Her imagination had run away with her and she held the sprucegrove in mortal dread after nightfall. But Marilla was inexorable. Shemarched the shrinking ghost-seer down to the spring and ordered herto proceed straightaway over the bridge and into the dusky retreats ofwailing ladies and headless specters beyond. 

"Oh, Marilla, how can you be so cruel?" sobbed Anne. "What would youfeel like if a white thing did snatch me up and carry me off?"

"I'll risk it, " said Marilla unfeelingly. "You know I always mean what Isay. I'll cure you of imagining ghosts into places. March, now. "

Anne marched. That is, she stumbled over the bridge and went shudderingup the horrible dim path beyond. Anne never forgot that walk. Bitterlydid she repent the license she had given to her imagination. The goblinsof her fancy lurked in every shadow about her, reaching out their cold, fleshless hands to grasp the terrified small girl who had called theminto being. A white strip of birch bark blowing up from the hollow overthe brown floor of the grove made her heart stand still. The long-drawnwail of two old boughs rubbing against each other brought out theperspiration in beads on her forehead. The swoop of bats in the darknessover her was as the wings of unearthly creatures. When she reached Mr. William Bell's field she fled across it as if pursued by an army ofwhite things, and arrived at the Barry kitchen door so out of breaththat she could hardly gasp out her request for the apron pattern. Diana was away so that she had no excuse to linger. The dreadfulreturn journey had to be faced. Anne went back over it with shut eyes, preferring to take the risk of dashing her brains out among the boughsto that of seeing a white thing. When she finally stumbled over the logbridge she drew one long shivering breath of relief. 

"Well, so nothing caught you?" said Marilla unsympathetically. 

"Oh, Mar--Marilla, " chattered Anne, "I'll b-b-be contt-tented withc-c-commonplace places after this. "

CHAPTER XXI. A New Departure in Flavorings

"Dear me, there is nothing but meetings and partings in this world, asMrs. Lynde says, " remarked Anne plaintively, putting her slate and booksdown on the kitchen table on the last day of June and wiping her redeyes with a very damp handkerchief. "Wasn't it fortunate, Marilla, thatI took an extra handkerchief to school today? I had a presentiment thatit would be needed. "

"I never thought you were so fond of Mr. Phillips that you'd require twohandkerchiefs to dry your tears just because he was going away, " saidMarilla. 

"I don't think I was crying because I was really so very fond of him, "reflected Anne. "I just cried because all the others did. It wasRuby Gillis started it. Ruby Gillis has always declared she hated Mr. Phillips, but just as soon as he got up to make his farewell speech sheburst into tears. Then all the girls began to cry, one after the other. I tried to hold out, Marilla. I tried to remember the time Mr. Phillipsmade me sit with Gil--with a, boy; and the time he spelled my namewithout an e on the blackboard; and how he said I was the worst duncehe ever saw at geometry and laughed at my spelling; and all the times hehad been so horrid and sarcastic; but somehow I couldn't, Marilla, and Ijust had to cry too. Jane Andrews has been talking for a month about howglad she'd be when Mr. Phillips went away and she declared she'd nevershed a tear. Well, she was worse than any of us and had to borrow ahandkerchief from her brother--of course the boys didn't cry--becauseshe hadn't brought one of her own, not expecting to need it. Oh, Marilla, it was heartrending. Mr. Phillips made such a beautifulfarewell speech beginning, 'The time has come for us to part. ' It wasvery affecting. And he had tears in his eyes too, Marilla. Oh, I feltdreadfully sorry and remorseful for all the times I'd talked in schooland drawn pictures of him on my slate and made fun of him and Prissy. I can tell you I wished I'd been a model pupil like Minnie Andrews. Shehadn't anything on her conscience. The girls cried all the way home fromschool. Carrie Sloane kept saying every few minutes, 'The time has comefor us to part, ' and that would start us off again whenever we were inany danger of cheering up. I do feel dreadfully sad, Marilla. But onecan't feel quite in the depths of despair with two months' vacationbefore them, can they, Marilla? And besides, we met the new minister andhis wife coming from the station. For all I was feeling so bad about Mr. Phillips going away I couldn't help taking a little interest in a newminister, could I? His wife is very pretty. Not exactly regally lovely, of course--it wouldn't do, I suppose, for a minister to have a regallylovely wife, because it might set a bad example. Mrs. Lynde says theminister's wife over at Newbridge sets a very bad example because shedresses so fashionably. Our new minister's wife was dressed in bluemuslin with lovely puffed sleeves and a hat trimmed with roses. Jane Andrews said she thought puffed sleeves were too worldly fora minister's wife, but I didn't make any such uncharitable remark, Marilla, because I know what it is to long for puffed sleeves. Besides, she's only been a minister's wife for a little while, so one shouldmake allowances, shouldn't they? They are going to board with Mrs. Lyndeuntil the manse is ready. "

If Marilla, in going down to Mrs. Lynde's that evening, was actuated byany motive save her avowed one of returning the quilting frames she hadborrowed the preceding winter, it was an amiable weakness shared by mostof the Avonlea people. Many a thing Mrs. Lynde had lent, sometimesnever expecting to see it again, came home that night in charge of theborrowers thereof. A new minister, and moreover a minister with a wife, was a lawful object of curiosity in a quiet little country settlementwhere sensations were few and far between. 

Old Mr. Bentley, the minister whom Anne had found lacking inimagination, had been pastor of Avonlea for eighteen years. He was awidower when he came, and a widower he remained, despite the fact thatgossip regularly married him to this, that, or the other one, every yearof his sojourn. In the preceding February he had resigned his charge anddeparted amid the regrets of his people, most of whom had the affectionborn of long intercourse for their good old minister in spite of hisshortcomings as an orator. Since then the Avonlea church had enjoyed avariety of religious dissipation in listening to the many and variouscandidates and "supplies" who came Sunday after Sunday to preach ontrial. These stood or fell by the judgment of the fathers and mothersin Israel; but a certain small, red-haired girl who sat meekly in thecorner of the old Cuthbert pew also had her opinions about them anddiscussed the same in full with Matthew, Marilla always declining fromprinciple to criticize ministers in any shape or form. 

"I don't think Mr. Smith would have done, Matthew" was Anne's finalsumming up. "Mrs. Lynde says his delivery was so poor, but I think hisworst fault was just like Mr. Bentley's--he had no imagination. And Mr. Terry had too much; he let it run away with him just as I did mine inthe matter of the Haunted Wood. Besides, Mrs. Lynde says his theologywasn't sound. Mr. Gresham was a very good man and a very religious man, but he told too many funny stories and made the people laugh in church;he was undignified, and you must have some dignity about a minister, mustn't you, Matthew? I thought Mr. Marshall was decidedly attractive;but Mrs. Lynde says he isn't married, or even engaged, because she madespecial inquiries about him, and she says it would never do to havea young unmarried minister in Avonlea, because he might marry in thecongregation and that would make trouble. Mrs. Lynde is a very farseeingwoman, isn't she, Matthew? I'm very glad they've called Mr. Allan. Iliked him because his sermon was interesting and he prayed as if hemeant it and not just as if he did it because he was in the habit of it. Mrs. Lynde says he isn't perfect, but she says she supposes we couldn'texpect a perfect minister for seven hundred and fifty dollars a year, and anyhow his theology is sound because she questioned him thoroughlyon all the points of doctrine. And she knows his wife's people and theyare most respectable and the women are all good housekeepers. Mrs. Lyndesays that sound doctrine in the man and good housekeeping in the womanmake an ideal combination for a minister's family. "

The new minister and his wife were a young, pleasant-faced couple, stillon their honeymoon, and full of all good and beautiful enthusiasms fortheir chosen lifework. Avonlea opened its heart to them from the start. Old and young liked the frank, cheerful young man with his high ideals, and the bright, gentle little lady who assumed the mistress-ship of themanse. With Mrs. Allan Anne fell promptly and wholeheartedly in love. She had discovered another kindred spirit. 

"Mrs. Allan is perfectly lovely, " she announced one Sunday afternoon. "She's taken our class and she's a splendid teacher. She said right awayshe didn't think it was fair for the teacher to ask all the questions, and you know, Marilla, that is exactly what I've always thought. Shesaid we could ask her any question we liked and I asked ever so many. I'm good at asking questions, Marilla. "

"I believe you" was Marilla's emphatic comment. 

"Nobody else asked any except Ruby Gillis, and she asked if there wasto be a Sunday-school picnic this summer. I didn't think that was avery proper question to ask because it hadn't any connection with thelesson--the lesson was about Daniel in the lions' den--but Mrs. Allanjust smiled and said she thought there would be. Mrs. Allan has alovely smile; she has such EXQUISITE dimples in her cheeks. I wish I haddimples in my cheeks, Marilla. I'm not half so skinny as I was when Icame here, but I have no dimples yet. If I had perhaps I could influencepeople for good. Mrs. Allan said we ought always to try to influenceother people for good. She talked so nice about everything. I never knewbefore that religion was such a cheerful thing. I always thought itwas kind of melancholy, but Mrs. Allan's isn't, and I'd like to be aChristian if I could be one like her. I wouldn't want to be one like Mr. Superintendent Bell. "

"It's very naughty of you to speak so about Mr. Bell, " said Marillaseverely. "Mr. Bell is a real good man. "

"Oh, of course he's good, " agreed Anne, "but he doesn't seem to get anycomfort out of it. If I could be good I'd dance and sing all day becauseI was glad of it. I suppose Mrs. Allan is too old to dance and sing andof course it wouldn't be dignified in a minister's wife. But I can justfeel she's glad she's a Christian and that she'd be one even if shecould get to heaven without it. "

"I suppose we must have Mr. And Mrs. Allan up to tea someday soon, " saidMarilla reflectively. "They've been most everywhere but here. Let mesee. Next Wednesday would be a good time to have them. But don't say aword to Matthew about it, for if he knew they were coming he'd find someexcuse to be away that day. He'd got so used to Mr. Bentley he didn'tmind him, but he's going to find it hard to get acquainted with a newminister, and a new minister's wife will frighten him to death. "

"I'll be as secret as the dead, " assured Anne. "But oh, Marilla, willyou let me make a cake for the occasion? I'd love to do something forMrs. Allan, and you know I can make a pretty good cake by this time. "

"You can make a layer cake, " promised Marilla. 

Monday and Tuesday great preparations went on at Green Gables. Having the minister and his wife to tea was a serious and importantundertaking, and Marilla was determined not to be eclipsed by any ofthe Avonlea housekeepers. Anne was wild with excitement and delight. Shetalked it all over with Diana Tuesday night in the twilight, as theysat on the big red stones by the Dryad's Bubble and made rainbows in thewater with little twigs dipped in fir balsam. 

"Everything is ready, Diana, except my cake which I'm to make in themorning, and the baking-powder biscuits which Marilla will make justbefore teatime. I assure you, Diana, that Marilla and I have had a busytwo days of it. It's such a responsibility having a minister's family totea. I never went through such an experience before. You should just seeour pantry. It's a sight to behold. We're going to have jellied chickenand cold tongue. We're to have two kinds of jelly, red and yellow, andwhipped cream and lemon pie, and cherry pie, and three kinds of cookies, and fruit cake, and Marilla's famous yellow plum preserves that shekeeps especially for ministers, and pound cake and layer cake, andbiscuits as aforesaid; and new bread and old both, in case the ministeris dyspeptic and can't eat new. Mrs. Lynde says ministers are dyspeptic, but I don't think Mr. Allan has been a minister long enough for it tohave had a bad effect on him. I just grow cold when I think of my layercake. Oh, Diana, what if it shouldn't be good! I dreamed last night thatI was chased all around by a fearful goblin with a big layer cake for ahead. "

"It'll be good, all right, " assured Diana, who was a very comfortablesort of friend. "I'm sure that piece of the one you made that we had forlunch in Idlewild two weeks ago was perfectly elegant. "

"Yes; but cakes have such a terrible habit of turning out bad justwhen you especially want them to be good, " sighed Anne, setting aparticularly well-balsamed twig afloat. "However, I suppose I shalljust have to trust to Providence and be careful to put in the flour. Oh, look, Diana, what a lovely rainbow! Do you suppose the dryad will comeout after we go away and take it for a scarf?"

"You know there is no such thing as a dryad, " said Diana. Diana's motherhad found out about the Haunted Wood and had been decidedly angry overit. As a result Diana had abstained from any further imitative flightsof imagination and did not think it prudent to cultivate a spirit ofbelief even in harmless dryads. 

"But it's so easy to imagine there is, " said Anne. "Every night beforeI go to bed, I look out of my window and wonder if the dryad is reallysitting here, combing her locks with the spring for a mirror. SometimesI look for her footprints in the dew in the morning. Oh, Diana, don'tgive up your faith in the dryad!"

Wednesday morning came. Anne got up at sunrise because she was tooexcited to sleep. She had caught a severe cold in the head by reason ofher dabbling in the spring on the preceding evening; but nothing shortof absolute pneumonia could have quenched her interest in culinarymatters that morning. After breakfast she proceeded to make her cake. When she finally shut the oven door upon it she drew a long breath. 

"I'm sure I haven't forgotten anything this time, Marilla. But do youthink it will rise? Just suppose perhaps the baking powder isn't good? Iused it out of the new can. And Mrs. Lynde says you can never be sure ofgetting good baking powder nowadays when everything is so adulterated. Mrs. Lynde says the Government ought to take the matter up, but she sayswe'll never see the day when a Tory Government will do it. Marilla, whatif that cake doesn't rise?"

"We'll have plenty without it" was Marilla's unimpassioned way oflooking at the subject. 

The cake did rise, however, and came out of the oven as light andfeathery as golden foam. Anne, flushed with delight, clapped it togetherwith layers of ruby jelly and, in imagination, saw Mrs. Allan eating itand possibly asking for another piece!

"You'll be using the best tea set, of course, Marilla, " she said. "Can Ifix the table with ferns and wild roses?"

"I think that's all nonsense, " sniffed Marilla. "In my opinion it's theeatables that matter and not flummery decorations. "

"Mrs. Barry had HER table decorated, " said Anne, who was not entirelyguiltless of the wisdom of the serpent, "and the minister paid her anelegant compliment. He said it was a feast for the eye as well as thepalate. "

"Well, do as you like, " said Marilla, who was quite determined not tobe surpassed by Mrs. Barry or anybody else. "Only mind you leave enoughroom for the dishes and the food. "

Anne laid herself out to decorate in a manner and after a fashion thatshould leave Mrs. Barry's nowhere. Having abundance of roses and fernsand a very artistic taste of her own, she made that tea table such athing of beauty that when the minister and his wife sat down to it theyexclaimed in chorus over it loveliness. 

"It's Anne's doings, " said Marilla, grimly just; and Anne felt that Mrs. Allan's approving smile was almost too much happiness for this world. 

Matthew was there, having been inveigled into the party only goodnessand Anne knew how. He had been in such a state of shyness andnervousness that Marilla had given him up in despair, but Anne took himin hand so successfully that he now sat at the table in his best clothesand white collar and talked to the minister not uninterestingly. He never said a word to Mrs. Allan, but that perhaps was not to beexpected. 

All went merry as a marriage bell until Anne's layer cake was passed. Mrs. Allan, having already been helped to a bewildering variety, declined it. But Marilla, seeing the disappointment on Anne's face, saidsmilingly:

"Oh, you must take a piece of this, Mrs. Allan. Anne made it on purposefor you. "

"In that case I must sample it, " laughed Mrs. Allan, helping herself toa plump triangle, as did also the minister and Marilla. 

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

"Anne Shirley!" she exclaimed, "what on earth did you put into thatcake?"

"Nothing but what the recipe said, Marilla, " cried Anne with a look ofanguish. "Oh, isn't it all right?"

"All right! It's simply horrible. Mr. Allan, don't try to eat it. Anne, taste it yourself. What flavoring did you use?"

"Vanilla, " said Anne, her face scarlet with mortification after tastingthe cake. "Only vanilla. Oh, Marilla, it must have been the bakingpowder. I had my suspicions of that bak--"

"Baking powder fiddlesticks! Go and bring me the bottle of vanilla youused. "

Anne fled to the pantry and returned with a small bottle partiallyfilled with a brown liquid and labeled yellowly, "Best Vanilla. "

Marilla took it, uncorked it, smelled it. 

"Mercy on us, Anne, you've flavored that cake with ANODYNE LINIMENT. Ibroke the liniment bottle last week and poured what was left into anold empty vanilla bottle. I suppose it's partly my fault--I should havewarned you--but for pity's sake why couldn't you have smelled it?"

Anne dissolved into tears under this double disgrace. 

"I couldn't--I had such a cold!" and with this she fairly fled to thegable chamber, where she cast herself on the bed and wept as one whorefuses to be comforted. 

Presently a light step sounded on the stairs and somebody entered theroom. 

"Oh, Marilla, " sobbed Anne, without looking up, "I'm disgraced forever. I shall never be able to live this down. It will get out--things alwaysdo get out in Avonlea. Diana will ask me how my cake turned out and Ishall have to tell her the truth. I shall always be pointed at as thegirl who flavored a cake with anodyne liniment. Gil--the boys in schoolwill never get over laughing at it. Oh, Marilla, if you have a sparkof Christian pity don't tell me that I must go down and wash the dishesafter this. I'll wash them when the minister and his wife are gone, butI cannot ever look Mrs. Allan in the face again. Perhaps she'll think Itried to poison her. Mrs. Lynde says she knows an orphan girl who triedto poison her benefactor. But the liniment isn't poisonous. It's meantto be taken internally--although not in cakes. Won't you tell Mrs. Allanso, Marilla?"

"Suppose you jump up and tell her so yourself, " said a merry voice. 

Anne flew up, to find Mrs. Allan standing by her bed, surveying her withlaughing eyes. 

"My dear little girl, you mustn't cry like this, " she said, genuinelydisturbed by Anne's tragic face. "Why, it's all just a funny mistakethat anybody might make. "

"Oh, no, it takes me to make such a mistake, " said Anne forlornly. "AndI wanted to have that cake so nice for you, Mrs. Allan. "

"Yes, I know, dear. And I assure you I appreciate your kindness andthoughtfulness just as much as if it had turned out all right. Now, you mustn't cry any more, but come down with me and show me your flowergarden. Miss Cuthbert tells me you have a little plot all your own. Iwant to see it, for I'm very much interested in flowers. "

Anne permitted herself to be led down and comforted, reflecting that itwas really providential that Mrs. Allan was a kindred spirit. Nothingmore was said about the liniment cake, and when the guests went awayAnne found that she had enjoyed the evening more than could have beenexpected, considering that terrible incident. Nevertheless, she sigheddeeply. 

"Marilla, isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with nomistakes in it yet?"

"I'll warrant you'll make plenty in it, " said Marilla. "I never saw yourbeat for making mistakes, Anne. "

"Yes, and well I know it, " admitted Anne mournfully. "But have you evernoticed one encouraging thing about me, Marilla? I never make the samemistake twice. "

"I don't know as that's much benefit when you're always making newones. "

"Oh, don't you see, Marilla? There must be a limit to the mistakes oneperson can make, and when I get to the end of them, then I'll be throughwith them. That's a very comforting thought. "

"Well, you'd better go and give that cake to the pigs, " said Marilla. "It isn't fit for any human to eat, not even Jerry Boute. "

CHAPTER XXII. Anne is Invited Out to Tea

"And what are your eyes popping out of your head about. Now?" askedMarilla, when Anne had just come in from a run to the post office. "Haveyou discovered another kindred spirit?" Excitement hung around Anne likea garment, shone in her eyes, kindled in every feature. She had comedancing up the lane, like a wind-blown sprite, through the mellowsunshine and lazy shadows of the August evening. 

"No, Marilla, but oh, what do you think? I am invited to tea at themanse tomorrow afternoon! Mrs. Allan left the letter for me at the postoffice. Just look at it, Marilla. 'Miss Anne Shirley, Green Gables. 'That is the first time I was ever called 'Miss. ' Such a thrill as itgave me! I shall cherish it forever among my choicest treasures. "

"Mrs. Allan told me she meant to have all the members of herSunday-school class to tea in turn, " said Marilla, regarding thewonderful event very coolly. "You needn't get in such a fever over it. Do learn to take things calmly, child. "

For Anne to take things calmly would have been to change her nature. All"spirit and fire and dew, " as she was, the pleasures and pains of lifecame to her with trebled intensity. Marilla felt this and was vaguelytroubled over it, realizing that the ups and downs of existence wouldprobably bear hardly on this impulsive soul and not sufficientlyunderstanding that the equally great capacity for delight might morethan compensate. Therefore Marilla conceived it to be her duty to drillAnne into a tranquil uniformity of disposition as impossible and aliento her as to a dancing sunbeam in one of the brook shallows. She did notmake much headway, as she sorrowfully admitted to herself. The downfallof some dear hope or plan plunged Anne into "deeps of affliction. " Thefulfillment thereof exalted her to dizzy realms of delight. Marilla hadalmost begun to despair of ever fashioning this waif of the world intoher model little girl of demure manners and prim deportment. Neitherwould she have believed that she really liked Anne much better as shewas. 

Anne went to bed that night speechless with misery because Matthew hadsaid the wind was round northeast and he feared it would be a rainy daytomorrow. The rustle of the poplar leaves about the house worried her, it sounded so like pattering raindrops, and the full, faraway roar ofthe gulf, to which she listened delightedly at other times, loving itsstrange, sonorous, haunting rhythm, now seemed like a prophecy of stormand disaster to a small maiden who particularly wanted a fine day. Annethought that the morning would never come. 

But all things have an end, even nights before the day on which you areinvited to take tea at the manse. The morning, in spite of Matthew'spredictions, was fine and Anne's spirits soared to their highest. "Oh, Marilla, there is something in me today that makes me just loveeverybody I see, " she exclaimed as she washed the breakfast dishes. "You don't know how good I feel! Wouldn't it be nice if it could last? Ibelieve I could be a model child if I were just invited out to tea everyday. But oh, Marilla, it's a solemn occasion too. I feel so anxious. What if I shouldn't behave properly? You know I never had tea at amanse before, and I'm not sure that I know all the rules of etiquette, although I've been studying the rules given in the Etiquette Departmentof the Family Herald ever since I came here. I'm so afraid I'll dosomething silly or forget to do something I should do. Would it begood manners to take a second helping of anything if you wanted to VERYmuch?"

"The trouble with you, Anne, is that you're thinking too much aboutyourself. You should just think of Mrs. Allan and what would be nicestand most agreeable to her, " said Marilla, hitting for once in her lifeon a very sound and pithy piece of advice. Anne instantly realized this. 

"You are right, Marilla. I'll try not to think about myself at all. "

Anne evidently got through her visit without any serious breach of"etiquette, " for she came home through the twilight, under a great, high-sprung sky gloried over with trails of saffron and rosy cloud, ina beatified state of mind and told Marilla all about it happily, sittingon the big red-sandstone slab at the kitchen door with her tired curlyhead in Marilla's gingham lap. 

A cool wind was blowing down over the long harvest fields from the rimsof firry western hills and whistling through the poplars. One clear starhung over the orchard and the fireflies were flitting over in Lover'sLane, in and out among the ferns and rustling boughs. Anne watched themas she talked and somehow felt that wind and stars and fireflies wereall tangled up together into something unutterably sweet and enchanting. 

"Oh, Marilla, I've had a most FASCINATING time. I feel that I have notlived in vain and I shall always feel like that even if I should neverbe invited to tea at a manse again. When I got there Mrs. Allan met meat the door. She was dressed in the sweetest dress of pale-pink organdy, with dozens of frills and elbow sleeves, and she looked just like aseraph. I really think I'd like to be a minister's wife when I grow up, Marilla. A minister mightn't mind my red hair because he wouldn't bethinking of such worldly things. But then of course one would have tobe naturally good and I'll never be that, so I suppose there's no use inthinking about it. Some people are naturally good, you know, and othersare not. I'm one of the others. Mrs. Lynde says I'm full of originalsin. No matter how hard I try to be good I can never make such a successof it as those who are naturally good. It's a good deal like geometry, I expect. But don't you think the trying so hard ought to count forsomething? Mrs. Allan is one of the naturally good people. I love herpassionately. You know there are some people, like Matthew and Mrs. Allan that you can love right off without any trouble. And there areothers, like Mrs. Lynde, that you have to try very hard to love. Youknow you OUGHT to love them because they know so much and are suchactive workers in the church, but you have to keep reminding yourself ofit all the time or else you forget. There was another little girl at themanse to tea, from the White Sands Sunday school. Her name was LauretteBradley, and she was a very nice little girl. Not exactly a kindredspirit, you know, but still very nice. We had an elegant tea, and Ithink I kept all the rules of etiquette pretty well. After tea Mrs. Allan played and sang and she got Lauretta and me to sing too. Mrs. Allan says I have a good voice and she says I must sing in theSunday-school choir after this. You can't think how I was thrilled atthe mere thought. I've longed so to sing in the Sunday-school choir, as Diana does, but I feared it was an honor I could never aspire to. Lauretta had to go home early because there is a big concert in theWhite Sands Hotel tonight and her sister is to recite at it. Laurettasays that the Americans at the hotel give a concert every fortnight inaid of the Charlottetown hospital, and they ask lots of the WhiteSands people to recite. Lauretta said she expected to be asked herselfsomeday. I just gazed at her in awe. After she had gone Mrs. Allan and Ihad a heart-to-heart talk. I told her everything--about Mrs. Thomas andthe twins and Katie Maurice and Violetta and coming to Green Gables andmy troubles over geometry. And would you believe it, Marilla? Mrs. Allan told me she was a dunce at geometry too. You don't know how thatencouraged me. Mrs. Lynde came to the manse just before I left, and whatdo you think, Marilla? The trustees have hired a new teacher and it'sa lady. Her name is Miss Muriel Stacy. Isn't that a romantic name? Mrs. Lynde says they've never had a female teacher in Avonlea before and shethinks it is a dangerous innovation. But I think it will be splendidto have a lady teacher, and I really don't see how I'm going to livethrough the two weeks before school begins. I'm so impatient to seeher. "

CHAPTER XXIII. Anne Comes to Grief in an Affair of Honor

Anne had to live through more than two weeks, as it happened. Almost amonth having elapsed since the liniment cake episode, it was high timefor her to get into fresh trouble of some sort, little mistakes, such asabsentmindedly emptying a pan of skim milk into a basket of yarn ballsin the pantry instead of into the pigs' bucket, and walking clean overthe edge of the log bridge into the brook while wrapped in imaginativereverie, not really being worth counting. 

A week after the tea at the manse Diana Barry gave a party. 

"Small and select, " Anne assured Marilla. "Just the girls in our class. "

They had a very good time and nothing untoward happened until after tea, when they found themselves in the Barry garden, a little tired of alltheir games and ripe for any enticing form of mischief which mightpresent itself. This presently took the form of "daring. "

Daring was the fashionable amusement among the Avonlea small fry justthen. It had begun among the boys, but soon spread to the girls, and allthe silly things that were done in Avonlea that summer because the doersthereof were "dared" to do them would fill a book by themselves. 

First of all Carrie Sloane dared Ruby Gillis to climb to a certain pointin the huge old willow tree before the front door; which Ruby Gillis, albeit in mortal dread of the fat green caterpillars with which saidtree was infested and with the fear of her mother before her eyes if sheshould tear her new muslin dress, nimbly did, to the discomfiture of theaforesaid Carrie Sloane. Then Josie Pye dared Jane Andrews to hop on herleft leg around the garden without stopping once or putting her rightfoot to the ground; which Jane Andrews gamely tried to do, but gave outat the third corner and had to confess herself defeated. 

Josie's triumph being rather more pronounced than good taste permitted, Anne Shirley dared her to walk along the top of the board fence whichbounded the garden to the east. Now, to "walk" board fences requiresmore skill and steadiness of head and heel than one might suppose whohas never tried it. But Josie Pye, if deficient in some qualitiesthat make for popularity, had at least a natural and inborn gift, dulycultivated, for walking board fences. Josie walked the Barry fence withan airy unconcern which seemed to imply that a little thing like thatwasn't worth a "dare. " Reluctant admiration greeted her exploit, formost of the other girls could appreciate it, having suffered many thingsthemselves in their efforts to walk fences. Josie descended from herperch, flushed with victory, and darted a defiant glance at Anne. 

Anne tossed her red braids. 

"I don't think it's such a very wonderful thing to walk a little, low, board fence, " she said. "I knew a girl in Marysville who could walk theridgepole of a roof. "

"I don't believe it, " said Josie flatly. "I don't believe anybody couldwalk a ridgepole. YOU couldn't, anyhow. "

"Couldn't I?" cried Anne rashly. 

"Then I dare you to do it, " said Josie defiantly. "I dare you to climbup there and walk the ridgepole of Mr. Barry's kitchen roof. "

Anne turned pale, but there was clearly only one thing to be done. Shewalked toward the house, where a ladder was leaning against the kitchenroof. All the fifth-class girls said, "Oh!" partly in excitement, partlyin dismay. 

"Don't you do it, Anne, " entreated Diana. "You'll fall off and bekilled. Never mind Josie Pye. It isn't fair to dare anybody to doanything so dangerous. "

"I must do it. My honor is at stake, " said Anne solemnly. "I shall walkthat ridgepole, Diana, or perish in the attempt. If I am killed you areto have my pearl bead ring. "

Anne climbed the ladder amid breathless silence, gained the ridgepole, balanced herself uprightly on that precarious footing, and started towalk along it, dizzily conscious that she was uncomfortably high upin the world and that walking ridgepoles was not a thing in which yourimagination helped you out much. Nevertheless, she managed to takeseveral steps before the catastrophe came. Then she swayed, lost herbalance, stumbled, staggered, and fell, sliding down over the sun-bakedroof and crashing off it through the tangle of Virginia creeperbeneath--all before the dismayed circle below could give a simultaneous, terrified shriek. 

If Anne had tumbled off the roof on the side up which she had ascendedDiana would probably have fallen heir to the pearl bead ring then andthere. Fortunately she fell on the other side, where the roof extendeddown over the porch so nearly to the ground that a fall therefrom wasa much less serious thing. Nevertheless, when Diana and the othergirls had rushed frantically around the house--except Ruby Gillis, whoremained as if rooted to the ground and went into hysterics--they foundAnne lying all white and limp among the wreck and ruin of the Virginiacreeper. 

"Anne, are you killed?" shrieked Diana, throwing herself on her kneesbeside her friend. "Oh, Anne, dear Anne, speak just one word to me andtell me if you're killed. "

To the immense relief of all the girls, and especially of Josie Pye, who, in spite of lack of imagination, had been seized with horriblevisions of a future branded as the girl who was the cause of AnneShirley's early and tragic death, Anne sat dizzily up and answereduncertainly:

"No, Diana, I am not killed, but I think I am rendered unconscious. "

"Where?" sobbed Carrie Sloane. "Oh, where, Anne?" Before Anne couldanswer Mrs. Barry appeared on the scene. At sight of her Anne tried toscramble to her feet, but sank back again with a sharp little cry ofpain. 

"What's the matter? Where have you hurt yourself?" demanded Mrs. Barry. 

"My ankle, " gasped Anne. "Oh, Diana, please find your father and ask himto take me home. I know I can never walk there. And I'm sure I couldn'thop so far on one foot when Jane couldn't even hop around the garden. "

Marilla was out in the orchard picking a panful of summer apples whenshe saw Mr. Barry coming over the log bridge and up the slope, with Mrs. Barry beside him and a whole procession of little girls trailing afterhim. In his arms he carried Anne, whose head lay limply against hisshoulder. 

At that moment Marilla had a revelation. In the sudden stab of fear thatpierced her very heart she realized what Anne had come to mean to her. She would have admitted that she liked Anne--nay, that she was very fondof Anne. But now she knew as she hurried wildly down the slope that Annewas dearer to her than anything else on earth. 

"Mr. Barry, what has happened to her?" she gasped, more white and shakenthan the self-contained, sensible Marilla had been for many years. 

Anne herself answered, lifting her head. 

"Don't be very frightened, Marilla. I was walking the ridgepole and Ifell off. I expect I have sprained my ankle. But, Marilla, I might havebroken my neck. Let us look on the bright side of things. "

"I might have known you'd go and do something of the sort when I let yougo to that party, " said Marilla, sharp and shrewish in her very relief. "Bring her in here, Mr. Barry, and lay her on the sofa. Mercy me, thechild has gone and fainted!"

It was quite true. Overcome by the pain of her injury, Anne had one moreof her wishes granted to her. She had fainted dead away. 

Matthew, hastily summoned from the harvest field, was straightwaydispatched for the doctor, who in due time came, to discover that theinjury was more serious than they had supposed. Anne's ankle was broken. 

That night, when Marilla went up to the east gable, where a white-facedgirl was lying, a plaintive voice greeted her from the bed. 

"Aren't you very sorry for me, Marilla?"

"It was your own fault, " said Marilla, twitching down the blind andlighting a lamp. 

"And that is just why you should be sorry for me, " said Anne, "becausethe thought that it is all my own fault is what makes it so hard. If Icould blame it on anybody I would feel so much better. But what wouldyou have done, Marilla, if you had been dared to walk a ridgepole?"

"I'd have stayed on good firm ground and let them dare away. Suchabsurdity!" said Marilla. 

Anne sighed. 

"But you have such strength of mind, Marilla. I haven't. I just feltthat I couldn't bear Josie Pye's scorn. She would have crowed over meall my life. And I think I have been punished so much that you needn'tbe very cross with me, Marilla. It's not a bit nice to faint, after all. And the doctor hurt me dreadfully when he was setting my ankle. I won'tbe able to go around for six or seven weeks and I'll miss the new ladyteacher. She won't be new any more by the time I'm able to go to school. And Gil--everybody will get ahead of me in class. Oh, I am an afflictedmortal. But I'll try to bear it all bravely if only you won't be crosswith me, Marilla. "

"There, there, I'm not cross, " said Marilla. "You're an unlucky child, there's no doubt about that; but as you say, you'll have the sufferingof it. Here now, try and eat some supper. "

"Isn't it fortunate I've got such an imagination?" said Anne. "It willhelp me through splendidly, I expect. What do people who haven't anyimagination do when they break their bones, do you suppose, Marilla?"

Anne had good reason to bless her imagination many a time and oft duringthe tedious seven weeks that followed. But she was not solely dependenton it. She had many visitors and not a day passed without one or more ofthe schoolgirls dropping in to bring her flowers and books and tell herall the happenings in the juvenile world of Avonlea. 

"Everybody has been so good and kind, Marilla, " sighed Anne happily, on the day when she could first limp across the floor. "It isn't verypleasant to be laid up; but there is a bright side to it, Marilla. Youfind out how many friends you have. Why, even Superintendent Bell cameto see me, and he's really a very fine man. Not a kindred spirit, ofcourse; but still I like him and I'm awfully sorry I ever criticized hisprayers. I believe now he really does mean them, only he has got intothe habit of saying them as if he didn't. He could get over that if he'dtake a little trouble. I gave him a good broad hint. I told him how hardI tried to make my own little private prayers interesting. He told meall about the time he broke his ankle when he was a boy. It does seemso strange to think of Superintendent Bell ever being a boy. Even myimagination has its limits, for I can't imagine THAT. When I try toimagine him as a boy I see him with gray whiskers and spectacles, justas he looks in Sunday school, only small. Now, it's so easy to imagineMrs. Allan as a little girl. Mrs. Allan has been to see me fourteentimes. Isn't that something to be proud of, Marilla? When a minister'swife has so many claims on her time! She is such a cheerful person tohave visit you, too. She never tells you it's your own fault and shehopes you'll be a better girl on account of it. Mrs. Lynde always toldme that when she came to see me; and she said it in a kind of way thatmade me feel she might hope I'd be a better girl but didn't reallybelieve I would. Even Josie Pye came to see me. I received her aspolitely as I could, because I think she was sorry she dared me to walka ridgepole. If I had been killed she would had to carry a dark burdenof remorse all her life. Diana has been a faithful friend. She's beenover every day to cheer my lonely pillow. But oh, I shall be so gladwhen I can go to school for I've heard such exciting things about thenew teacher. The girls all think she is perfectly sweet. Diana says shehas the loveliest fair curly hair and such fascinating eyes. She dressesbeautifully, and her sleeve puffs are bigger than anybody else's inAvonlea. Every other Friday afternoon she has recitations and everybodyhas to say a piece or take part in a dialogue. Oh, it's just glorious tothink of it. Josie Pye says she hates it but that is just because Josiehas so little imagination. Diana and Ruby Gillis and Jane Andrews arepreparing a dialogue, called 'A Morning Visit, ' for next Friday. And theFriday afternoons they don't have recitations Miss Stacy takes themall to the woods for a 'field' day and they study ferns and flowersand birds. And they have physical culture exercises every morning andevening. Mrs. Lynde says she never heard of such goings on and it allcomes of having a lady teacher. But I think it must be splendid and Ibelieve I shall find that Miss Stacy is a kindred spirit. "

"There's one thing plain to be seen, Anne, " said Marilla, "and that isthat your fall off the Barry roof hasn't injured your tongue at all. "

CHAPTER XXIV. Miss Stacy and Her Pupils Get Up a Concert

It was October again when Anne was ready to go back to school--aglorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when thevalleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn hadpoured them in for the sun to drain--amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, andsmoke-blue. The dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like clothof silver and there were such heaps of rustling leaves in the hollows ofmany-stemmed woods to run crisply through. The Birch Path was a canopyof yellow and the ferns were sear and brown all along it. There was atang in the very air that inspired the hearts of small maidens tripping, unlike snails, swiftly and willingly to school; and it WAS jolly tobe back again at the little brown desk beside Diana, with Ruby Gillisnodding across the aisle and Carrie Sloane sending up notes and JuliaBell passing a "chew" of gum down from the back seat. Anne drew a longbreath of happiness as she sharpened her pencil and arranged her picturecards in her desk. Life was certainly very interesting. 

In the new teacher she found another true and helpful friend. Miss Stacywas a bright, sympathetic young woman with the happy gift of winning andholding the affections of her pupils and bringing out the best that wasin them mentally and morally. Anne expanded like a flower under thiswholesome influence and carried home to the admiring Matthew and thecritical Marilla glowing accounts of schoolwork and aims. 

"I love Miss Stacy with my whole heart, Marilla. She is so ladylikeand she has such a sweet voice. When she pronounces my name I feelINSTINCTIVELY that she's spelling it with an E. We had recitationsthis afternoon. I just wish you could have been there to hear me recite'Mary, Queen of Scots. ' I just put my whole soul into it. Ruby Gillistold me coming home that the way I said the line, 'Now for my father'sarm, ' she said, 'my woman's heart farewell, ' just made her blood runcold. "

"Well now, you might recite it for me some of these days, out in thebarn, " suggested Matthew. 

"Of course I will, " said Anne meditatively, "but I won't be able to doit so well, I know. It won't be so exciting as it is when you have awhole schoolful before you hanging breathlessly on your words. I know Iwon't be able to make your blood run cold. "

"Mrs. Lynde says it made HER blood run cold to see the boys climbing tothe very tops of those big trees on Bell's hill after crows' nests lastFriday, " said Marilla. "I wonder at Miss Stacy for encouraging it. "

"But we wanted a crow's nest for nature study, " explained Anne. "Thatwas on our field afternoon. Field afternoons are splendid, Marilla. And Miss Stacy explains everything so beautifully. We have to writecompositions on our field afternoons and I write the best ones. "

"It's very vain of you to say so then. You'd better let your teacher sayit. "

"But she DID say it, Marilla. And indeed I'm not vain about it. How canI be, when I'm such a dunce at geometry? Although I'm really beginningto see through it a little, too. Miss Stacy makes it so clear. Still, I'll never be good at it and I assure you it is a humbling reflection. But I love writing compositions. Mostly Miss Stacy lets us chooseour own subjects; but next week we are to write a composition on someremarkable person. It's hard to choose among so many remarkable peoplewho have lived. Mustn't it be splendid to be remarkable and havecompositions written about you after you're dead? Oh, I would dearlylove to be remarkable. I think when I grow up I'll be a trained nurseand go with the Red Crosses to the field of battle as a messenger ofmercy. That is, if I don't go out as a foreign missionary. That wouldbe very romantic, but one would have to be very good to be a missionary, and that would be a stumbling block. We have physical culture exercisesevery day, too. They make you graceful and promote digestion. "

"Promote fiddlesticks!" said Marilla, who honestly thought it was allnonsense. 

But all the field afternoons and recitation Fridays and physical culturecontortions paled before a project which Miss Stacy brought forward inNovember. This was that the scholars of Avonlea school should get upa concert and hold it in the hall on Christmas Night, for the laudablepurpose of helping to pay for a schoolhouse flag. The pupils one andall taking graciously to this plan, the preparations for a programwere begun at once. And of all the excited performers-elect none was soexcited as Anne Shirley, who threw herself into the undertaking heartand soul, hampered as she was by Marilla's disapproval. Marilla thoughtit all rank foolishness. 

"It's just filling your heads up with nonsense and taking time thatought to be put on your lessons, " she grumbled. "I don't approve ofchildren's getting up concerts and racing about to practices. It makesthem vain and forward and fond of gadding. "

"But think of the worthy object, " pleaded Anne. "A flag will cultivate aspirit of patriotism, Marilla. "

"Fudge! There's precious little patriotism in the thoughts of any ofyou. All you want is a good time. "

"Well, when you can combine patriotism and fun, isn't it all right? Ofcourse it's real nice to be getting up a concert. We're going to havesix choruses and Diana is to sing a solo. I'm in two dialogues--'TheSociety for the Suppression of Gossip' and 'The Fairy Queen. ' The boysare going to have a dialogue too. And I'm to have two recitations, Marilla. I just tremble when I think of it, but it's a nice thrilly kindof tremble. And we're to have a tableau at the last--'Faith, Hope andCharity. ' Diana and Ruby and I are to be in it, all draped in white withflowing hair. I'm to be Hope, with my hands clasped--so--and my eyesuplifted. I'm going to practice my recitations in the garret. Don't bealarmed if you hear me groaning. I have to groan heartrendingly in oneof them, and it's really hard to get up a good artistic groan, Marilla. Josie Pye is sulky because she didn't get the part she wanted inthe dialogue. She wanted to be the fairy queen. That would have beenridiculous, for who ever heard of a fairy queen as fat as Josie? Fairyqueens must be slender. Jane Andrews is to be the queen and I am to beone of her maids of honor. Josie says she thinks a red-haired fairy isjust as ridiculous as a fat one, but I do not let myself mind what Josiesays. I'm to have a wreath of white roses on my hair and Ruby Gillisis going to lend me her slippers because I haven't any of my own. It'snecessary for fairies to have slippers, you know. You couldn't imaginea fairy wearing boots, could you? Especially with copper toes? We aregoing to decorate the hall with creeping spruce and fir mottoes withpink tissue-paper roses in them. And we are all to march in two by twoafter the audience is seated, while Emma White plays a march on theorgan. Oh, Marilla, I know you are not so enthusiastic about it as I am, but don't you hope your little Anne will distinguish herself?"

"All I hope is that you'll behave yourself. I'll be heartily glad whenall this fuss is over and you'll be able to settle down. You are simplygood for nothing just now with your head stuffed full of dialogues andgroans and tableaus. As for your tongue, it's a marvel it's not cleanworn out. "

Anne sighed and betook herself to the back yard, over which a young newmoon was shining through the leafless poplar boughs from an apple-greenwestern sky, and where Matthew was splitting wood. Anne perched herselfon a block and talked the concert over with him, sure of an appreciativeand sympathetic listener in this instance at least. 

"Well now, I reckon it's going to be a pretty good concert. And Iexpect you'll do your part fine, " he said, smiling down into her eager, vivacious little face. Anne smiled back at him. Those two were the bestof friends and Matthew thanked his stars many a time and oft that he hadnothing to do with bringing her up. That was Marilla's exclusive duty;if it had been his he would have been worried over frequent conflictsbetween inclination and said duty. As it was, he was free to, "spoilAnne"--Marilla's phrasing--as much as he liked. But it was not such abad arrangement after all; a little "appreciation" sometimes does quiteas much good as all the conscientious "bringing up" in the world. 

CHAPTER XXV. Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves

Matthew was having a bad ten minutes of it. He had come into thekitchen, in the twilight of a cold, gray December evening, and had satdown in the woodbox corner to take off his heavy boots, unconscious ofthe fact that Anne and a bevy of her schoolmates were having a practiceof "The Fairy Queen" in the sitting room. Presently they came troopingthrough the hall and out into the kitchen, laughing and chatteringgaily. They did not see Matthew, who shrank bashfully back into theshadows beyond the woodbox with a boot in one hand and a bootjack in theother, and he watched them shyly for the aforesaid ten minutes as theyput on caps and jackets and talked about the dialogue and the concert. Anne stood among them, bright eyed and animated as they; but Matthewsuddenly became conscious that there was something about her differentfrom her mates. And what worried Matthew was that the differenceimpressed him as being something that should not exist. Anne had abrighter face, and bigger, starrier eyes, and more delicate featuresthan the other; even shy, unobservant Matthew had learned to take noteof these things; but the difference that disturbed him did not consistin any of these respects. Then in what did it consist?

Matthew was haunted by this question long after the girls had gone, armin arm, down the long, hard-frozen lane and Anne had betaken herselfto her books. He could not refer it to Marilla, who, he felt, would bequite sure to sniff scornfully and remark that the only difference shesaw between Anne and the other girls was that they sometimes kept theirtongues quiet while Anne never did. This, Matthew felt, would be nogreat help. 

He had recourse to his pipe that evening to help him study it out, muchto Marilla's disgust. After two hours of smoking and hard reflectionMatthew arrived at a solution of his problem. Anne was not dressed likethe other girls!

The more Matthew thought about the matter the more he was convinced thatAnne never had been dressed like the other girls--never since she hadcome to Green Gables. Marilla kept her clothed in plain, dark dresses, all made after the same unvarying pattern. If Matthew knew there wassuch a thing as fashion in dress it was as much as he did; but he wasquite sure that Anne's sleeves did not look at all like the sleeves theother girls wore. He recalled the cluster of little girls he had seenaround her that evening--all gay in waists of red and blue and pinkand white--and he wondered why Marilla always kept her so plainly andsoberly gowned. 

Of course, it must be all right. Marilla knew best and Marilla wasbringing her up. Probably some wise, inscrutable motive was to be servedthereby. But surely it would do no harm to let the child have one prettydress--something like Diana Barry always wore. Matthew decided thathe would give her one; that surely could not be objected to as anunwarranted putting in of his oar. Christmas was only a fortnight off. A nice new dress would be the very thing for a present. Matthew, with asigh of satisfaction, put away his pipe and went to bed, while Marillaopened all the doors and aired the house. 

The very next evening Matthew betook himself to Carmody to buy thedress, determined to get the worst over and have done with it. It wouldbe, he felt assured, no trifling ordeal. There were some things Matthewcould buy and prove himself no mean bargainer; but he knew he would beat the mercy of shopkeepers when it came to buying a girl's dress. 

After much cogitation Matthew resolved to go to Samuel Lawson's storeinstead of William Blair's. To be sure, the Cuthberts always had gone toWilliam Blair's; it was almost as much a matter of conscience with themas to attend the Presbyterian church and vote Conservative. But WilliamBlair's two daughters frequently waited on customers there and Matthewheld them in absolute dread. He could contrive to deal with them when heknew exactly what he wanted and could point it out; but in such a matteras this, requiring explanation and consultation, Matthew felt that hemust be sure of a man behind the counter. So he would go to Lawson's, where Samuel or his son would wait on him. 

Alas! Matthew did not know that Samuel, in the recent expansion of hisbusiness, had set up a lady clerk also; she was a niece of his wife'sand a very dashing young person indeed, with a huge, drooping pompadour, big, rolling brown eyes, and a most extensive and bewildering smile. Shewas dressed with exceeding smartness and wore several bangle braceletsthat glittered and rattled and tinkled with every movement of her hands. Matthew was covered with confusion at finding her there at all; andthose bangles completely wrecked his wits at one fell swoop. 

"What can I do for you this evening, Mr. Cuthbert?" Miss Lucilla Harrisinquired, briskly and ingratiatingly, tapping the counter with bothhands. 

"Have you any--any--any--well now, say any garden rakes?" stammeredMatthew. 

Miss Harris looked somewhat surprised, as well she might, to hear a maninquiring for garden rakes in the middle of December. 

"I believe we have one or two left over, " she said, "but they'reupstairs in the lumber room. I'll go and see. " During her absenceMatthew collected his scattered senses for another effort. 

When Miss Harris returned with the rake and cheerfully inquired:"Anything else tonight, Mr. Cuthbert?" Matthew took his courage inboth hands and replied: "Well now, since you suggest it, I might aswell--take--that is--look at--buy some--some hayseed. "

Miss Harris had heard Matthew Cuthbert called odd. She now concludedthat he was entirely crazy. 

"We only keep hayseed in the spring, " she explained loftily. "We've noneon hand just now. "

"Oh, certainly--certainly--just as you say, " stammered unhappyMatthew, seizing the rake and making for the door. At the threshold herecollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back. While Miss Harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers fora final desperate attempt. 

"Well now--if it isn't too much trouble--I might as well--that is--I'dlike to look at--at--some sugar. "

"White or brown?" queried Miss Harris patiently. 

"Oh--well now--brown, " said Matthew feebly. 

"There's a barrel of it over there, " said Miss Harris, shaking herbangles at it. "It's the only kind we have. "

"I'll--I'll take twenty pounds of it, " said Matthew, with beads ofperspiration standing on his forehead. 

Matthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again. It hadbeen a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought, forcommitting the heresy of going to a strange store. When he reachedhome he hid the rake in the tool house, but the sugar he carried in toMarilla. 

"Brown sugar!" exclaimed Marilla. "Whatever possessed you to get somuch? You know I never use it except for the hired man's porridge orblack fruit cake. Jerry's gone and I've made my cake long ago. It's notgood sugar, either--it's coarse and dark--William Blair doesn't usuallykeep sugar like that. "

"I--I thought it might come in handy sometime, " said Matthew, makinggood his escape. 

When Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman wasrequired to cope with the situation. Marilla was out of the question. Matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once. Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would Matthewhave dared to ask advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly, and thatgood lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man's hands. 

"Pick out a dress for you to give Anne? To be sure I will. I'm going toCarmody tomorrow and I'll attend to it. Have you something particular inmind? No? Well, I'll just go by my own judgment then. I believe a nicerich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has some new gloriain that's real pretty. Perhaps you'd like me to make it up for her, too, seeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would probably get wind of itbefore the time and spoil the surprise? Well, I'll do it. No, it isn'ta mite of trouble. I like sewing. I'll make it to fit my niece, JennyGillis, for she and Anne are as like as two peas as far as figure goes. "

"Well now, I'm much obliged, " said Matthew, "and--and--I dunno--but I'dlike--I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what they usedto be. If it wouldn't be asking too much I--I'd like them made in thenew way. "

"Puffs? Of course. You needn't worry a speck more about it, Matthew. I'll make it up in the very latest fashion, " said Mrs. Lynde. To herselfshe added when Matthew had gone:

"It'll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing somethingdecent for once. The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous, that's what, and I've ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times. I'veheld my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn't want advice and shethinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for allshe's an old maid. But that's always the way. Folks that has brought upchildren know that there's no hard and fast method in the world that'llsuit every child. But them as never have think it's all as plain andeasy as Rule of Three--just set your three terms down so fashion, andthe sum'll work out correct. But flesh and blood don't come under thehead of arithmetic and that's where Marilla Cuthbert makes her mistake. I suppose she's trying to cultivate a spirit of humility in Anne bydressing her as she does; but it's more likely to cultivate envy anddiscontent. I'm sure the child must feel the difference between herclothes and the other girls'. But to think of Matthew taking notice ofit! That man is waking up after being asleep for over sixty years. "

Marilla knew all the following fortnight that Matthew had something onhis mind, but what it was she could not guess, until Christmas Eve, whenMrs. Lynde brought up the new dress. Marilla behaved pretty well on thewhole, although it is very likely she distrusted Mrs. Lynde's diplomaticexplanation that she had made the dress because Matthew was afraid Annewould find out about it too soon if Marilla made it. 

"So this is what Matthew has been looking so mysterious over andgrinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?" she said a littlestiffly but tolerantly. "I knew he was up to some foolishness. Well, Imust say I don't think Anne needed any more dresses. I made her threegood, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheerextravagance. There's enough material in those sleeves alone to make awaist, I declare there is. You'll just pamper Anne's vanity, Matthew, and she's as vain as a peacock now. Well, I hope she'll be satisfiedat last, for I know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves eversince they came in, although she never said a word after the first. Thepuffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right along; they'reas big as balloons now. Next year anybody who wears them will have to gothrough a door sideways. "

Christmas morning broke on a beautiful white world. It had been a verymild December and people had looked forward to a green Christmas; butjust enough snow fell softly in the night to transfigure Avonlea. Annepeeped out from her frosted gable window with delighted eyes. The firsin the Haunted Wood were all feathery and wonderful; the birchesand wild cherry trees were outlined in pearl; the plowed fields werestretches of snowy dimples; and there was a crisp tang in the air thatwas glorious. Anne ran downstairs singing until her voice reechoedthrough Green Gables. 

"Merry Christmas, Marilla! Merry Christmas, Matthew! Isn't it a lovelyChristmas? I'm so glad it's white. Any other kind of Christmas doesn'tseem real, does it? I don't like green Christmases. They're notgreen--they're just nasty faded browns and grays. What makes people callthem green? Why--why--Matthew, is that for me? Oh, Matthew!"

Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings andheld it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to becontemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the sceneout of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air. 

Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how prettyit was--a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirtwith dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in themost fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck. But the sleeves--they were the crowning glory! Long elbow cuffs, andabove them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows ofbrown-silk ribbon. 

"That's a Christmas present for you, Anne, " said Matthew shyly. "Why--why--Anne, don't you like it? Well now--well now. "

For Anne's eyes had suddenly filled with tears. 

"Like it! Oh, Matthew!" Anne laid the dress over a chair and claspedher hands. "Matthew, it's perfectly exquisite. Oh, I can never thank youenough. Look at those sleeves! Oh, it seems to me this must be a happydream. "

"Well, well, let us have breakfast, " interrupted Marilla. "I must say, Anne, I don't think you needed the dress; but since Matthew has got itfor you, see that you take good care of it. There's a hair ribbon Mrs. Lynde left for you. It's brown, to match the dress. Come now, sit in. "

"I don't see how I'm going to eat breakfast, " said Anne rapturously. "Breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment. I'd ratherfeast my eyes on that dress. I'm so glad that puffed sleeves are stillfashionable. It did seem to me that I'd never get over it if they wentout before I had a dress with them. I'd never have felt quite satisfied, you see. It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give me the ribbon too. I feelthat I ought to be a very good girl indeed. It's at times like this I'msorry I'm not a model little girl; and I always resolve that I willbe in future. But somehow it's hard to carry out your resolutions whenirresistible temptations come. Still, I really will make an extra effortafter this. "

When the commonplace breakfast was over Diana appeared, crossing thewhite log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimsonulster. Anne flew down the slope to meet her. 

"Merry Christmas, Diana! And oh, it's a wonderful Christmas. I'vesomething splendid to show you. Matthew has given me the loveliestdress, with SUCH sleeves. I couldn't even imagine any nicer. "

"I've got something more for you, " said Diana breathlessly. "Here--thisbox. Aunt Josephine sent us out a big box with ever so many things init--and this is for you. I'd have brought it over last night, but itdidn't come until after dark, and I never feel very comfortable comingthrough the Haunted Wood in the dark now. "

Anne opened the box and peeped in. First a card with "For the Anne-girland Merry Christmas, " written on it; and then, a pair of the daintiestlittle kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and glisteningbuckles. 

"Oh, " said Anne, "Diana, this is too much. I must be dreaming. "

"I call it providential, " said Diana. "You won't have to borrow Ruby'sslippers now, and that's a blessing, for they're two sizes too big foryou, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling. Josie Pye wouldbe delighted. Mind you, Rob Wright went home with Gertie Pye from thepractice night before last. Did you ever hear anything equal to that?"

All the Avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for thehall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held. 

The concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success. Thelittle hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, butAnne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, inthe shape of Josie Pye, dared not deny. 

"Oh, hasn't it been a brilliant evening?" sighed Anne, when it was allover and she and Diana were walking home together under a dark, starrysky. 

"Everything went off very well, " said Diana practically. "I guess wemust have made as much as ten dollars. Mind you, Mr. Allan is going tosend an account of it to the Charlottetown papers. "

"Oh, Diana, will we really see our names in print? It makes me thrill tothink of it. Your solo was perfectly elegant, Diana. I felt prouder thanyou did when it was encored. I just said to myself, 'It is my dear bosomfriend who is so honored. '"

"Well, your recitations just brought down the house, Anne. That sad onewas simply splendid. "

"Oh, I was so nervous, Diana. When Mr. Allan called out my name I reallycannot tell how I ever got up on that platform. I felt as if a millioneyes were looking at me and through me, and for one dreadful moment Iwas sure I couldn't begin at all. Then I thought of my lovely puffedsleeves and took courage. I knew that I must live up to those sleeves, Diana. So I started in, and my voice seemed to be coming from ever sofar away. I just felt like a parrot. It's providential that I practicedthose recitations so often up in the garret, or I'd never have been ableto get through. Did I groan all right?"

"Yes, indeed, you groaned lovely, " assured Diana. 

"I saw old Mrs. Sloane wiping away tears when I sat down. It wassplendid to think I had touched somebody's heart. It's so romanticto take part in a concert, isn't it? Oh, it's been a very memorableoccasion indeed. "

"Wasn't the boys' dialogue fine?" said Diana. "Gilbert Blythe was justsplendid. Anne, I do think it's awful mean the way you treat Gil. Waittill I tell you. When you ran off the platform after the fairy dialogueone of your roses fell out of your hair. I saw Gil pick it up and putit in his breast pocket. There now. You're so romantic that I'm sure youought to be pleased at that. "

"It's nothing to me what that person does, " said Anne loftily. "I simplynever waste a thought on him, Diana. "

That night Marilla and Matthew, who had been out to a concert for thefirst time in twenty years, sat for a while by the kitchen fire afterAnne had gone to bed. 

"Well now, I guess our Anne did as well as any of them, " said Matthewproudly. 

"Yes, she did, " admitted Marilla. "She's a bright child, Matthew. Andshe looked real nice too. I've been kind of opposed to this concertscheme, but I suppose there's no real harm in it after all. Anyhow, Iwas proud of Anne tonight, although I'm not going to tell her so. "

"Well now, I was proud of her and I did tell her so 'fore she wentupstairs, " said Matthew. "We must see what we can do for her some ofthese days, Marilla. I guess she'll need something more than Avonleaschool by and by. "

"There's time enough to think of that, " said Marilla. "She's onlythirteen in March. Though tonight it struck me she was growing quite abig girl. Mrs. Lynde made that dress a mite too long, and it makes Annelook so tall. She's quick to learn and I guess the best thing we can dofor her will be to send her to Queen's after a spell. But nothing needbe said about that for a year or two yet. "

"Well now, it'll do no harm to be thinking it over off and on, " saidMatthew. "Things like that are all the better for lots of thinkingover. "

CHAPTER XXVI. The Story Club Is Formed

Junior Avonlea found it hard to settle down to humdrum existenceagain. To Anne in particular things seemed fearfully flat, stale, andunprofitable after the goblet of excitement she had been sipping forweeks. Could she go back to the former quiet pleasures of those farawaydays before the concert? At first, as she told Diana, she did not reallythink she could. 

"I'm positively certain, Diana, that life can never be quite thesame again as it was in those olden days, " she said mournfully, as ifreferring to a period of at least fifty years back. "Perhaps after awhile I'll get used to it, but I'm afraid concerts spoil people foreveryday life. I suppose that is why Marilla disapproves of them. Marilla is such a sensible woman. It must be a great deal better to besensible; but still, I don't believe I'd really want to be a sensibleperson, because they are so unromantic. Mrs. Lynde says there is nodanger of my ever being one, but you can never tell. I feel just nowthat I may grow up to be sensible yet. But perhaps that is only becauseI'm tired. I simply couldn't sleep last night for ever so long. I justlay awake and imagined the concert over and over again. That's onesplendid thing about such affairs--it's so lovely to look back to them. "

Eventually, however, Avonlea school slipped back into its old grooveand took up its old interests. To be sure, the concert left traces. RubyGillis and Emma White, who had quarreled over a point of precedence intheir platform seats, no longer sat at the same desk, and a promisingfriendship of three years was broken up. Josie Pye and Julia Bell didnot "speak" for three months, because Josie Pye had told Bessie Wrightthat Julia Bell's bow when she got up to recite made her think of achicken jerking its head, and Bessie told Julia. None of the Sloaneswould have any dealings with the Bells, because the Bells had declaredthat the Sloanes had too much to do in the program, and the Sloanes hadretorted that the Bells were not capable of doing the little they had todo properly. Finally, Charlie Sloane fought Moody Spurgeon MacPherson, because Moody Spurgeon had said that Anne Shirley put on airs abouther recitations, and Moody Spurgeon was "licked"; consequently MoodySpurgeon's sister, Ella May, would not "speak" to Anne Shirley all therest of the winter. With the exception of these trifling frictions, workin Miss Stacy's little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness. 

The winter weeks slipped by. It was an unusually mild winter, with solittle snow that Anne and Diana could go to school nearly every day byway of the Birch Path. On Anne's birthday they were tripping lightlydown it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter, for MissStacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on "AWinter's Walk in the Woods, " and it behooved them to be observant. 

"Just think, Diana, I'm thirteen years old today, " remarked Anne in anawed voice. "I can scarcely realize that I'm in my teens. When I wokethis morning it seemed to me that everything must be different. You'vebeen thirteen for a month, so I suppose it doesn't seem such a noveltyto you as it does to me. It makes life seem so much more interesting. In two more years I'll be really grown up. It's a great comfort to thinkthat I'll be able to use big words then without being laughed at. "

"Ruby Gillis says she means to have a beau as soon as she's fifteen, "said Diana. 

"Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing but beaus, " said Anne disdainfully. "She's actually delighted when anyone writes her name up in atake-notice for all she pretends to be so mad. But I'm afraid that is anuncharitable speech. Mrs. Allan says we should never make uncharitablespeeches; but they do slip out so often before you think, don't they? Isimply can't talk about Josie Pye without making an uncharitable speech, so I never mention her at all. You may have noticed that. I'm trying tobe as much like Mrs. Allan as I possibly can, for I think she's perfect. Mr. Allan thinks so too. Mrs. Lynde says he just worships the ground shetreads on and she doesn't really think it right for a minister toset his affections so much on a mortal being. But then, Diana, evenministers are human and have their besetting sins just like everybodyelse. I had such an interesting talk with Mrs. Allan about besettingsins last Sunday afternoon. There are just a few things it's properto talk about on Sundays and that is one of them. My besetting sin isimagining too much and forgetting my duties. I'm striving very hardto overcome it and now that I'm really thirteen perhaps I'll get onbetter. "

"In four more years we'll be able to put our hair up, " said Diana. "Alice Bell is only sixteen and she is wearing hers up, but I thinkthat's ridiculous. I shall wait until I'm seventeen. "

"If I had Alice Bell's crooked nose, " said Anne decidedly, "Iwouldn't--but there! I won't say what I was going to because it wasextremely uncharitable. Besides, I was comparing it with my own nose andthat's vanity. I'm afraid I think too much about my nose ever since Iheard that compliment about it long ago. It really is a great comfort tome. Oh, Diana, look, there's a rabbit. That's something to remember forour woods composition. I really think the woods are just as lovely inwinter as in summer. They're so white and still, as if they were asleepand dreaming pretty dreams. "

"I won't mind writing that composition when its time comes, " sighedDiana. "I can manage to write about the woods, but the one we're tohand in Monday is terrible. The idea of Miss Stacy telling us to write astory out of our own heads!"

"Why, it's as easy as wink, " said Anne. 

"It's easy for you because you have an imagination, " retorted Diana, "but what would you do if you had been born without one? I suppose youhave your composition all done?"

Anne nodded, trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failingmiserably. 

"I wrote it last Monday evening. It's called 'The Jealous Rival; or InDeath Not Divided. ' I read it to Marilla and she said it was stuff andnonsense. Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine. That isthe kind of critic I like. It's a sad, sweet story. I just cried likea child while I was writing it. It's about two beautiful maidens calledCordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour who lived in the same villageand were devotedly attached to each other. Cordelia was a regal brunettewith a coronet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes. Geraldine wasa queenly blonde with hair like spun gold and velvety purple eyes. "

"I never saw anybody with purple eyes, " said Diana dubiously. 

"Neither did I. I just imagined them. I wanted something out of thecommon. Geraldine had an alabaster brow too. I've found out what analabaster brow is. That is one of the advantages of being thirteen. Youknow so much more than you did when you were only twelve. "

"Well, what became of Cordelia and Geraldine?" asked Diana, who wasbeginning to feel rather interested in their fate. 

"They grew in beauty side by side until they were sixteen. Then BertramDeVere came to their native village and fell in love with the fairGeraldine. He saved her life when her horse ran away with her in acarriage, and she fainted in his arms and he carried her home threemiles; because, you understand, the carriage was all smashed up. I foundit rather hard to imagine the proposal because I had no experience togo by. I asked Ruby Gillis if she knew anything about how men proposedbecause I thought she'd likely be an authority on the subject, having somany sisters married. Ruby told me she was hid in the hall pantry whenMalcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan. She said Malcolm told Susanthat his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said, 'Whatdo you say, darling pet, if we get hitched this fall?' And Susan said, 'Yes--no--I don't know--let me see'--and there they were, engaged asquick as that. But I didn't think that sort of a proposal was a veryromantic one, so in the end I had to imagine it out as well as I could. I made it very flowery and poetical and Bertram went on his knees, although Ruby Gillis says it isn't done nowadays. Geraldine acceptedhim in a speech a page long. I can tell you I took a lot of troublewith that speech. I rewrote it five times and I look upon it as mymasterpiece. Bertram gave her a diamond ring and a ruby necklaceand told her they would go to Europe for a wedding tour, for he wasimmensely wealthy. But then, alas, shadows began to darken over theirpath. Cordelia was secretly in love with Bertram herself and whenGeraldine told her about the engagement she was simply furious, especially when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring. All heraffection for Geraldine turned to bitter hate and she vowed that sheshould never marry Bertram. But she pretended to be Geraldine's friendthe same as ever. One evening they were standing on the bridge over arushing turbulent stream and Cordelia, thinking they were alone, pushedGeraldine over the brink with a wild, mocking, 'Ha, ha, ha. ' But Bertramsaw it all and he at once plunged into the current, exclaiming, 'Iwill save thee, my peerless Geraldine. ' But alas, he had forgotten hecouldn't swim, and they were both drowned, clasped in each other's arms. Their bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards. They were buried in theone grave and their funeral was most imposing, Diana. It's so muchmore romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding. As forCordelia, she went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunaticasylum. I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime. "

"How perfectly lovely!" sighed Diana, who belonged to Matthew's schoolof critics. "I don't see how you can make up such thrilling things outof your own head, Anne. I wish my imagination was as good as yours. "

"It would be if you'd only cultivate it, " said Anne cheeringly. "I'vejust thought of a plan, Diana. Let you and me have a story club all ourown and write stories for practice. I'll help you along until you cando them by yourself. You ought to cultivate your imagination, you know. Miss Stacy says so. Only we must take the right way. I told her aboutthe Haunted Wood, but she said we went the wrong way about it in that. "

This was how the story club came into existence. It was limited to Dianaand Anne at first, but soon it was extended to include Jane Andrewsand Ruby Gillis and one or two others who felt that their imaginationsneeded cultivating. No boys were allowed in it--although Ruby Gillisopined that their admission would make it more exciting--and each memberhad to produce one story a week. 

"It's extremely interesting, " Anne told Marilla. "Each girl has to readher story out loud and then we talk it over. We are going to keep themall sacredly and have them to read to our descendants. We each writeunder a nom-de-plume. Mine is Rosamond Montmorency. All the girlsdo pretty well. Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental. She puts too muchlovemaking into her stories and you know too much is worse than toolittle. Jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so sillywhen she had to read it out loud. Jane's stories are extremely sensible. Then Diana puts too many murders into hers. She says most of the timeshe doesn't know what to do with the people so she kills them off to getrid of them. I mostly always have to tell them what to write about, butthat isn't hard for I've millions of ideas. "

"I think this story-writing business is the foolishest yet, " scoffedMarilla. "You'll get a pack of nonsense into your heads and waste timethat should be put on your lessons. Reading stories is bad enough butwriting them is worse. "

"But we're so careful to put a moral into them all, Marilla, " explainedAnne. "I insist upon that. All the good people are rewarded and allthe bad ones are suitably punished. I'm sure that must have a wholesomeeffect. The moral is the great thing. Mr. Allan says so. I read one ofmy stories to him and Mrs. Allan and they both agreed that the moral wasexcellent. Only they laughed in the wrong places. I like it better whenpeople cry. Jane and Ruby almost always cry when I come to the patheticparts. Diana wrote her Aunt Josephine about our club and her AuntJosephine wrote back that we were to send her some of our stories. Sowe copied out four of our very best and sent them. Miss Josephine Barrywrote back that she had never read anything so amusing in her life. Thatkind of puzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic and almosteverybody died. But I'm glad Miss Barry liked them. It shows our clubis doing some good in the world. Mrs. Allan says that ought to be ourobject in everything. I do really try to make it my object but I forgetso often when I'm having fun. I hope I shall be a little like Mrs. Allanwhen I grow up. Do you think there is any prospect of it, Marilla?"

"I shouldn't say there was a great deal" was Marilla's encouraginganswer. "I'm sure Mrs. Allan was never such a silly, forgetful littlegirl as you are. "

"No; but she wasn't always so good as she is now either, " said Anneseriously. "She told me so herself--that is, she said she was a dreadfulmischief when she was a girl and was always getting into scrapes. I feltso encouraged when I heard that. Is it very wicked of me, Marilla, to feel encouraged when I hear that other people have been bad andmischievous? Mrs. Lynde says it is. Mrs. Lynde says she always feelsshocked when she hears of anyone ever having been naughty, no matter howsmall they were. Mrs. Lynde says she once heard a minister confess thatwhen he was a boy he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt's pantryand she never had any respect for that minister again. Now, I wouldn'thave felt that way. I'd have thought that it was real noble of him toconfess it, and I'd have thought what an encouraging thing it would befor small boys nowadays who do naughty things and are sorry for themto know that perhaps they may grow up to be ministers in spite of it. That's how I'd feel, Marilla. "

"The way I feel at present, Anne, " said Marilla, "is that it's high timeyou had those dishes washed. You've taken half an hour longer thanyou should with all your chattering. Learn to work first and talkafterwards. "

CHAPTER XXVII. Vanity and Vexation of Spirit

Marilla, walking home one late April evening from an Aid meeting, realized that the winter was over and gone with the thrill of delightthat spring never fails to bring to the oldest and saddest as well as tothe youngest and merriest. Marilla was not given to subjective analysisof her thoughts and feelings. She probably imagined that she wasthinking about the Aids and their missionary box and the new carpetfor the vestry room, but under these reflections was a harmoniousconsciousness of red fields smoking into pale-purply mists in thedeclining sun, of long, sharp-pointed fir shadows falling over themeadow beyond the brook, of still, crimson-budded maples around amirrorlike wood pool, of a wakening in the world and a stir of hiddenpulses under the gray sod. The spring was abroad in the land andMarilla's sober, middle-aged step was lighter and swifter because of itsdeep, primal gladness. 

Her eyes dwelt affectionately on Green Gables, peering through itsnetwork of trees and reflecting the sunlight back from its windows inseveral little coruscations of glory. Marilla, as she picked her stepsalong the damp lane, thought that it was really a satisfaction to knowthat she was going home to a briskly snapping wood fire and a tablenicely spread for tea, instead of to the cold comfort of old Aid meetingevenings before Anne had come to Green Gables. 

Consequently, when Marilla entered her kitchen and found the fire blackout, with no sign of Anne anywhere, she felt justly disappointed andirritated. She had told Anne to be sure and have tea ready at fiveo'clock, but now she must hurry to take off her second-best dress andprepare the meal herself against Matthew's return from plowing. 

"I'll settle Miss Anne when she comes home, " said Marilla grimly, asshe shaved up kindlings with a carving knife and with more vim than wasstrictly necessary. Matthew had come in and was waiting patiently forhis tea in his corner. "She's gadding off somewhere with Diana, writingstories or practicing dialogues or some such tomfoolery, and neverthinking once about the time or her duties. She's just got to be pulledup short and sudden on this sort of thing. I don't care if Mrs. Allandoes say she's the brightest and sweetest child she ever knew. She maybe bright and sweet enough, but her head is full of nonsense and there'snever any knowing what shape it'll break out in next. Just as soon asshe grows out of one freak she takes up with another. But there! Here Iam saying the very thing I was so riled with Rachel Lynde for saying atthe Aid today. I was real glad when Mrs. Allan spoke up for Anne, forif she hadn't I know I'd have said something too sharp to Rachel beforeeverybody. Anne's got plenty of faults, goodness knows, and far be itfrom me to deny it. But I'm bringing her up and not Rachel Lynde, who'dpick faults in the Angel Gabriel himself if he lived in Avonlea. Justthe same, Anne has no business to leave the house like this when I toldher she was to stay home this afternoon and look after things. I mustsay, with all her faults, I never found her disobedient or untrustworthybefore and I'm real sorry to find her so now. "

"Well now, I dunno, " said Matthew, who, being patient and wise and, above all, hungry, had deemed it best to let Marilla talk her wrathout unhindered, having learned by experience that she got throughwith whatever work was on hand much quicker if not delayed by untimelyargument. "Perhaps you're judging her too hasty, Marilla. Don't call heruntrustworthy until you're sure she has disobeyed you. Mebbe it can allbe explained--Anne's a great hand at explaining. "

"She's not here when I told her to stay, " retorted Marilla. "I reckonshe'll find it hard to explain THAT to my satisfaction. Of course I knewyou'd take her part, Matthew. But I'm bringing her up, not you. "

It was dark when supper was ready, and still no sign of Anne, cominghurriedly over the log bridge or up Lover's Lane, breathless andrepentant with a sense of neglected duties. Marilla washed and put awaythe dishes grimly. Then, wanting a candle to light her way down thecellar, she went up to the east gable for the one that generally stoodon Anne's table. Lighting it, she turned around to see Anne herselflying on the bed, face downward among the pillows. 

"Mercy on us, " said astonished Marilla, "have you been asleep, Anne?"

"No, " was the muffled reply. 

"Are you sick then?" demanded Marilla anxiously, going over to the bed. 

Anne cowered deeper into her pillows as if desirous of hiding herselfforever from mortal eyes. 

"No. But please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me. I'm in thedepths of despair and I don't care who gets head in class or writes thebest composition or sings in the Sunday-school choir any more. Littlethings like that are of no importance now because I don't suppose I'llever be able to go anywhere again. My career is closed. Please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me. "

"Did anyone ever hear the like?" the mystified Marilla wanted to know. "Anne Shirley, whatever is the matter with you? What have you done? Getright up this minute and tell me. This minute, I say. There now, what isit?"

Anne had slid to the floor in despairing obedience. 

"Look at my hair, Marilla, " she whispered. 

Accordingly, Marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizingly atAnne's hair, flowing in heavy masses down her back. It certainly had avery strange appearance. 

"Anne Shirley, what have you done to your hair? Why, it's GREEN!"

Green it might be called, if it were any earthly color--a queer, dull, bronzy green, with streaks here and there of the original redto heighten the ghastly effect. Never in all her life had Marilla seenanything so grotesque as Anne's hair at that moment. 

"Yes, it's green, " moaned Anne. "I thought nothing could be as bad asred hair. But now I know it's ten times worse to have green hair. Oh, Marilla, you little know how utterly wretched I am. "

"I little know how you got into this fix, but I mean to find out, " saidMarilla. "Come right down to the kitchen--it's too cold up here--andtell me just what you've done. I've been expecting something queer forsome time. You haven't got into any scrape for over two months, and Iwas sure another one was due. Now, then, what did you do to your hair?"

"I dyed it. "

"Dyed it! Dyed your hair! Anne Shirley, didn't you know it was a wickedthing to do?"

"Yes, I knew it was a little wicked, " admitted Anne. "But I thought itwas worth while to be a little wicked to get rid of red hair. I countedthe cost, Marilla. Besides, I meant to be extra good in other ways tomake up for it. "

"Well, " said Marilla sarcastically, "if I'd decided it was worth whileto dye my hair I'd have dyed it a decent color at least. I wouldn't havedyed it green. "

"But I didn't mean to dye it green, Marilla, " protested Anne dejectedly. "If I was wicked I meant to be wicked to some purpose. He said it wouldturn my hair a beautiful raven black--he positively assured me that itwould. How could I doubt his word, Marilla? I know what it feels liketo have your word doubted. And Mrs. Allan says we should never suspectanyone of not telling us the truth unless we have proof that they'renot. I have proof now--green hair is proof enough for anybody. But Ihadn't then and I believed every word he said IMPLICITLY. "

"Who said? Who are you talking about?"

"The peddler that was here this afternoon. I bought the dye from him. "

"Anne Shirley, how often have I told you never to let one of thoseItalians in the house! I don't believe in encouraging them to comearound at all. "

"Oh, I didn't let him in the house. I remembered what you told me, and Iwent out, carefully shut the door, and looked at his things on the step. Besides, he wasn't an Italian--he was a German Jew. He had a big boxfull of very interesting things and he told me he was working hard tomake enough money to bring his wife and children out from Germany. Hespoke so feelingly about them that it touched my heart. I wanted to buysomething from him to help him in such a worthy object. Then all at onceI saw the bottle of hair dye. The peddler said it was warranted to dyeany hair a beautiful raven black and wouldn't wash off. In a trice Isaw myself with beautiful raven-black hair and the temptation wasirresistible. But the price of the bottle was seventy-five cents and Ihad only fifty cents left out of my chicken money. I think the peddlerhad a very kind heart, for he said that, seeing it was me, he'd sell itfor fifty cents and that was just giving it away. So I bought it, and assoon as he had gone I came up here and applied it with an old hairbrushas the directions said. I used up the whole bottle, and oh, Marilla, when I saw the dreadful color it turned my hair I repented of beingwicked, I can tell you. And I've been repenting ever since. "

"Well, I hope you'll repent to good purpose, " said Marilla severely, "and that you've got your eyes opened to where your vanity has led you, Anne. Goodness knows what's to be done. I suppose the first thing is togive your hair a good washing and see if that will do any good. "

Accordingly, Anne washed her hair, scrubbing it vigorously with soap andwater, but for all the difference it made she might as well have beenscouring its original red. The peddler had certainly spoken the truthwhen he declared that the dye wouldn't wash off, however his veracitymight be impeached in other respects. 

"Oh, Marilla, what shall I do?" questioned Anne in tears. "I can neverlive this down. People have pretty well forgotten my other mistakes--theliniment cake and setting Diana drunk and flying into a temper withMrs. Lynde. But they'll never forget this. They will think I am notrespectable. Oh, Marilla, 'what a tangled web we weave when first wepractice to deceive. ' That is poetry, but it is true. And oh, how JosiePye will laugh! Marilla, I CANNOT face Josie Pye. I am the unhappiestgirl in Prince Edward Island. "

Anne's unhappiness continued for a week. During that time she wentnowhere and shampooed her hair every day. Diana alone of outsiders knewthe fatal secret, but she promised solemnly never to tell, and it maybe stated here and now that she kept her word. At the end of the weekMarilla said decidedly:

"It's no use, Anne. That is fast dye if ever there was any. Your hairmust be cut off; there is no other way. You can't go out with it lookinglike that. "

Anne's lips quivered, but she realized the bitter truth of Marilla'sremarks. With a dismal sigh she went for the scissors. 

"Please cut it off at once, Marilla, and have it over. Oh, I feel thatmy heart is broken. This is such an unromantic affliction. The girls inbooks lose their hair in fevers or sell it to get money for some gooddeed, and I'm sure I wouldn't mind losing my hair in some such fashionhalf so much. But there is nothing comforting in having your hair cutoff because you've dyed it a dreadful color, is there? I'm going to weepall the time you're cutting it off, if it won't interfere. It seems sucha tragic thing. "

Anne wept then, but later on, when she went upstairs and looked in theglass, she was calm with despair. Marilla had done her work thoroughlyand it had been necessary to shingle the hair as closely as possible. The result was not becoming, to state the case as mildly as may be. Annepromptly turned her glass to the wall. 

"I'll never, never look at myself again until my hair grows, " sheexclaimed passionately. 

Then she suddenly righted the glass. 

"Yes, I will, too. I'd do penance for being wicked that way. I'll lookat myself every time I come to my room and see how ugly I am. And Iwon't try to imagine it away, either. I never thought I was vain aboutmy hair, of all things, but now I know I was, in spite of its beingred, because it was so long and thick and curly. I expect something willhappen to my nose next. "

Anne's clipped head made a sensation in school on the following Monday, but to her relief nobody guessed the real reason for it, not even JosiePye, who, however, did not fail to inform Anne that she looked like aperfect scarecrow. 

"I didn't say anything when Josie said that to me, " Anne confidedthat evening to Marilla, who was lying on the sofa after one of herheadaches, "because I thought it was part of my punishment and I oughtto bear it patiently. It's hard to be told you look like a scarecrowand I wanted to say something back. But I didn't. I just swept her onescornful look and then I forgave her. It makes you feel very virtuouswhen you forgive people, doesn't it? I mean to devote all my energiesto being good after this and I shall never try to be beautiful again. Ofcourse it's better to be good. I know it is, but it's sometimes so hardto believe a thing even when you know it. I do really want to be good, Marilla, like you and Mrs. Allan and Miss Stacy, and grow up to be acredit to you. Diana says when my hair begins to grow to tie a blackvelvet ribbon around my head with a bow at one side. She says shethinks it will be very becoming. I will call it a snood--that sounds soromantic. But am I talking too much, Marilla? Does it hurt your head?"

"My head is better now. It was terrible bad this afternoon, though. These headaches of mine are getting worse and worse. I'll have to seea doctor about them. As for your chatter, I don't know that I mindit--I've got so used to it. "

Which was Marilla's way of saying that she liked to hear it. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. An Unfortunate Lily Maid

"OF course you must be Elaine, Anne, " said Diana. "I could never havethe courage to float down there. "

"Nor I, " said Ruby Gillis, with a shiver. "I don't mind floating downwhen there's two or three of us in the flat and we can sit up. It's funthen. But to lie down and pretend I was dead--I just couldn't. I'd diereally of fright. "

"Of course it would be romantic, " conceded Jane Andrews, "but I know Icouldn't keep still. I'd be popping up every minute or so to see where Iwas and if I wasn't drifting too far out. And you know, Anne, that wouldspoil the effect. "

"But it's so ridiculous to have a redheaded Elaine, " mourned Anne. "I'mnot afraid to float down and I'd love to be Elaine. But it's ridiculousjust the same. Ruby ought to be Elaine because she is so fair and hassuch lovely long golden hair--Elaine had 'all her bright hair streamingdown, ' you know. And Elaine was the lily maid. Now, a red-haired personcannot be a lily maid. "

"Your complexion is just as fair as Ruby's, " said Diana earnestly, "andyour hair is ever so much darker than it used to be before you cut it. "

"Oh, do you really think so?" exclaimed Anne, flushing sensitively withdelight. "I've sometimes thought it was myself--but I never dared to askanyone for fear she would tell me it wasn't. Do you think it could becalled auburn now, Diana?"

"Yes, and I think it is real pretty, " said Diana, looking admiringly atthe short, silky curls that clustered over Anne's head and were held inplace by a very jaunty black velvet ribbon and bow. 

They were standing on the bank of the pond, below Orchard Slope, wherea little headland fringed with birches ran out from the bank; at its tipwas a small wooden platform built out into the water for the convenienceof fishermen and duck hunters. Ruby and Jane were spending the midsummerafternoon with Diana, and Anne had come over to play with them. 

Anne and Diana had spent most of their playtime that summer on and aboutthe pond. Idlewild was a thing of the past, Mr. Bell having ruthlesslycut down the little circle of trees in his back pasture in the spring. Anne had sat among the stumps and wept, not without an eye to theromance of it; but she was speedily consoled, for, after all, as she andDiana said, big girls of thirteen, going on fourteen, were too old forsuch childish amusements as playhouses, and there were more fascinatingsports to be found about the pond. It was splendid to fish for troutover the bridge and the two girls learned to row themselves about in thelittle flat-bottomed dory Mr. Barry kept for duck shooting. 

It was Anne's idea that they dramatize Elaine. They had studiedTennyson's poem in school the preceding winter, the Superintendent ofEducation having prescribed it in the English course for the PrinceEdward Island schools. They had analyzed and parsed it and torn it topieces in general until it was a wonder there was any meaning at allleft in it for them, but at least the fair lily maid and Lancelot andGuinevere and King Arthur had become very real people to them, and Annewas devoured by secret regret that she had not been born in Camelot. Those days, she said, were so much more romantic than the present. 

Anne's plan was hailed with enthusiasm. The girls had discovered that ifthe flat were pushed off from the landing place it would drift downwith the current under the bridge and finally strand itself on anotherheadland lower down which ran out at a curve in the pond. They had oftengone down like this and nothing could be more convenient for playingElaine. 

"Well, I'll be Elaine, " said Anne, yielding reluctantly, for, althoughshe would have been delighted to play the principal character, yether artistic sense demanded fitness for it and this, she felt, herlimitations made impossible. "Ruby, you must be King Arthur and Janewill be Guinevere and Diana must be Lancelot. But first you must be thebrothers and the father. We can't have the old dumb servitor becausethere isn't room for two in the flat when one is lying down. We mustpall the barge all its length in blackest samite. That old black shawlof your mother's will be just the thing, Diana. "

The black shawl having been procured, Anne spread it over the flat andthen lay down on the bottom, with closed eyes and hands folded over herbreast. 

"Oh, she does look really dead, " whispered Ruby Gillis nervously, watching the still, white little face under the flickering shadows ofthe birches. "It makes me feel frightened, girls. Do you suppose it'sreally right to act like this? Mrs. Lynde says that all play-acting isabominably wicked. "

"Ruby, you shouldn't talk about Mrs. Lynde, " said Anne severely. "Itspoils the effect because this is hundreds of years before Mrs. Lyndewas born. Jane, you arrange this. It's silly for Elaine to be talkingwhen she's dead. "

Jane rose to the occasion. Cloth of gold for coverlet there was none, but an old piano scarf of yellow Japanese crepe was an excellentsubstitute. A white lily was not obtainable just then, but the effect ofa tall blue iris placed in one of Anne's folded hands was all that couldbe desired. 

"Now, she's all ready, " said Jane. "We must kiss her quiet browsand, Diana, you say, 'Sister, farewell forever, ' and Ruby, you say, 'Farewell, sweet sister, ' both of you as sorrowfully as you possiblycan. Anne, for goodness sake smile a little. You know Elaine 'lay asthough she smiled. ' That's better. Now push the flat off. "

The flat was accordingly pushed off, scraping roughly over an oldembedded stake in the process. Diana and Jane and Ruby only waited longenough to see it caught in the current and headed for the bridge beforescampering up through the woods, across the road, and down to the lowerheadland where, as Lancelot and Guinevere and the King, they were to bein readiness to receive the lily maid. 

For a few minutes Anne, drifting slowly down, enjoyed the romance of hersituation to the full. Then something happened not at all romantic. Theflat began to leak. In a very few moments it was necessary for Elaineto scramble to her feet, pick up her cloth of gold coverlet and pallof blackest samite and gaze blankly at a big crack in the bottom of herbarge through which the water was literally pouring. That sharp stake atthe landing had torn off the strip of batting nailed on the flat. Annedid not know this, but it did not take her long to realize that she wasin a dangerous plight. At this rate the flat would fill and sink longbefore it could drift to the lower headland. Where were the oars? Leftbehind at the landing!

Anne gave one gasping little scream which nobody ever heard; she waswhite to the lips, but she did not lose her self-possession. There wasone chance--just one. 

"I was horribly frightened, " she told Mrs. Allan the next day, "and itseemed like years while the flat was drifting down to the bridge and thewater rising in it every moment. I prayed, Mrs. Allan, most earnestly, but I didn't shut my eyes to pray, for I knew the only way God couldsave me was to let the flat float close enough to one of the bridgepiles for me to climb up on it. You know the piles are just old treetrunks and there are lots of knots and old branch stubs on them. It wasproper to pray, but I had to do my part by watching out and right wellI knew it. I just said, 'Dear God, please take the flat close to a pileand I'll do the rest, ' over and over again. Under such circumstances youdon't think much about making a flowery prayer. But mine was answered, for the flat bumped right into a pile for a minute and I flung the scarfand the shawl over my shoulder and scrambled up on a big providentialstub. And there I was, Mrs. Allan, clinging to that slippery old pilewith no way of getting up or down. It was a very unromantic position, but I didn't think about that at the time. You don't think much aboutromance when you have just escaped from a watery grave. I said agrateful prayer at once and then I gave all my attention to holding ontight, for I knew I should probably have to depend on human aid to getback to dry land. "

The flat drifted under the bridge and then promptly sank in midstream. Ruby, Jane, and Diana, already awaiting it on the lower headland, saw itdisappear before their very eyes and had not a doubt but that Annehad gone down with it. For a moment they stood still, white as sheets, frozen with horror at the tragedy; then, shrieking at the tops oftheir voices, they started on a frantic run up through the woods, neverpausing as they crossed the main road to glance the way of the bridge. Anne, clinging desperately to her precarious foothold, saw their flyingforms and heard their shrieks. Help would soon come, but meanwhile herposition was a very uncomfortable one. 

The minutes passed by, each seeming an hour to the unfortunate lilymaid. Why didn't somebody come? Where had the girls gone? Suppose theyhad fainted, one and all! Suppose nobody ever came! Suppose she grew sotired and cramped that she could hold on no longer! Anne looked at thewicked green depths below her, wavering with long, oily shadows, andshivered. Her imagination began to suggest all manner of gruesomepossibilities to her. 

Then, just as she thought she really could not endure the ache in herarms and wrists another moment, Gilbert Blythe came rowing under thebridge in Harmon Andrews's dory!

Gilbert glanced up and, much to his amazement, beheld a little whitescornful face looking down upon him with big, frightened but alsoscornful gray eyes. 

"Anne Shirley! How on earth did you get there?" he exclaimed. 

Without waiting for an answer he pulled close to the pile and extendedhis hand. There was no help for it; Anne, clinging to Gilbert Blythe'shand, scrambled down into the dory, where she sat, drabbled and furious, in the stern with her arms full of dripping shawl and wet crepe. It wascertainly extremely difficult to be dignified under the circumstances!

"What has happened, Anne?" asked Gilbert, taking up his oars. "We wereplaying Elaine" explained Anne frigidly, without even looking at herrescuer, "and I had to drift down to Camelot in the barge--I mean theflat. The flat began to leak and I climbed out on the pile. The girlswent for help. Will you be kind enough to row me to the landing?"

Gilbert obligingly rowed to the landing and Anne, disdaining assistance, sprang nimbly on shore. 

"I'm very much obliged to you, " she said haughtily as she turned away. But Gilbert had also sprung from the boat and now laid a detaining handon her arm. 

"Anne, " he said hurriedly, "look here. Can't we be good friends? I'mawfully sorry I made fun of your hair that time. I didn't mean to vexyou and I only meant it for a joke. Besides, it's so long ago. I thinkyour hair is awfully pretty now--honest I do. Let's be friends. "

For a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakenedconsciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy, half-eager expression in Gilbert's hazel eyes was something that wasvery good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. But thebitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her waveringdetermination. That scene of two years before flashed back into herrecollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert hadcalled her "carrots" and had brought about her disgrace before the wholeschool. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be aslaughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by timeseemingly. She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him!

"No, " she said coldly, "I shall never be friends with you, GilbertBlythe; and I don't want to be!"

"All right!" Gilbert sprang into his skiff with an angry color in hischeeks. "I'll never ask you to be friends again, Anne Shirley. And Idon't care either!"

He pulled away with swift defiant strokes, and Anne went up the steep, ferny little path under the maples. She held her head very high, butshe was conscious of an odd feeling of regret. She almost wished she hadanswered Gilbert differently. Of course, he had insulted her terribly, but still--! Altogether, Anne rather thought it would be a relief tosit down and have a good cry. She was really quite unstrung, for thereaction from her fright and cramped clinging was making itself felt. 

Halfway up the path she met Jane and Diana rushing back to the pond ina state narrowly removed from positive frenzy. They had found nobody atOrchard Slope, both Mr. And Mrs. Barry being away. Here Ruby Gillis hadsuccumbed to hysterics, and was left to recover from them as best shemight, while Jane and Diana flew through the Haunted Wood and across thebrook to Green Gables. There they had found nobody either, for Marillahad gone to Carmody and Matthew was making hay in the back field. 

"Oh, Anne, " gasped Diana, fairly falling on the former's neckand weeping with relief and delight, "oh, Anne--we thought--youwere--drowned--and we felt like murderers--because we had made--yoube--Elaine. And Ruby is in hysterics--oh, Anne, how did you escape?"

"I climbed up on one of the piles, " explained Anne wearily, "and GilbertBlythe came along in Mr. Andrews's dory and brought me to land. "

"Oh, Anne, how splendid of him! Why, it's so romantic!" said Jane, finding breath enough for utterance at last. "Of course you'll speak tohim after this. "

"Of course I won't, " flashed Anne, with a momentary return of her oldspirit. "And I don't want ever to hear the word 'romantic' again, JaneAndrews. I'm awfully sorry you were so frightened, girls. It is all myfault. I feel sure I was born under an unlucky star. Everything I dogets me or my dearest friends into a scrape. We've gone and lost yourfather's flat, Diana, and I have a presentiment that we'll not beallowed to row on the pond any more. "

Anne's presentiment proved more trustworthy than presentiments are aptto do. Great was the consternation in the Barry and Cuthbert householdswhen the events of the afternoon became known. 

"Will you ever have any sense, Anne?" groaned Marilla. 

"Oh, yes, I think I will, Marilla, " returned Anne optimistically. A goodcry, indulged in the grateful solitude of the east gable, had soothedher nerves and restored her to her wonted cheerfulness. "I think myprospects of becoming sensible are brighter now than ever. "

"I don't see how, " said Marilla. 

"Well, " explained Anne, "I've learned a new and valuable lesson today. Ever since I came to Green Gables I've been making mistakes, and eachmistake has helped to cure me of some great shortcoming. The affair ofthe amethyst brooch cured me of meddling with things that didn't belongto me. The Haunted Wood mistake cured me of letting my imagination runaway with me. The liniment cake mistake cured me of carelessness incooking. Dyeing my hair cured me of vanity. I never think about my hairand nose now--at least, very seldom. And today's mistake is going tocure me of being too romantic. I have come to the conclusion that it isno use trying to be romantic in Avonlea. It was probably easy enough intowered Camelot hundreds of years ago, but romance is not appreciatednow. I feel quite sure that you will soon see a great improvement in mein this respect, Marilla. "

"I'm sure I hope so, " said Marilla skeptically. 

But Matthew, who had been sitting mutely in his corner, laid a hand onAnne's shoulder when Marilla had gone out. 

"Don't give up all your romance, Anne, " he whispered shyly, "a littleof it is a good thing--not too much, of course--but keep a little of it, Anne, keep a little of it. "

CHAPTER XXIX. An Epoch in Anne's Life

Anne was bringing the cows home from the back pasture by way of Lover'sLane. It was a September evening and all the gaps and clearings in thewoods were brimmed up with ruby sunset light. Here and there the lanewas splashed with it, but for the most part it was already quite shadowybeneath the maples, and the spaces under the firs were filled with aclear violet dusk like airy wine. The winds were out in their tops, andthere is no sweeter music on earth than that which the wind makes in thefir trees at evening. 

The cows swung placidly down the lane, and Anne followed them dreamily, repeating aloud the battle canto from MARMION--which had also been partof their English course the preceding winter and which Miss Stacy hadmade them learn off by heart--and exulting in its rushing lines and theclash of spears in its imagery. When she came to the lines

 The stubborn spearsmen still made good Their dark impenetrable wood, she stopped in ecstasy to shut her eyes that she might the better fancyherself one of that heroic ring. When she opened them again it was tobehold Diana coming through the gate that led into the Barry field andlooking so important that Anne instantly divined there was news to betold. But betray too eager curiosity she would not. 

"Isn't this evening just like a purple dream, Diana? It makes me so gladto be alive. In the mornings I always think the mornings are best; butwhen evening comes I think it's lovelier still. "

"It's a very fine evening, " said Diana, "but oh, I have such news, Anne. Guess. You can have three guesses. "

"Charlotte Gillis is going to be married in the church after all andMrs. Allan wants us to decorate it, " cried Anne. 

"No. Charlotte's beau won't agree to that, because nobody ever has beenmarried in the church yet, and he thinks it would seem too much like afuneral. It's too mean, because it would be such fun. Guess again. "

"Jane's mother is going to let her have a birthday party?"

Diana shook her head, her black eyes dancing with merriment. 

"I can't think what it can be, " said Anne in despair, "unless it's thatMoody Spurgeon MacPherson saw you home from prayer meeting last night. Did he?"

"I should think not, " exclaimed Diana indignantly. "I wouldn't be likelyto boast of it if he did, the horrid creature! I knew you couldn't guessit. Mother had a letter from Aunt Josephine today, and Aunt Josephinewants you and me to go to town next Tuesday and stop with her for theExhibition. There!"

"Oh, Diana, " whispered Anne, finding it necessary to lean up against amaple tree for support, "do you really mean it? But I'm afraid Marillawon't let me go. She will say that she can't encourage gadding about. That was what she said last week when Jane invited me to go with themin their double-seated buggy to the American concert at the White SandsHotel. I wanted to go, but Marilla said I'd be better at home learningmy lessons and so would Jane. I was bitterly disappointed, Diana. I feltso heartbroken that I wouldn't say my prayers when I went to bed. But Irepented of that and got up in the middle of the night and said them. "

"I'll tell you, " said Diana, "we'll get Mother to ask Marilla. She'll bemore likely to let you go then; and if she does we'll have the timeof our lives, Anne. I've never been to an Exhibition, and it's soaggravating to hear the other girls talking about their trips. Jane andRuby have been twice, and they're going this year again. "

"I'm not going to think about it at all until I know whether I can goor not, " said Anne resolutely. "If I did and then was disappointed, itwould be more than I could bear. But in case I do go I'm very glad mynew coat will be ready by that time. Marilla didn't think I needed a newcoat. She said my old one would do very well for another winter andthat I ought to be satisfied with having a new dress. The dress is verypretty, Diana--navy blue and made so fashionably. Marilla always makesmy dresses fashionably now, because she says she doesn't intend to haveMatthew going to Mrs. Lynde to make them. I'm so glad. It is ever somuch easier to be good if your clothes are fashionable. At least, it iseasier for me. I suppose it doesn't make such a difference to naturallygood people. But Matthew said I must have a new coat, so Marillabought a lovely piece of blue broadcloth, and it's being made by a realdressmaker over at Carmody. It's to be done Saturday night, and I'mtrying not to imagine myself walking up the church aisle on Sunday inmy new suit and cap, because I'm afraid it isn't right to imagine suchthings. But it just slips into my mind in spite of me. My cap is sopretty. Matthew bought it for me the day we were over at Carmody. It isone of those little blue velvet ones that are all the rage, with goldcord and tassels. Your new hat is elegant, Diana, and so becoming. WhenI saw you come into church last Sunday my heart swelled with pride tothink you were my dearest friend. Do you suppose it's wrong for us tothink so much about our clothes? Marilla says it is very sinful. But itis such an interesting subject, isn't it?"

Marilla agreed to let Anne go to town, and it was arranged thatMr. Barry should take the girls in on the following Tuesday. AsCharlottetown was thirty miles away and Mr. Barry wished to go andreturn the same day, it was necessary to make a very early start. ButAnne counted it all joy, and was up before sunrise on Tuesday morning. A glance from her window assured her that the day would be fine, forthe eastern sky behind the firs of the Haunted Wood was all silveryand cloudless. Through the gap in the trees a light was shining in thewestern gable of Orchard Slope, a token that Diana was also up. 

Anne was dressed by the time Matthew had the fire on and had thebreakfast ready when Marilla came down, but for her own part was muchtoo excited to eat. After breakfast the jaunty new cap and jacket weredonned, and Anne hastened over the brook and up through the firs toOrchard Slope. Mr. Barry and Diana were waiting for her, and they weresoon on the road. 

It was a long drive, but Anne and Diana enjoyed every minute of it. Itwas delightful to rattle along over the moist roads in the early redsunlight that was creeping across the shorn harvest fields. The air wasfresh and crisp, and little smoke-blue mists curled through the valleysand floated off from the hills. Sometimes the road went through woodswhere maples were beginning to hang out scarlet banners; sometimes itcrossed rivers on bridges that made Anne's flesh cringe with the old, half-delightful fear; sometimes it wound along a harbor shore and passedby a little cluster of weather-gray fishing huts; again it mounted tohills whence a far sweep of curving upland or misty-blue sky could beseen; but wherever it went there was much of interest to discuss. It wasalmost noon when they reached town and found their way to "Beechwood. "It was quite a fine old mansion, set back from the street in a seclusionof green elms and branching beeches. Miss Barry met them at the doorwith a twinkle in her sharp black eyes. 

"So you've come to see me at last, you Anne-girl, " she said. "Mercy, child, how you have grown! You're taller than I am, I declare. Andyou're ever so much better looking than you used to be, too. But I daresay you know that without being told. "

"Indeed I didn't, " said Anne radiantly. "I know I'm not so freckled asI used to be, so I've much to be thankful for, but I really hadn't daredto hope there was any other improvement. I'm so glad you think there is, Miss Barry. " Miss Barry's house was furnished with "great magnificence, "as Anne told Marilla afterward. The two little country girls were ratherabashed by the splendor of the parlor where Miss Barry left them whenshe went to see about dinner. 

"Isn't it just like a palace?" whispered Diana. "I never was in AuntJosephine's house before, and I'd no idea it was so grand. I just wishJulia Bell could see this--she puts on such airs about her mother'sparlor. "

"Velvet carpet, " sighed Anne luxuriously, "and silk curtains! I'vedreamed of such things, Diana. But do you know I don't believe I feelvery comfortable with them after all. There are so many things in thisroom and all so splendid that there is no scope for imagination. That isone consolation when you are poor--there are so many more things you canimagine about. "

Their sojourn in town was something that Anne and Diana dated from foryears. From first to last it was crowded with delights. 

On Wednesday Miss Barry took them to the Exhibition grounds and keptthem there all day. 

"It was splendid, " Anne related to Marilla later on. "I never imaginedanything so interesting. I don't really know which department was themost interesting. I think I liked the horses and the flowers and thefancywork best. Josie Pye took first prize for knitted lace. I wasreal glad she did. And I was glad that I felt glad, for it shows I'mimproving, don't you think, Marilla, when I can rejoice in Josie'ssuccess? Mr. Harmon Andrews took second prize for Gravenstein applesand Mr. Bell took first prize for a pig. Diana said she thought it wasridiculous for a Sunday-school superintendent to take a prize in pigs, but I don't see why. Do you? She said she would always think of it afterthis when he was praying so solemnly. Clara Louise MacPherson took aprize for painting, and Mrs. Lynde got first prize for homemade butterand cheese. So Avonlea was pretty well represented, wasn't it? Mrs. Lynde was there that day, and I never knew how much I really liked heruntil I saw her familiar face among all those strangers. Therewere thousands of people there, Marilla. It made me feel dreadfullyinsignificant. And Miss Barry took us up to the grandstand to seethe horse races. Mrs. Lynde wouldn't go; she said horse racing was anabomination and, she being a church member, thought it her bounden dutyto set a good example by staying away. But there were so many there Idon't believe Mrs. Lynde's absence would ever be noticed. I don't think, though, that I ought to go very often to horse races, because they AREawfully fascinating. Diana got so excited that she offered to bet meten cents that the red horse would win. I didn't believe he would, butI refused to bet, because I wanted to tell Mrs. Allan all abouteverything, and I felt sure it wouldn't do to tell her that. It's alwayswrong to do anything you can't tell the minister's wife. It's as good asan extra conscience to have a minister's wife for your friend. And I wasvery glad I didn't bet, because the red horse DID win, and I would havelost ten cents. So you see that virtue was its own reward. We saw a mango up in a balloon. I'd love to go up in a balloon, Marilla; it wouldbe simply thrilling; and we saw a man selling fortunes. You paid him tencents and a little bird picked out your fortune for you. Miss Barry gaveDiana and me ten cents each to have our fortunes told. Mine was that Iwould marry a dark-complected man who was very wealthy, and I would goacross water to live. I looked carefully at all the dark men I saw afterthat, but I didn't care much for any of them, and anyhow I supposeit's too early to be looking out for him yet. Oh, it was anever-to-be-forgotten day, Marilla. I was so tired I couldn't sleep atnight. Miss Barry put us in the spare room, according to promise. Itwas an elegant room, Marilla, but somehow sleeping in a spare room isn'twhat I used to think it was. That's the worst of growing up, and I'mbeginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were achild don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them. "

Thursday the girls had a drive in the park, and in the evening MissBarry took them to a concert in the Academy of Music, where a notedprima donna was to sing. To Anne the evening was a glittering vision ofdelight. 

"Oh, Marilla, it was beyond description. I was so excited I couldn'teven talk, so you may know what it was like. I just sat in enrapturedsilence. Madame Selitsky was perfectly beautiful, and wore white satinand diamonds. But when she began to sing I never thought about anythingelse. Oh, I can't tell you how I felt. But it seemed to me that it couldnever be hard to be good any more. I felt like I do when I look up tothe stars. Tears came into my eyes, but, oh, they were such happy tears. I was so sorry when it was all over, and I told Miss Barry I didn't seehow I was ever to return to common life again. She said she thought ifwe went over to the restaurant across the street and had an ice creamit might help me. That sounded so prosaic; but to my surprise I foundit true. The ice cream was delicious, Marilla, and it was so lovely anddissipated to be sitting there eating it at eleven o'clock at night. Diana said she believed she was born for city life. Miss Barry askedme what my opinion was, but I said I would have to think it over veryseriously before I could tell her what I really thought. So I thought itover after I went to bed. That is the best time to think things out. AndI came to the conclusion, Marilla, that I wasn't born for city life andthat I was glad of it. It's nice to be eating ice cream at brilliantrestaurants at eleven o'clock at night once in a while; but as a regularthing I'd rather be in the east gable at eleven, sound asleep, but kindof knowing even in my sleep that the stars were shining outside and thatthe wind was blowing in the firs across the brook. I told Miss Barryso at breakfast the next morning and she laughed. Miss Barry generallylaughed at anything I said, even when I said the most solemn things. Idon't think I liked it, Marilla, because I wasn't trying to be funny. But she is a most hospitable lady and treated us royally. "

Friday brought going-home time, and Mr. Barry drove in for the girls. 

"Well, I hope you've enjoyed yourselves, " said Miss Barry, as she badethem good-bye. 

"Indeed we have, " said Diana. 

"And you, Anne-girl?"

"I've enjoyed every minute of the time, " said Anne, throwing her armsimpulsively about the old woman's neck and kissing her wrinkled cheek. Diana would never have dared to do such a thing and felt rather aghastat Anne's freedom. But Miss Barry was pleased, and she stood on herveranda and watched the buggy out of sight. Then she went back into herbig house with a sigh. It seemed very lonely, lacking those fresh younglives. Miss Barry was a rather selfish old lady, if the truth mustbe told, and had never cared much for anybody but herself. She valuedpeople only as they were of service to her or amused her. Anne hadamused her, and consequently stood high in the old lady's good graces. But Miss Barry found herself thinking less about Anne's quaint speechesthan of her fresh enthusiasms, her transparent emotions, her littlewinning ways, and the sweetness of her eyes and lips. 

"I thought Marilla Cuthbert was an old fool when I heard she'd adopteda girl out of an orphan asylum, " she said to herself, "but I guess shedidn't make much of a mistake after all. If I'd a child like Anne in thehouse all the time I'd be a better and happier woman. "

Anne and Diana found the drive home as pleasant as the drivein--pleasanter, indeed, since there was the delightful consciousness ofhome waiting at the end of it. It was sunset when they passed throughWhite Sands and turned into the shore road. Beyond, the Avonlea hillscame out darkly against the saffron sky. Behind them the moon was risingout of the sea that grew all radiant and transfigured in her light. Every little cove along the curving road was a marvel of dancingripples. The waves broke with a soft swish on the rocks below them, andthe tang of the sea was in the strong, fresh air. 

"Oh, but it's good to be alive and to be going home, " breathed Anne. 

When she crossed the log bridge over the brook the kitchen light ofGreen Gables winked her a friendly welcome back, and through the opendoor shone the hearth fire, sending out its warm red glow athwart thechilly autumn night. Anne ran blithely up the hill and into the kitchen, where a hot supper was waiting on the table. 

"So you've got back?" said Marilla, folding up her knitting. 

"Yes, and oh, it's so good to be back, " said Anne joyously. "I couldkiss everything, even to the clock. Marilla, a broiled chicken! Youdon't mean to say you cooked that for me!"

"Yes, I did, " said Marilla. "I thought you'd be hungry after sucha drive and need something real appetizing. Hurry and take off yourthings, and we'll have supper as soon as Matthew comes in. I'm gladyou've got back, I must say. It's been fearful lonesome here withoutyou, and I never put in four longer days. "

After supper Anne sat before the fire between Matthew and Marilla, andgave them a full account of her visit. 

"I've had a splendid time, " she concluded happily, "and I feel that itmarks an epoch in my life. But the best of it all was the coming home. "

CHAPTER XXX. The Queens Class Is Organized

Marilla laid her knitting on her lap and leaned back in her chair. Hereyes were tired, and she thought vaguely that she must see about havingher glasses changed the next time she went to town, for her eyes hadgrown tired very often of late. 

It was nearly dark, for the full November twilight had fallen aroundGreen Gables, and the only light in the kitchen came from the dancingred flames in the stove. 

Anne was curled up Turk-fashion on the hearthrug, gazing into thatjoyous glow where the sunshine of a hundred summers was being distilledfrom the maple cordwood. She had been reading, but her book had slippedto the floor, and now she was dreaming, with a smile on her parted lips. Glittering castles in Spain were shaping themselves out of the mists andrainbows of her lively fancy; adventures wonderful and enthrallingwere happening to her in cloudland--adventures that always turned outtriumphantly and never involved her in scrapes like those of actuallife. 

Marilla looked at her with a tenderness that would never have beensuffered to reveal itself in any clearer light than that soft minglingof fireshine and shadow. The lesson of a love that should display itselfeasily in spoken word and open look was one Marilla could never learn. But she had learned to love this slim, gray-eyed girl with an affectionall the deeper and stronger from its very undemonstrativeness. Her lovemade her afraid of being unduly indulgent, indeed. She had an uneasyfeeling that it was rather sinful to set one's heart so intensely on anyhuman creature as she had set hers on Anne, and perhaps she performed asort of unconscious penance for this by being stricter and more criticalthan if the girl had been less dear to her. Certainly Anne herself hadno idea how Marilla loved her. She sometimes thought wistfully thatMarilla was very hard to please and distinctly lacking in sympathyand understanding. But she always checked the thought reproachfully, remembering what she owed to Marilla. 

"Anne, " said Marilla abruptly, "Miss Stacy was here this afternoon whenyou were out with Diana. "

Anne came back from her other world with a start and a sigh. 

"Was she? Oh, I'm so sorry I wasn't in. Why didn't you call me, Marilla?Diana and I were only over in the Haunted Wood. It's lovely in the woodsnow. All the little wood things--the ferns and the satin leaves and thecrackerberries--have gone to sleep, just as if somebody had tucked themaway until spring under a blanket of leaves. I think it was a littlegray fairy with a rainbow scarf that came tiptoeing along the lastmoonlight night and did it. Diana wouldn't say much about that, though. Diana has never forgotten the scolding her mother gave her aboutimagining ghosts into the Haunted Wood. It had a very bad effect onDiana's imagination. It blighted it. Mrs. Lynde says Myrtle Bell is ablighted being. I asked Ruby Gillis why Myrtle was blighted, and Rubysaid she guessed it was because her young man had gone back on her. RubyGillis thinks of nothing but young men, and the older she gets the worseshe is. Young men are all very well in their place, but it doesn't do todrag them into everything, does it? Diana and I are thinking seriouslyof promising each other that we will never marry but be nice old maidsand live together forever. Diana hasn't quite made up her mind though, because she thinks perhaps it would be nobler to marry some wild, dashing, wicked young man and reform him. Diana and I talk a great dealabout serious subjects now, you know. We feel that we are so much olderthan we used to be that it isn't becoming to talk of childish matters. It's such a solemn thing to be almost fourteen, Marilla. Miss Stacy tookall us girls who are in our teens down to the brook last Wednesday, andtalked to us about it. She said we couldn't be too careful what habitswe formed and what ideals we acquired in our teens, because by the timewe were twenty our characters would be developed and the foundation laidfor our whole future life. And she said if the foundation was shaky wecould never build anything really worth while on it. Diana and I talkedthe matter over coming home from school. We felt extremely solemn, Marilla. And we decided that we would try to be very careful indeed andform respectable habits and learn all we could and be as sensible aspossible, so that by the time we were twenty our characters would beproperly developed. It's perfectly appalling to think of being twenty, Marilla. It sounds so fearfully old and grown up. But why was Miss Stacyhere this afternoon?"

"That is what I want to tell you, Anne, if you'll ever give me a chanceto get a word in edgewise. She was talking about you. "

"About me?" Anne looked rather scared. Then she flushed and exclaimed:

"Oh, I know what she was saying. I meant to tell you, Marilla, honestlyI did, but I forgot. Miss Stacy caught me reading Ben Hur in schoolyesterday afternoon when I should have been studying my Canadianhistory. Jane Andrews lent it to me. I was reading it at dinner hour, and I had just got to the chariot race when school went in. I was simplywild to know how it turned out--although I felt sure Ben Hur must win, because it wouldn't be poetical justice if he didn't--so I spread thehistory open on my desk lid and then tucked Ben Hur between the desk andmy knee. I just looked as if I were studying Canadian history, you know, while all the while I was reveling in Ben Hur. I was so interested in itthat I never noticed Miss Stacy coming down the aisle until all atonce I just looked up and there she was looking down at me, soreproachful-like. I can't tell you how ashamed I felt, Marilla, especially when I heard Josie Pye giggling. Miss Stacy took Ben Huraway, but she never said a word then. She kept me in at recess andtalked to me. She said I had done very wrong in two respects. First, Iwas wasting the time I ought to have put on my studies; and secondly, I was deceiving my teacher in trying to make it appear I was reading ahistory when it was a storybook instead. I had never realized until thatmoment, Marilla, that what I was doing was deceitful. I was shocked. Icried bitterly, and asked Miss Stacy to forgive me and I'd never do sucha thing again; and I offered to do penance by never so much as lookingat Ben Hur for a whole week, not even to see how the chariot race turnedout. But Miss Stacy said she wouldn't require that, and she forgave mefreely. So I think it wasn't very kind of her to come up here to youabout it after all. "

"Miss Stacy never mentioned such a thing to me, Anne, and its only yourguilty conscience that's the matter with you. You have no business to betaking storybooks to school. You read too many novels anyhow. When I wasa girl I wasn't so much as allowed to look at a novel. "

"Oh, how can you call Ben Hur a novel when it's really such a religiousbook?" protested Anne. "Of course it's a little too exciting to beproper reading for Sunday, and I only read it on weekdays. And I neverread ANY book now unless either Miss Stacy or Mrs. Allan thinks it is aproper book for a girl thirteen and three-quarters to read. Miss Stacymade me promise that. She found me reading a book one day called, TheLurid Mystery of the Haunted Hall. It was one Ruby Gillis had lent me, and, oh, Marilla, it was so fascinating and creepy. It just curdled theblood in my veins. But Miss Stacy said it was a very silly, unwholesomebook, and she asked me not to read any more of it or any like it. Ididn't mind promising not to read any more like it, but it was AGONIZINGto give back that book without knowing how it turned out. But my lovefor Miss Stacy stood the test and I did. It's really wonderful, Marilla, what you can do when you're truly anxious to please a certain person. "

"Well, I guess I'll light the lamp and get to work, " said Marilla. "Isee plainly that you don't want to hear what Miss Stacy had to say. You're more interested in the sound of your own tongue than in anythingelse. "

"Oh, indeed, Marilla, I do want to hear it, " cried Anne contritely. "Iwon't say another word--not one. I know I talk too much, but I am reallytrying to overcome it, and although I say far too much, yet if you onlyknew how many things I want to say and don't, you'd give me some creditfor it. Please tell me, Marilla. "

"Well, Miss Stacy wants to organize a class among her advanced studentswho mean to study for the entrance examination into Queen's. She intendsto give them extra lessons for an hour after school. And she came to askMatthew and me if we would like to have you join it. What do you thinkabout it yourself, Anne? Would you like to go to Queen's and pass for ateacher?"

"Oh, Marilla!" Anne straightened to her knees and clasped her hands. "It's been the dream of my life--that is, for the last six months, eversince Ruby and Jane began to talk of studying for the Entrance. But Ididn't say anything about it, because I supposed it would be perfectlyuseless. I'd love to be a teacher. But won't it be dreadfully expensive?Mr. Andrews says it cost him one hundred and fifty dollars to put Prissythrough, and Prissy wasn't a dunce in geometry. "

"I guess you needn't worry about that part of it. When Matthew and Itook you to bring up we resolved we would do the best we could for youand give you a good education. I believe in a girl being fitted to earnher own living whether she ever has to or not. You'll always have a homeat Green Gables as long as Matthew and I are here, but nobody knows whatis going to happen in this uncertain world, and it's just as well to beprepared. So you can join the Queen's class if you like, Anne. "

"Oh, Marilla, thank you. " Anne flung her arms about Marilla's waist andlooked up earnestly into her face. "I'm extremely grateful to you andMatthew. And I'll study as hard as I can and do my very best to be acredit to you. I warn you not to expect much in geometry, but I think Ican hold my own in anything else if I work hard. "

"I dare say you'll get along well enough. Miss Stacy says you are brightand diligent. " Not for worlds would Marilla have told Anne just whatMiss Stacy had said about her; that would have been to pamper vanity. "You needn't rush to any extreme of killing yourself over your books. There is no hurry. You won't be ready to try the Entrance for a year anda half yet. But it's well to begin in time and be thoroughly grounded, Miss Stacy says. "

"I shall take more interest than ever in my studies now, " said Anneblissfully, "because I have a purpose in life. Mr. Allan says everybodyshould have a purpose in life and pursue it faithfully. Only he sayswe must first make sure that it is a worthy purpose. I would call it aworthy purpose to want to be a teacher like Miss Stacy, wouldn't you, Marilla? I think it's a very noble profession. "

The Queen's class was organized in due time. Gilbert Blythe, AnneShirley, Ruby Gillis, Jane Andrews, Josie Pye, Charlie Sloane, and MoodySpurgeon MacPherson joined it. Diana Barry did not, as her parentsdid not intend to send her to Queen's. This seemed nothing short of acalamity to Anne. Never, since the night on which Minnie May had had thecroup, had she and Diana been separated in anything. On the evening whenthe Queen's class first remained in school for the extra lessons andAnne saw Diana go slowly out with the others, to walk home alone throughthe Birch Path and Violet Vale, it was all the former could do to keepher seat and refrain from rushing impulsively after her chum. A lumpcame into her throat, and she hastily retired behind the pages of heruplifted Latin grammar to hide the tears in her eyes. Not for worldswould Anne have had Gilbert Blythe or Josie Pye see those tears. 

"But, oh, Marilla, I really felt that I had tasted the bitterness ofdeath, as Mr. Allan said in his sermon last Sunday, when I saw Diana goout alone, " she said mournfully that night. "I thought how splendid itwould have been if Diana had only been going to study for the Entrance, too. But we can't have things perfect in this imperfect world, as Mrs. Lynde says. Mrs. Lynde isn't exactly a comforting person sometimes, butthere's no doubt she says a great many very true things. And I think theQueen's class is going to be extremely interesting. Jane and Rubyare just going to study to be teachers. That is the height of theirambition. Ruby says she will only teach for two years after she getsthrough, and then she intends to be married. Jane says she will devoteher whole life to teaching, and never, never marry, because you are paida salary for teaching, but a husband won't pay you anything, and growlsif you ask for a share in the egg and butter money. I expect Jane speaksfrom mournful experience, for Mrs. Lynde says that her father is aperfect old crank, and meaner than second skimmings. Josie Pye says sheis just going to college for education's sake, because she won't have toearn her own living; she says of course it is different with orphans whoare living on charity--THEY have to hustle. Moody Spurgeon is going tobe a minister. Mrs. Lynde says he couldn't be anything else with a namelike that to live up to. I hope it isn't wicked of me, Marilla, butreally the thought of Moody Spurgeon being a minister makes me laugh. He's such a funny-looking boy with that big fat face, and his littleblue eyes, and his ears sticking out like flaps. But perhaps he willbe more intellectual looking when he grows up. Charlie Sloane says he'sgoing to go into politics and be a member of Parliament, but Mrs. Lyndesays he'll never succeed at that, because the Sloanes are all honestpeople, and it's only rascals that get on in politics nowadays. "

"What is Gilbert Blythe going to be?" queried Marilla, seeing that Annewas opening her Caesar. 

"I don't happen to know what Gilbert Blythe's ambition in life is--if hehas any, " said Anne scornfully. 

There was open rivalry between Gilbert and Anne now. Previously therivalry had been rather onesided, but there was no longer any doubt thatGilbert was as determined to be first in class as Anne was. He wasa foeman worthy of her steel. The other members of the class tacitlyacknowledged their superiority, and never dreamed of trying to competewith them. 

Since the day by the pond when she had refused to listen to his pleafor forgiveness, Gilbert, save for the aforesaid determined rivalry, had evinced no recognition whatever of the existence of Anne Shirley. Hetalked and jested with the other girls, exchanged books and puzzles withthem, discussed lessons and plans, sometimes walked home with one or theother of them from prayer meeting or Debating Club. But Anne Shirleyhe simply ignored, and Anne found out that it is not pleasant to beignored. It was in vain that she told herself with a toss of her headthat she did not care. Deep down in her wayward, feminine little heartshe knew that she did care, and that if she had that chance of the Lakeof Shining Waters again she would answer very differently. All atonce, as it seemed, and to her secret dismay, she found that the oldresentment she had cherished against him was gone--gone just when shemost needed its sustaining power. It was in vain that she recalled everyincident and emotion of that memorable occasion and tried to feelthe old satisfying anger. That day by the pond had witnessed its lastspasmodic flicker. Anne realized that she had forgiven and forgottenwithout knowing it. But it was too late. 

And at least neither Gilbert nor anybody else, not even Diana, shouldever suspect how sorry she was and how much she wished she hadn't beenso proud and horrid! She determined to "shroud her feelings in deepestoblivion, " and it may be stated here and now that she did it, sosuccessfully that Gilbert, who possibly was not quite so indifferent ashe seemed, could not console himself with any belief that Anne felt hisretaliatory scorn. The only poor comfort he had was that she snubbedCharlie Sloane, unmercifully, continually, and undeservedly. 

Otherwise the winter passed away in a round of pleasant duties andstudies. For Anne the days slipped by like golden beads on the necklaceof the year. She was happy, eager, interested; there were lessons to belearned and honor to be won; delightful books to read; new pieces to bepracticed for the Sunday-school choir; pleasant Saturday afternoons atthe manse with Mrs. Allan; and then, almost before Anne realized it, spring had come again to Green Gables and all the world was abloom oncemore. 

Studies palled just a wee bit then; the Queen's class, left behind inschool while the others scattered to green lanes and leafy wood cuts andmeadow byways, looked wistfully out of the windows and discovered thatLatin verbs and French exercises had somehow lost the tang and zest theyhad possessed in the crisp winter months. Even Anne and Gilbert laggedand grew indifferent. Teacher and taught were alike glad when the termwas ended and the glad vacation days stretched rosily before them. 

"But you've done good work this past year, " Miss Stacy told them on thelast evening, "and you deserve a good, jolly vacation. Have the besttime you can in the out-of-door world and lay in a good stock of healthand vitality and ambition to carry you through next year. It will be thetug of war, you know--the last year before the Entrance. "

"Are you going to be back next year, Miss Stacy?" asked Josie Pye. 

Josie Pye never scrupled to ask questions; in this instance the rest ofthe class felt grateful to her; none of them would have dared to askit of Miss Stacy, but all wanted to, for there had been alarming rumorsrunning at large through the school for some time that Miss Stacy wasnot coming back the next year--that she had been offered a positionin the grade school of her own home district and meant to accept. TheQueen's class listened in breathless suspense for her answer. 

"Yes, I think I will, " said Miss Stacy. "I thought of taking anotherschool, but I have decided to come back to Avonlea. To tell the truth, I've grown so interested in my pupils here that I found I couldn't leavethem. So I'll stay and see you through. "

"Hurrah!" said Moody Spurgeon. Moody Spurgeon had never been so carriedaway by his feelings before, and he blushed uncomfortably every time hethought about it for a week. 

"Oh, I'm so glad, " said Anne, with shining eyes. "Dear Stacy, it wouldbe perfectly dreadful if you didn't come back. I don't believe I couldhave the heart to go on with my studies at all if another teacher camehere. "

When Anne got home that night she stacked all her textbooks away in anold trunk in the attic, locked it, and threw the key into the blanketbox. 

"I'm not even going to look at a schoolbook in vacation, " she toldMarilla. "I've studied as hard all the term as I possibly could and I'vepored over that geometry until I know every proposition in the firstbook off by heart, even when the letters ARE changed. I just feel tiredof everything sensible and I'm going to let my imagination run riot forthe summer. Oh, you needn't be alarmed, Marilla. I'll only let it runriot within reasonable limits. But I want to have a real good jolly timethis summer, for maybe it's the last summer I'll be a little girl. Mrs. Lynde says that if I keep stretching out next year as I've done thisI'll have to put on longer skirts. She says I'm all running to legs andeyes. And when I put on longer skirts I shall feel that I have to liveup to them and be very dignified. It won't even do to believe in fairiesthen, I'm afraid; so I'm going to believe in them with all my wholeheart this summer. I think we're going to have a very gay vacation. RubyGillis is going to have a birthday party soon and there's the Sundayschool picnic and the missionary concert next month. And Mr. Barry saysthat some evening he'll take Diana and me over to the White Sands Hoteland have dinner there. They have dinner there in the evening, you know. Jane Andrews was over once last summer and she says it was a dazzlingsight to see the electric lights and the flowers and all the lady guestsin such beautiful dresses. Jane says it was her first glimpse into highlife and she'll never forget it to her dying day. "

Mrs. Lynde came up the next afternoon to find out why Marilla had notbeen at the Aid meeting on Thursday. When Marilla was not at Aid meetingpeople knew there was something wrong at Green Gables. 

"Matthew had a bad spell with his heart Thursday, " Marilla explained, "and I didn't feel like leaving him. Oh, yes, he's all right again now, but he takes them spells oftener than he used to and I'm anxious abouthim. The doctor says he must be careful to avoid excitement. That's easyenough, for Matthew doesn't go about looking for excitement by any meansand never did, but he's not to do any very heavy work either and youmight as well tell Matthew not to breathe as not to work. Come and layoff your things, Rachel. You'll stay to tea?"

"Well, seeing you're so pressing, perhaps I might as well, stay" saidMrs. Rachel, who had not the slightest intention of doing anything else. 

Mrs. Rachel and Marilla sat comfortably in the parlor while Anne got thetea and made hot biscuits that were light and white enough to defy evenMrs. Rachel's criticism. 

"I must say Anne has turned out a real smart girl, " admitted Mrs. Rachel, as Marilla accompanied her to the end of the lane at sunset. "She must be a great help to you. "

"She is, " said Marilla, "and she's real steady and reliable now. I usedto be afraid she'd never get over her featherbrained ways, but she hasand I wouldn't be afraid to trust her in anything now. "

"I never would have thought she'd have turned out so well that first dayI was here three years ago, " said Mrs. Rachel. "Lawful heart, shall Iever forget that tantrum of hers! When I went home that night I says toThomas, says I, 'Mark my words, Thomas, Marilla Cuthbert'll live torue the step she's took. ' But I was mistaken and I'm real glad of it. Iain't one of those kind of people, Marilla, as can never be brought toown up that they've made a mistake. No, that never was my way, thankgoodness. I did make a mistake in judging Anne, but it weren't nowonder, for an odder, unexpecteder witch of a child there never was inthis world, that's what. There was no ciphering her out by the rulesthat worked with other children. It's nothing short of wonderful howshe's improved these three years, but especially in looks. She's a realpretty girl got to be, though I can't say I'm overly partial to thatpale, big-eyed style myself. I like more snap and color, like DianaBarry has or Ruby Gillis. Ruby Gillis's looks are real showy. Butsomehow--I don't know how it is but when Anne and them are together, though she ain't half as handsome, she makes them look kind of commonand overdone--something like them white June lilies she calls narcissusalongside of the big, red peonies, that's what. "

CHAPTER XXXI. Where the Brook and River Meet

Anne had her "good" summer and enjoyed it wholeheartedly. She and Dianafairly lived outdoors, reveling in all the delights that Lover's Laneand the Dryad's Bubble and Willowmere and Victoria Island afforded. Marilla offered no objections to Anne's gypsyings. The Spencervaledoctor who had come the night Minnie May had the croup met Anne at thehouse of a patient one afternoon early in vacation, looked her oversharply, screwed up his mouth, shook his head, and sent a message toMarilla Cuthbert by another person. It was:

"Keep that redheaded girl of yours in the open air all summer and don'tlet her read books until she gets more spring into her step. "

This message frightened Marilla wholesomely. She read Anne's deathwarrant by consumption in it unless it was scrupulously obeyed. As aresult, Anne had the golden summer of her life as far as freedom andfrolic went. She walked, rowed, berried, and dreamed to her heart'scontent; and when September came she was bright-eyed and alert, with astep that would have satisfied the Spencervale doctor and a heart fullof ambition and zest once more. 

"I feel just like studying with might and main, " she declared as shebrought her books down from the attic. "Oh, you good old friends, I'mglad to see your honest faces once more--yes, even you, geometry. I'vehad a perfectly beautiful summer, Marilla, and now I'm rejoicing as astrong man to run a race, as Mr. Allan said last Sunday. Doesn't Mr. Allan preach magnificent sermons? Mrs. Lynde says he is improving everyday and the first thing we know some city church will gobble him upand then we'll be left and have to turn to and break in another greenpreacher. But I don't see the use of meeting trouble halfway, do you, Marilla? I think it would be better just to enjoy Mr. Allan while wehave him. If I were a man I think I'd be a minister. They can havesuch an influence for good, if their theology is sound; and it must bethrilling to preach splendid sermons and stir your hearers' hearts. Whycan't women be ministers, Marilla? I asked Mrs. Lynde that and she wasshocked and said it would be a scandalous thing. She said there mightbe female ministers in the States and she believed there was, but thankgoodness we hadn't got to that stage in Canada yet and she hoped wenever would. But I don't see why. I think women would make splendidministers. When there is a social to be got up or a church tea oranything else to raise money the women have to turn to and do the work. I'm sure Mrs. Lynde can pray every bit as well as Superintendent Belland I've no doubt she could preach too with a little practice. "

"Yes, I believe she could, " said Marilla dryly. "She does plenty ofunofficial preaching as it is. Nobody has much of a chance to go wrongin Avonlea with Rachel to oversee them. "

"Marilla, " said Anne in a burst of confidence, "I want to tell yousomething and ask you what you think about it. It has worried meterribly--on Sunday afternoons, that is, when I think specially aboutsuch matters. I do really want to be good; and when I'm with you or Mrs. Allan or Miss Stacy I want it more than ever and I want to do just whatwould please you and what you would approve of. But mostly when I'm withMrs. Lynde I feel desperately wicked and as if I wanted to go and do thevery thing she tells me I oughtn't to do. I feel irresistibly temptedto do it. Now, what do you think is the reason I feel like that? Do youthink it's because I'm really bad and unregenerate?"

Marilla looked dubious for a moment. Then she laughed. 

"If you are I guess I am too, Anne, for Rachel often has that veryeffect on me. I sometimes think she'd have more of an influence forgood, as you say yourself, if she didn't keep nagging people to doright. There should have been a special commandment against nagging. But there, I shouldn't talk so. Rachel is a good Christian woman and shemeans well. There isn't a kinder soul in Avonlea and she never shirksher share of work. "

"I'm very glad you feel the same, " said Anne decidedly. "It's soencouraging. I shan't worry so much over that after this. But I dare saythere'll be other things to worry me. They keep coming up new all thetime--things to perplex you, you know. You settle one question andthere's another right after. There are so many things to be thought overand decided when you're beginning to grow up. It keeps me busy all thetime thinking them over and deciding what is right. It's a serious thingto grow up, isn't it, Marilla? But when I have such good friends asyou and Matthew and Mrs. Allan and Miss Stacy I ought to grow upsuccessfully, and I'm sure it will be my own fault if I don't. I feelit's a great responsibility because I have only the one chance. If Idon't grow up right I can't go back and begin over again. I've grown twoinches this summer, Marilla. Mr. Gillis measured me at Ruby's party. I'mso glad you made my new dresses longer. That dark-green one is so prettyand it was sweet of you to put on the flounce. Of course I know itwasn't really necessary, but flounces are so stylish this fall and JosiePye has flounces on all her dresses. I know I'll be able to study betterbecause of mine. I shall have such a comfortable feeling deep down in mymind about that flounce. "

"It's worth something to have that, " admitted Marilla. 

Miss Stacy came back to Avonlea school and found all her pupils eagerfor work once more. Especially did the Queen's class gird up their loinsfor the fray, for at the end of the coming year, dimly shadowing theirpathway already, loomed up that fateful thing known as "the Entrance, "at the thought of which one and all felt their hearts sink into theirvery shoes. Suppose they did not pass! That thought was doomed tohaunt Anne through the waking hours of that winter, Sunday afternoonsinclusive, to the almost entire exclusion of moral and theologicalproblems. When Anne had bad dreams she found herself staring miserablyat pass lists of the Entrance exams, where Gilbert Blythe's name wasblazoned at the top and in which hers did not appear at all. 

But it was a jolly, busy, happy swift-flying winter. Schoolwork wasas interesting, class rivalry as absorbing, as of yore. New worlds ofthought, feeling, and ambition, fresh, fascinating fields of unexploredknowledge seemed to be opening out before Anne's eager eyes. 

 "Hills peeped o'er hill and Alps on Alps arose. "

Much of all this was due to Miss Stacy's tactful, careful, broadmindedguidance. She led her class to think and explore and discover forthemselves and encouraged straying from the old beaten paths to a degreethat quite shocked Mrs. Lynde and the school trustees, who viewed allinnovations on established methods rather dubiously. 

Apart from her studies Anne expanded socially, for Marilla, mindful ofthe Spencervale doctor's dictum, no longer vetoed occasional outings. The Debating Club flourished and gave several concerts; there were oneor two parties almost verging on grown-up affairs; there were sleighdrives and skating frolics galore. 

Betweentimes Anne grew, shooting up so rapidly that Marilla wasastonished one day, when they were standing side by side, to find thegirl was taller than herself. 

"Why, Anne, how you've grown!" she said, almost unbelievingly. A sighfollowed on the words. Marilla felt a queer regret over Anne's inches. The child she had learned to love had vanished somehow and here was thistall, serious-eyed girl of fifteen, with the thoughtful brows and theproudly poised little head, in her place. Marilla loved the girl as muchas she had loved the child, but she was conscious of a queer sorrowfulsense of loss. And that night, when Anne had gone to prayer meetingwith Diana, Marilla sat alone in the wintry twilight and indulged in theweakness of a cry. Matthew, coming in with a lantern, caught her at itand gazed at her in such consternation that Marilla had to laugh throughher tears. 

"I was thinking about Anne, " she explained. "She's got to be such a biggirl--and she'll probably be away from us next winter. I'll miss herterrible. "

"She'll be able to come home often, " comforted Matthew, to whom Anne wasas yet and always would be the little, eager girl he had brought homefrom Bright River on that June evening four years before. "The branchrailroad will be built to Carmody by that time. "

"It won't be the same thing as having her here all the time, " sighedMarilla gloomily, determined to enjoy her luxury of grief uncomforted. "But there--men can't understand these things!"

There were other changes in Anne no less real than the physical change. For one thing, she became much quieter. Perhaps she thought all themore and dreamed as much as ever, but she certainly talked less. Marillanoticed and commented on this also. 

"You don't chatter half as much as you used to, Anne, nor use half asmany big words. What has come over you?"

Anne colored and laughed a little, as she dropped her book and lookeddreamily out of the window, where big fat red buds were bursting out onthe creeper in response to the lure of the spring sunshine. 

"I don't know--I don't want to talk as much, " she said, denting herchin thoughtfully with her forefinger. "It's nicer to think dear, prettythoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures. I don't like tohave them laughed at or wondered over. And somehow I don't want to usebig words any more. It's almost a pity, isn't it, now that I'm reallygrowing big enough to say them if I did want to. It's fun to be almostgrown up in some ways, but it's not the kind of fun I expected, Marilla. There's so much to learn and do and think that there isn't time for bigwords. Besides, Miss Stacy says the short ones are much stronger andbetter. She makes us write all our essays as simply as possible. It washard at first. I was so used to crowding in all the fine big words Icould think of--and I thought of any number of them. But I've got usedto it now and I see it's so much better. "

"What has become of your story club? I haven't heard you speak of it fora long time. "

"The story club isn't in existence any longer. We hadn't time forit--and anyhow I think we had got tired of it. It was silly to bewriting about love and murder and elopements and mysteries. Miss Stacysometimes has us write a story for training in composition, but shewon't let us write anything but what might happen in Avonlea in our ownlives, and she criticizes it very sharply and makes us criticize our owntoo. I never thought my compositions had so many faults until I began tolook for them myself. I felt so ashamed I wanted to give up altogether, but Miss Stacy said I could learn to write well if I only trained myselfto be my own severest critic. And so I am trying to. "

"You've only two more months before the Entrance, " said Marilla. "Do youthink you'll be able to get through?"

Anne shivered. 

"I don't know. Sometimes I think I'll be all right--and then I gethorribly afraid. We've studied hard and Miss Stacy has drilled usthoroughly, but we mayn't get through for all that. We've each got astumbling block. Mine is geometry of course, and Jane's is Latin, andRuby and Charlie's is algebra, and Josie's is arithmetic. Moody Spurgeonsays he feels it in his bones that he is going to fail in Englishhistory. Miss Stacy is going to give us examinations in June just ashard as we'll have at the Entrance and mark us just as strictly, sowe'll have some idea. I wish it was all over, Marilla. It haunts me. Sometimes I wake up in the night and wonder what I'll do if I don'tpass. "

"Why, go to school next year and try again, " said Marilla unconcernedly. 

"Oh, I don't believe I'd have the heart for it. It would be such adisgrace to fail, especially if Gil--if the others passed. And I get sonervous in an examination that I'm likely to make a mess of it. I wish Ihad nerves like Jane Andrews. Nothing rattles her. "

Anne sighed and, dragging her eyes from the witcheries of the springworld, the beckoning day of breeze and blue, and the green thingsupspringing in the garden, buried herself resolutely in her book. There would be other springs, but if she did not succeed in passing theEntrance, Anne felt convinced that she would never recover sufficientlyto enjoy them. 

CHAPTER XXXII. The Pass List Is Out

With the end of June came the close of the term and the close of MissStacy's rule in Avonlea school. Anne and Diana walked home thatevening feeling very sober indeed. Red eyes and damp handkerchiefs boreconvincing testimony to the fact that Miss Stacy's farewell words musthave been quite as touching as Mr. Phillips's had been under similarcircumstances three years before. Diana looked back at the schoolhousefrom the foot of the spruce hill and sighed deeply. 

"It does seem as if it was the end of everything, doesn't it?" she saiddismally. 

"You oughtn't to feel half as badly as I do, " said Anne, hunting vainlyfor a dry spot on her handkerchief. "You'll be back again next winter, but I suppose I've left the dear old school forever--if I have goodluck, that is. "

"It won't be a bit the same. Miss Stacy won't be there, nor you nor Janenor Ruby probably. I shall have to sit all alone, for I couldn't bearto have another deskmate after you. Oh, we have had jolly times, haven'twe, Anne? It's dreadful to think they're all over. "

Two big tears rolled down by Diana's nose. 

"If you would stop crying I could, " said Anne imploringly. "Just assoon as I put away my hanky I see you brimming up and that starts me offagain. As Mrs. Lynde says, 'If you can't be cheerful, be as cheerful asyou can. ' After all, I dare say I'll be back next year. This is oneof the times I KNOW I'm not going to pass. They're getting alarminglyfrequent. "

"Why, you came out splendidly in the exams Miss Stacy gave. "

"Yes, but those exams didn't make me nervous. When I think of the realthing you can't imagine what a horrid cold fluttery feeling comes roundmy heart. And then my number is thirteen and Josie Pye says it's sounlucky. I am NOT superstitious and I know it can make no difference. But still I wish it wasn't thirteen. "

"I do wish I was going in with you, " said Diana. "Wouldn't we havea perfectly elegant time? But I suppose you'll have to cram in theevenings. "

"No; Miss Stacy has made us promise not to open a book at all. She saysit would only tire and confuse us and we are to go out walking and notthink about the exams at all and go to bed early. It's good advice, butI expect it will be hard to follow; good advice is apt to be, I think. Prissy Andrews told me that she sat up half the night every night of herEntrance week and crammed for dear life; and I had determined to sit upAT LEAST as long as she did. It was so kind of your Aunt Josephine toask me to stay at Beechwood while I'm in town. "

"You'll write to me while you're in, won't you?"

"I'll write Tuesday night and tell you how the first day goes, " promisedAnne. 

"I'll be haunting the post office Wednesday, " vowed Diana. 

Anne went to town the following Monday and on Wednesday Diana hauntedthe post office, as agreed, and got her letter. 

"Dearest Diana" [wrote Anne], "Here it is Tuesday night and I'm writing this in the library atBeechwood. Last night I was horribly lonesome all alone in my room andwished so much you were with me. I couldn't "cram" because I'd promisedMiss Stacy not to, but it was as hard to keep from opening my historyas it used to be to keep from reading a story before my lessons werelearned. 

"This morning Miss Stacy came for me and we went to the Academy, callingfor Jane and Ruby and Josie on our way. Ruby asked me to feel her handsand they were as cold as ice. Josie said I looked as if I hadn't slepta wink and she didn't believe I was strong enough to stand the grindof the teacher's course even if I did get through. There are times andseasons even yet when I don't feel that I've made any great headway inlearning to like Josie Pye!

"When we reached the Academy there were scores of students there fromall over the Island. The first person we saw was Moody Spurgeon sittingon the steps and muttering away to himself. Jane asked him what on earthhe was doing and he said he was repeating the multiplication table overand over to steady his nerves and for pity's sake not to interrupthim, because if he stopped for a moment he got frightened and forgoteverything he ever knew, but the multiplication table kept all his factsfirmly in their proper place!

"When we were assigned to our rooms Miss Stacy had to leave us. Jane andI sat together and Jane was so composed that I envied her. No need ofthe multiplication table for good, steady, sensible Jane! I wondered ifI looked as I felt and if they could hear my heart thumping clearacross the room. Then a man came in and began distributing the Englishexamination sheets. My hands grew cold then and my head fairly whirledaround as I picked it up. Just one awful moment--Diana, I felt exactlyas I did four years ago when I asked Marilla if I might stay at GreenGables--and then everything cleared up in my mind and my heart beganbeating again--I forgot to say that it had stopped altogether!--for Iknew I could do something with THAT paper anyhow. 

"At noon we went home for dinner and then back again for history inthe afternoon. The history was a pretty hard paper and I got dreadfullymixed up in the dates. Still, I think I did fairly well today. But oh, Diana, tomorrow the geometry exam comes off and when I think of itit takes every bit of determination I possess to keep from opening myEuclid. If I thought the multiplication table would help me any I wouldrecite it from now till tomorrow morning. 

"I went down to see the other girls this evening. On my way I met MoodySpurgeon wandering distractedly around. He said he knew he had failed inhistory and he was born to be a disappointment to his parents and hewas going home on the morning train; and it would be easier to be acarpenter than a minister, anyhow. I cheered him up and persuaded him tostay to the end because it would be unfair to Miss Stacy if he didn't. Sometimes I have wished I was born a boy, but when I see Moody SpurgeonI'm always glad I'm a girl and not his sister. 

"Ruby was in hysterics when I reached their boardinghouse; she had justdiscovered a fearful mistake she had made in her English paper. Whenshe recovered we went uptown and had an ice cream. How we wished you hadbeen with us. 

"Oh, Diana, if only the geometry examination were over! But there, asMrs. Lynde would say, the sun will go on rising and setting whether Ifail in geometry or not. That is true but not especially comforting. Ithink I'd rather it didn't go on if I failed!

"Yours devotedly, "Anne"

The geometry examination and all the others were over in due time andAnne arrived home on Friday evening, rather tired but with an air ofchastened triumph about her. Diana was over at Green Gables when shearrived and they met as if they had been parted for years. 

"You old darling, it's perfectly splendid to see you back again. Itseems like an age since you went to town and oh, Anne, how did you getalong?"

"Pretty well, I think, in everything but the geometry. I don't knowwhether I passed in it or not and I have a creepy, crawly presentimentthat I didn't. Oh, how good it is to be back! Green Gables is thedearest, loveliest spot in the world. "

"How did the others do?"

"The girls say they know they didn't pass, but I think they did prettywell. Josie says the geometry was so easy a child of ten could do it!Moody Spurgeon still thinks he failed in history and Charlie says hefailed in algebra. But we don't really know anything about it and won'tuntil the pass list is out. That won't be for a fortnight. Fancy livinga fortnight in such suspense! I wish I could go to sleep and never wakeup until it is over. "

Diana knew it would be useless to ask how Gilbert Blythe had fared, soshe merely said:

"Oh, you'll pass all right. Don't worry. "

"I'd rather not pass at all than not come out pretty well up on thelist, " flashed Anne, by which she meant--and Diana knew she meant--thatsuccess would be incomplete and bitter if she did not come out ahead ofGilbert Blythe. 

With this end in view Anne had strained every nerve during theexaminations. So had Gilbert. They had met and passed each other on thestreet a dozen times without any sign of recognition and every time Annehad held her head a little higher and wished a little more earnestlythat she had made friends with Gilbert when he asked her, and vowed alittle more determinedly to surpass him in the examination. She knewthat all Avonlea junior was wondering which would come out first; sheeven knew that Jimmy Glover and Ned Wright had a bet on the questionand that Josie Pye had said there was no doubt in the world that Gilbertwould be first; and she felt that her humiliation would be unbearable ifshe failed. 

But she had another and nobler motive for wishing to do well. She wantedto "pass high" for the sake of Matthew and Marilla--especially Matthew. Matthew had declared to her his conviction that she "would beat thewhole Island. " That, Anne felt, was something it would be foolish tohope for even in the wildest dreams. But she did hope fervently that shewould be among the first ten at least, so that she might see Matthew'skindly brown eyes gleam with pride in her achievement. That, shefelt, would be a sweet reward indeed for all her hard work and patientgrubbing among unimaginative equations and conjugations. 

At the end of the fortnight Anne took to "haunting" the post officealso, in the distracted company of Jane, Ruby, and Josie, opening theCharlottetown dailies with shaking hands and cold, sinkaway feelingsas bad as any experienced during the Entrance week. Charlie and Gilbertwere not above doing this too, but Moody Spurgeon stayed resolutelyaway. 

"I haven't got the grit to go there and look at a paper in cold blood, "he told Anne. "I'm just going to wait until somebody comes and tells mesuddenly whether I've passed or not. "

When three weeks had gone by without the pass list appearing Anne beganto feel that she really couldn't stand the strain much longer. Herappetite failed and her interest in Avonlea doings languished. Mrs. Lynde wanted to know what else you could expect with a Torysuperintendent of education at the head of affairs, and Matthew, notingAnne's paleness and indifference and the lagging steps that bore herhome from the post office every afternoon, began seriously to wonder ifhe hadn't better vote Grit at the next election. 

But one evening the news came. Anne was sitting at her open window, for the time forgetful of the woes of examinations and the cares of theworld, as she drank in the beauty of the summer dusk, sweet-scented withflower breaths from the garden below and sibilant and rustling from thestir of poplars. The eastern sky above the firs was flushed faintly pinkfrom the reflection of the west, and Anne was wondering dreamily if thespirit of color looked like that, when she saw Diana come flyingdown through the firs, over the log bridge, and up the slope, with afluttering newspaper in her hand. 

Anne sprang to her feet, knowing at once what that paper contained. Thepass list was out! Her head whirled and her heart beat until it hurther. She could not move a step. It seemed an hour to her before Dianacame rushing along the hall and burst into the room without evenknocking, so great was her excitement. 

"Anne, you've passed, " she cried, "passed the VERY FIRST--you andGilbert both--you're ties--but your name is first. Oh, I'm so proud!"

Diana flung the paper on the table and herself on Anne's bed, utterlybreathless and incapable of further speech. Anne lighted the lamp, oversetting the match safe and using up half a dozen matches before hershaking hands could accomplish the task. Then she snatched up the paper. Yes, she had passed--there was her name at the very top of a list of twohundred! That moment was worth living for. 

"You did just splendidly, Anne, " puffed Diana, recovering sufficientlyto sit up and speak, for Anne, starry eyed and rapt, had not uttered aword. "Father brought the paper home from Bright River not ten minutesago--it came out on the afternoon train, you know, and won't be heretill tomorrow by mail--and when I saw the pass list I just rushed overlike a wild thing. You've all passed, every one of you, Moody Spurgeonand all, although he's conditioned in history. Jane and Ruby did prettywell--they're halfway up--and so did Charlie. Josie just scraped throughwith three marks to spare, but you'll see she'll put on as many airs asif she'd led. Won't Miss Stacy be delighted? Oh, Anne, what does it feellike to see your name at the head of a pass list like that? If it wereme I know I'd go crazy with joy. I am pretty near crazy as it is, butyou're as calm and cool as a spring evening. "

"I'm just dazzled inside, " said Anne. "I want to say a hundred things, and I can't find words to say them in. I never dreamed of this--yes, Idid too, just once! I let myself think ONCE, 'What if I should come outfirst?' quakingly, you know, for it seemed so vain and presumptuous tothink I could lead the Island. Excuse me a minute, Diana. I must runright out to the field to tell Matthew. Then we'll go up the road andtell the good news to the others. "

They hurried to the hayfield below the barn where Matthew was coilinghay, and, as luck would have it, Mrs. Lynde was talking to Marilla atthe lane fence. 

"Oh, Matthew, " exclaimed Anne, "I've passed and I'm first--or one of thefirst! I'm not vain, but I'm thankful. "

"Well now, I always said it, " said Matthew, gazing at the pass listdelightedly. "I knew you could beat them all easy. "

"You've done pretty well, I must say, Anne, " said Marilla, trying tohide her extreme pride in Anne from Mrs. Rachel's critical eye. But thatgood soul said heartily:

"I just guess she has done well, and far be it from me to be backward insaying it. You're a credit to your friends, Anne, that's what, and we'reall proud of you. "

That night Anne, who had wound up the delightful evening with a seriouslittle talk with Mrs. Allan at the manse, knelt sweetly by her openwindow in a great sheen of moonshine and murmured a prayer of gratitudeand aspiration that came straight from her heart. There was in itthankfulness for the past and reverent petition for the future; and whenshe slept on her white pillow her dreams were as fair and bright andbeautiful as maidenhood might desire. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. The Hotel Concert

"Put on your white organdy, by all means, Anne, " advised Dianadecidedly. 

They were together in the east gable chamber; outside it was onlytwilight--a lovely yellowish-green twilight with a clear-blue cloudlesssky. A big round moon, slowly deepening from her pallid luster intoburnished silver, hung over the Haunted Wood; the air was full of sweetsummer sounds--sleepy birds twittering, freakish breezes, farawayvoices and laughter. But in Anne's room the blind was drawn and the lamplighted, for an important toilet was being made. 

The east gable was a very different place from what it had been on thatnight four years before, when Anne had felt its bareness penetrate tothe marrow of her spirit with its inhospitable chill. Changes had creptin, Marilla conniving at them resignedly, until it was as sweet anddainty a nest as a young girl could desire. 

The velvet carpet with the pink roses and the pink silk curtains ofAnne's early visions had certainly never materialized; but her dreamshad kept pace with her growth, and it is not probable she lamentedthem. The floor was covered with a pretty matting, and the curtains thatsoftened the high window and fluttered in the vagrant breezes were ofpale-green art muslin. The walls, hung not with gold and silver brocadetapestry, but with a dainty apple-blossom paper, were adorned with a fewgood pictures given Anne by Mrs. Allan. Miss Stacy's photograph occupiedthe place of honor, and Anne made a sentimental point of keeping freshflowers on the bracket under it. Tonight a spike of white lilies faintlyperfumed the room like the dream of a fragrance. There was no "mahoganyfurniture, " but there was a white-painted bookcase filled with books, acushioned wicker rocker, a toilet table befrilled with white muslin, a quaint, gilt-framed mirror with chubby pink Cupids and purple grapespainted over its arched top, that used to hang in the spare room, and alow white bed. 

Anne was dressing for a concert at the White Sands Hotel. The guests hadgot it up in aid of the Charlottetown hospital, and had hunted out allthe available amateur talent in the surrounding districts to help italong. Bertha Sampson and Pearl Clay of the White Sands Baptist choirhad been asked to sing a duet; Milton Clark of Newbridge was to give aviolin solo; Winnie Adella Blair of Carmody was to sing a Scotch ballad;and Laura Spencer of Spencervale and Anne Shirley of Avonlea were torecite. 

As Anne would have said at one time, it was "an epoch in her life, " andshe was deliciously athrill with the excitement of it. Matthew was inthe seventh heaven of gratified pride over the honor conferred on hisAnne and Marilla was not far behind, although she would have died ratherthan admit it, and said she didn't think it was very proper for a lotof young folks to be gadding over to the hotel without any responsibleperson with them. 

Anne and Diana were to drive over with Jane Andrews and her brotherBilly in their double-seated buggy; and several other Avonlea girls andboys were going too. There was a party of visitors expected out fromtown, and after the concert a supper was to be given to the performers. 

"Do you really think the organdy will be best?" queried Anne anxiously. "I don't think it's as pretty as my blue-flowered muslin--and itcertainly isn't so fashionable. "

 "But it suits you ever so much better, " said Diana. "It's so softand frilly and clinging. The muslin is stiff, and makes you look toodressed up. But the organdy seems as if it grew on you. "

Anne sighed and yielded. Diana was beginning to have a reputation fornotable taste in dressing, and her advice on such subjects was muchsought after. She was looking very pretty herself on this particularnight in a dress of the lovely wild-rose pink, from which Anne wasforever debarred; but she was not to take any part in the concert, soher appearance was of minor importance. All her pains were bestowed uponAnne, who, she vowed, must, for the credit of Avonlea, be dressed andcombed and adorned to the Queen's taste. 

"Pull out that frill a little more--so; here, let me tie your sash; nowfor your slippers. I'm going to braid your hair in two thick braids, and tie them halfway up with big white bows--no, don't pull out a singlecurl over your forehead--just have the soft part. There is no way you doyour hair suits you so well, Anne, and Mrs. Allan says you look like aMadonna when you part it so. I shall fasten this little white house rosejust behind your ear. There was just one on my bush, and I saved it foryou. "

"Shall I put my pearl beads on?" asked Anne. "Matthew brought me astring from town last week, and I know he'd like to see them on me. "

Diana pursed up her lips, put her black head on one side critically, and finally pronounced in favor of the beads, which were thereupon tiedaround Anne's slim milk-white throat. 

"There's something so stylish about you, Anne, " said Diana, withunenvious admiration. "You hold your head with such an air. I supposeit's your figure. I am just a dumpling. I've always been afraid of it, and now I know it is so. Well, I suppose I shall just have to resignmyself to it. "

"But you have such dimples, " said Anne, smiling affectionately into thepretty, vivacious face so near her own. "Lovely dimples, like littledents in cream. I have given up all hope of dimples. My dimple-dreamwill never come true; but so many of my dreams have that I mustn'tcomplain. Am I all ready now?"

"All ready, " assured Diana, as Marilla appeared in the doorway, a gauntfigure with grayer hair than of yore and no fewer angles, but with amuch softer face. "Come right in and look at our elocutionist, Marilla. Doesn't she look lovely?"

Marilla emitted a sound between a sniff and a grunt. 

"She looks neat and proper. I like that way of fixing her hair. But Iexpect she'll ruin that dress driving over there in the dust and dewwith it, and it looks most too thin for these damp nights. Organdy's themost unserviceable stuff in the world anyhow, and I told Matthew so whenhe got it. But there is no use in saying anything to Matthew nowadays. Time was when he would take my advice, but now he just buys things forAnne regardless, and the clerks at Carmody know they can palm anythingoff on him. Just let them tell him a thing is pretty and fashionable, and Matthew plunks his money down for it. Mind you keep your skirt clearof the wheel, Anne, and put your warm jacket on. "

Then Marilla stalked downstairs, thinking proudly how sweet Anne looked, with that

 "One moonbeam from the forehead to the crown"

and regretting that she could not go to the concert herself to hear hergirl recite. 

"I wonder if it IS too damp for my dress, " said Anne anxiously. 

"Not a bit of it, " said Diana, pulling up the window blind. "It's aperfect night, and there won't be any dew. Look at the moonlight. "

"I'm so glad my window looks east into the sunrising, " said Anne, goingover to Diana. "It's so splendid to see the morning coming up over thoselong hills and glowing through those sharp fir tops. It's new everymorning, and I feel as if I washed my very soul in that bath of earliestsunshine. Oh, Diana, I love this little room so dearly. I don't know howI'll get along without it when I go to town next month. "

"Don't speak of your going away tonight, " begged Diana. "I don't want tothink of it, it makes me so miserable, and I do want to have a good timethis evening. What are you going to recite, Anne? And are you nervous?"

"Not a bit. I've recited so often in public I don't mind at all now. I've decided to give 'The Maiden's Vow. ' It's so pathetic. Laura Spenceris going to give a comic recitation, but I'd rather make people cry thanlaugh. "

"What will you recite if they encore you?"

"They won't dream of encoring me, " scoffed Anne, who was not without herown secret hopes that they would, and already visioned herself tellingMatthew all about it at the next morning's breakfast table. "There areBilly and Jane now--I hear the wheels. Come on. "

Billy Andrews insisted that Anne should ride on the front seat with him, so she unwillingly climbed up. She would have much preferred to sitback with the girls, where she could have laughed and chattered to herheart's content. There was not much of either laughter or chatterin Billy. He was a big, fat, stolid youth of twenty, with a round, expressionless face, and a painful lack of conversational gifts. But headmired Anne immensely, and was puffed up with pride over the prospectof driving to White Sands with that slim, upright figure beside him. 

Anne, by dint of talking over her shoulder to the girls and occasionallypassing a sop of civility to Billy--who grinned and chuckled and nevercould think of any reply until it was too late--contrived to enjoy thedrive in spite of all. It was a night for enjoyment. The road was fullof buggies, all bound for the hotel, and laughter, silver clear, echoedand reechoed along it. When they reached the hotel it was a blaze oflight from top to bottom. They were met by the ladies of the concertcommittee, one of whom took Anne off to the performers' dressing roomwhich was filled with the members of a Charlottetown Symphony Club, among whom Anne felt suddenly shy and frightened and countrified. Herdress, which, in the east gable, had seemed so dainty and pretty, nowseemed simple and plain--too simple and plain, she thought, among allthe silks and laces that glistened and rustled around her. What were herpearl beads compared to the diamonds of the big, handsome lady near her?And how poor her one wee white rose must look beside all the hothouseflowers the others wore! Anne laid her hat and jacket away, and shrankmiserably into a corner. She wished herself back in the white room atGreen Gables. 

It was still worse on the platform of the big concert hall of the hotel, where she presently found herself. The electric lights dazzled her eyes, the perfume and hum bewildered her. She wished she were sitting downin the audience with Diana and Jane, who seemed to be having a splendidtime away at the back. She was wedged in between a stout lady in pinksilk and a tall, scornful-looking girl in a white-lace dress. The stoutlady occasionally turned her head squarely around and surveyed Annethrough her eyeglasses until Anne, acutely sensitive of being soscrutinized, felt that she must scream aloud; and the white-lace girlkept talking audibly to her next neighbor about the "country bumpkins"and "rustic belles" in the audience, languidly anticipating "such fun"from the displays of local talent on the program. Anne believed that shewould hate that white-lace girl to the end of life. 

Unfortunately for Anne, a professional elocutionist was staying at thehotel and had consented to recite. She was a lithe, dark-eyed woman in awonderful gown of shimmering gray stuff like woven moonbeams, with gemson her neck and in her dark hair. She had a marvelously flexible voiceand wonderful power of expression; the audience went wild over herselection. Anne, forgetting all about herself and her troubles for thetime, listened with rapt and shining eyes; but when the recitation endedshe suddenly put her hands over her face. She could never get up andrecite after that--never. Had she ever thought she could recite? Oh, ifshe were only back at Green Gables!

At this unpropitious moment her name was called. Somehow Anne--who didnot notice the rather guilty little start of surprise the white-lacegirl gave, and would not have understood the subtle compliment impliedtherein if she had--got on her feet, and moved dizzily out to the front. She was so pale that Diana and Jane, down in the audience, clasped eachother's hands in nervous sympathy. 

Anne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright. Often asshe had recited in public, she had never before faced such an audienceas this, and the sight of it paralyzed her energies completely. Everything was so strange, so brilliant, so bewildering--the rows ofladies in evening dress, the critical faces, the whole atmosphere ofwealth and culture about her. Very different this from the plain benchesat the Debating Club, filled with the homely, sympathetic faces offriends and neighbors. These people, she thought, would be mercilesscritics. Perhaps, like the white-lace girl, they anticipated amusementfrom her "rustic" efforts. She felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed andmiserable. Her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, a horrible faintnesscame over her; not a word could she utter, and the next moment she wouldhave fled from the platform despite the humiliation which, she felt, must ever after be her portion if she did so. 

But suddenly, as her dilated, frightened eyes gazed out over theaudience, she saw Gilbert Blythe away at the back of the room, bendingforward with a smile on his face--a smile which seemed to Anne at oncetriumphant and taunting. In reality it was nothing of the kind. Gilbertwas merely smiling with appreciation of the whole affair in general andof the effect produced by Anne's slender white form and spiritual faceagainst a background of palms in particular. Josie Pye, whom he haddriven over, sat beside him, and her face certainly was both triumphantand taunting. But Anne did not see Josie, and would not have cared ifshe had. She drew a long breath and flung her head up proudly, courageand determination tingling over her like an electric shock. She WOULDNOT fail before Gilbert Blythe--he should never be able to laugh at her, never, never! Her fright and nervousness vanished; and she began herrecitation, her clear, sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner ofthe room without a tremor or a break. Self-possession was fully restoredto her, and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessnessshe recited as she had never done before. When she finished there werebursts of honest applause. Anne, stepping back to her seat, blushingwith shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shakenby the stout lady in pink silk. 

"My dear, you did splendidly, " she puffed. "I've been crying like ababy, actually I have. There, they're encoring you--they're bound tohave you back!"

"Oh, I can't go, " said Anne confusedly. "But yet--I must, or Matthewwill be disappointed. He said they would encore me. "

"Then don't disappoint Matthew, " said the pink lady, laughing. 

Smiling, blushing, limpid eyed, Anne tripped back and gave a quaint, funny little selection that captivated her audience still further. Therest of the evening was quite a little triumph for her. 

When the concert was over, the stout, pink lady--who was the wife ofan American millionaire--took her under her wing, and introduced herto everybody; and everybody was very nice to her. The professionalelocutionist, Mrs. Evans, came and chatted with her, telling her thatshe had a charming voice and "interpreted" her selections beautifully. Even the white-lace girl paid her a languid little compliment. They hadsupper in the big, beautifully decorated dining room; Diana and Janewere invited to partake of this, also, since they had come with Anne, but Billy was nowhere to be found, having decamped in mortal fearof some such invitation. He was in waiting for them, with the team, however, when it was all over, and the three girls came merrily out intothe calm, white moonshine radiance. Anne breathed deeply, and lookedinto the clear sky beyond the dark boughs of the firs. 

Oh, it was good to be out again in the purity and silence of the night!How great and still and wonderful everything was, with the murmur of thesea sounding through it and the darkling cliffs beyond like grim giantsguarding enchanted coasts. 

"Hasn't it been a perfectly splendid time?" sighed Jane, as they droveaway. "I just wish I was a rich American and could spend my summer ata hotel and wear jewels and low-necked dresses and have ice cream andchicken salad every blessed day. I'm sure it would be ever so muchmore fun than teaching school. Anne, your recitation was simply great, although I thought at first you were never going to begin. I think itwas better than Mrs. Evans's. "

"Oh, no, don't say things like that, Jane, " said Anne quickly, "becauseit sounds silly. It couldn't be better than Mrs. Evans's, you know, forshe is a professional, and I'm only a schoolgirl, with a little knackof reciting. I'm quite satisfied if the people just liked mine prettywell. "

"I've a compliment for you, Anne, " said Diana. "At least I think itmust be a compliment because of the tone he said it in. Part of itwas anyhow. There was an American sitting behind Jane and me--such aromantic-looking man, with coal-black hair and eyes. Josie Pye says heis a distinguished artist, and that her mother's cousin in Boston ismarried to a man that used to go to school with him. Well, we heardhim say--didn't we, Jane?--'Who is that girl on the platform with thesplendid Titian hair? She has a face I should like to paint. ' There now, Anne. But what does Titian hair mean?"

"Being interpreted it means plain red, I guess, " laughed Anne. "Titianwas a very famous artist who liked to paint red-haired women. "

"DID you see all the diamonds those ladies wore?" sighed Jane. "Theywere simply dazzling. Wouldn't you just love to be rich, girls?"

"We ARE rich, " said Anne staunchly. "Why, we have sixteen years to ourcredit, and we're happy as queens, and we've all got imaginations, moreor less. Look at that sea, girls--all silver and shadow and vision ofthings not seen. We couldn't enjoy its loveliness any more if we hadmillions of dollars and ropes of diamonds. You wouldn't change into anyof those women if you could. Would you want to be that white-lace girland wear a sour look all your life, as if you'd been born turning upyour nose at the world? Or the pink lady, kind and nice as she is, sostout and short that you'd really no figure at all? Or even Mrs. Evans, with that sad, sad look in her eyes? She must have been dreadfullyunhappy sometime to have such a look. You KNOW you wouldn't, JaneAndrews!"

"I DON'T know--exactly, " said Jane unconvinced. "I think diamonds wouldcomfort a person for a good deal. "

"Well, I don't want to be anyone but myself, even if I go uncomforted bydiamonds all my life, " declared Anne. "I'm quite content to be Anne ofGreen Gables, with my string of pearl beads. I know Matthew gave me asmuch love with them as ever went with Madame the Pink Lady's jewels. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. A Queen's Girl

The next three weeks were busy ones at Green Gables, for Anne wasgetting ready to go to Queen's, and there was much sewing to be done, and many things to be talked over and arranged. Anne's outfit wasample and pretty, for Matthew saw to that, and Marilla for once madeno objections whatever to anything he purchased or suggested. More--oneevening she went up to the east gable with her arms full of a delicatepale green material. 

"Anne, here's something for a nice light dress for you. I don't supposeyou really need it; you've plenty of pretty waists; but I thought maybeyou'd like something real dressy to wear if you were asked out anywhereof an evening in town, to a party or anything like that. I hear thatJane and Ruby and Josie have got 'evening dresses, ' as they call them, and I don't mean you shall be behind them. I got Mrs. Allan to help mepick it in town last week, and we'll get Emily Gillis to make it foryou. Emily has got taste, and her fits aren't to be equaled. "

"Oh, Marilla, it's just lovely, " said Anne. "Thank you so much. I don'tbelieve you ought to be so kind to me--it's making it harder every dayfor me to go away. "

The green dress was made up with as many tucks and frills and shirringsas Emily's taste permitted. Anne put it on one evening for Matthew'sand Marilla's benefit, and recited "The Maiden's Vow" for them in thekitchen. As Marilla watched the bright, animated face and gracefulmotions her thoughts went back to the evening Anne had arrived at GreenGables, and memory recalled a vivid picture of the odd, frightened childin her preposterous yellowish-brown wincey dress, the heartbreak lookingout of her tearful eyes. Something in the memory brought tears toMarilla's own eyes. 

"I declare, my recitation has made you cry, Marilla, " said Anne gailystooping over Marilla's chair to drop a butterfly kiss on that lady'scheek. "Now, I call that a positive triumph. "

"No, I wasn't crying over your piece, " said Marilla, who would havescorned to be betrayed into such weakness by any poetry stuff. "I justcouldn't help thinking of the little girl you used to be, Anne. AndI was wishing you could have stayed a little girl, even with all yourqueer ways. You've grown up now and you're going away; and you look sotall and stylish and so--so--different altogether in that dress--as ifyou didn't belong in Avonlea at all--and I just got lonesome thinking itall over. "

"Marilla!" Anne sat down on Marilla's gingham lap, took Marilla's linedface between her hands, and looked gravely and tenderly into Marilla'seyes. "I'm not a bit changed--not really. I'm only just pruned down andbranched out. The real ME--back here--is just the same. It won't make abit of difference where I go or how much I change outwardly; at heart Ishall always be your little Anne, who will love you and Matthew and dearGreen Gables more and better every day of her life. "

Anne laid her fresh young cheek against Marilla's faded one, and reachedout a hand to pat Matthew's shoulder. Marilla would have given much justthen to have possessed Anne's power of putting her feelings into words;but nature and habit had willed it otherwise, and she could only put herarms close about her girl and hold her tenderly to her heart, wishingthat she need never let her go. 

Matthew, with a suspicious moisture in his eyes, got up and wentout-of-doors. Under the stars of the blue summer night he walkedagitatedly across the yard to the gate under the poplars. 

"Well now, I guess she ain't been much spoiled, " he muttered, proudly. "I guess my putting in my oar occasional never did much harm after all. She's smart and pretty, and loving, too, which is better than all therest. She's been a blessing to us, and there never was a luckier mistakethan what Mrs. Spencer made--if it WAS luck. I don't believe it was anysuch thing. It was Providence, because the Almighty saw we needed her, Ireckon. "

The day finally came when Anne must go to town. She and Matthew drovein one fine September morning, after a tearful parting with Diana and anuntearful practical one--on Marilla's side at least--with Marilla. Butwhen Anne had gone Diana dried her tears and went to a beach picnic atWhite Sands with some of her Carmody cousins, where she contrivedto enjoy herself tolerably well; while Marilla plunged fiercely intounnecessary work and kept at it all day long with the bitterest kind ofheartache--the ache that burns and gnaws and cannot wash itself awayin ready tears. But that night, when Marilla went to bed, acutely andmiserably conscious that the little gable room at the end of thehall was untenanted by any vivid young life and unstirred by any softbreathing, she buried her face in her pillow, and wept for her girl ina passion of sobs that appalled her when she grew calm enough to reflecthow very wicked it must be to take on so about a sinful fellow creature. 

Anne and the rest of the Avonlea scholars reached town just in time tohurry off to the Academy. That first day passed pleasantly enough in awhirl of excitement, meeting all the new students, learning to know theprofessors by sight and being assorted and organized into classes. Anneintended taking up the Second Year work being advised to do so by MissStacy; Gilbert Blythe elected to do the same. This meant getting aFirst Class teacher's license in one year instead of two, if they weresuccessful; but it also meant much more and harder work. Jane, Ruby, Josie, Charlie, and Moody Spurgeon, not being troubled with thestirrings of ambition, were content to take up the Second Class work. Anne was conscious of a pang of loneliness when she found herself ina room with fifty other students, not one of whom she knew, except thetall, brown-haired boy across the room; and knowing him in the fashionshe did, did not help her much, as she reflected pessimistically. Yet she was undeniably glad that they were in the same class; the oldrivalry could still be carried on, and Anne would hardly have known whatto do if it had been lacking. 

"I wouldn't feel comfortable without it, " she thought. "Gilbert looksawfully determined. I suppose he's making up his mind, here and now, towin the medal. What a splendid chin he has! I never noticed it before. I do wish Jane and Ruby had gone in for First Class, too. I suppose Iwon't feel so much like a cat in a strange garret when I get acquainted, though. I wonder which of the girls here are going to be my friends. It's really an interesting speculation. Of course I promised Diana thatno Queen's girl, no matter how much I liked her, should ever be as dearto me as she is; but I've lots of second-best affections to bestow. Ilike the look of that girl with the brown eyes and the crimson waist. She looks vivid and red-rosy; there's that pale, fair one gazing out ofthe window. She has lovely hair, and looks as if she knew a thing or twoabout dreams. I'd like to know them both--know them well--well enough towalk with my arm about their waists, and call them nicknames. But justnow I don't know them and they don't know me, and probably don't want toknow me particularly. Oh, it's lonesome!"

It was lonesomer still when Anne found herself alone in her hall bedroomthat night at twilight. She was not to board with the other girls, whoall had relatives in town to take pity on them. Miss Josephine Barrywould have liked to board her, but Beechwood was so far from theAcademy that it was out of the question; so miss Barry hunted up aboarding-house, assuring Matthew and Marilla that it was the very placefor Anne. 

"The lady who keeps it is a reduced gentlewoman, " explained Miss Barry. "Her husband was a British officer, and she is very careful what sortof boarders she takes. Anne will not meet with any objectionable personsunder her roof. The table is good, and the house is near the Academy, ina quiet neighborhood. "

All this might be quite true, and indeed, proved to be so, but it didnot materially help Anne in the first agony of homesickness that seizedupon her. She looked dismally about her narrow little room, with itsdull-papered, pictureless walls, its small iron bedstead and emptybook-case; and a horrible choke came into her throat as she thought ofher own white room at Green Gables, where she would have the pleasantconsciousness of a great green still outdoors, of sweet peas growing inthe garden, and moonlight falling on the orchard, of the brook below theslope and the spruce boughs tossing in the night wind beyond it, of avast starry sky, and the light from Diana's window shining out throughthe gap in the trees. Here there was nothing of this; Anne knew thatoutside of her window was a hard street, with a network of telephonewires shutting out the sky, the tramp of alien feet, and a thousandlights gleaming on stranger faces. She knew that she was going to cry, and fought against it. 

"I WON'T cry. It's silly--and weak--there's the third tear splashingdown by my nose. There are more coming! I must think of something funnyto stop them. But there's nothing funny except what is connected withAvonlea, and that only makes things worse--four--five--I'm going homenext Friday, but that seems a hundred years away. Oh, Matthew is nearlyhome by now--and Marilla is at the gate, looking down the lane forhim--six--seven--eight--oh, there's no use in counting them! They'recoming in a flood presently. I can't cheer up--I don't WANT to cheer up. It's nicer to be miserable!"

The flood of tears would have come, no doubt, had not Josie Pye appearedat that moment. In the joy of seeing a familiar face Anne forgot thatthere had never been much love lost between her and Josie. As a part ofAvonlea life even a Pye was welcome. 

"I'm so glad you came up, " Anne said sincerely. 

"You've been crying, " remarked Josie, with aggravating pity. "I supposeyou're homesick--some people have so little self-control in thatrespect. I've no intention of being homesick, I can tell you. Town's toojolly after that poky old Avonlea. I wonder how I ever existed there solong. You shouldn't cry, Anne; it isn't becoming, for your nose and eyesget red, and then you seem ALL red. I'd a perfectly scrumptious time inthe Academy today. Our French professor is simply a duck. His moustachewould give you kerwollowps of the heart. Have you anything eatablearound, Anne? I'm literally starving. Ah, I guessed likely Marilla'dload you up with cake. That's why I called round. Otherwise I'd havegone to the park to hear the band play with Frank Stockley. He boardssame place as I do, and he's a sport. He noticed you in class today, andasked me who the red-headed girl was. I told him you were an orphan thatthe Cuthberts had adopted, and nobody knew very much about what you'dbeen before that. "

Anne was wondering if, after all, solitude and tears were not moresatisfactory than Josie Pye's companionship when Jane and Ruby appeared, each with an inch of Queen's color ribbon--purple and scarlet--pinnedproudly to her coat. As Josie was not "speaking" to Jane just then shehad to subside into comparative harmlessness. 

"Well, " said Jane with a sigh, "I feel as if I'd lived many moons sincethe morning. I ought to be home studying my Virgil--that horrid oldprofessor gave us twenty lines to start in on tomorrow. But I simplycouldn't settle down to study tonight. Anne, methinks I see thetraces of tears. If you've been crying DO own up. It will restore myself-respect, for I was shedding tears freely before Ruby came along. Idon't mind being a goose so much if somebody else is goosey, too. Cake?You'll give me a teeny piece, won't you? Thank you. It has the realAvonlea flavor. "

Ruby, perceiving the Queen's calendar lying on the table, wanted to knowif Anne meant to try for the gold medal. 

Anne blushed and admitted she was thinking of it. 

"Oh, that reminds me, " said Josie, "Queen's is to get one of the Averyscholarships after all. The word came today. Frank Stockley told me--hisuncle is one of the board of governors, you know. It will be announcedin the Academy tomorrow. "

An Avery scholarship! Anne felt her heart beat more quickly, and thehorizons of her ambition shifted and broadened as if by magic. BeforeJosie had told the news Anne's highest pinnacle of aspiration had beena teacher's provincial license, First Class, at the end of the year, andperhaps the medal! But now in one moment Anne saw herself winningthe Avery scholarship, taking an Arts course at Redmond College, andgraduating in a gown and mortar board, before the echo of Josie's wordshad died away. For the Avery scholarship was in English, and Anne feltthat here her foot was on native heath. 

A wealthy manufacturer of New Brunswick had died and left part of hisfortune to endow a large number of scholarships to be distributedamong the various high schools and academies of the Maritime Provinces, according to their respective standings. There had been much doubtwhether one would be allotted to Queen's, but the matter was settled atlast, and at the end of the year the graduate who made the highest markin English and English Literature would win the scholarship--two hundredand fifty dollars a year for four years at Redmond College. No wonderthat Anne went to bed that night with tingling cheeks!

"I'll win that scholarship if hard work can do it, " she resolved. "Wouldn't Matthew be proud if I got to be a B. A. ? Oh, it's delightful tohave ambitions. I'm so glad I have such a lot. And there never seems tobe any end to them--that's the best of it. Just as soon as you attainto one ambition you see another one glittering higher up still. It doesmake life so interesting. "

CHAPTER XXXV. The Winter at Queen's

Anne's homesickness wore off, greatly helped in the wearing by herweekend visits home. As long as the open weather lasted the Avonleastudents went out to Carmody on the new branch railway every Fridaynight. Diana and several other Avonlea young folks were generally onhand to meet them and they all walked over to Avonlea in a merry party. Anne thought those Friday evening gypsyings over the autumnal hills inthe crisp golden air, with the homelights of Avonlea twinkling beyond, were the best and dearest hours in the whole week. 

Gilbert Blythe nearly always walked with Ruby Gillis and carried hersatchel for her. Ruby was a very handsome young lady, now thinkingherself quite as grown up as she really was; she wore her skirts as longas her mother would let her and did her hair up in town, though she hadto take it down when she went home. She had large, bright-blue eyes, a brilliant complexion, and a plump showy figure. She laughed a greatdeal, was cheerful and good-tempered, and enjoyed the pleasant things oflife frankly. 

"But I shouldn't think she was the sort of girl Gilbert would like, "whispered Jane to Anne. Anne did not think so either, but she would nothave said so for the Avery scholarship. She could not help thinking, too, that it would be very pleasant to have such a friend as Gilbertto jest and chatter with and exchange ideas about books and studies andambitions. Gilbert had ambitions, she knew, and Ruby Gillis did not seemthe sort of person with whom such could be profitably discussed. 

There was no silly sentiment in Anne's ideas concerning Gilbert. Boyswere to her, when she thought about them at all, merely possible goodcomrades. If she and Gilbert had been friends she would not have caredhow many other friends he had nor with whom he walked. She had a geniusfor friendship; girl friends she had in plenty; but she had a vagueconsciousness that masculine friendship might also be a good thingto round out one's conceptions of companionship and furnish broaderstandpoints of judgment and comparison. Not that Anne could have put herfeelings on the matter into just such clear definition. But she thoughtthat if Gilbert had ever walked home with her from the train, over thecrisp fields and along the ferny byways, they might have had many andmerry and interesting conversations about the new world that was openingaround them and their hopes and ambitions therein. Gilbert was a cleveryoung fellow, with his own thoughts about things and a determination toget the best out of life and put the best into it. Ruby Gillis told JaneAndrews that she didn't understand half the things Gilbert Blythe said;he talked just like Anne Shirley did when she had a thoughtful fit onand for her part she didn't think it any fun to be bothering about booksand that sort of thing when you didn't have to. Frank Stockley had lotsmore dash and go, but then he wasn't half as good-looking as Gilbert andshe really couldn't decide which she liked best!

In the Academy Anne gradually drew a little circle of friends abouther, thoughtful, imaginative, ambitious students like herself. With the"rose-red" girl, Stella Maynard, and the "dream girl, " Priscilla Grant, she soon became intimate, finding the latter pale spiritual-lookingmaiden to be full to the brim of mischief and pranks and fun, while thevivid, black-eyed Stella had a heartful of wistful dreams and fancies, as aerial and rainbow-like as Anne's own. 

After the Christmas holidays the Avonlea students gave up going homeon Fridays and settled down to hard work. By this time all the Queen'sscholars had gravitated into their own places in the ranks andthe various classes had assumed distinct and settled shadings ofindividuality. Certain facts had become generally accepted. It wasadmitted that the medal contestants had practically narrowed downto three--Gilbert Blythe, Anne Shirley, and Lewis Wilson; the Averyscholarship was more doubtful, any one of a certain six being a possiblewinner. The bronze medal for mathematics was considered as good aswon by a fat, funny little up-country boy with a bumpy forehead and apatched coat. 

Ruby Gillis was the handsomest girl of the year at the Academy; in theSecond Year classes Stella Maynard carried off the palm for beauty, withsmall but critical minority in favor of Anne Shirley. Ethel Marr wasadmitted by all competent judges to have the most stylish modesof hair-dressing, and Jane Andrews--plain, plodding, conscientiousJane--carried off the honors in the domestic science course. Even JosiePye attained a certain preeminence as the sharpest-tongued young lady inattendance at Queen's. So it may be fairly stated that Miss Stacy's oldpupils held their own in the wider arena of the academical course. 

Anne worked hard and steadily. Her rivalry with Gilbert was as intenseas it had ever been in Avonlea school, although it was not known in theclass at large, but somehow the bitterness had gone out of it. Anne nolonger wished to win for the sake of defeating Gilbert; rather, for theproud consciousness of a well-won victory over a worthy foeman. Itwould be worth while to win, but she no longer thought life would beinsupportable if she did not. 

In spite of lessons the students found opportunities for pleasant times. Anne spent many of her spare hours at Beechwood and generally ate herSunday dinners there and went to church with Miss Barry. The latter was, as she admitted, growing old, but her black eyes were not dim nor thevigor of her tongue in the least abated. But she never sharpened thelatter on Anne, who continued to be a prime favorite with the criticalold lady. 

"That Anne-girl improves all the time, " she said. "I get tired of othergirls--there is such a provoking and eternal sameness about them. Annehas as many shades as a rainbow and every shade is the prettiest whileit lasts. I don't know that she is as amusing as she was when she wasa child, but she makes me love her and I like people who make me lovethem. It saves me so much trouble in making myself love them. "

Then, almost before anybody realized it, spring had come; out inAvonlea the Mayflowers were peeping pinkly out on the sere barrens wheresnow-wreaths lingered; and the "mist of green" was on the woods and inthe valleys. But in Charlottetown harassed Queen's students thought andtalked only of examinations. 

"It doesn't seem possible that the term is nearly over, " said Anne. "Why, last fall it seemed so long to look forward to--a whole winterof studies and classes. And here we are, with the exams looming up nextweek. Girls, sometimes I feel as if those exams meant everything, butwhen I look at the big buds swelling on those chestnut trees andthe misty blue air at the end of the streets they don't seem half soimportant. "

Jane and Ruby and Josie, who had dropped in, did not take this viewof it. To them the coming examinations were constantly very importantindeed--far more important than chestnut buds or Maytime hazes. It wasall very well for Anne, who was sure of passing at least, to have hermoments of belittling them, but when your whole future depended onthem--as the girls truly thought theirs did--you could not regard themphilosophically. 

"I've lost seven pounds in the last two weeks, " sighed Jane. "It's nouse to say don't worry. I WILL worry. Worrying helps you some--itseems as if you were doing something when you're worrying. It would bedreadful if I failed to get my license after going to Queen's all winterand spending so much money. "

"_I_ don't care, " said Josie Pye. "If I don't pass this year I'm comingback next. My father can afford to send me. Anne, Frank Stockley saysthat Professor Tremaine said Gilbert Blythe was sure to get the medaland that Emily Clay would likely win the Avery scholarship. "

"That may make me feel badly tomorrow, Josie, " laughed Anne, "but justnow I honestly feel that as long as I know the violets are coming outall purple down in the hollow below Green Gables and that little fernsare poking their heads up in Lovers' Lane, it's not a great deal ofdifference whether I win the Avery or not. I've done my best and I beginto understand what is meant by the 'joy of the strife. ' Next to tryingand winning, the best thing is trying and failing. Girls, don't talkabout exams! Look at that arch of pale green sky over those housesand picture to yourself what it must look like over the purply-darkbeech-woods back of Avonlea. "

"What are you going to wear for commencement, Jane?" asked Rubypractically. 

Jane and Josie both answered at once and the chatter drifted into a sideeddy of fashions. But Anne, with her elbows on the window sill, her softcheek laid against her clasped hands, and her eyes filled with visions, looked out unheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious domeof sunset sky and wove her dreams of a possible future from the goldentissue of youth's own optimism. All the Beyond was hers with itspossibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years--each year a rose ofpromise to be woven into an immortal chaplet. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. The Glory and the Dream

On the morning when the final results of all the examinations were to beposted on the bulletin board at Queen's, Anne and Jane walked down thestreet together. Jane was smiling and happy; examinations were overand she was comfortably sure she had made a pass at least; furtherconsiderations troubled Jane not at all; she had no soaring ambitionsand consequently was not affected with the unrest attendant thereon. Forwe pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and althoughambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won, butexact their dues of work and self-denial, anxiety and discouragement. Anne was pale and quiet; in ten more minutes she would know who hadwon the medal and who the Avery. Beyond those ten minutes there did notseem, just then, to be anything worth being called Time. 

"Of course you'll win one of them anyhow, " said Jane, who couldn'tunderstand how the faculty could be so unfair as to order it otherwise. 

"I have not hope of the Avery, " said Anne. "Everybody says Emily Claywill win it. And I'm not going to march up to that bulletin board andlook at it before everybody. I haven't the moral courage. I'm goingstraight to the girls' dressing room. You must read the announcementsand then come and tell me, Jane. And I implore you in the name of ourold friendship to do it as quickly as possible. If I have failed justsay so, without trying to break it gently; and whatever you do DON'Tsympathize with me. Promise me this, Jane. "

Jane promised solemnly; but, as it happened, there was no necessity forsuch a promise. When they went up the entrance steps of Queen's theyfound the hall full of boys who were carrying Gilbert Blythe around ontheir shoulders and yelling at the tops of their voices, "Hurrah forBlythe, Medalist!"

For a moment Anne felt one sickening pang of defeat and disappointment. So she had failed and Gilbert had won! Well, Matthew would be sorry--hehad been so sure she would win. 

And then!

Somebody called out:

"Three cheers for Miss Shirley, winner of the Avery!"

"Oh, Anne, " gasped Jane, as they fled to the girls' dressing room amidhearty cheers. "Oh, Anne I'm so proud! Isn't it splendid?"

And then the girls were around them and Anne was the center of alaughing, congratulating group. Her shoulders were thumped and her handsshaken vigorously. She was pushed and pulled and hugged and among it allshe managed to whisper to Jane:

"Oh, won't Matthew and Marilla be pleased! I must write the news homeright away. "

Commencement was the next important happening. The exercises were heldin the big assembly hall of the Academy. Addresses were given, essaysread, songs sung, the public award of diplomas, prizes and medals made. 

Matthew and Marilla were there, with eyes and ears for only one studenton the platform--a tall girl in pale green, with faintly flushedcheeks and starry eyes, who read the best essay and was pointed out andwhispered about as the Avery winner. 

"Reckon you're glad we kept her, Marilla?" whispered Matthew, speakingfor the first time since he had entered the hall, when Anne had finishedher essay. 

"It's not the first time I've been glad, " retorted Marilla. "You do liketo rub things in, Matthew Cuthbert. "

Miss Barry, who was sitting behind them, leaned forward and pokedMarilla in the back with her parasol. 

"Aren't you proud of that Anne-girl? I am, " she said. 

Anne went home to Avonlea with Matthew and Marilla that evening. She hadnot been home since April and she felt that she could not wait anotherday. The apple blossoms were out and the world was fresh and young. Diana was at Green Gables to meet her. In her own white room, whereMarilla had set a flowering house rose on the window sill, Anne lookedabout her and drew a long breath of happiness. 

"Oh, Diana, it's so good to be back again. It's so good to see thosepointed firs coming out against the pink sky--and that white orchard andthe old Snow Queen. Isn't the breath of the mint delicious? And that tearose--why, it's a song and a hope and a prayer all in one. And it's GOODto see you again, Diana!"

"I thought you liked that Stella Maynard better than me, " saidDiana reproachfully. "Josie Pye told me you did. Josie said you wereINFATUATED with her. "

Anne laughed and pelted Diana with the faded "June lilies" of herbouquet. 

"Stella Maynard is the dearest girl in the world except one and you arethat one, Diana, " she said. "I love you more than ever--and I've so manythings to tell you. But just now I feel as if it were joy enough to sithere and look at you. I'm tired, I think--tired of being studious andambitious. I mean to spend at least two hours tomorrow lying out in theorchard grass, thinking of absolutely nothing. "

"You've done splendidly, Anne. I suppose you won't be teaching now thatyou've won the Avery?"

"No. I'm going to Redmond in September. Doesn't it seem wonderful? I'llhave a brand new stock of ambition laid in by that time after threeglorious, golden months of vacation. Jane and Ruby are going to teach. Isn't it splendid to think we all got through even to Moody Spurgeon andJosie Pye?"

"The Newbridge trustees have offered Jane their school already, " saidDiana. "Gilbert Blythe is going to teach, too. He has to. His fathercan't afford to send him to college next year, after all, so he meansto earn his own way through. I expect he'll get the school here if MissAmes decides to leave. "

Anne felt a queer little sensation of dismayed surprise. She had notknown this; she had expected that Gilbert would be going to Redmondalso. What would she do without their inspiring rivalry? Would notwork, even at a coeducational college with a real degree in prospect, berather flat without her friend the enemy?

The next morning at breakfast it suddenly struck Anne that Matthew wasnot looking well. Surely he was much grayer than he had been a yearbefore. 

"Marilla, " she said hesitatingly when he had gone out, "is Matthew quitewell?"

"No, he isn't, " said Marilla in a troubled tone. "He's had some realbad spells with his heart this spring and he won't spare himself a mite. I've been real worried about him, but he's some better this while backand we've got a good hired man, so I'm hoping he'll kind of rest andpick up. Maybe he will now you're home. You always cheer him up. "

Anne leaned across the table and took Marilla's face in her hands. 

"You are not looking as well yourself as I'd like to see you, Marilla. You look tired. I'm afraid you've been working too hard. You must takea rest, now that I'm home. I'm just going to take this one day off tovisit all the dear old spots and hunt up my old dreams, and then it willbe your turn to be lazy while I do the work. "

Marilla smiled affectionately at her girl. 

"It's not the work--it's my head. I've got a pain so often now--behindmy eyes. Doctor Spencer's been fussing with glasses, but they don't dome any good. There is a distinguished oculist coming to the Island thelast of June and the doctor says I must see him. I guess I'll have to. I can't read or sew with any comfort now. Well, Anne, you've done realwell at Queen's I must say. To take First Class License in one year andwin the Avery scholarship--well, well, Mrs. Lynde says pride goes beforea fall and she doesn't believe in the higher education of women at all;she says it unfits them for woman's true sphere. I don't believe a wordof it. Speaking of Rachel reminds me--did you hear anything about theAbbey Bank lately, Anne?"

"I heard it was shaky, " answered Anne. "Why?"

"That is what Rachel said. She was up here one day last week and saidthere was some talk about it. Matthew felt real worried. All we havesaved is in that bank--every penny. I wanted Matthew to put it in theSavings Bank in the first place, but old Mr. Abbey was a great friend offather's and he'd always banked with him. Matthew said any bank with himat the head of it was good enough for anybody. "

"I think he has only been its nominal head for many years, " saidAnne. "He is a very old man; his nephews are really at the head of theinstitution. "

"Well, when Rachel told us that, I wanted Matthew to draw our moneyright out and he said he'd think of it. But Mr. Russell told himyesterday that the bank was all right. "

Anne had her good day in the companionship of the outdoor world. Shenever forgot that day; it was so bright and golden and fair, so freefrom shadow and so lavish of blossom. Anne spent some of its rich hoursin the orchard; she went to the Dryad's Bubble and Willowmere and VioletVale; she called at the manse and had a satisfying talk with Mrs. Allan;and finally in the evening she went with Matthew for the cows, throughLovers' Lane to the back pasture. The woods were all gloried throughwith sunset and the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hillgaps in the west. Matthew walked slowly with bent head; Anne, tall anderect, suited her springing step to his. 

"You've been working too hard today, Matthew, " she said reproachfully. "Why won't you take things easier?"

"Well now, I can't seem to, " said Matthew, as he opened the yard gateto let the cows through. "It's only that I'm getting old, Anne, and keepforgetting it. Well, well, I've always worked pretty hard and I'd ratherdrop in harness. "

"If I had been the boy you sent for, " said Anne wistfully, "I'd be ableto help you so much now and spare you in a hundred ways. I could find itin my heart to wish I had been, just for that. "

"Well now, I'd rather have you than a dozen boys, Anne, " said Matthewpatting her hand. "Just mind you that--rather than a dozen boys. Wellnow, I guess it wasn't a boy that took the Avery scholarship, was it? Itwas a girl--my girl--my girl that I'm proud of. "

He smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard. Anne took thememory of it with her when she went to her room that night and sat for along while at her open window, thinking of the past and dreaming of thefuture. Outside the Snow Queen was mistily white in the moonshine;the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond Orchard Slope. Anne alwaysremembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life isever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch hasbeen laid upon it. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. The Reaper Whose Name Is Death

"Matthew--Matthew--what is the matter? Matthew, are you sick?"

It was Marilla who spoke, alarm in every jerky word. Anne came throughthe hall, her hands full of white narcissus, --it was long before Annecould love the sight or odor of white narcissus again, --in time to hearher and to see Matthew standing in the porch doorway, a folded paperin his hand, and his face strangely drawn and gray. Anne dropped herflowers and sprang across the kitchen to him at the same moment asMarilla. They were both too late; before they could reach him Matthewhad fallen across the threshold. 

"He's fainted, " gasped Marilla. "Anne, run for Martin--quick, quick!He's at the barn. "

Martin, the hired man, who had just driven home from the post office, started at once for the doctor, calling at Orchard Slope on his way tosend Mr. And Mrs. Barry over. Mrs. Lynde, who was there on an errand, came too. They found Anne and Marilla distractedly trying to restoreMatthew to consciousness. 

Mrs. Lynde pushed them gently aside, tried his pulse, and then laid herear over his heart. She looked at their anxious faces sorrowfully andthe tears came into her eyes. 

"Oh, Marilla, " she said gravely. "I don't think--we can do anything forhim. "

"Mrs. Lynde, you don't think--you can't think Matthew is--is--" Annecould not say the dreadful word; she turned sick and pallid. 

"Child, yes, I'm afraid of it. Look at his face. When you've seen thatlook as often as I have you'll know what it means. "

Anne looked at the still face and there beheld the seal of the GreatPresence. 

When the doctor came he said that death had been instantaneous andprobably painless, caused in all likelihood by some sudden shock. Thesecret of the shock was discovered to be in the paper Matthew had heldand which Martin had brought from the office that morning. It containedan account of the failure of the Abbey Bank. 

The news spread quickly through Avonlea, and all day friends andneighbors thronged Green Gables and came and went on errands of kindnessfor the dead and living. For the first time shy, quiet Matthew Cuthbertwas a person of central importance; the white majesty of death hadfallen on him and set him apart as one crowned. 

When the calm night came softly down over Green Gables the old house washushed and tranquil. In the parlor lay Matthew Cuthbert in his coffin, his long gray hair framing his placid face on which there was a littlekindly smile as if he but slept, dreaming pleasant dreams. There wereflowers about him--sweet old-fashioned flowers which his mother hadplanted in the homestead garden in her bridal days and for which Matthewhad always had a secret, wordless love. Anne had gathered them andbrought them to him, her anguished, tearless eyes burning in her whiteface. It was the last thing she could do for him. 

The Barrys and Mrs. Lynde stayed with them that night. Diana, going tothe east gable, where Anne was standing at her window, said gently:

"Anne dear, would you like to have me sleep with you tonight?"

"Thank you, Diana. " Anne looked earnestly into her friend's face. "Ithink you won't misunderstand me when I say I want to be alone. I'm notafraid. I haven't been alone one minute since it happened--and I want tobe. I want to be quite silent and quiet and try to realize it. I can'trealize it. Half the time it seems to me that Matthew can't be dead; andthe other half it seems as if he must have been dead for a long time andI've had this horrible dull ache ever since. "

Diana did not quite understand. Marilla's impassioned grief, breakingall the bounds of natural reserve and lifelong habit in its stormy rush, she could comprehend better than Anne's tearless agony. But she wentaway kindly, leaving Anne alone to keep her first vigil with sorrow. 

Anne hoped that the tears would come in solitude. It seemed to her aterrible thing that she could not shed a tear for Matthew, whom she hadloved so much and who had been so kind to her, Matthew who had walkedwith her last evening at sunset and was now lying in the dim room belowwith that awful peace on his brow. But no tears came at first, even whenshe knelt by her window in the darkness and prayed, looking up to thestars beyond the hills--no tears, only the same horrible dull ache ofmisery that kept on aching until she fell asleep, worn out with theday's pain and excitement. 

In the night she awakened, with the stillness and the darkness abouther, and the recollection of the day came over her like a wave ofsorrow. She could see Matthew's face smiling at her as he had smiledwhen they parted at the gate that last evening--she could hear his voicesaying, "My girl--my girl that I'm proud of. " Then the tears came andAnne wept her heart out. Marilla heard her and crept in to comfort her. 

"There--there--don't cry so, dearie. It can't bring him back. It--it--isn't right to cry so. I knew that today, but I couldn't helpit then. He'd always been such a good, kind brother to me--but God knowsbest. "

"Oh, just let me cry, Marilla, " sobbed Anne. "The tears don't hurt melike that ache did. Stay here for a little while with me and keep yourarm round me--so. I couldn't have Diana stay, she's good and kind andsweet--but it's not her sorrow--she's outside of it and she couldn'tcome close enough to my heart to help me. It's our sorrow--yours andmine. Oh, Marilla, what will we do without him?"

"We've got each other, Anne. I don't know what I'd do if you weren'there--if you'd never come. Oh, Anne, I know I've been kind of strict andharsh with you maybe--but you mustn't think I didn't love you as well asMatthew did, for all that. I want to tell you now when I can. It's neverbeen easy for me to say things out of my heart, but at times like thisit's easier. I love you as dear as if you were my own flesh and bloodand you've been my joy and comfort ever since you came to Green Gables. "

Two days afterwards they carried Matthew Cuthbert over his homesteadthreshold and away from the fields he had tilled and the orchards he hadloved and the trees he had planted; and then Avonlea settled back to itsusual placidity and even at Green Gables affairs slipped into their oldgroove and work was done and duties fulfilled with regularity as before, although always with the aching sense of "loss in all familiar things. "Anne, new to grief, thought it almost sad that it could be so--thatthey COULD go on in the old way without Matthew. She felt something likeshame and remorse when she discovered that the sunrises behind the firsand the pale pink buds opening in the garden gave her the old inrush ofgladness when she saw them--that Diana's visits were pleasant to herand that Diana's merry words and ways moved her to laughter andsmiles--that, in brief, the beautiful world of blossom and love andfriendship had lost none of its power to please her fancy and thrill herheart, that life still called to her with many insistent voices. 

"It seems like disloyalty to Matthew, somehow, to find pleasure inthese things now that he has gone, " she said wistfully to Mrs. Allanone evening when they were together in the manse garden. "I miss him somuch--all the time--and yet, Mrs. Allan, the world and life seem verybeautiful and interesting to me for all. Today Diana said somethingfunny and I found myself laughing. I thought when it happened I couldnever laugh again. And it somehow seems as if I oughtn't to. "

"When Matthew was here he liked to hear you laugh and he liked to knowthat you found pleasure in the pleasant things around you, " said Mrs. Allan gently. "He is just away now; and he likes to know it just thesame. I am sure we should not shut our hearts against the healinginfluences that nature offers us. But I can understand your feeling. I think we all experience the same thing. We resent the thought thatanything can please us when someone we love is no longer here to sharethe pleasure with us, and we almost feel as if we were unfaithful to oursorrow when we find our interest in life returning to us. "

"I was down to the graveyard to plant a rosebush on Matthew's gravethis afternoon, " said Anne dreamily. "I took a slip of the little whiteScotch rosebush his mother brought out from Scotland long ago; Matthewalways liked those roses the best--they were so small and sweet ontheir thorny stems. It made me feel glad that I could plant it by hisgrave--as if I were doing something that must please him in taking itthere to be near him. I hope he has roses like them in heaven. Perhapsthe souls of all those little white roses that he has loved so manysummers were all there to meet him. I must go home now. Marilla is allalone and she gets lonely at twilight. "

"She will be lonelier still, I fear, when you go away again to college, "said Mrs. Allan. 

Anne did not reply; she said good night and went slowly back to greenGables. Marilla was sitting on the front door-steps and Anne sat downbeside her. The door was open behind them, held back by a big pink conchshell with hints of sea sunsets in its smooth inner convolutions. 

Anne gathered some sprays of pale-yellow honeysuckle and put them inher hair. She liked the delicious hint of fragrance, as some aerialbenediction, above her every time she moved. 

"Doctor Spencer was here while you were away, " Marilla said. "He saysthat the specialist will be in town tomorrow and he insists that I mustgo in and have my eyes examined. I suppose I'd better go and have itover. I'll be more than thankful if the man can give me the right kindof glasses to suit my eyes. You won't mind staying here alone while I'maway, will you? Martin will have to drive me in and there's ironing andbaking to do. "

"I shall be all right. Diana will come over for company for me. I shallattend to the ironing and baking beautifully--you needn't fear that I'llstarch the handkerchiefs or flavor the cake with liniment. "

Marilla laughed. 

"What a girl you were for making mistakes in them days, Anne. You werealways getting into scrapes. I did use to think you were possessed. Doyou mind the time you dyed your hair?"

"Yes, indeed. I shall never forget it, " smiled Anne, touching the heavybraid of hair that was wound about her shapely head. "I laugh a littlenow sometimes when I think what a worry my hair used to be to me--but Idon't laugh MUCH, because it was a very real trouble then. I did sufferterribly over my hair and my freckles. My freckles are really gone; andpeople are nice enough to tell me my hair is auburn now--all but JosiePye. She informed me yesterday that she really thought it was redderthan ever, or at least my black dress made it look redder, and she askedme if people who had red hair ever got used to having it. Marilla, I'vealmost decided to give up trying to like Josie Pye. I've made what Iwould once have called a heroic effort to like her, but Josie Pye won'tBE liked. "

"Josie is a Pye, " said Marilla sharply, "so she can't help beingdisagreeable. I suppose people of that kind serve some useful purpose insociety, but I must say I don't know what it is any more than I know theuse of thistles. Is Josie going to teach?"

"No, she is going back to Queen's next year. So are Moody Spurgeon andCharlie Sloane. Jane and Ruby are going to teach and they have both gotschools--Jane at Newbridge and Ruby at some place up west. "

"Gilbert Blythe is going to teach too, isn't he?"

"Yes"--briefly. 

"What a nice-looking fellow he is, " said Marilla absently. "I saw him inchurch last Sunday and he seemed so tall and manly. He looks a lot likehis father did at the same age. John Blythe was a nice boy. We used tobe real good friends, he and I. People called him my beau. "

Anne looked up with swift interest. 

"Oh, Marilla--and what happened?--why didn't you--"

"We had a quarrel. I wouldn't forgive him when he asked me to. I meantto, after awhile--but I was sulky and angry and I wanted to punish himfirst. He never came back--the Blythes were all mighty independent. ButI always felt--rather sorry. I've always kind of wished I'd forgiven himwhen I had the chance. "

"So you've had a bit of romance in your life, too, " said Anne softly. 

"Yes, I suppose you might call it that. You wouldn't think so to look atme, would you? But you never can tell about people from their outsides. Everybody has forgot about me and John. I'd forgotten myself. But it allcame back to me when I saw Gilbert last Sunday. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Bend in the road

Marilla went to town the next day and returned in the evening. Anne hadgone over to Orchard Slope with Diana and came back to find Marilla inthe kitchen, sitting by the table with her head leaning on her hand. Something in her dejected attitude struck a chill to Anne's heart. Shehad never seen Marilla sit limply inert like that. 

"Are you very tired, Marilla?"

"Yes--no--I don't know, " said Marilla wearily, looking up. "I suppose Iam tired but I haven't thought about it. It's not that. "

"Did you see the oculist? What did he say?" asked Anne anxiously. 

"Yes, I saw him. He examined my eyes. He says that if I give up allreading and sewing entirely and any kind of work that strains the eyes, and if I'm careful not to cry, and if I wear the glasses he's given mehe thinks my eyes may not get any worse and my headaches will be cured. But if I don't he says I'll certainly be stone-blind in six months. Blind! Anne, just think of it!"

For a minute Anne, after her first quick exclamation of dismay, wassilent. It seemed to her that she could NOT speak. Then she saidbravely, but with a catch in her voice:

"Marilla, DON'T think of it. You know he has given you hope. If you arecareful you won't lose your sight altogether; and if his glasses cureyour headaches it will be a great thing. "

"I don't call it much hope, " said Marilla bitterly. "What am I to livefor if I can't read or sew or do anything like that? I might as wellbe blind--or dead. And as for crying, I can't help that when I getlonesome. But there, it's no good talking about it. If you'll get mea cup of tea I'll be thankful. I'm about done out. Don't say anythingabout this to any one for a spell yet, anyway. I can't bear that folksshould come here to question and sympathize and talk about it. "

When Marilla had eaten her lunch Anne persuaded her to go to bed. ThenAnne went herself to the east gable and sat down by her window in thedarkness alone with her tears and her heaviness of heart. How sadlythings had changed since she had sat there the night after coming home!Then she had been full of hope and joy and the future had looked rosywith promise. Anne felt as if she had lived years since then, but beforeshe went to bed there was a smile on her lips and peace in her heart. She had looked her duty courageously in the face and found it afriend--as duty ever is when we meet it frankly. 

One afternoon a few days later Marilla came slowly in from the frontyard where she had been talking to a caller--a man whom Anne knew bysight as Sadler from Carmody. Anne wondered what he could have beensaying to bring that look to Marilla's face. 

"What did Mr. Sadler want, Marilla?"

Marilla sat down by the window and looked at Anne. There were tears inher eyes in defiance of the oculist's prohibition and her voice broke asshe said:

"He heard that I was going to sell Green Gables and he wants to buy it. "

"Buy it! Buy Green Gables?" Anne wondered if she had heard aright. "Oh, Marilla, you don't mean to sell Green Gables!"

"Anne, I don't know what else is to be done. I've thought it all over. If my eyes were strong I could stay here and make out to look afterthings and manage, with a good hired man. But as it is I can't. I maylose my sight altogether; and anyway I'll not be fit to run things. Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd have to sell my home. But things would only go behind worse and worse all the time, tillnobody would want to buy it. Every cent of our money went in that bank;and there's some notes Matthew gave last fall to pay. Mrs. Lynde advisesme to sell the farm and board somewhere--with her I suppose. It won'tbring much--it's small and the buildings are old. But it'll be enoughfor me to live on I reckon. I'm thankful you're provided for with thatscholarship, Anne. I'm sorry you won't have a home to come to in yourvacations, that's all, but I suppose you'll manage somehow. "

Marilla broke down and wept bitterly. 

"You mustn't sell Green Gables, " said Anne resolutely. 

"Oh, Anne, I wish I didn't have to. But you can see for yourself. Ican't stay here alone. I'd go crazy with trouble and loneliness. And mysight would go--I know it would. "

"You won't have to stay here alone, Marilla. I'll be with you. I'm notgoing to Redmond. "

"Not going to Redmond!" Marilla lifted her worn face from her hands andlooked at Anne. "Why, what do you mean?"

"Just what I say. I'm not going to take the scholarship. I decided sothe night after you came home from town. You surely don't think I couldleave you alone in your trouble, Marilla, after all you've done for me. I've been thinking and planning. Let me tell you my plans. Mr. Barrywants to rent the farm for next year. So you won't have any bother overthat. And I'm going to teach. I've applied for the school here--but Idon't expect to get it for I understand the trustees have promised it toGilbert Blythe. But I can have the Carmody school--Mr. Blair told meso last night at the store. Of course that won't be quite as nice orconvenient as if I had the Avonlea school. But I can board home anddrive myself over to Carmody and back, in the warm weather at least. Andeven in winter I can come home Fridays. We'll keep a horse for that. Oh, I have it all planned out, Marilla. And I'll read to you and keep youcheered up. You sha'n't be dull or lonesome. And we'll be real cozy andhappy here together, you and I. "

Marilla had listened like a woman in a dream. 

"Oh, Anne, I could get on real well if you were here, I know. But Ican't let you sacrifice yourself so for me. It would be terrible. "

"Nonsense!" Anne laughed merrily. "There is no sacrifice. Nothing couldbe worse than giving up Green Gables--nothing could hurt me more. Wemust keep the dear old place. My mind is quite made up, Marilla. I'm NOTgoing to Redmond; and I AM going to stay here and teach. Don't you worryabout me a bit. "

"But your ambitions--and--"

"I'm just as ambitious as ever. Only, I've changed the object of myambitions. I'm going to be a good teacher--and I'm going to save youreyesight. Besides, I mean to study at home here and take a littlecollege course all by myself. Oh, I've dozens of plans, Marilla. I'vebeen thinking them out for a week. I shall give life here my best, andI believe it will give its best to me in return. When I left Queen's myfuture seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thoughtI could see along it for many a milestone. Now there is a bend in it. Idon't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that thebest does. It has a fascination of its own, that bend, Marilla. I wonderhow the road beyond it goes--what there is of green glory andsoft, checkered light and shadows--what new landscapes--what newbeauties--what curves and hills and valleys further on. "

"I don't feel as if I ought to let you give it up, " said Marilla, referring to the scholarship. 

"But you can't prevent me. I'm sixteen and a half, 'obstinate as amule, ' as Mrs. Lynde once told me, " laughed Anne. "Oh, Marilla, don'tyou go pitying me. I don't like to be pitied, and there is no needfor it. I'm heart glad over the very thought of staying at dear GreenGables. Nobody could love it as you and I do--so we must keep it. "

"You blessed girl!" said Marilla, yielding. "I feel as if you'd given menew life. I guess I ought to stick out and make you go to college--butI know I can't, so I ain't going to try. I'll make it up to you though, Anne. "

When it became noised abroad in Avonlea that Anne Shirley had given upthe idea of going to college and intended to stay home and teach therewas a good deal of discussion over it. Most of the good folks, notknowing about Marilla's eyes, thought she was foolish. Mrs. Allan didnot. She told Anne so in approving words that brought tears of pleasureto the girl's eyes. Neither did good Mrs. Lynde. She came up one eveningand found Anne and Marilla sitting at the front door in the warm, scented summer dusk. They liked to sit there when the twilight came downand the white moths flew about in the garden and the odor of mint filledthe dewy air. 

Mrs. Rachel deposited her substantial person upon the stone bench by thedoor, behind which grew a row of tall pink and yellow hollyhocks, with along breath of mingled weariness and relief. 

"I declare I'm getting glad to sit down. I've been on my feet all day, and two hundred pounds is a good bit for two feet to carry round. It'sa great blessing not to be fat, Marilla. I hope you appreciate it. Well, Anne, I hear you've given up your notion of going to college. I wasreal glad to hear it. You've got as much education now as a woman can becomfortable with. I don't believe in girls going to college with the menand cramming their heads full of Latin and Greek and all that nonsense. "

"But I'm going to study Latin and Greek just the same, Mrs. Lynde, " saidAnne laughing. "I'm going to take my Arts course right here at GreenGables, and study everything that I would at college. "

Mrs. Lynde lifted her hands in holy horror. 

"Anne Shirley, you'll kill yourself. "

"Not a bit of it. I shall thrive on it. Oh, I'm not going to overdothings. As 'Josiah Allen's wife, ' says, I shall be 'mejum'. But I'llhave lots of spare time in the long winter evenings, and I've novocation for fancy work. I'm going to teach over at Carmody, you know. "

"I don't know it. I guess you're going to teach right here in Avonlea. The trustees have decided to give you the school. "

"Mrs. Lynde!" cried Anne, springing to her feet in her surprise. "Why, Ithought they had promised it to Gilbert Blythe!"

"So they did. But as soon as Gilbert heard that you had applied for ithe went to them--they had a business meeting at the school last night, you know--and told them that he withdrew his application, and suggestedthat they accept yours. He said he was going to teach at White Sands. Ofcourse he knew how much you wanted to stay with Marilla, and I mustsay I think it was real kind and thoughtful in him, that's what. Realself-sacrificing, too, for he'll have his board to pay at White Sands, and everybody knows he's got to earn his own way through college. So thetrustees decided to take you. I was tickled to death when Thomas camehome and told me. "

"I don't feel that I ought to take it, " murmured Anne. "I mean--I don'tthink I ought to let Gilbert make such a sacrifice for--for me. "

"I guess you can't prevent him now. He's signed papers with the WhiteSands trustees. So it wouldn't do him any good now if you were torefuse. Of course you'll take the school. You'll get along all right, now that there are no Pyes going. Josie was the last of them, and agood thing she was, that's what. There's been some Pye or other going toAvonlea school for the last twenty years, and I guess their mission inlife was to keep school teachers reminded that earth isn't their home. Bless my heart! What does all that winking and blinking at the Barrygable mean?"

"Diana is signaling for me to go over, " laughed Anne. "You know we keepup the old custom. Excuse me while I run over and see what she wants. "

Anne ran down the clover slope like a deer, and disappeared in the firryshadows of the Haunted Wood. Mrs. Lynde looked after her indulgently. 

"There's a good deal of the child about her yet in some ways. "

"There's a good deal more of the woman about her in others, " retortedMarilla, with a momentary return of her old crispness. 

But crispness was no longer Marilla's distinguishing characteristic. AsMrs. Lynde told her Thomas that night. 

"Marilla Cuthbert has got MELLOW. That's what. "

Anne went to the little Avonlea graveyard the next evening to put freshflowers on Matthew's grave and water the Scotch rosebush. She lingeredthere until dusk, liking the peace and calm of the little place, with its poplars whose rustle was like low, friendly speech, and itswhispering grasses growing at will among the graves. When she finallyleft it and walked down the long hill that sloped to the Lake of ShiningWaters it was past sunset and all Avonlea lay before her in a dreamlikeafterlight--"a haunt of ancient peace. " There was a freshness in theair as of a wind that had blown over honey-sweet fields of clover. Homelights twinkled out here and there among the homestead trees. Beyond laythe sea, misty and purple, with its haunting, unceasing murmur. The westwas a glory of soft mingled hues, and the pond reflected them all instill softer shadings. The beauty of it all thrilled Anne's heart, andshe gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it. 

"Dear old world, " she murmured, "you are very lovely, and I am glad tobe alive in you. "

Halfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of a gate before theBlythe homestead. It was Gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as herecognized Anne. He lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passedon in silence, if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand. 

"Gilbert, " she said, with scarlet cheeks, "I want to thank you forgiving up the school for me. It was very good of you--and I want you toknow that I appreciate it. "

Gilbert took the offered hand eagerly. 

"It wasn't particularly good of me at all, Anne. I was pleased to beable to do you some small service. Are we going to be friends afterthis? Have you really forgiven me my old fault?"

Anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand. 

"I forgave you that day by the pond landing, although I didn't knowit. What a stubborn little goose I was. I've been--I may as well make acomplete confession--I've been sorry ever since. "

"We are going to be the best of friends, " said Gilbert, jubilantly. "Wewere born to be good friends, Anne. You've thwarted destiny enough. Iknow we can help each other in many ways. You are going to keep up yourstudies, aren't you? So am I. Come, I'm going to walk home with you. "

Marilla looked curiously at Anne when the latter entered the kitchen. 

"Who was that came up the lane with you, Anne?"

"Gilbert Blythe, " answered Anne, vexed to find herself blushing. "I methim on Barry's hill. "

"I didn't think you and Gilbert Blythe were such good friends that you'dstand for half an hour at the gate talking to him, " said Marilla with adry smile. 

"We haven't been--we've been good enemies. But we have decided that itwill be much more sensible to be good friends in the future. Were wereally there half an hour? It seemed just a few minutes. But, you see, we have five years' lost conversations to catch up with, Marilla. "

Anne sat long at her window that night companioned by a glad content. The wind purred softly in the cherry boughs, and the mint breaths cameup to her. The stars twinkled over the pointed firs in the hollow andDiana's light gleamed through the old gap. 

Anne's horizons had closed in since the night she had sat there aftercoming home from Queen's; but if the path set before her feet was to benarrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it. The joy of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendshipwere to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or herideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road!

"'God's in his heaven, all's right with the world, '" whispered Annesoftly.