ANNE of the ISLAND

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

 to

 all the girls all over the world who have "wanted more" about ANNE

 All precious things discovered late To those that seek them issue forth, For Love in sequel works with Fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth. --TENNYSON

 Table of Contents

 I The Shadow of Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 II Garlands of Autumn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 III Greeting and Farewell. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 IV April's Lady . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 V Letters from Home. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 VI In the Park. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 VII Home Again . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 VIII Anne's First Proposal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 IX An Unwelcome Lover and a Welcome Friend. . . . . . . 113 X Patty's Place. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126 XI The Round of Life. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139 XII "Averil's Atonement" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153 XIII The Way of Transgressors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 XIV The Summons. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181 XV A Dream Turned Upside Down . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194 XVI Adjusted Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 202 XVII A Letter from Davy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219 XVIII Miss Josepine Remembers the Anne-girl. . . . . . . . 225 XIX An Interlude . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234 XX Gilbert Speaks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 240 XXI Roses of Yesterday . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249 XXII Spring and Anne Return to Green Gables . . . . . . . 256 XXIII Paul Cannot Find the Rock People . . . . . . . . . . 263 XXIV Enter Jonas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269 XXV Enter Prince Charming. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 278 XXVI Enter Christine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 288 XXVII Mutual Confidences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 294 XXVIII A June Evening . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303 XXIX Diana's Wedding. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311 XXX Mrs. Skinner's Romance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317 XXXI Anne to Philippa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323 XXXII Tea with Mrs. Douglas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328 XXXIII "He Just Kept Coming and Coming" . . . . . . . . . . 336 XXXIV John Douglas Speaks at Last. . . . . . . . . . . . . 342 XXXV The Last Redmond Year Opens. . . . . . . . . . . . . 350 XXXV1 The Gardners' Call . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361 XXXVII Full-fledged B. A. 's. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 370 XXXVIII False Dawn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 379 XXXIX Deals with Weddings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 388 XL A Book of Revelation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400 XLI Love Takes Up the Glass of Time. . . . . . . . . . . 407

ANNE of the ISLAND

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Chapter I

The Shadow of Change

"Harvest is ended and summer is gone, " quoted Anne Shirley, gazingacross the shorn fields dreamily. She and Diana Barry had been pickingapples in the Green Gables orchard, but were now resting from theirlabors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of thistledown drifted byon the wings of a wind that was still summer-sweet with the incense offerns in the Haunted Wood. 

But everything in the landscape around them spoke of autumn. The sea wasroaring hollowly in the distance, the fields were bare and sere, scarfedwith golden rod, the brook valley below Green Gables overflowedwith asters of ethereal purple, and the Lake of Shining Waters wasblue--blue--blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor the pale azureof summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if the waterwere past all moods and tenses of emotion and had settled down to atranquility unbroken by fickle dreams. 

"It has been a nice summer, " said Diana, twisting the new ring on herleft hand with a smile. "And Miss Lavendar's wedding seemed to come asa sort of crown to it. I suppose Mr. And Mrs. Irving are on the Pacificcoast now. "

"It seems to me they have been gone long enough to go around the world, "sighed Anne. 

"I can't believe it is only a week since they were married. Everythinghas changed. Miss Lavendar and Mr. And Mrs. Allan gone--how lonely themanse looks with the shutters all closed! I went past it last night, andit made me feel as if everybody in it had died. "

"We'll never get another minister as nice as Mr. Allan, " said Diana, with gloomy conviction. "I suppose we'll have all kinds of supplies thiswinter, and half the Sundays no preaching at all. And you and Gilbertgone--it will be awfully dull. "

"Fred will be here, " insinuated Anne slyly. 

"When is Mrs. Lynde going to move up?" asked Diana, as if she had notheard Anne's remark. 

"Tomorrow. I'm glad she's coming--but it will be another change. Marillaand I cleared everything out of the spare room yesterday. Do you know, I hated to do it? Of course, it was silly--but it did seem as if wewere committing sacrilege. That old spare room has always seemed likea shrine to me. When I was a child I thought it the most wonderfulapartment in the world. You remember what a consuming desire I had tosleep in a spare room bed--but not the Green Gables spare room. Oh, no, never there! It would have been too terrible--I couldn't have slept awink from awe. I never WALKED through that room when Marilla sent me inon an errand--no, indeed, I tiptoed through it and held my breath, as ifI were in church, and felt relieved when I got out of it. The picturesof George Whitefield and the Duke of Wellington hung there, one on eachside of the mirror, and frowned so sternly at me all the time I was in, especially if I dared peep in the mirror, which was the only one in thehouse that didn't twist my face a little. I always wondered how Marilladared houseclean that room. And now it's not only cleaned but strippedbare. George Whitefield and the Duke have been relegated to the upstairshall. 'So passes the glory of this world, '" concluded Anne, with alaugh in which there was a little note of regret. It is never pleasantto have our old shrines desecrated, even when we have outgrown them. 

"I'll be so lonesome when you go, " moaned Diana for the hundredth time. "And to think you go next week!"

"But we're together still, " said Anne cheerily. "We mustn't let nextweek rob us of this week's joy. I hate the thought of going myself--homeand I are such good friends. Talk of being lonesome! It's I who shouldgroan. YOU'LL be here with any number of your old friends--AND Fred!While I shall be alone among strangers, not knowing a soul!"

"EXCEPT Gilbert--AND Charlie Sloane, " said Diana, imitating Anne'sitalics and slyness. 

"Charlie Sloane will be a great comfort, of course, " agreed Annesarcastically; whereupon both those irresponsible damsels laughed. Dianaknew exactly what Anne thought of Charlie Sloane; but, despite sundryconfidential talks, she did not know just what Anne thought of GilbertBlythe. To be sure, Anne herself did not know that. 

"The boys may be boarding at the other end of Kingsport, for all Iknow, " Anne went on. "I am glad I'm going to Redmond, and I am sure Ishall like it after a while. But for the first few weeks I know I won't. I shan't even have the comfort of looking forward to the weekend visithome, as I had when I went to Queen's. Christmas will seem like athousand years away. "

"Everything is changing--or going to change, " said Diana sadly. "I havea feeling that things will never be the same again, Anne. "

"We have come to a parting of the ways, I suppose, " said Annethoughtfully. "We had to come to it. Do you think, Diana, that beinggrown-up is really as nice as we used to imagine it would be when wewere children?"

"I don't know--there are SOME nice things about it, " answered Diana, again caressing her ring with that little smile which always had theeffect of making Anne feel suddenly left out and inexperienced. "Butthere are so many puzzling things, too. Sometimes I feel as if beinggrown-up just frightened me--and then I would give anything to be alittle girl again. "

"I suppose we'll get used to being grownup in time, " said Annecheerfully. "There won't be so many unexpected things about it by andby--though, after all, I fancy it's the unexpected things that givespice to life. We're eighteen, Diana. In two more years we'll be twenty. When I was ten I thought twenty was a green old age. In no time you'llbe a staid, middle-aged matron, and I shall be nice, old maid Aunt Anne, coming to visit you on vacations. You'll always keep a corner for me, won't you, Di darling? Not the spare room, of course--old maids can'taspire to spare rooms, and I shall be as 'umble as Uriah Heep, and quitecontent with a little over-the-porch or off-the-parlor cubby hole. "

"What nonsense you do talk, Anne, " laughed Diana. "You'll marry somebodysplendid and handsome and rich--and no spare room in Avonlea will behalf gorgeous enough for you--and you'll turn up your nose at all thefriends of your youth. "

"That would be a pity; my nose is quite nice, but I fear turning it upwould spoil it, " said Anne, patting that shapely organ. "I haven't somany good features that I could afford to spoil those I have; so, evenif I should marry the King of the Cannibal Islands, I promise you Iwon't turn up my nose at you, Diana. "

With another gay laugh the girls separated, Diana to return to OrchardSlope, Anne to walk to the Post Office. She found a letter awaiting herthere, and when Gilbert Blythe overtook her on the bridge over the Lakeof Shining Waters she was sparkling with the excitement of it. 

"Priscilla Grant is going to Redmond, too, " she exclaimed. "Isn't thatsplendid? I hoped she would, but she didn't think her father wouldconsent. He has, however, and we're to board together. I feel that I canface an army with banners--or all the professors of Redmond in one fellphalanx--with a chum like Priscilla by my side. "

"I think we'll like Kingsport, " said Gilbert. "It's a nice old burg, they tell me, and has the finest natural park in the world. I've heardthat the scenery in it is magnificent. "

"I wonder if it will be--can be--any more beautiful than this, " murmuredAnne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of those towhom "home" must always be the loveliest spot in the world, no matterwhat fairer lands may lie under alien stars. 

They were leaning on the bridge of the old pond, drinking deep of theenchantment of the dusk, just at the spot where Anne had climbed fromher sinking Dory on the day Elaine floated down to Camelot. The fine, empurpling dye of sunset still stained the western skies, but the moonwas rising and the water lay like a great, silver dream in her light. Remembrance wove a sweet and subtle spell over the two young creatures. 

"You are very quiet, Anne, " said Gilbert at last. 

"I'm afraid to speak or move for fear all this wonderful beauty willvanish just like a broken silence, " breathed Anne. 

Gilbert suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying on therail of the bridge. His hazel eyes deepened into darkness, his stillboyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope that thrilledhis soul. But Anne snatched her hand away and turned quickly. The spellof the dusk was broken for her. 

"I must go home, " she exclaimed, with a rather overdone carelessness. "Marilla had a headache this afternoon, and I'm sure the twins will bein some dreadful mischief by this time. I really shouldn't have stayedaway so long. "

She chattered ceaselessly and inconsequently until they reached theGreen Gables lane. Poor Gilbert hardly had a chance to get a word inedgewise. Anne felt rather relieved when they parted. There had been anew, secret self-consciousness in her heart with regard to Gilbert, eversince that fleeting moment of revelation in the garden of EchoLodge. Something alien had intruded into the old, perfect, school-daycomradeship--something that threatened to mar it. 

"I never felt glad to see Gilbert go before, " she thought, half-resentfully, half-sorrowfully, as she walked alone up the lane. "Our friendship will be spoiled if he goes on with this nonsense. It mustn't be spoiled--I won't let it. Oh, WHY can't boys be justsensible!"

Anne had an uneasy doubt that it was not strictly "sensible" thatshe should still feel on her hand the warm pressure of Gilbert's, asdistinctly as she had felt it for the swift second his had restedthere; and still less sensible that the sensation was far from being anunpleasant one--very different from that which had attended a similardemonstration on Charlie Sloane's part, when she had been sitting out adance with him at a White Sands party three nights before. Anne shiveredover the disagreeable recollection. But all problems connected withinfatuated swains vanished from her mind when she entered thehomely, unsentimental atmosphere of the Green Gables kitchen where aneight-year-old boy was crying grievously on the sofa. 

"What is the matter, Davy?" asked Anne, taking him up in her arms. "Where are Marilla and Dora?"

"Marilla's putting Dora to bed, " sobbed Davy, "and I'm crying 'causeDora fell down the outside cellar steps, heels over head, and scrapedall the skin off her nose, and--"

"Oh, well, don't cry about it, dear. Of course, you are sorry for her, but crying won't help her any. She'll be all right tomorrow. Cryingnever helps any one, Davy-boy, and--"

"I ain't crying 'cause Dora fell down cellar, " said Davy, cutting shortAnne's wellmeant preachment with increasing bitterness. "I'm crying, cause I wasn't there to see her fall. I'm always missing some fun orother, seems to me. "

"Oh, Davy!" Anne choked back an unholy shriek of laughter. "Would youcall it fun to see poor little Dora fall down the steps and get hurt?"

"She wasn't MUCH hurt, " said Davy, defiantly. "'Course, if she'd beenkilled I'd have been real sorry, Anne. But the Keiths ain't so easykilled. They're like the Blewetts, I guess. Herb Blewett fell off thehayloft last Wednesday, and rolled right down through the turnip chuteinto the box stall, where they had a fearful wild, cross horse, androlled right under his heels. And still he got out alive, with onlythree bones broke. Mrs. Lynde says there are some folks you can't killwith a meat-axe. Is Mrs. Lynde coming here tomorrow, Anne?"

"Yes, Davy, and I hope you'll be always very nice and good to her. "

"I'll be nice and good. But will she ever put me to bed at nights, Anne?"

"Perhaps. Why?"

"'Cause, " said Davy very decidedly, "if she does I won't say my prayersbefore her like I do before you, Anne. "

"Why not?"

"'Cause I don't think it would be nice to talk to God before strangers, Anne. Dora can say hers to Mrs. Lynde if she likes, but _I_ won't. I'llwait till she's gone and then say 'em. Won't that be all right, Anne?"

"Yes, if you are sure you won't forget to say them, Davy-boy. "

"Oh, I won't forget, you bet. I think saying my prayers is great fun. But it won't be as good fun saying them alone as saying them to you. I wish you'd stay home, Anne. I don't see what you want to go away andleave us for. "

"I don't exactly WANT to, Davy, but I feel I ought to go. "

"If you don't want to go you needn't. You're grown up. When _I_'m grownup I'm not going to do one single thing I don't want to do, Anne. "

"All your life, Davy, you'll find yourself doing things you don't wantto do. "

"I won't, " said Davy flatly. "Catch me! I have to do things I don't wantto now 'cause you and Marilla'll send me to bed if I don't. But when Igrow up you can't do that, and there'll be nobody to tell me not to dothings. Won't I have the time! Say, Anne, Milty Boulter says his mothersays you're going to college to see if you can catch a man. Are you, Anne? I want to know. "

For a second Anne burned with resentment. Then she laughed, remindingherself that Mrs. Boulter's crude vulgarity of thought and speech couldnot harm her. 

"No, Davy, I'm not. I'm going to study and grow and learn about manythings. "

"What things?"

 "'Shoes and ships and sealing wax And cabbages and kings, '"

quoted Anne. 

"But if you DID want to catch a man how would you go about it? I wantto know, " persisted Davy, for whom the subject evidently possessed acertain fascination. 

"You'd better ask Mrs. Boulter, " said Anne thoughtlessly. "I think it'slikely she knows more about the process than I do. "

"I will, the next time I see her, " said Davy gravely. 

"Davy! If you do!" cried Anne, realizing her mistake. 

"But you just told me to, " protested Davy aggrieved. 

"It's time you went to bed, " decreed Anne, by way of getting out of thescrape. 

After Davy had gone to bed Anne wandered down to Victoria Island and satthere alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, while the waterlaughed around her in a duet of brook and wind. Anne had always lovedthat brook. Many a dream had she spun over its sparkling water indays gone by. She forgot lovelorn youths, and the cayenne speeches ofmalicious neighbors, and all the problems of her girlish existence. Inimagination she sailed over storied seas that wash the distant shiningshores of "faery lands forlorn, " where lost Atlantis and Elysium lie, with the evening star for pilot, to the land of Heart's Desire. And shewas richer in those dreams than in realities; for things seen pass away, but the things that are unseen are eternal. 

Chapter II

Garlands of Autumn

The following week sped swiftly, crowded with innumerable "last things, "as Anne called them. Good-bye calls had to be made and received, beingpleasant or otherwise, according to whether callers and called-uponwere heartily in sympathy with Anne's hopes, or thought she was too muchpuffed-up over going to college and that it was their duty to "take herdown a peg or two. "

The A. V. I. S. Gave a farewell party in honor of Anne and Gilbert oneevening at the home of Josie Pye, choosing that place, partly becauseMr. Pye's house was large and convenient, partly because it was stronglysuspected that the Pye girls would have nothing to do with the affair iftheir offer of the house for the party was not accepted. It was a verypleasant little time, for the Pye girls were gracious, and said and didnothing to mar the harmony of the occasion--which was not accordingto their wont. Josie was unusually amiable--so much so that she evenremarked condescendingly to Anne, "Your new dress is rather becoming to you, Anne. Really, you look ALMOSTPRETTY in it. "

"How kind of you to say so, " responded Anne, with dancing eyes. Hersense of humor was developing, and the speeches that would have hurt herat fourteen were becoming merely food for amusement now. Josie suspectedthat Anne was laughing at her behind those wicked eyes; but shecontented herself with whispering to Gertie, as they went downstairs, that Anne Shirley would put on more airs than ever now that she wasgoing to college--you'd see!

All the "old crowd" was there, full of mirth and zest and youthfullightheartedness. Diana Barry, rosy and dimpled, shadowed by thefaithful Fred; Jane Andrews, neat and sensible and plain; Ruby Gillis, looking her handsomest and brightest in a cream silk blouse, with redgeraniums in her golden hair; Gilbert Blythe and Charlie Sloane, bothtrying to keep as near the elusive Anne as possible; Carrie Sloane, looking pale and melancholy because, so it was reported, her fatherwould not allow Oliver Kimball to come near the place; Moody SpurgeonMacPherson, whose round face and objectionable ears were as round andobjectionable as ever; and Billy Andrews, who sat in a corner all theevening, chuckled when any one spoke to him, and watched Anne Shirleywith a grin of pleasure on his broad, freckled countenance. 

Anne had known beforehand of the party, but she had not known that sheand Gilbert were, as the founders of the Society, to be presented witha very complimentary "address" and "tokens of respect"--in her case avolume of Shakespeare's plays, in Gilbert's a fountain pen. She was sotaken by surprise and pleased by the nice things said in the address, read in Moody Spurgeon's most solemn and ministerial tones, that thetears quite drowned the sparkle of her big gray eyes. She had workedhard and faithfully for the A. V. I. S. , and it warmed the cockles of herheart that the members appreciated her efforts so sincerely. And theywere all so nice and friendly and jolly--even the Pye girls had theirmerits; at that moment Anne loved all the world. 

She enjoyed the evening tremendously, but the end of it rather spoiledall. Gilbert again made the mistake of saying something sentimentalto her as they ate their supper on the moonlit verandah; and Anne, topunish him, was gracious to Charlie Sloane and allowed the latter towalk home with her. She found, however, that revenge hurts nobody quiteso much as the one who tries to inflict it. Gilbert walked airily offwith Ruby Gillis, and Anne could hear them laughing and talking gaily asthey loitered along in the still, crisp autumn air. They were evidentlyhaving the best of good times, while she was horribly bored by CharlieSloane, who talked unbrokenly on, and never, even by accident, said onething that was worth listening to. Anne gave an occasional absent "yes"or "no, " and thought how beautiful Ruby had looked that night, howvery goggly Charlie's eyes were in the moonlight--worse even than bydaylight--and that the world, somehow, wasn't quite such a nice place asshe had believed it to be earlier in the evening. 

"I'm just tired out--that is what is the matter with me, " she said, whenshe thankfully found herself alone in her own room. And she honestlybelieved it was. But a certain little gush of joy, as from some secret, unknown spring, bubbled up in her heart the next evening, when she sawGilbert striding down through the Haunted Wood and crossing the old logbridge with that firm, quick step of his. So Gilbert was not going tospend this last evening with Ruby Gillis after all!

"You look tired, Anne, " he said. 

"I am tired, and, worse than that, I'm disgruntled. I'm tired becauseI've been packing my trunk and sewing all day. But I'm disgruntledbecause six women have been here to say good-bye to me, and every one ofthe six managed to say something that seemed to take the color rightout of life and leave it as gray and dismal and cheerless as a Novembermorning. "

"Spiteful old cats!" was Gilbert's elegant comment. 

"Oh, no, they weren't, " said Anne seriously. "That is just the trouble. If they had been spiteful cats I wouldn't have minded them. But they areall nice, kind, motherly souls, who like me and whom I like, and that iswhy what they said, or hinted, had such undue weight with me. They letme see they thought I was crazy going to Redmond and trying to takea B. A. , and ever since I've been wondering if I am. Mrs. Peter Sloanesighed and said she hoped my strength would hold out till I got through;and at once I saw myself a hopeless victim of nervous prostration at theend of my third year; Mrs. Eben Wright said it must cost an awful lotto put in four years at Redmond; and I felt all over me that it wasunpardonable of me to squander Marilla's money and my own on such afolly. Mrs. Jasper Bell said she hoped I wouldn't let college spoil me, as it did some people; and I felt in my bones that the end of my fourRedmond years would see me a most insufferable creature, thinking I knewit all, and looking down on everything and everybody in Avonlea; Mrs. Elisha Wright said she understood that Redmond girls, especially thosewho belonged to Kingsport, were 'dreadful dressy and stuck-up, ' and sheguessed I wouldn't feel much at home among them; and I saw myself, asnubbed, dowdy, humiliated country girl, shuffling through Redmond'sclassic halls in coppertoned boots. "

Anne ended with a laugh and a sigh commingled. With her sensitive natureall disapproval had weight, even the disapproval of those for whoseopinions she had scant respect. For the time being life was savorless, and ambition had gone out like a snuffed candle. 

"You surely don't care for what they said, " protested Gilbert. "You knowexactly how narrow their outlook on life is, excellent creatures thoughthey are. To do anything THEY have never done is anathema maranatha. Youare the first Avonlea girl who has ever gone to college; and youknow that all pioneers are considered to be afflicted with moonstruckmadness. "

"Oh, I know. But FEELING is so different from KNOWING. My common sensetells me all you can say, but there are times when common sense hasno power over me. Common nonsense takes possession of my soul. Really, after Mrs. Elisha went away I hardly had the heart to finish packing. "

"You're just tired, Anne. Come, forget it all and take a walk withme--a ramble back through the woods beyond the marsh. There should besomething there I want to show you. "

"Should be! Don't you know if it is there?"

"No. I only know it should be, from something I saw there in spring. Come on. We'll pretend we are two children again and we'll go the way ofthe wind. "

They started gaily off. Anne, remembering the unpleasantness of thepreceding evening, was very nice to Gilbert; and Gilbert, who waslearning wisdom, took care to be nothing save the schoolboy comradeagain. Mrs. Lynde and Marilla watched them from the kitchen window. 

"That'll be a match some day, " Mrs. Lynde said approvingly. 

Marilla winced slightly. In her heart she hoped it would, but it wentagainst her grain to hear the matter spoken of in Mrs. Lynde's gossipymatter-of-fact way. 

"They're only children yet, " she said shortly. 

Mrs. Lynde laughed good-naturedly. 

"Anne is eighteen; I was married when I was that age. We old folks, Marilla, are too much given to thinking children never grow up, that'swhat. Anne is a young woman and Gilbert's a man, and he worships theground she walks on, as any one can see. He's a fine fellow, and Annecan't do better. I hope she won't get any romantic nonsense into herhead at Redmond. I don't approve of them coeducational places and neverdid, that's what. I don't believe, " concluded Mrs. Lynde solemnly, "thatthe students at such colleges ever do much else than flirt. "

"They must study a little, " said Marilla, with a smile. 

"Precious little, " sniffed Mrs. Rachel. "However, I think Anne will. Shenever was flirtatious. But she doesn't appreciate Gilbert at his fullvalue, that's what. Oh, I know girls! Charlie Sloane is wild about her, too, but I'd never advise her to marry a Sloane. The Sloanes are good, honest, respectable people, of course. But when all's said and done, they're SLOANES. "

Marilla nodded. To an outsider, the statement that Sloanes were Sloanesmight not be very illuminating, but she understood. Every village hassuch a family; good, honest, respectable people they may be, but SLOANESthey are and must ever remain, though they speak with the tongues of menand angels. 

Gilbert and Anne, happily unconscious that their future was thus beingsettled by Mrs. Rachel, were sauntering through the shadows of theHaunted Wood. Beyond, the harvest hills were basking in an amber sunsetradiance, under a pale, aerial sky of rose and blue. The distant sprucegroves were burnished bronze, and their long shadows barred the uplandmeadows. But around them a little wind sang among the fir tassels, andin it there was the note of autumn. 

"This wood really is haunted now--by old memories, " said Anne, stoopingto gather a spray of ferns, bleached to waxen whiteness by frost. "Itseems to me that the little girls Diana and I used to be play herestill, and sit by the Dryad's Bubble in the twilights, trysting withthe ghosts. Do you know, I can never go up this path in the dusk withoutfeeling a bit of the old fright and shiver? There was one especiallyhorrifying phantom which we created--the ghost of the murdered childthat crept up behind you and laid cold fingers on yours. I confess that, to this day, I cannot help fancying its little, furtive footsteps behindme when I come here after nightfall. I'm not afraid of the White Lady orthe headless man or the skeletons, but I wish I had never imagined thatbaby's ghost into existence. How angry Marilla and Mrs. Barry were overthat affair, " concluded Anne, with reminiscent laughter. 

The woods around the head of the marsh were full of purple vistas, threaded with gossamers. Past a dour plantation of gnarled spruces anda maple-fringed, sun-warm valley they found the "something" Gilbert waslooking for. 

"Ah, here it is, " he said with satisfaction. 

"An apple tree--and away back here!" exclaimed Anne delightedly. 

"Yes, a veritable apple-bearing apple tree, too, here in the very midstof pines and beeches, a mile away from any orchard. I was here one daylast spring and found it, all white with blossom. So I resolved I'd comeagain in the fall and see if it had been apples. See, it's loaded. Theylook good, too--tawny as russets but with a dusky red cheek. Most wildseedlings are green and uninviting. "

"I suppose it sprang years ago from some chance-sown seed, " said Annedreamily. "And how it has grown and flourished and held its own here allalone among aliens, the brave determined thing!"

"Here's a fallen tree with a cushion of moss. Sit down, Anne--it willserve for a woodland throne. I'll climb for some apples. They all growhigh--the tree had to reach up to the sunlight. "

The apples proved to be delicious. Under the tawny skin was a white, white flesh, faintly veined with red; and, besides their own properapple taste, they had a certain wild, delightful tang no orchard-grownapple ever possessed. 

"The fatal apple of Eden couldn't have had a rarer flavor, " commentedAnne. "But it's time we were going home. See, it was twilight threeminutes ago and now it's moonlight. What a pity we couldn't have caughtthe moment of transformation. But such moments never are caught, Isuppose. "

"Let's go back around the marsh and home by way of Lover's Lane. Do youfeel as disgruntled now as when you started out, Anne?"

"Not I. Those apples have been as manna to a hungry soul. I feel that Ishall love Redmond and have a splendid four years there. "

"And after those four years--what?"

"Oh, there's another bend in the road at their end, " answered Annelightly. "I've no idea what may be around it--I don't want to have. It'snicer not to know. "

Lover's Lane was a dear place that night, still and mysteriously dimin the pale radiance of the moonlight. They loitered through it in apleasant chummy silence, neither caring to talk. 

"If Gilbert were always as he has been this evening how nice and simpleeverything would be, " reflected Anne. 

Gilbert was looking at Anne, as she walked along. In her light dress, with her slender delicacy, she made him think of a white iris. 

"I wonder if I can ever make her care for me, " he thought, with a pangof self-destruct. 

Chapter III

Greeting and Farewell

Charlie Sloane, Gilbert Blythe and Anne Shirley left Avonlea thefollowing Monday morning. Anne had hoped for a fine day. Diana was todrive her to the station and they wanted this, their last drive togetherfor some time, to be a pleasant one. But when Anne went to bed Sundaynight the east wind was moaning around Green Gables with an ominousprophecy which was fulfilled in the morning. Anne awoke to findraindrops pattering against her window and shadowing the pond's graysurface with widening rings; hills and sea were hidden in mist, and thewhole world seemed dim and dreary. Anne dressed in the cheerless graydawn, for an early start was necessary to catch the boat train; shestruggled against the tears that WOULD well up in her eyes in spite ofherself. She was leaving the home that was so dear to her, and somethingtold her that she was leaving it forever, save as a holiday refuge. Things would never be the same again; coming back for vacations wouldnot be living there. And oh, how dear and beloved everything was--thatlittle white porch room, sacred to the dreams of girlhood, the old SnowQueen at the window, the brook in the hollow, the Dryad's Bubble, theHaunted Woods, and Lover's Lane--all the thousand and one dear spotswhere memories of the old years bided. Could she ever be really happyanywhere else?

Breakfast at Green Gables that morning was a rather doleful meal. Davy, for the first time in his life probably, could not eat, but blubberedshamelessly over his porridge. Nobody else seemed to have much appetite, save Dora, who tucked away her rations comfortably. Dora, like theimmortal and most prudent Charlotte, who "went on cutting bread andbutter" when her frenzied lover's body had been carried past on ashutter, was one of those fortunate creatures who are seldom disturbedby anything. Even at eight it took a great deal to ruffle Dora'splacidity. She was sorry Anne was going away, of course, but was thatany reason why she should fail to appreciate a poached egg on toast? Notat all. And, seeing that Davy could not eat his, Dora ate it for him. 

Promptly on time Diana appeared with horse and buggy, her rosy faceglowing above her raincoat. The good-byes had to be said then somehow. Mrs. Lynde came in from her quarters to give Anne a hearty embrace andwarn her to be careful of her health, whatever she did. Marilla, brusqueand tearless, pecked Anne's cheek and said she supposed they'd hear fromher when she got settled. A casual observer might have concluded thatAnne's going mattered very little to her--unless said observer hadhappened to get a good look in her eyes. Dora kissed Anne primly andsqueezed out two decorous little tears; but Davy, who had been crying onthe back porch step ever since they rose from the table, refused to saygood-bye at all. When he saw Anne coming towards him he sprang to hisfeet, bolted up the back stairs, and hid in a clothes closet, out ofwhich he would not come. His muffled howls were the last sounds Anneheard as she left Green Gables. 

It rained heavily all the way to Bright River, to which station they hadto go, since the branch line train from Carmody did not connect with theboat train. Charlie and Gilbert were on the station platform when theyreached it, and the train was whistling. Anne had just time to get herticket and trunk check, say a hurried farewell to Diana, and hasten onboard. She wished she were going back with Diana to Avonlea; she knewshe was going to die of homesickness. And oh, if only that dismal rainwould stop pouring down as if the whole world were weeping over summervanished and joys departed! Even Gilbert's presence brought her nocomfort, for Charlie Sloane was there, too, and Sloanishness could betolerated only in fine weather. It was absolutely insufferable in rain. 

But when the boat steamed out of Charlottetown harbor things took a turnfor the better. The rain ceased and the sun began to burst out goldenlynow and again between the rents in the clouds, burnishing the gray seaswith copper-hued radiance, and lighting up the mists that curtained theIsland's red shores with gleams of gold foretokening a fine day afterall. Besides, Charlie Sloane promptly became so seasick that he had togo below, and Anne and Gilbert were left alone on deck. 

"I am very glad that all the Sloanes get seasick as soon as they go onwater, " thought Anne mercilessly. "I am sure I couldn't take my farewelllook at the 'ould sod' with Charlie standing there pretending to looksentimentally at it, too. "

"Well, we're off, " remarked Gilbert unsentimentally. 

"Yes, I feel like Byron's 'Childe Harold'--only it isn't really my'native shore' that I'm watching, " said Anne, winking her gray eyesvigorously. "Nova Scotia is that, I suppose. But one's native shore isthe land one loves the best, and that's good old P. E. I. For me. I can'tbelieve I didn't always live here. Those eleven years before I came seemlike a bad dream. It's seven years since I crossed on this boat--theevening Mrs. Spencer brought me over from Hopetown. I can see myself, inthat dreadful old wincey dress and faded sailor hat, exploring decks andcabins with enraptured curiosity. It was a fine evening; and how thosered Island shores did gleam in the sunshine. Now I'm crossing the straitagain. Oh, Gilbert, I do hope I'll like Redmond and Kingsport, but I'msure I won't!"

"Where's all your philosophy gone, Anne?"

"It's all submerged under a great, swamping wave of loneliness andhomesickness. I've longed for three years to go to Redmond--and nowI'm going--and I wish I weren't! Never mind! I shall be cheerful andphilosophical again after I have just one good cry. I MUST have that, 'as a went'--and I'll have to wait until I get into my boardinghousebed tonight, wherever it may be, before I can have it. Then Anne will beherself again. I wonder if Davy has come out of the closet yet. "

It was nine that night when their train reached Kingsport, and theyfound themselves in the blue-white glare of the crowded station. Annefelt horribly bewildered, but a moment later she was seized by PriscillaGrant, who had come to Kingsport on Saturday. 

"Here you are, beloved! And I suppose you're as tired as I was when Igot here Saturday night. "

"Tired! Priscilla, don't talk of it. I'm tired, and green, andprovincial, and only about ten years old. For pity's sake take yourpoor, broken-down chum to some place where she can hear herself think. "

"I'll take you right up to our boardinghouse. I've a cab ready outside. "

"It's such a blessing you're here, Prissy. If you weren't I think Ishould just sit down on my suitcase, here and now, and weep bittertears. What a comfort one familiar face is in a howling wilderness ofstrangers!"

"Is that Gilbert Blythe over there, Anne? How he has grown up this pastyear! He was only a schoolboy when I taught in Carmody. And of coursethat's Charlie Sloane. HE hasn't changed--couldn't! He looked just likethat when he was born, and he'll look like that when he's eighty. Thisway, dear. We'll be home in twenty minutes. "

"Home!" groaned Anne. "You mean we'll be in some horrible boardinghouse, in a still more horrible hall bedroom, looking out on a dingy backyard. "

"It isn't a horrible boardinghouse, Anne-girl. Here's our cab. Hopin--the driver will get your trunk. Oh, yes, the boardinghouse--it'sreally a very nice place of its kind, as you'll admit tomorrow morningwhen a good night's sleep has turned your blues rosy pink. It's a big, old-fashioned, gray stone house on St. John Street, just a nice littleconstitutional from Redmond. It used to be the 'residence' of greatfolk, but fashion has deserted St. John Street and its houses only dreamnow of better days. They're so big that people living in them haveto take boarders just to fill up. At least, that is the reason ourlandladies are very anxious to impress on us. They're delicious, Anne--our landladies, I mean. "

"How many are there?"

"Two. Miss Hannah Harvey and Miss Ada Harvey. They were born twins aboutfifty years ago. "

"I can't get away from twins, it seems, " smiled Anne. "Wherever I gothey confront me. "

"Oh, they're not twins now, dear. After they reached the age ofthirty they never were twins again. Miss Hannah has grown old, not toogracefully, and Miss Ada has stayed thirty, less gracefully still. Idon't know whether Miss Hannah can smile or not; I've never caughther at it so far, but Miss Ada smiles all the time and that's worse. However, they're nice, kind souls, and they take two boarders everyyear because Miss Hannah's economical soul cannot bear to 'waste roomspace'--not because they need to or have to, as Miss Ada has told meseven times since Saturday night. As for our rooms, I admit they arehall bedrooms, and mine does look out on the back yard. Your room isa front one and looks out on Old St. John's graveyard, which is justacross the street. "

"That sounds gruesome, " shivered Anne. "I think I'd rather have the backyard view. "

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. Wait and see. Old St. John's is a darling place. It's been a graveyard so long that it's ceased to be one and has becomeone of the sights of Kingsport. I was all through it yesterday for apleasure exertion. There's a big stone wall and a row of enormous treesall around it, and rows of trees all through it, and the queerest oldtombstones, with the queerest and quaintest inscriptions. You'll gothere to study, Anne, see if you don't. Of course, nobody is ever buriedthere now. But a few years ago they put up a beautiful monument to thememory of Nova Scotian soldiers who fell in the Crimean War. It is justopposite the entrance gates and there's 'scope for imagination' in it, as you used to say. Here's your trunk at last--and the boys coming tosay good night. Must I really shake hands with Charlie Sloane, Anne?His hands are always so cold and fishy-feeling. We must ask them to calloccasionally. Miss Hannah gravely told me we could have 'young gentlemencallers' two evenings in the week, if they went away at a reasonablehour; and Miss Ada asked me, smiling, please to be sure they didn't siton her beautiful cushions. I promised to see to it; but goodness knowswhere else they CAN sit, unless they sit on the floor, for there arecushions on EVERYTHING. Miss Ada even has an elaborate Battenburg one ontop of the piano. "

Anne was laughing by this time. Priscilla's gay chatter had the intendedeffect of cheering her up; homesickness vanished for the time being, anddid not even return in full force when she finally found herself alonein her little bedroom. She went to her window and looked out. The streetbelow was dim and quiet. Across it the moon was shining above the treesin Old St. John's, just behind the great dark head of the lion on themonument. Anne wondered if it could have been only that morning that shehad left Green Gables. She had the sense of a long passage of time whichone day of change and travel gives. 

"I suppose that very moon is looking down on Green Gables now, " shemused. "But I won't think about it--that way homesickness lies. I'm noteven going to have my good cry. I'll put that off to a more convenientseason, and just now I'll go calmly and sensibly to bed and to sleep. "

Chapter IV

April's Lady

Kingsport is a quaint old town, hearking back to early Colonial days, and wrapped in its ancient atmosphere, as some fine old dame in garmentsfashioned like those of her youth. Here and there it sprouts out intomodernity, but at heart it is still unspoiled; it is full of curiousrelics, and haloed by the romance of many legends of the past. Once itwas a mere frontier station on the fringe of the wilderness, and thosewere the days when Indians kept life from being monotonous to thesettlers. Then it grew to be a bone of contention between the Britishand the French, being occupied now by the one and now by the other, emerging from each occupation with some fresh scar of battling nationsbranded on it. 

It has in its park a martello tower, autographed all over by tourists, a dismantled old French fort on the hills beyond the town, and severalantiquated cannon in its public squares. It has other historic spotsalso, which may be hunted out by the curious, and none is more quaintand delightful than Old St. John's Cemetery at the very core of thetown, with streets of quiet, old-time houses on two sides, and busy, bustling, modern thoroughfares on the others. Every citizen of Kingsportfeels a thrill of possessive pride in Old St. John's, for, if he be ofany pretensions at all, he has an ancestor buried there, with a queer, crooked slab at his head, or else sprawling protectively over the grave, on which all the main facts of his history are recorded. For the mostpart no great art or skill was lavished on those old tombstones. Thelarger number are of roughly chiselled brown or gray native stone, andonly in a few cases is there any attempt at ornamentation. Some areadorned with skull and cross-bones, and this grizzly decoration isfrequently coupled with a cherub's head. Many are prostrate and inruins. Into almost all Time's tooth has been gnawing, until someinscriptions have been completely effaced, and others can only bedeciphered with difficulty. The graveyard is very full and very bowery, for it is surrounded and intersected by rows of elms and willows, beneath whose shade the sleepers must lie very dreamlessly, forevercrooned to by the winds and leaves over them, and quite undisturbed bythe clamor of traffic just beyond. 

Anne took the first of many rambles in Old St. John's the nextafternoon. She and Priscilla had gone to Redmond in the forenoon andregistered as students, after which there was nothing more to do thatday. The girls gladly made their escape, for it was not exhilarating tobe surrounded by crowds of strangers, most of whom had a rather alienappearance, as if not quite sure where they belonged. 

The "freshettes" stood about in detached groups of two or three, looking askance at each other; the "freshies, " wiser in their day andgeneration, had banded themselves together on the big staircase of theentrance hall, where they were shouting out glees with all the vigor ofyouthful lungs, as a species of defiance to their traditional enemies, the Sophomores, a few of whom were prowling loftily about, lookingproperly disdainful of the "unlicked cubs" on the stairs. Gilbert andCharlie were nowhere to be seen. 

"Little did I think the day would ever come when I'd be glad of thesight of a Sloane, " said Priscilla, as they crossed the campus, "but I'dwelcome Charlie's goggle eyes almost ecstatically. At least, they'd befamiliar eyes. "

"Oh, " sighed Anne. "I can't describe how I felt when I was standingthere, waiting my turn to be registered--as insignificant as theteeniest drop in a most enormous bucket. It's bad enough to feelinsignificant, but it's unbearable to have it grained into your soulthat you will never, can never, be anything but insignificant, and thatis how I did feel--as if I were invisible to the naked eye and some ofthose Sophs might step on me. I knew I would go down to my grave unwept, unhonored and unsung. "

"Wait till next year, " comforted Priscilla. "Then we'll be able to lookas bored and sophisticated as any Sophomore of them all. No doubt it israther dreadful to feel insignificant; but I think it's better thanto feel as big and awkward as I did--as if I were sprawled all overRedmond. That's how I felt--I suppose because I was a good two inchestaller than any one else in the crowd. I wasn't afraid a Soph might walkover me; I was afraid they'd take me for an elephant, or an overgrownsample of a potato-fed Islander. "

"I suppose the trouble is we can't forgive big Redmond for not beinglittle Queen's, " said Anne, gathering about her the shreds of her oldcheerful philosophy to cover her nakedness of spirit. "When we leftQueen's we knew everybody and had a place of our own. I suppose we havebeen unconsciously expecting to take life up at Redmond just where weleft off at Queen's, and now we feel as if the ground had slipped fromunder our feet. I'm thankful that neither Mrs. Lynde nor Mrs. ElishaWright know, or ever will know, my state of mind at present. They wouldexult in saying 'I told you so, ' and be convinced it was the beginningof the end. Whereas it is just the end of the beginning. "

"Exactly. That sounds more Anneish. In a little while we'll beacclimated and acquainted, and all will be well. Anne, did you noticethe girl who stood alone just outside the door of the coeds' dressingroom all the morning--the pretty one with the brown eyes and crookedmouth?"

"Yes, I did. I noticed her particularly because she seemed the onlycreature there who LOOKED as lonely and friendless as I FELT. I had YOU, but she had no one. "

"I think she felt pretty all-by-herselfish, too. Several times I saw hermake a motion as if to cross over to us, but she never did it--too shy, I suppose. I wished she would come. If I hadn't felt so much like theaforesaid elephant I'd have gone to her. But I couldn't lumber acrossthat big hall with all those boys howling on the stairs. She was theprettiest freshette I saw today, but probably favor is deceitful andeven beauty is vain on your first day at Redmond, " concluded Priscillawith a laugh. 

"I'm going across to Old St. John's after lunch, " said Anne. "I don'tknow that a graveyard is a very good place to go to get cheered up, butit seems the only get-at-able place where there are trees, and treesI must have. I'll sit on one of those old slabs and shut my eyes andimagine I'm in the Avonlea woods. "

Anne did not do that, however, for she found enough of interest in OldSt. John's to keep her eyes wide open. They went in by the entrancegates, past the simple, massive, stone arch surmounted by the great lionof England. 

 "'And on Inkerman yet the wild bramble is gory, And those bleak heights henceforth shall be famous in story, '"

quoted Anne, looking at it with a thrill. They found themselves in adim, cool, green place where winds were fond of purring. Up and downthe long grassy aisles they wandered, reading the quaint, voluminousepitaphs, carved in an age that had more leisure than our own. 

"'Here lieth the body of Albert Crawford, Esq. , '" read Anne from aworn, gray slab, "'for many years Keeper of His Majesty's Ordnance atKingsport. He served in the army till the peace of 1763, when he retiredfrom bad health. He was a brave officer, the best of husbands, the bestof fathers, the best of friends. He died October 29th, 1792, aged 84years. ' There's an epitaph for you, Prissy. There is certainly some'scope for imagination' in it. How full such a life must have been ofadventure! And as for his personal qualities, I'm sure human eulogycouldn't go further. I wonder if they told him he was all those bestthings while he was alive. "

"Here's another, " said Priscilla. "Listen--

'To the memory of Alexander Ross, who died on the 22nd of September, 1840, aged 43 years. This is raised as a tribute of affection by onewhom he served so faithfully for 27 years that he was regarded as afriend, deserving the fullest confidence and attachment. '"

"A very good epitaph, " commented Anne thoughtfully. "I wouldn't wish abetter. We are all servants of some sort, and if the fact that we arefaithful can be truthfully inscribed on our tombstones nothing more needbe added. Here's a sorrowful little gray stone, Prissy--'to the memoryof a favorite child. ' And here is another 'erected to the memory of onewho is buried elsewhere. ' I wonder where that unknown grave is. Really, Pris, the graveyards of today will never be as interesting as this. Youwere right--I shall come here often. I love it already. I see we're notalone here--there's a girl down at the end of this avenue. "

"Yes, and I believe it's the very girl we saw at Redmond this morning. I've been watching her for five minutes. She has started to come up theavenue exactly half a dozen times, and half a dozen times has she turnedand gone back. Either she's dreadfully shy or she has got something onher conscience. Let's go and meet her. It's easier to get acquainted ina graveyard than at Redmond, I believe. "

They walked down the long grassy arcade towards the stranger, who wassitting on a gray slab under an enormous willow. She was certainly verypretty, with a vivid, irregular, bewitching type of prettiness. Therewas a gloss as of brown nuts on her satin-smooth hair and a soft, ripeglow on her round cheeks. Her eyes were big and brown and velvety, underoddly-pointed black brows, and her crooked mouth was rose-red. Shewore a smart brown suit, with two very modish little shoes peeping frombeneath it; and her hat of dull pink straw, wreathed with golden-brownpoppies, had the indefinable, unmistakable air which pertains to the"creation" of an artist in millinery. Priscilla had a sudden stingingconsciousness that her own hat had been trimmed by her village storemilliner, and Anne wondered uncomfortably if the blouse she had madeherself, and which Mrs. Lynde had fitted, looked VERY countrified andhome-made besides the stranger's smart attire. For a moment both girlsfelt like turning back. 

But they had already stopped and turned towards the gray slab. It wastoo late to retreat, for the brown-eyed girl had evidently concludedthat they were coming to speak to her. Instantly she sprang up and cameforward with outstretched hand and a gay, friendly smile in which thereseemed not a shadow of either shyness or burdened conscience. 

"Oh, I want to know who you two girls are, " she exclaimed eagerly. "I'vebeen DYING to know. I saw you at Redmond this morning. Say, wasn't itAWFUL there? For the time I wished I had stayed home and got married. "

Anne and Priscilla both broke into unconstrained laughter at thisunexpected conclusion. The brown-eyed girl laughed, too. 

"I really did. I COULD have, you know. Come, let's all sit down on thisgravestone and get acquainted. It won't be hard. I know we're goingto adore each other--I knew it as soon as I saw you at Redmond thismorning. I wanted so much to go right over and hug you both. "

"Why didn't you?" asked Priscilla. 

"Because I simply couldn't make up my mind to do it. I never can makeup my mind about anything myself--I'm always afflicted with indecision. Just as soon as I decide to do something I feel in my bones that anothercourse would be the correct one. It's a dreadful misfortune, but I wasborn that way, and there is no use in blaming me for it, as some peopledo. So I couldn't make up my mind to go and speak to you, much as Iwanted to. "

"We thought you were too shy, " said Anne. 

"No, no, dear. Shyness isn't among the many failings--or virtues--ofPhilippa Gordon--Phil for short. Do call me Phil right off. Now, whatare your handles?"

"She's Priscilla Grant, " said Anne, pointing. 

"And SHE'S Anne Shirley, " said Priscilla, pointing in turn. 

"And we're from the Island, " said both together. 

"I hail from Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia, " said Philippa. 

"Bolingbroke!" exclaimed Anne. "Why, that is where I was born. "

"Do you really mean it? Why, that makes you a Bluenose after all. "

"No, it doesn't, " retorted Anne. "Wasn't it Dan O'Connell who said thatif a man was born in a stable it didn't make him a horse? I'm Island tothe core. "

"Well, I'm glad you were born in Bolingbroke anyway. It makes us kind ofneighbors, doesn't it? And I like that, because when I tell you secretsit won't be as if I were telling them to a stranger. I have to tellthem. I can't keep secrets--it's no use to try. That's my worstfailing--that, and indecision, as aforesaid. Would you believe it?--ittook me half an hour to decide which hat to wear when I was cominghere--HERE, to a graveyard! At first I inclined to my brown one withthe feather; but as soon as I put it on I thought this pink one withthe floppy brim would be more becoming. When I got IT pinned in placeI liked the brown one better. At last I put them close together on thebed, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hat pin. The pin speared the pinkone, so I put it on. It is becoming, isn't it? Tell me, what do youthink of my looks?"

At this naive demand, made in a perfectly serious tone, Priscillalaughed again. But Anne said, impulsively squeezing Philippa's hand, "We thought this morning that you were the prettiest girl we saw atRedmond. "

Philippa's crooked mouth flashed into a bewitching, crooked smile oververy white little teeth. 

"I thought that myself, " was her next astounding statement, "but Iwanted some one else's opinion to bolster mine up. I can't decide evenon my own appearance. Just as soon as I've decided that I'm prettyI begin to feel miserably that I'm not. Besides, have a horrible oldgreat-aunt who is always saying to me, with a mournful sigh, 'You weresuch a pretty baby. It's strange how children change when they grow up. 'I adore aunts, but I detest great-aunts. Please tell me quite often thatI am pretty, if you don't mind. I feel so much more comfortable when Ican believe I'm pretty. And I'll be just as obliging to you if you wantme to--I CAN be, with a clear conscience. "

"Thanks, " laughed Anne, "but Priscilla and I are so firmly convinced ofour own good looks that we don't need any assurance about them, so youneedn't trouble. "

"Oh, you're laughing at me. I know you think I'm abominably vain, butI'm not. There really isn't one spark of vanity in me. And I'm never abit grudging about paying compliments to other girls when they deservethem. I'm so glad I know you folks. I came up on Saturday and I'venearly died of homesickness ever since. It's a horrible feeling, isn'tit? In Bolingbroke I'm an important personage, and in Kingsport I'm justnobody! There were times when I could feel my soul turning a delicateblue. Where do you hang out?"

"Thirty-eight St. John's Street. "

"Better and better. Why, I'm just around the corner on Wallace Street. I don't like my boardinghouse, though. It's bleak and lonesome, and myroom looks out on such an unholy back yard. It's the ugliest placein the world. As for cats--well, surely ALL the Kingsport cats can'tcongregate there at night, but half of them must. I adore cats on hearthrugs, snoozing before nice, friendly fires, but cats in back yards atmidnight are totally different animals. The first night I was here Icried all night, and so did the cats. You should have seen my nose inthe morning. How I wished I had never left home!"

"I don't know how you managed to make up your mind to come to Redmond atall, if you are really such an undecided person, " said amused Priscilla. 

"Bless your heart, honey, I didn't. It was father who wanted me to comehere. His heart was set on it--why, I don't know. It seems perfectlyridiculous to think of me studying for a B. A. Degree, doesn't it? Notbut what I can do it, all right. I have heaps of brains. "

"Oh!" said Priscilla vaguely. 

"Yes. But it's such hard work to use them. And B. A. 's are such learned, dignified, wise, solemn creatures--they must be. No, _I_ didn't wantto come to Redmond. I did it just to oblige father. He IS such a duck. Besides, I knew if I stayed home I'd have to get married. Mother wantedthat--wanted it decidedly. Mother has plenty of decision. But I reallyhated the thought of being married for a few years yet. I want to haveheaps of fun before I settle down. And, ridiculous as the idea of mybeing a B. A. Is, the idea of my being an old married woman is still moreabsurd, isn't it? I'm only eighteen. No, I concluded I would rather cometo Redmond than be married. Besides, how could I ever have made up mymind which man to marry?"

"Were there so many?" laughed Anne. 

"Heaps. The boys like me awfully--they really do. But there were onlytwo that mattered. The rest were all too young and too poor. I mustmarry a rich man, you know. "

"Why must you?"

"Honey, you couldn't imagine ME being a poor man's wife, could you? Ican't do a single useful thing, and I am VERY extravagant. Oh, no, myhusband must have heaps of money. So that narrowed them down to two. But I couldn't decide between two any easier than between two hundred. I knew perfectly well that whichever one I chose I'd regret all my lifethat I hadn't married the other. "

"Didn't you--love--either of them?" asked Anne, a little hesitatingly. It was not easy for her to speak to a stranger of the great mystery andtransformation of life. 

"Goodness, no. _I_ couldn't love anybody. It isn't in me. Besides Iwouldn't want to. Being in love makes you a perfect slave, _I_ think. And it would give a man such power to hurt you. I'd be afraid. No, no, Alec and Alonzo are two dear boys, and I like them both so much that Ireally don't know which I like the better. That is the trouble. Alecis the best looking, of course, and I simply couldn't marry a man whowasn't handsome. He is good-tempered too, and has lovely, curly, blackhair. He's rather too perfect--I don't believe I'd like a perfecthusband--somebody I could never find fault with. "

"Then why not marry Alonzo?" asked Priscilla gravely. 

"Think of marrying a name like Alonzo!" said Phil dolefully. "I don'tbelieve I could endure it. But he has a classic nose, and it WOULD be acomfort to have a nose in the family that could be depended on. I can'tdepend on mine. So far, it takes after the Gordon pattern, but I'm soafraid it will develop Byrne tendencies as I grow older. I examine itevery day anxiously to make sure it's still Gordon. Mother was a Byrneand has the Byrne nose in the Byrnest degree. Wait till you see it. Iadore nice noses. Your nose is awfully nice, Anne Shirley. Alonzo'snose nearly turned the balance in his favor. But ALONZO! No, I couldn'tdecide. If I could have done as I did with the hats--stood them bothup together, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hatpin--it would have beenquite easy. "

"What did Alec and Alonzo feel like when you came away?" queriedPriscilla. 

"Oh, they still have hope. I told them they'd have to wait till I couldmake up my mind. They're quite willing to wait. They both worship me, you know. Meanwhile, I intend to have a good time. I expect I shall haveheaps of beaux at Redmond. I can't be happy unless I have, you know. Butdon't you think the freshmen are fearfully homely? I saw only one reallyhandsome fellow among them. He went away before you came. I heard hischum call him Gilbert. His chum had eyes that stuck out THAT FAR. Butyou're not going yet, girls? Don't go yet. "

"I think we must, " said Anne, rather coldly. "It's getting late, andI've some work to do. "

"But you'll both come to see me, won't you?" asked Philippa, getting upand putting an arm around each. "And let me come to see you. I want tobe chummy with you. I've taken such a fancy to you both. And I haven'tquite disgusted you with my frivolity, have I?"

"Not quite, " laughed Anne, responding to Phil's squeeze, with a returnof cordiality. 

"Because I'm not half so silly as I seem on the surface, you know. Youjust accept Philippa Gordon, as the Lord made her, with all her faults, and I believe you'll come to like her. Isn't this graveyard a sweetplace? I'd love to be buried here. Here's a grave I didn't seebefore--this one in the iron railing--oh, girls, look, see--the stonesays it's the grave of a middy who was killed in the fight between theShannon and the Chesapeake. Just fancy!"

Anne paused by the railing and looked at the worn stone, her pulsesthrilling with sudden excitement. The old graveyard, with itsover-arching trees and long aisles of shadows, faded from her sight. Instead, she saw the Kingsport Harbor of nearly a century agone. Out ofthe mist came slowly a great frigate, brilliant with "the meteor flag ofEngland. " Behind her was another, with a still, heroic form, wrapped inhis own starry flag, lying on the quarter deck--the gallant Lawrence. Time's finger had turned back his pages, and that was the Shannonsailing triumphant up the bay with the Chesapeake as her prize. 

"Come back, Anne Shirley--come back, " laughed Philippa, pulling her arm. "You're a hundred years away from us. Come back. "

Anne came back with a sigh; her eyes were shining softly. 

"I've always loved that old story, " she said, "and although theEnglish won that victory, I think it was because of the brave, defeatedcommander I love it. This grave seems to bring it so near and make itso real. This poor little middy was only eighteen. He 'died of desperatewounds received in gallant action'--so reads his epitaph. It is such asa soldier might wish for. "

Before she turned away, Anne unpinned the little cluster of purplepansies she wore and dropped it softly on the grave of the boy who hadperished in the great sea-duel. 

"Well, what do you think of our new friend?" asked Priscilla, when Philhad left them. 

"I like her. There is something very lovable about her, in spite of allher nonsense. I believe, as she says herself, that she isn't half assilly as she sounds. She's a dear, kissable baby--and I don't know thatshe'll ever really grow up. "

"I like her, too, " said Priscilla, decidedly. "She talks as much aboutboys as Ruby Gillis does. But it always enrages or sickens me to hearRuby, whereas I just wanted to laugh good-naturedly at Phil. Now, whatis the why of that?"

"There is a difference, " said Anne meditatively. "I think it's becauseRuby is really so CONSCIOUS of boys. She plays at love and love-making. Besides, you feel, when she is boasting of her beaux that she is doingit to rub it well into you that you haven't half so many. Now, when Philtalks of her beaux it sounds as if she was just speaking of chums. Shereally looks upon boys as good comrades, and she is pleased when she hasdozens of them tagging round, simply because she likes to be popular andto be thought popular. Even Alex and Alonzo--I'll never be able tothink of those two names separately after this--are to her just twoplayfellows who want her to play with them all their lives. I'm gladwe met her, and I'm glad we went to Old St. John's. I believe I've putforth a tiny soul-root into Kingsport soil this afternoon. I hope so. Ihate to feel transplanted. "

Chapter V

Letters from Home

For the next three weeks Anne and Priscilla continued to feel asstrangers in a strange land. Then, suddenly, everything seemed to fallinto focus--Redmond, professors, classes, students, studies, socialdoings. Life became homogeneous again, instead of being made up ofdetached fragments. The Freshmen, instead of being a collection ofunrelated individuals, found themselves a class, with a class spirit, aclass yell, class interests, class antipathies and class ambitions. They won the day in the annual "Arts Rush" against the Sophomores, and thereby gained the respect of all the classes, and an enormous, confidence-giving opinion of themselves. For three years the Sophomoreshad won in the "rush"; that the victory of this year perched upon theFreshmen's banner was attributed to the strategic generalship of GilbertBlythe, who marshalled the campaign and originated certain new tactics, which demoralized the Sophs and swept the Freshmen to triumph. Asa reward of merit he was elected president of the Freshman Class, aposition of honor and responsibility--from a Fresh point of view, at least--coveted by many. He was also invited to join the"Lambs"--Redmondese for Lamba Theta--a compliment rarely paid to aFreshman. As a preparatory initiation ordeal he had to parade theprincipal business streets of Kingsport for a whole day wearing asunbonnet and a voluminous kitchen apron of gaudily flowered calico. This he did cheerfully, doffing his sunbonnet with courtly grace when hemet ladies of his acquaintance. Charlie Sloane, who had not been askedto join the Lambs, told Anne he did not see how Blythe could do it, andHE, for his part, could never humiliate himself so. 

"Fancy Charlie Sloane in a 'caliker' apron and a 'sunbunnit, '" giggledPriscilla. "He'd look exactly like his old Grandmother Sloane. Gilbert, now, looked as much like a man in them as in his own properhabiliments. "

Anne and Priscilla found themselves in the thick of the social life ofRedmond. That this came about so speedily was due in great measure toPhilippa Gordon. Philippa was the daughter of a rich and well-known man, and belonged to an old and exclusive "Bluenose" family. This, combinedwith her beauty and charm--a charm acknowledged by all who mether--promptly opened the gates of all cliques, clubs and classes inRedmond to her; and where she went Anne and Priscilla went, too. Phil"adored" Anne and Priscilla, especially Anne. She was a loyal littlesoul, crystal-free from any form of snobbishness. "Love me, love myfriends" seemed to be her unconscious motto. Without effort, she tookthem with her into her ever widening circle of acquaintanceship, and thetwo Avonlea girls found their social pathway at Redmond made veryeasy and pleasant for them, to the envy and wonderment of the otherfreshettes, who, lacking Philippa's sponsorship, were doomed to remainrather on the fringe of things during their first college year. 

To Anne and Priscilla, with their more serious views of life, Philremained the amusing, lovable baby she had seemed on their firstmeeting. Yet, as she said herself, she had "heaps" of brains. When orwhere she found time to study was a mystery, for she seemed always indemand for some kind of "fun, " and her home evenings were crowdedwith callers. She had all the "beaux" that heart could desire, fornine-tenths of the Freshmen and a big fraction of all the other classeswere rivals for her smiles. She was naively delighted over this, andgleefully recounted each new conquest to Anne and Priscilla, withcomments that might have made the unlucky lover's ears burn fiercely. 

"Alec and Alonzo don't seem to have any serious rival yet, " remarkedAnne, teasingly. 

"Not one, " agreed Philippa. "I write them both every week and tellthem all about my young men here. I'm sure it must amuse them. But, ofcourse, the one I like best I can't get. Gilbert Blythe won't take anynotice of me, except to look at me as if I were a nice little kittenhe'd like to pat. Too well I know the reason. I owe you a grudge, QueenAnne. I really ought to hate you and instead I love you madly, and I'mmiserable if I don't see you every day. You're different from any girlI ever knew before. When you look at me in a certain way I feel what aninsignificant, frivolous little beast I am, and I long to be betterand wiser and stronger. And then I make good resolutions; but the firstnice-looking mannie who comes my way knocks them all out of my head. Isn't college life magnificent? It's so funny to think I hated it thatfirst day. But if I hadn't I might never got really acquainted with you. Anne, please tell me over again that you like me a little bit. I yearnto hear it. "

"I like you a big bit--and I think you're a dear, sweet, adorable, velvety, clawless, little--kitten, " laughed Anne, "but I don't see whenyou ever get time to learn your lessons. "

Phil must have found time for she held her own in every class of heryear. Even the grumpy old professor of Mathematics, who detested coeds, and had bitterly opposed their admission to Redmond, couldn't floor her. She led the freshettes everywhere, except in English, where Anne Shirleyleft her far behind. Anne herself found the studies of her Freshman yearvery easy, thanks in great part to the steady work she and Gilbert hadput in during those two past years in Avonlea. This left her more timefor a social life which she thoroughly enjoyed. But never for a momentdid she forget Avonlea and the friends there. To her, the happiestmoments in each week were those in which letters came from home. Itwas not until she had got her first letters that she began to thinkshe could ever like Kingsport or feel at home there. Before they came, Avonlea had seemed thousands of miles away; those letters brought itnear and linked the old life to the new so closely that they began toseem one and the same, instead of two hopelessly segregated existences. The first batch contained six letters, from Jane Andrews, Ruby Gillis, Diana Barry, Marilla, Mrs. Lynde and Davy. Jane's was a copperplateproduction, with every "t" nicely crossed and every "i" preciselydotted, and not an interesting sentence in it. She never mentioned theschool, concerning which Anne was avid to hear; she never answered oneof the questions Anne had asked in her letter. But she told Anne howmany yards of lace she had recently crocheted, and the kind of weatherthey were having in Avonlea, and how she intended to have her new dressmade, and the way she felt when her head ached. Ruby Gillis wrote agushing epistle deploring Anne's absence, assuring her she was horriblymissed in everything, asking what the Redmond "fellows" were like, andfilling the rest with accounts of her own harrowing experiences with hernumerous admirers. It was a silly, harmless letter, and Anne would havelaughed over it had it not been for the postscript. "Gilbert seems to beenjoying Redmond, judging from his letters, " wrote Ruby. "I don't thinkCharlie is so stuck on it. "

So Gilbert was writing to Ruby! Very well. He had a perfect right to, of course. Only--!! Anne did not know that Ruby had written the firstletter and that Gilbert had answered it from mere courtesy. She tossedRuby's letter aside contemptuously. But it took all Diana's breezy, newsy, delightful epistle to banish the sting of Ruby's postscript. Diana's letter contained a little too much Fred, but was otherwisecrowded and crossed with items of interest, and Anne almost felt herselfback in Avonlea while reading it. Marilla's was a rather prim andcolorless epistle, severely innocent of gossip or emotion. Yet somehowit conveyed to Anne a whiff of the wholesome, simple life at GreenGables, with its savor of ancient peace, and the steadfast abiding lovethat was there for her. Mrs. Lynde's letter was full of church news. Having broken up housekeeping, Mrs. Lynde had more time than ever todevote to church affairs and had flung herself into them heart and soul. She was at present much worked up over the poor "supplies" they werehaving in the vacant Avonlea pulpit. 

"I don't believe any but fools enter the ministry nowadays, " she wrotebitterly. "Such candidates as they have sent us, and such stuff asthey preach! Half of it ain't true, and, what's worse, it ain't sounddoctrine. The one we have now is the worst of the lot. He mostly takesa text and preaches about something else. And he says he doesn't believeall the heathen will be eternally lost. The idea! If they won't all themoney we've been giving to Foreign Missions will be clean wasted, that'swhat! Last Sunday night he announced that next Sunday he'd preach on theaxe-head that swam. I think he'd better confine himself to the Bible andleave sensational subjects alone. Things have come to a pretty pass ifa minister can't find enough in Holy Writ to preach about, that's what. What church do you attend, Anne? I hope you go regularly. People are aptto get so careless about church-going away from home, and I understandcollege students are great sinners in this respect. I'm told many ofthem actually study their lessons on Sunday. I hope you'll never sinkthat low, Anne. Remember how you were brought up. And be very carefulwhat friends you make. You never know what sort of creatures are in themcolleges. Outwardly they may be as whited sepulchers and inwardly asravening wolves, that's what. You'd better not have anything to say toany young man who isn't from the Island. 

"I forgot to tell you what happened the day the minister called here. Itwas the funniest thing I ever saw. I said to Marilla, 'If Anne had beenhere wouldn't she have had a laugh?' Even Marilla laughed. You know he'sa very short, fat little man with bow legs. Well, that old pig of Mr. Harrison's--the big, tall one--had wandered over here that day again andbroke into the yard, and it got into the back porch, unbeknowns to us, and it was there when the minister appeared in the doorway. It made onewild bolt to get out, but there was nowhere to bolt to except betweenthem bow legs. So there it went, and, being as it was so big and theminister so little, it took him clean off his feet and carried him away. His hat went one way and his cane another, just as Marilla and I got tothe door. I'll never forget the look of him. And that poor pig was nearscared to death. I'll never be able to read that account in the Bibleof the swine that rushed madly down the steep place into the sea withoutseeing Mr. Harrison's pig careering down the hill with that minister. Iguess the pig thought he had the Old Boy on his back instead of insideof him. I was thankful the twins weren't about. It wouldn't have beenthe right thing for them to have seen a minister in such an undignifiedpredicament. Just before they got to the brook the minister jumped offor fell off. The pig rushed through the brook like mad and up throughthe woods. Marilla and I run down and helped the minister get up andbrush his coat. He wasn't hurt, but he was mad. He seemed to holdMarilla and me responsible for it all, though we told him the pig didn'tbelong to us, and had been pestering us all summer. Besides, what did hecome to the back door for? You'd never have caught Mr. Allan doing that. It'll be a long time before we get a man like Mr. Allan. But it's anill wind that blows no good. We've never seen hoof or hair of that pigsince, and it's my belief we never will. 

"Things is pretty quiet in Avonlea. I don't find Green Gables aslonesome as I expected. I think I'll start another cotton warp quiltthis winter. Mrs. Silas Sloane has a handsome new apple-leaf pattern. 

"When I feel that I must have some excitement I read the murder trialsin that Boston paper my niece sends me. I never used to do it, butthey're real interesting. The States must be an awful place. I hopeyou'll never go there, Anne. But the way girls roam over the earth nowis something terrible. It always makes me think of Satan in the Book ofJob, going to and fro and walking up and down. I don't believe the Lordever intended it, that's what. 

"Davy has been pretty good since you went away. One day he was bad andMarilla punished him by making him wear Dora's apron all day, and thenhe went and cut all Dora's aprons up. I spanked him for that and then hewent and chased my rooster to death. 

"The MacPhersons have moved down to my place. She's a great housekeeperand very particular. She's rooted all my June lilies up because she saysthey make a garden look so untidy. Thomas set them lilies out when wewere married. Her husband seems a nice sort of a man, but she can't getover being an old maid, that's what. 

"Don't study too hard, and be sure and put your winter underclothes onas soon as the weather gets cool. Marilla worries a lot about you, but Itell her you've got a lot more sense than I ever thought you would haveat one time, and that you'll be all right. "

Davy's letter plunged into a grievance at the start. 

"Dear anne, please write and tell marilla not to tie me to the rale ofthe bridge when I go fishing the boys make fun of me when she does. Itsawful lonesome here without you but grate fun in school. Jane andrewsis crosser than you. I scared mrs. Lynde with a jacky lantern last nite. She was offel mad and she was mad cause I chased her old rooster roundthe yard till he fell down ded. I didn't mean to make him fall down ded. What made him die, anne, I want to know. Mrs. Lynde threw him into thepig pen she mite of sold him to mr. Blair. Mr. Blair is giving 50 senseapeace for good ded roosters now. I herd mrs. Lynde asking the ministerto pray for her. What did she do that was so bad, anne, I want to know. I've got a kite with a magnificent tail, anne. Milty bolter told me agrate story in school yesterday. It is troo. Old Joe Mosey and Leon wereplaying cards one nite last week in the woods. The cards were on a stumpand a big black man bigger than the trees come along and grabbed thecards and the stump and disapered with a noys like thunder. Ill bet theywere skared. Milty says the black man was the old harry. Was he, anne, Iwant to know. Mr. Kimball over at spenservale is very sick and will haveto go to the hospitable. Please excuse me while I ask marilla if thatsspelled rite. Marilla says its the silem he has to go to not the otherplace. He thinks he has a snake inside of him. Whats it like to have asnake inside of you, anne. I want to know. Mrs. Lawrence bell is sickto. Mrs. Lynde says that all that is the matter with her is that shethinks too much about her insides. "

"I wonder, " said Anne, as she folded up her letters, "what Mrs. Lyndewould think of Philippa. "

Chapter VI

In the Park

"What are you going to do with yourselves today, girls?" asked Philippa, popping into Anne's room one Saturday afternoon. 

"We are going for a walk in the park, " answered Anne. "I ought to stayin and finish my blouse. But I couldn't sew on a day like this. There'ssomething in the air that gets into my blood and makes a sort of gloryin my soul. My fingers would twitch and I'd sew a crooked seam. So it'sho for the park and the pines. "

"Does 'we' include any one but yourself and Priscilla?"

"Yes, it includes Gilbert and Charlie, and we'll be very glad if it willinclude you, also. "

"But, " said Philippa dolefully, "if I go I'll have to be gooseberry, andthat will be a new experience for Philippa Gordon. "

"Well, new experiences are broadening. Come along, and you'll be ableto sympathize with all poor souls who have to play gooseberry often. Butwhere are all the victims?"

"Oh, I was tired of them all and simply couldn't be bothered with anyof them today. Besides, I've been feeling a little blue--just a pale, elusive azure. It isn't serious enough for anything darker. I wrote Alecand Alonzo last week. I put the letters into envelopes and addressedthem, but I didn't seal them up. That evening something funny happened. That is, Alec would think it funny, but Alonzo wouldn't be likely to. I was in a hurry, so I snatched Alec's letter--as I thought--out of theenvelope and scribbled down a postscript. Then I mailed both letters. Igot Alonzo's reply this morning. Girls, I had put that postscript to hisletter and he was furious. Of course he'll get over it--and I don'tcare if he doesn't--but it spoiled my day. So I thought I'd come to youdarlings to get cheered up. After the football season opens I won'thave any spare Saturday afternoons. I adore football. I've got the mostgorgeous cap and sweater striped in Redmond colors to wear to the games. To be sure, a little way off I'll look like a walking barber's pole. Do you know that that Gilbert of yours has been elected Captain of theFreshman football team?"

"Yes, he told us so last evening, " said Priscilla, seeing that outragedAnne would not answer. "He and Charlie were down. We knew they werecoming, so we painstakingly put out of sight or out of reach all MissAda's cushions. That very elaborate one with the raised embroidery Idropped on the floor in the corner behind the chair it was on. I thoughtit would be safe there. But would you believe it? Charlie Sloane madefor that chair, noticed the cushion behind it, solemnly fished it up, and sat on it the whole evening. Such a wreck of a cushion as it was!Poor Miss Ada asked me today, still smiling, but oh, so reproachfully, why I had allowed it to be sat upon. I told her I hadn't--that it wasa matter of predestination coupled with inveterate Sloanishness and Iwasn't a match for both combined. "

"Miss Ada's cushions are really getting on my nerves, " said Anne. "Shefinished two new ones last week, stuffed and embroidered within an inchof their lives. There being absolutely no other cushionless place toput them she stood them up against the wall on the stair landing. Theytopple over half the time and if we come up or down the stairs in thedark we fall over them. Last Sunday, when Dr. Davis prayed for all thoseexposed to the perils of the sea, I added in thought 'and for all thosewho live in houses where cushions are loved not wisely but too well!'There! we're ready, and I see the boys coming through Old St. John's. Doyou cast in your lot with us, Phil?"

"I'll go, if I can walk with Priscilla and Charlie. That will be abearable degree of gooseberry. That Gilbert of yours is a darling, Anne, but why does he go around so much with Goggle-eyes?"

Anne stiffened. She had no great liking for Charlie Sloane; but he wasof Avonlea, so no outsider had any business to laugh at him. 

"Charlie and Gilbert have always been friends, " she said coldly. "Charlie is a nice boy. He's not to blame for his eyes. "

"Don't tell me that! He is! He must have done something dreadful in aprevious existence to be punished with such eyes. Pris and I are goingto have such sport with him this afternoon. We'll make fun of him to hisface and he'll never know it. "

Doubtless, "the abandoned P's, " as Anne called them, did carry out theiramiable intentions. But Sloane was blissfully ignorant; he thought hewas quite a fine fellow to be walking with two such coeds, especiallyPhilippa Gordon, the class beauty and belle. It must surely impressAnne. She would see that some people appreciated him at his real value. 

Gilbert and Anne loitered a little behind the others, enjoying the calm, still beauty of the autumn afternoon under the pines of the park, on theroad that climbed and twisted round the harbor shore. 

"The silence here is like a prayer, isn't it?" said Anne, her faceupturned to the shining sky. "How I love the pines! They seem to striketheir roots deep into the romance of all the ages. It is so comfortingto creep away now and then for a good talk with them. I always feel sohappy out here. "

 "'And so in mountain solitudes o'ertaken As by some spell divine, Their cares drop from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine, '"

quoted Gilbert. 

"They make our little ambitions seem rather petty, don't they, Anne?"

"I think, if ever any great sorrow came to me, I would come to the pinesfor comfort, " said Anne dreamily. 

"I hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne, " said Gilbert, whocould not connect the idea of sorrow with the vivid, joyous creaturebeside him, unwitting that those who can soar to the highest heights canalso plunge to the deepest depths, and that the natures which enjoy mostkeenly are those which also suffer most sharply. 

"But there must--sometime, " mused Anne. "Life seems like a cup of gloryheld to my lips just now. But there must be some bitterness in it--thereis in every cup. I shall taste mine some day. Well, I hope I shall bestrong and brave to meet it. And I hope it won't be through my ownfault that it will come. Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sundayevening--that the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strengthwith them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through follyor wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear? But we mustn't talkof sorrow on an afternoon like this. It's meant for the sheer joy ofliving, isn't it?"

"If I had my way I'd shut everything out of your life but happiness andpleasure, Anne, " said Gilbert in the tone that meant "danger ahead. "

"Then you would be very unwise, " rejoined Anne hastily. "I'm sure nolife can be properly developed and rounded out without some trial andsorrow--though I suppose it is only when we are pretty comfortable thatwe admit it. Come--the others have got to the pavilion and are beckoningto us. "

They all sat down in the little pavilion to watch an autumn sunset ofdeep red fire and pallid gold. To their left lay Kingsport, its roofsand spires dim in their shroud of violet smoke. To their right lay theharbor, taking on tints of rose and copper as it stretched out into thesunset. Before them the water shimmered, satin smooth and silver gray, and beyond, clean shaven William's Island loomed out of the mist, guarding the town like a sturdy bulldog. Its lighthouse beacon flaredthrough the mist like a baleful star, and was answered by another in thefar horizon. 

"Did you ever see such a strong-looking place?" asked Philippa. "I don'twant William's Island especially, but I'm sure I couldn't get it if Idid. Look at that sentry on the summit of the fort, right beside theflag. Doesn't he look as if he had stepped out of a romance?"

"Speaking of romance, " said Priscilla, "we've been looking forheather--but, of course, we couldn't find any. It's too late in theseason, I suppose. "

"Heather!" exclaimed Anne. "Heather doesn't grow in America, does it?"

"There are just two patches of it in the whole continent, " said Phil, "one right here in the park, and one somewhere else in Nova Scotia, Iforget where. The famous Highland Regiment, the Black Watch, camped hereone year, and, when the men shook out the straw of their beds in thespring, some seeds of heather took root. "

"Oh, how delightful!" said enchanted Anne. 

"Let's go home around by Spofford Avenue, " suggested Gilbert. "We cansee all 'the handsome houses where the wealthy nobles dwell. ' SpoffordAvenue is the finest residential street in Kingsport. Nobody can buildon it unless he's a millionaire. "

"Oh, do, " said Phil. "There's a perfectly killing little place I want toshow you, Anne. IT wasn't built by a millionaire. It's the first placeafter you leave the park, and must have grown while Spofford Avenue wasstill a country road. It DID grow--it wasn't built! I don't care for thehouses on the Avenue. They're too brand new and plateglassy. But thislittle spot is a dream--and its name--but wait till you see it. "

They saw it as they walked up the pine-fringed hill from the park. Juston the crest, where Spofford Avenue petered out into a plain road, wasa little white frame house with groups of pines on either side of it, stretching their arms protectingly over its low roof. It was coveredwith red and gold vines, through which its green-shuttered windowspeeped. Before it was a tiny garden, surrounded by a low stone wall. October though it was, the garden was still very sweet with dear, old-fashioned, unworldly flowers and shrubs--sweet may, southern-wood, lemon verbena, alyssum, petunias, marigolds and chrysanthemums. A tinybrick wall, in herring-bone pattern, led from the gate to the frontporch. The whole place might have been transplanted from some remotecountry village; yet there was something about it that made itsnearest neighbor, the big lawn-encircled palace of a tobacco king, lookexceedingly crude and showy and ill-bred by contrast. As Phil said, itwas the difference between being born and being made. 

"It's the dearest place I ever saw, " said Anne delightedly. "It givesme one of my old, delightful funny aches. It's dearer and quainter thaneven Miss Lavendar's stone house. "

"It's the name I want you to notice especially, " said Phil. "Look--inwhite letters, around the archway over the gate. 'Patty's Place. ' Isn'tthat killing? Especially on this Avenue of Pinehursts and Elmwolds andCedarcrofts? 'Patty's Place, ' if you please! I adore it. "

"Have you any idea who Patty is?" asked Priscilla. 

"Patty Spofford is the name of the old lady who owns it, I'vediscovered. She lives there with her niece, and they've lived there forhundreds of years, more or less--maybe a little less, Anne. Exaggerationis merely a flight of poetic fancy. I understand that wealthy folk havetried to buy the lot time and again--it's really worth a small fortunenow, you know--but 'Patty' won't sell upon any consideration. And there's an apple orchard behind the house in place of a backyard--you'll see it when we get a little past--a real apple orchard onSpofford Avenue!"

"I'm going to dream about 'Patty's Place' tonight, " said Anne. "Why, Ifeel as if I belonged to it. I wonder if, by any chance, we'll ever seethe inside of it. "

"It isn't likely, " said Priscilla. 

Anne smiled mysteriously. 

"No, it isn't likely. But I believe it will happen. I have a queer, creepy, crawly feeling--you can call it a presentiment, if youlike--that 'Patty's Place' and I are going to be better acquainted yet. "

Chapter VII

Home Again

Those first three weeks at Redmond had seemed long; but the rest ofthe term flew by on wings of wind. Before they realized it the Redmondstudents found themselves in the grind of Christmas examinations, emerging therefrom more or less triumphantly. The honor of leading inthe Freshman classes fluctuated between Anne, Gilbert and Philippa;Priscilla did very well; Charlie Sloane scraped through respectably, andcomported himself as complacently as if he had led in everything. 

"I can't really believe that this time tomorrow I'll be in GreenGables, " said Anne on the night before departure. "But I shall be. Andyou, Phil, will be in Bolingbroke with Alec and Alonzo. "

"I'm longing to see them, " admitted Phil, between the chocolate she wasnibbling. "They really are such dear boys, you know. There's to be noend of dances and drives and general jamborees. I shall never forgiveyou, Queen Anne, for not coming home with me for the holidays. "

"'Never' means three days with you, Phil. It was dear of you to askme--and I'd love to go to Bolingbroke some day. But I can't go thisyear--I MUST go home. You don't know how my heart longs for it. "

"You won't have much of a time, " said Phil scornfully. "There'll be oneor two quilting parties, I suppose; and all the old gossips will talkyou over to your face and behind your back. You'll die of lonesomeness, child. "

"In Avonlea?" said Anne, highly amused. 

"Now, if you'd come with me you'd have a perfectly gorgeous time. Bolingbroke would go wild over you, Queen Anne--your hair and your styleand, oh, everything! You're so DIFFERENT. You'd be such a success--andI would bask in reflected glory--'not the rose but near the rose. ' Docome, after all, Anne. "

"Your picture of social triumphs is quite fascinating, Phil, but I'llpaint one to offset it. I'm going home to an old country farmhouse, oncegreen, rather faded now, set among leafless apple orchards. There is abrook below and a December fir wood beyond, where I've heard harps sweptby the fingers of rain and wind. There is a pond nearby that will begray and brooding now. There will be two oldish ladies in the house, one tall and thin, one short and fat; and there will be two twins, onea perfect model, the other what Mrs. Lynde calls a 'holy terror. ' Therewill be a little room upstairs over the porch, where old dreams hangthick, and a big, fat, glorious feather bed which will almost seem theheight of luxury after a boardinghouse mattress. How do you like mypicture, Phil?"

"It seems a very dull one, " said Phil, with a grimace. 

"Oh, but I've left out the transforming thing, " said Anne softly. "There'll be love there, Phil--faithful, tender love, such as I'll neverfind anywhere else in the world--love that's waiting for me. That makesmy picture a masterpiece, doesn't it, even if the colors are not verybrilliant?"

Phil silently got up, tossed her box of chocolates away, went up toAnne, and put her arms about her. 

"Anne, I wish I was like you, " she said soberly. 

Diana met Anne at the Carmody station the next night, and they drovehome together under silent, star-sown depths of sky. Green Gables had avery festal appearance as they drove up the lane. There was a light inevery window, the glow breaking out through the darkness like flame-redblossoms swung against the dark background of the Haunted Wood. And inthe yard was a brave bonfire with two gay little figures dancing aroundit, one of which gave an unearthly yell as the buggy turned in under thepoplars. 

"Davy means that for an Indian war-whoop, " said Diana. "Mr. Harrison'shired boy taught it to him, and he's been practicing it up to welcomeyou with. Mrs. Lynde says it has worn her nerves to a frazzle. He creepsup behind her, you know, and then lets go. He was determined to have abonfire for you, too. He's been piling up branches for a fortnightand pestering Marilla to be let pour some kerosene oil over it beforesetting it on fire. I guess she did, by the smell, though Mrs. Lyndesaid up to the last that Davy would blow himself and everybody else upif he was let. "

Anne was out of the buggy by this time, and Davy was rapturously huggingher knees, while even Dora was clinging to her hand. 

"Isn't that a bully bonfire, Anne? Just let me show you how to pokeit--see the sparks? I did it for you, Anne, 'cause I was so glad youwere coming home. "

The kitchen door opened and Marilla's spare form darkened against theinner light. She preferred to meet Anne in the shadows, for shewas horribly afraid that she was going to cry with joy--she, stern, repressed Marilla, who thought all display of deep emotion unseemly. Mrs. Lynde was behind her, sonsy, kindly, matronly, as of yore. The lovethat Anne had told Phil was waiting for her surrounded her and enfoldedher with its blessing and its sweetness. Nothing, after all, couldcompare with old ties, old friends, and old Green Gables! How starryAnne's eyes were as they sat down to the loaded supper table, how pinkher cheeks, how silver-clear her laughter! And Diana was going to stayall night, too. How like the dear old times it was! And the rose-budtea-set graced the table! With Marilla the force of nature could nofurther go. 

"I suppose you and Diana will now proceed to talk all night, " saidMarilla sarcastically, as the girls went upstairs. Marilla was alwayssarcastic after any self-betrayal. 

"Yes, " agreed Anne gaily, "but I'm going to put Davy to bed first. Heinsists on that. "

"You bet, " said Davy, as they went along the hall. "I want somebody tosay my prayers to again. It's no fun saying them alone. "

"You don't say them alone, Davy. God is always with you to hear you. "

"Well, I can't see Him, " objected Davy. "I want to pray to somebody Ican see, but I WON'T say them to Mrs. Lynde or Marilla, there now!"

Nevertheless, when Davy was garbed in his gray flannel nighty, he didnot seem in a hurry to begin. He stood before Anne, shuffling one barefoot over the other, and looked undecided. 

"Come, dear, kneel down, " said Anne. 

Davy came and buried his head in Anne's lap, but he did not kneel down. 

"Anne, " he said in a muffled voice. "I don't feel like praying afterall. I haven't felt like it for a week now. I--I DIDN'T pray last nightnor the night before. "

"Why not, Davy?" asked Anne gently. 

"You--you won't be mad if I tell you?" implored Davy. 

Anne lifted the little gray-flannelled body on her knee and cuddled hishead on her arm. 

"Do I ever get 'mad' when you tell me things, Davy?"

"No-o-o, you never do. But you get sorry, and that's worse. You'll beawful sorry when I tell you this, Anne--and you'll be 'shamed of me, Is'pose. "

"Have you done something naughty, Davy, and is that why you can't sayyour prayers?"

"No, I haven't done anything naughty--yet. But I want to do it. "

"What is it, Davy?"

"I--I want to say a bad word, Anne, " blurted out Davy, with a desperateeffort. "I heard Mr. Harrison's hired boy say it one day last week, and ever since I've been wanting to say it ALL the time--even when I'msaying my prayers. "

"Say it then, Davy. "

Davy lifted his flushed face in amazement. 

"But, Anne, it's an AWFUL bad word. "

"SAY IT!"

Davy gave her another incredulous look, then in a low voice he said thedreadful word. The next minute his face was burrowing against her. 

"Oh, Anne, I'll never say it again--never. I'll never WANT to say itagain. I knew it was bad, but I didn't s'pose it was so--so--I didn'ts'pose it was like THAT. "

"No, I don't think you'll ever want to say it again, Davy--or think it, either. And I wouldn't go about much with Mr. Harrison's hired boy if Iwere you. "

"He can make bully war-whoops, " said Davy a little regretfully. 

"But you don't want your mind filled with bad words, do you, Davy--wordsthat will poison it and drive out all that is good and manly?"

"No, " said Davy, owl-eyed with introspection. 

"Then don't go with those people who use them. And now do you feel as ifyou could say your prayers, Davy?"

"Oh, yes, " said Davy, eagerly wriggling down on his knees, "I can saythem now all right. I ain't scared now to say 'if I should die before Iwake, ' like I was when I was wanting to say that word. "

Probably Anne and Diana did empty out their souls to each other thatnight, but no record of their confidences has been preserved. They bothlooked as fresh and bright-eyed at breakfast as only youth can lookafter unlawful hours of revelry and confession. There had been no snowup to this time, but as Diana crossed the old log bridge on her homewardway the white flakes were beginning to flutter down over the fieldsand woods, russet and gray in their dreamless sleep. Soon the far-awayslopes and hills were dim and wraith-like through their gauzy scarfing, as if pale autumn had flung a misty bridal veil over her hair and waswaiting for her wintry bridegroom. So they had a white Christmas afterall, and a very pleasant day it was. In the forenoon letters and giftscame from Miss Lavendar and Paul; Anne opened them in the cheerful GreenGables kitchen, which was filled with what Davy, sniffing in ecstasy, called "pretty smells. "

"Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving are settled in their new home now, "reported Anne. "I am sure Miss Lavendar is perfectly happy--I know itby the general tone of her letter--but there's a note from Charlotta theFourth. She doesn't like Boston at all, and she is fearfully homesick. Miss Lavendar wants me to go through to Echo Lodge some day whileI'm home and light a fire to air it, and see that the cushions aren'tgetting moldy. I think I'll get Diana to go over with me next week, andwe can spend the evening with Theodora Dix. I want to see Theodora. Bythe way, is Ludovic Speed still going to see her?"

"They say so, " said Marilla, "and he's likely to continue it. Folks havegiven up expecting that that courtship will ever arrive anywhere. "

"I'd hurry him up a bit, if I was Theodora, that's what, " said Mrs. Lynde. And there is not the slightest doubt but that she would. 

There was also a characteristic scrawl from Philippa, full of Alec andAlonzo, what they said and what they did, and how they looked when theysaw her. 

"But I can't make up my mind yet which to marry, " wrote Phil. "I do wishyou had come with me to decide for me. Some one will have to. When I sawAlec my heart gave a great thump and I thought, 'He might be the rightone. ' And then, when Alonzo came, thump went my heart again. So that'sno guide, though it should be, according to all the novels I've everread. Now, Anne, YOUR heart wouldn't thump for anybody but the genuinePrince Charming, would it? There must be something radically wrong withmine. But I'm having a perfectly gorgeous time. How I wish you werehere! It's snowing today, and I'm rapturous. I was so afraid we'd havea green Christmas and I loathe them. You know, when Christmas is a dirtygrayey-browney affair, looking as if it had been left over a hundredyears ago and had been in soak ever since, it is called a GREENChristmas! Don't ask me why. As Lord Dundreary says, 'there are thomethingth no fellow can underthtand. '

"Anne, did you ever get on a street car and then discover that youhadn't any money with you to pay your fare? I did, the other day. It'squite awful. I had a nickel with me when I got on the car. I thought itwas in the left pocket of my coat. When I got settled down comfortablyI felt for it. It wasn't there. I had a cold chill. I felt in the otherpocket. Not there. I had another chill. Then I felt in a little insidepocket. All in vain. I had two chills at once. 

"I took off my gloves, laid them on the seat, and went over all mypockets again. It was not there. I stood up and shook myself, and thenlooked on the floor. The car was full of people, who were going homefrom the opera, and they all stared at me, but I was past caring for alittle thing like that. 

"But I could not find my fare. I concluded I must have put it in mymouth and swallowed it inadvertently. 

"I didn't know what to do. Would the conductor, I wondered, stop thecar and put me off in ignominy and shame? Was it possible that I couldconvince him that I was merely the victim of my own absentmindedness, and not an unprincipled creature trying to obtain a ride upon falsepretenses? How I wished that Alec or Alonzo were there. But they weren'tbecause I wanted them. If I HADN'T wanted them they would have beenthere by the dozen. And I couldn't decide what to say to the conductorwhen he came around. As soon as I got one sentence of explanationmapped out in my mind I felt nobody could believe it and I must composeanother. It seemed there was nothing to do but trust in Providence, andfor all the comfort that gave me I might as well have been the old ladywho, when told by the captain during a storm that she must put her trustin the Almighty exclaimed, 'Oh, Captain, is it as bad as that?'

"Just at the conventional moment, when all hope had fled, and theconductor was holding out his box to the passenger next to me, Isuddenly remembered where I had put that wretched coin of the realm. I hadn't swallowed it after all. I meekly fished it out of the indexfinger of my glove and poked it in the box. I smiled at everybody andfelt that it was a beautiful world. "

The visit to Echo Lodge was not the least pleasant of many pleasantholiday outings. Anne and Diana went back to it by the old way of thebeech woods, carrying a lunch basket with them. Echo Lodge, which hadbeen closed ever since Miss Lavendar's wedding, was briefly thrown opento wind and sunshine once more, and firelight glimmered again in thelittle rooms. The perfume of Miss Lavendar's rose bowl still filled theair. It was hardly possible to believe that Miss Lavendar would not cometripping in presently, with her brown eyes a-star with welcome, andthat Charlotta the Fourth, blue of bow and wide of smile, would notpop through the door. Paul, too, seemed hovering around, with his fairyfancies. 

"It really makes me feel a little bit like a ghost revisiting the oldtime glimpses of the moon, " laughed Anne. "Let's go out and see if theechoes are at home. Bring the old horn. It is still behind the kitchendoor. "

The echoes were at home, over the white river, as silver-clear andmultitudinous as ever; and when they had ceased to answer the girlslocked up Echo Lodge again and went away in the perfect half hour thatfollows the rose and saffron of a winter sunset. 

Chapter VIII

Anne's First Proposal

The old year did not slip away in a green twilight, with a pinky-yellowsunset. Instead, it went out with a wild, white bluster and blow. It wasone of the nights when the storm-wind hurtles over the frozen meadowsand black hollows, and moans around the eaves like a lost creature, anddrives the snow sharply against the shaking panes. 

"Just the sort of night people like to cuddle down between theirblankets and count their mercies, " said Anne to Jane Andrews, who hadcome up to spend the afternoon and stay all night. But when they werecuddled between their blankets, in Anne's little porch room, it was nother mercies of which Jane was thinking. 

"Anne, " she said very solemnly, "I want to tell you something. May I"

Anne was feeling rather sleepy after the party Ruby Gillis had given thenight before. She would much rather have gone to sleep than listento Jane's confidences, which she was sure would bore her. She had noprophetic inkling of what was coming. Probably Jane was engaged, too; rumor averred that Ruby Gillis was engaged to the Spencervaleschoolteacher, about whom all the girls were said to be quite wild. 

"I'll soon be the only fancy-free maiden of our old quartet, " thoughtAnne, drowsily. Aloud she said, "Of course. "

"Anne, " said Jane, still more solemnly, "what do you think of my brotherBilly?"

Anne gasped over this unexpected question, and floundered helplesslyin her thoughts. Goodness, what DID she think of Billy Andrews? Shehad never thought ANYTHING about him--round-faced, stupid, perpetuallysmiling, good-natured Billy Andrews. Did ANYBODY ever think about BillyAndrews?

"I--I don't understand, Jane, " she stammered. "What do youmean--exactly?"

"Do you like Billy?" asked Jane bluntly. 

"Why--why--yes, I like him, of course, " gasped Anne, wondering if shewere telling the literal truth. Certainly she did not DISlike Billy. But could the indifferent tolerance with which she regarded him, when hehappened to be in her range of vision, be considered positive enough forliking? WHAT was Jane trying to elucidate?

"Would you like him for a husband?" asked Jane calmly. 

"A husband!" Anne had been sitting up in bed, the better to wrestle withthe problem of her exact opinion of Billy Andrews. Now she fell flatlyback on her pillows, the very breath gone out of her. "Whose husband?"

"Yours, of course, " answered Jane. "Billy wants to marry you. He'salways been crazy about you--and now father has given him the upper farmin his own name and there's nothing to prevent him from getting married. But he's so shy he couldn't ask you himself if you'd have him, so he gotme to do it. I'd rather not have, but he gave me no peace till I said Iwould, if I got a good chance. What do you think about it, Anne?"

Was it a dream? Was it one of those nightmare things in which you findyourself engaged or married to some one you hate or don't know, withoutthe slightest idea how it ever came about? No, she, Anne Shirley, waslying there, wide awake, in her own bed, and Jane Andrews was besideher, calmly proposing for her brother Billy. Anne did not know whethershe wanted to writhe or laugh; but she could do neither, for Jane'sfeelings must not be hurt. 

"I--I couldn't marry Bill, you know, Jane, " she managed to gasp. "Why, such an idea never occurred to me--never!"

"I don't suppose it did, " agreed Jane. "Billy has always been far tooshy to think of courting. But you might think it over, Anne. Billy is agood fellow. I must say that, if he is my brother. He has no bad habitsand he's a great worker, and you can depend on him. 'A bird in the handis worth two in the bush. ' He told me to tell you he'd be quite willingto wait till you got through college, if you insisted, though he'dRATHER get married this spring before the planting begins. He'd alwaysbe very good to you, I'm sure, and you know, Anne, I'd love to have youfor a sister. "

"I can't marry Billy, " said Anne decidedly. She had recovered her wits, and was even feeling a little angry. It was all so ridiculous. "There isno use thinking of it, Jane. I don't care anything for him in that way, and you must tell him so. "

"Well, I didn't suppose you would, " said Jane with a resigned sigh, feeling that she had done her best. "I told Billy I didn't believe itwas a bit of use to ask you, but he insisted. Well, you've made yourdecision, Anne, and I hope you won't regret it. "

Jane spoke rather coldly. She had been perfectly sure that the enamoredBilly had no chance at all of inducing Anne to marry him. Nevertheless, she felt a little resentment that Anne Shirley, who was, after all, merely an adopted orphan, without kith or kin, should refuse herbrother--one of the Avonlea Andrews. Well, pride sometimes goes before afall, Jane reflected ominously. 

Anne permitted herself to smile in the darkness over the idea that shemight ever regret not marrying Billy Andrews. 

"I hope Billy won't feel very badly over it, " she said nicely. 

Jane made a movement as if she were tossing her head on her pillow. 

"Oh, he won't break his heart. Billy has too much good sense for that. He likes Nettie Blewett pretty well, too, and mother would rather hemarried her than any one. She's such a good manager and saver. I think, when Billy is once sure you won't have him, he'll take Nettie. Pleasedon't mention this to any one, will you, Anne?"

"Certainly not, " said Anne, who had no desire whatever to publish abroadthe fact that Billy Andrews wanted to marry her, preferring her, whenall was said and done, to Nettie Blewett. Nettie Blewett!

"And now I suppose we'd better go to sleep, " suggested Jane. 

To sleep went Jane easily and speedily; but, though very unlike MacBethin most respects, she had certainly contrived to murder sleep for Anne. That proposed-to damsel lay on a wakeful pillow until the wee sma's, buther meditations were far from being romantic. It was not, however, untilthe next morning that she had an opportunity to indulge in a good laughover the whole affair. When Jane had gone home--still with a hint offrost in voice and manner because Anne had declined so ungratefullyand decidedly the honor of an alliance with the House of Andrews--Anneretreated to the porch room, shut the door, and had her laugh out atlast. 

"If I could only share the joke with some one!" she thought. "But Ican't. Diana is the only one I'd want to tell, and, even if I hadn'tsworn secrecy to Jane, I can't tell Diana things now. She tellseverything to Fred--I know she does. Well, I've had my first proposal. Isupposed it would come some day--but I certainly never thought it wouldbe by proxy. It's awfully funny--and yet there's a sting in it, too, somehow. "

Anne knew quite well wherein the sting consisted, though she did not putit into words. She had had her secret dreams of the first time some oneshould ask her the great question. And it had, in those dreams, alwaysbeen very romantic and beautiful: and the "some one" was to be veryhandsome and dark-eyed and distinguished-looking and eloquent, whetherhe were Prince Charming to be enraptured with "yes, " or one to whom aregretful, beautifully worded, but hopeless refusal must be given. Ifthe latter, the refusal was to be expressed so delicately that it wouldbe next best thing to acceptance, and he would go away, after kissingher hand, assuring her of his unalterable, life-long devotion. And itwould always be a beautiful memory, to be proud of and a little sadabout, also. 

And now, this thrilling experience had turned out to be merelygrotesque. Billy Andrews had got his sister to propose for him becausehis father had given him the upper farm; and if Anne wouldn't "have him"Nettie Blewett would. There was romance for you, with a vengeance! Annelaughed--and then sighed. The bloom had been brushed from one littlemaiden dream. Would the painful process go on until everything becameprosaic and hum-drum?

Chapter IX

An Unwelcome Lover and a Welcome Friend

The second term at Redmond sped as quickly as had the first--"actuallywhizzed away, " Philippa said. Anne enjoyed it thoroughly in all itsphases--the stimulating class rivalry, the making and deepening of newand helpful friendships, the gay little social stunts, the doings of thevarious societies of which she was a member, the widening of horizonsand interests. She studied hard, for she had made up her mind to win theThorburn Scholarship in English. This being won, meant that she couldcome back to Redmond the next year without trenching on Marilla's smallsavings--something Anne was determined she would not do. 

Gilbert, too, was in full chase after a scholarship, but found plentyof time for frequent calls at Thirty-eight, St. John's. He was Anne'sescort at nearly all the college affairs, and she knew that their nameswere coupled in Redmond gossip. Anne raged over this but was helpless;she could not cast an old friend like Gilbert aside, especially whenhe had grown suddenly wise and wary, as behooved him in the dangerousproximity of more than one Redmond youth who would gladly have taken hisplace by the side of the slender, red-haired coed, whose gray eyes wereas alluring as stars of evening. Anne was never attended by the crowd ofwilling victims who hovered around Philippa's conquering march throughher Freshman year; but there was a lanky, brainy Freshie, a jolly, little, round Sophomore, and a tall, learned Junior who all liked tocall at Thirty-eight, St. John's, and talk over 'ologies and 'isms, aswell as lighter subjects, with Anne, in the becushioned parlor of thatdomicile. Gilbert did not love any of them, and he was exceedinglycareful to give none of them the advantage over him by any untimelydisplay of his real feelings Anne-ward. To her he had become again theboy-comrade of Avonlea days, and as such could hold his own againstany smitten swain who had so far entered the lists against him. As acompanion, Anne honestly acknowledged nobody could be so satisfactory asGilbert; she was very glad, so she told herself, that he had evidentlydropped all nonsensical ideas--though she spent considerable timesecretly wondering why. 

Only one disagreeable incident marred that winter. Charlie Sloane, sitting bolt upright on Miss Ada's most dearly beloved cushion, askedAnne one night if she would promise "to become Mrs. Charlie Sloane someday. " Coming after Billy Andrews' proxy effort, this was not quite theshock to Anne's romantic sensibilities that it would otherwise havebeen; but it was certainly another heart-rending disillusion. She wasangry, too, for she felt that she had never given Charlie the slightestencouragement to suppose such a thing possible. But what could youexpect of a Sloane, as Mrs. Rachel Lynde would ask scornfully? Charlie'swhole attitude, tone, air, words, fairly reeked with Sloanishness. "Hewas conferring a great honor--no doubt whatever about that. And whenAnne, utterly insensible to the honor, refused him, as delicately andconsiderately as she could--for even a Sloane had feelings which oughtnot to be unduly lacerated--Sloanishness still further betrayed itself. Charlie certainly did not take his dismissal as Anne's imaginaryrejected suitors did. Instead, he became angry, and showed it; he saidtwo or three quite nasty things; Anne's temper flashed up mutinously andshe retorted with a cutting little speech whose keenness pierced evenCharlie's protective Sloanishness and reached the quick; he caught uphis hat and flung himself out of the house with a very red face; Annerushed upstairs, falling twice over Miss Ada's cushions on the way, and threw herself on her bed, in tears of humiliation and rage. Hadshe actually stooped to quarrel with a Sloane? Was it possible anythingCharlie Sloane could say had power to make her angry? Oh, this wasdegradation, indeed--worse even than being the rival of Nettie Blewett!

"I wish I need never see the horrible creature again, " she sobbedvindictively into her pillows. 

She could not avoid seeing him again, but the outraged Charlie took carethat it should not be at very close quarters. Miss Ada's cushions werehenceforth safe from his depredations, and when he met Anne on thestreet, or in Redmond's halls, his bow was icy in the extreme. Relationsbetween these two old schoolmates continued to be thus strained fornearly a year! Then Charlie transferred his blighted affections to around, rosy, snub-nosed, blue-eyed, little Sophomore who appreciatedthem as they deserved, whereupon he forgave Anne and condescended to becivil to her again; in a patronizing manner intended to show her justwhat she had lost. 

One day Anne scurried excitedly into Priscilla's room. 

"Read that, " she cried, tossing Priscilla a letter. "It's fromStella--and she's coming to Redmond next year--and what do you think ofher idea? I think it's a perfectly splendid one, if we can only carry itout. Do you suppose we can, Pris?"

"I'll be better able to tell you when I find out what it is, " saidPriscilla, casting aside a Greek lexicon and taking up Stella's letter. Stella Maynard had been one of their chums at Queen's Academy and hadbeen teaching school ever since. 

"But I'm going to give it up, Anne dear, " she wrote, "and go to collegenext year. As I took the third year at Queen's I can enter the Sophomoreyear. I'm tired of teaching in a back country school. Some day I'm goingto write a treatise on 'The Trials of a Country Schoolmarm. ' It willbe a harrowing bit of realism. It seems to be the prevailing impressionthat we live in clover, and have nothing to do but draw our quarter'ssalary. My treatise shall tell the truth about us. Why, if a week shouldpass without some one telling me that I am doing easy work for big pay Iwould conclude that I might as well order my ascension robe 'immediatelyand to onct. ' 'Well, you get your money easy, ' some rate-payer willtell me, condescendingly. 'All you have to do is to sit there and hearlessons. ' I used to argue the matter at first, but I'm wiser now. Facts are stubborn things, but as some one has wisely said, not half sostubborn as fallacies. So I only smile loftily now in eloquent silence. Why, I have nine grades in my school and I have to teach a little ofeverything, from investigating the interiors of earthworms to the studyof the solar system. My youngest pupil is four--his mother sends him toschool to 'get him out of the way'--and my oldest twenty--it 'suddenlystruck him' that it would be easier to go to school and get an educationthan follow the plough any longer. In the wild effort to cram all sortsof research into six hours a day I don't wonder if the children feellike the little boy who was taken to see the biograph. 'I have to lookfor what's coming next before I know what went last, ' he complained. Ifeel like that myself. 

"And the letters I get, Anne! Tommy's mother writes me that Tommy is notcoming on in arithmetic as fast as she would like. He is only in simplereduction yet, and Johnny Johnson is in fractions, and Johnny isn't halfas smart as her Tommy, and she can't understand it. And Susy's fatherwants to know why Susy can't write a letter without misspelling halfthe words, and Dick's aunt wants me to change his seat, because that badBrown boy he is sitting with is teaching him to say naughty words. 

"As to the financial part--but I'll not begin on that. Those whom thegods wish to destroy they first make country schoolmarms!

"There, I feel better, after that growl. After all, I've enjoyed thesepast two years. But I'm coming to Redmond. 

"And now, Anne, I've a little plan. You know how I loathe boarding. I've boarded for four years and I'm so tired of it. I don't feel likeenduring three years more of it. 

"Now, why can't you and Priscilla and I club together, rent a littlehouse somewhere in Kingsport, and board ourselves? It would be cheaperthan any other way. Of course, we would have to have a housekeeper andI have one ready on the spot. You've heard me speak of Aunt Jamesina?She's the sweetest aunt that ever lived, in spite of her name. She can'thelp that! She was called Jamesina because her father, whose name wasJames, was drowned at sea a month before she was born. I always call herAunt Jimsie. Well, her only daughter has recently married and gone tothe foreign mission field. Aunt Jamesina is left alone in a great bighouse, and she is horribly lonesome. She will come to Kingsport and keephouse for us if we want her, and I know you'll both love her. The moreI think of the plan the more I like it. We could have such good, independent times. 

"Now, if you and Priscilla agree to it, wouldn't it be a good ideafor you, who are on the spot, to look around and see if you can find asuitable house this spring? That would be better than leaving it tillthe fall. If you could get a furnished one so much the better, but ifnot, we can scare up a few sticks of finiture between us and old familyfriends with attics. Anyhow, decide as soon as you can and write me, sothat Aunt Jamesina will know what plans to make for next year. "

"I think it's a good idea, " said Priscilla. 

"So do I, " agreed Anne delightedly. "Of course, we have a niceboardinghouse here, but, when all's said and done, a boardinghouse isn'thome. So let's go house-hunting at once, before exams come on. "

"I'm afraid it will be hard enough to get a really suitable house, "warned Priscilla. "Don't expect too much, Anne. Nice houses in nicelocalities will probably be away beyond our means. We'll likely have tocontent ourselves with a shabby little place on some street whereon livepeople whom to know is to be unknown, and make life inside compensatefor the outside. "

Accordingly they went house-hunting, but to find just what they wantedproved even harder than Priscilla had feared. Houses there were galore, furnished and unfurnished; but one was too big, another too small; thisone too expensive, that one too far from Redmond. Exams were on andover; the last week of the term came and still their "house o'dreams, "as Anne called it, remained a castle in the air. 

"We shall have to give up and wait till the fall, I suppose, " saidPriscilla wearily, as they rambled through the park on one of April'sdarling days of breeze and blue, when the harbor was creaming andshimmering beneath the pearl-hued mists floating over it. "We may findsome shack to shelter us then; and if not, boardinghouses we shall havealways with us. "

"I'm not going to worry about it just now, anyway, and spoil this lovelyafternoon, " said Anne, gazing around her with delight. The fresh chillair was faintly charged with the aroma of pine balsam, and the sky abovewas crystal clear and blue--a great inverted cup of blessing. "Spring issinging in my blood today, and the lure of April is abroad on the air. I'm seeing visions and dreaming dreams, Pris. That's because the wind isfrom the west. I do love the west wind. It sings of hope and gladness, doesn't it? When the east wind blows I always think of sorrowful rainon the eaves and sad waves on a gray shore. When I get old I shall haverheumatism when the wind is east. "

"And isn't it jolly when you discard furs and winter garments forthe first time and sally forth, like this, in spring attire?" laughedPriscilla. "Don't you feel as if you had been made over new?"

"Everything is new in the spring, " said Anne. "Springs themselves arealways so new, too. No spring is ever just like any other spring. Italways has something of its own to be its own peculiar sweetness. Seehow green the grass is around that little pond, and how the willow budsare bursting. "

"And exams are over and gone--the time of Convocation will comesoon--next Wednesday. This day next week we'll be home. "

"I'm glad, " said Anne dreamily. "There are so many things I want to do. I want to sit on the back porch steps and feel the breeze blowing downover Mr. Harrison's fields. I want to hunt ferns in the Haunted Woodand gather violets in Violet Vale. Do you remember the day of our goldenpicnic, Priscilla? I want to hear the frogs singing and the poplarswhispering. But I've learned to love Kingsport, too, and I'm glad I'mcoming back next fall. If I hadn't won the Thorburn I don't believe Icould have. I COULDN'T take any of Marilla's little hoard. "

"If we could only find a house!" sighed Priscilla. "Look over there atKingsport, Anne--houses, houses everywhere, and not one for us. "

"Stop it, Pris. 'The best is yet to be. ' Like the old Roman, we'll finda house or build one. On a day like this there's no such word as fail inmy bright lexicon. "

They lingered in the park until sunset, living in the amazing miracleand glory and wonder of the springtide; and they went home as usual, byway of Spofford Avenue, that they might have the delight of looking atPatty's Place. 

"I feel as if something mysterious were going to happen right away--'bythe pricking of my thumbs, '" said Anne, as they went up the slope. "It's a nice story-bookish feeling. Why--why--why! Priscilla Grant, lookover there and tell me if it's true, or am I seein' things?"

Priscilla looked. Anne's thumbs and eyes had not deceived her. Over thearched gateway of Patty's Place dangled a little, modest sign. It said"To Let, Furnished. Inquire Within. "

"Priscilla, " said Anne, in a whisper, "do you suppose it's possible thatwe could rent Patty's Place?"

"No, I don't, " averred Priscilla. "It would be too good to betrue. Fairy tales don't happen nowadays. I won't hope, Anne. Thedisappointment would be too awful to bear. They're sure to want more forit than we can afford. Remember, it's on Spofford Avenue. "

"We must find out anyhow, " said Anne resolutely. "It's too late to callthis evening, but we'll come tomorrow. Oh, Pris, if we can get thisdarling spot! I've always felt that my fortunes were linked with Patty'sPlace, ever since I saw it first. "

Chapter X

Patty's Place

The next evening found them treading resolutely the herring-bone walkthrough the tiny garden. The April wind was filling the pine trees withits roundelay, and the grove was alive with robins--great, plump, saucyfellows, strutting along the paths. The girls rang rather timidly, andwere admitted by a grim and ancient handmaiden. The door opened directlyinto a large living-room, where by a cheery little fire sat two otherladies, both of whom were also grim and ancient. Except that one lookedto be about seventy and the other fifty, there seemed littledifference between them. Each had amazingly big, light-blue eyes behindsteel-rimmed spectacles; each wore a cap and a gray shawl; each wasknitting without haste and without rest; each rocked placidly and lookedat the girls without speaking; and just behind each sat a large whitechina dog, with round green spots all over it, a green nose and greenears. Those dogs captured Anne's fancy on the spot; they seemed like thetwin guardian deities of Patty's Place. 

For a few minutes nobody spoke. The girls were too nervous to findwords, and neither the ancient ladies nor the china dogs seemedconversationally inclined. Anne glanced about the room. What a dearplace it was! Another door opened out of it directly into the pine groveand the robins came boldly up on the very step. The floor was spottedwith round, braided mats, such as Marilla made at Green Gables, butwhich were considered out of date everywhere else, even in Avonlea. Andyet here they were on Spofford Avenue! A big, polished grandfather'sclock ticked loudly and solemnly in a corner. There were delightfullittle cupboards over the mantelpiece, behind whose glass doorsgleamed quaint bits of china. The walls were hung with old prints andsilhouettes. In one corner the stairs went up, and at the first low turnwas a long window with an inviting seat. It was all just as Anne hadknown it must be. 

By this time the silence had grown too dreadful, and Priscilla nudgedAnne to intimate that she must speak. 

"We--we--saw by your sign that this house is to let, " said Anne faintly, addressing the older lady, who was evidently Miss Patty Spofford. 

"Oh, yes, " said Miss Patty. "I intended to take that sign down today. "

"Then--then we are too late, " said Anne sorrowfully. "You've let it tosome one else?"

"No, but we have decided not to let it at all. "

"Oh, I'm so sorry, " exclaimed Anne impulsively. "I love this place so. Idid hope we could have got it. "

Then did Miss Patty lay down her knitting, take off her specs, rub them, put them on again, and for the first time look at Anne as at a humanbeing. The other lady followed her example so perfectly that she mightas well have been a reflection in a mirror. 

"You LOVE it, " said Miss Patty with emphasis. "Does that mean thatyou really LOVE it? Or that you merely like the looks of it? The girlsnowadays indulge in such exaggerated statements that one never can tellwhat they DO mean. It wasn't so in my young days. THEN a girl did notsay she LOVED turnips, in just the same tone as she might have said sheloved her mother or her Savior. "

Anne's conscience bore her up. 

"I really do love it, " she said gently. "I've loved it ever since I sawit last fall. My two college chums and I want to keep house next yearinstead of boarding, so we are looking for a little place to rent; andwhen I saw that this house was to let I was so happy. "

"If you love it, you can have it, " said Miss Patty. "Maria and I decidedtoday that we would not let it after all, because we did not like any ofthe people who have wanted it. We don't HAVE to let it. We can afford togo to Europe even if we don't let it. It would help us out, but not forgold will I let my home pass into the possession of such people as havecome here and looked at it. YOU are different. I believe you do love itand will be good to it. You can have it. "

"If--if we can afford to pay what you ask for it, " hesitated Anne. 

Miss Patty named the amount required. Anne and Priscilla looked at eachother. Priscilla shook her head. 

"I'm afraid we can't afford quite so much, " said Anne, choking back herdisappointment. "You see, we are only college girls and we are poor. "

"What were you thinking you could afford?" demanded Miss Patty, ceasingnot to knit. 

Anne named her amount. Miss Patty nodded gravely. 

"That will do. As I told you, it is not strictly necessary that weshould let it at all. We are not rich, but we have enough to go toEurope on. I have never been in Europe in my life, and never expected orwanted to go. But my niece there, Maria Spofford, has taken a fancyto go. Now, you know a young person like Maria can't go globetrottingalone. "

"No--I--I suppose not, " murmured Anne, seeing that Miss Patty was quitesolemnly in earnest. 

"Of course not. So I have to go along to look after her. I expect toenjoy it, too; I'm seventy years old, but I'm not tired of living yet. I daresay I'd have gone to Europe before if the idea had occurred to me. We shall be away for two years, perhaps three. We sail in June andwe shall send you the key, and leave all in order for you to takepossession when you choose. We shall pack away a few things we prizeespecially, but all the rest will be left. "

"Will you leave the china dogs?" asked Anne timidly. 

"Would you like me to?"

"Oh, indeed, yes. They are delightful. "

A pleased expression came into Miss Patty's face. 

"I think a great deal of those dogs, " she said proudly. "They are overa hundred years old, and they have sat on either side of this fireplaceever since my brother Aaron brought them from London fifty years ago. Spofford Avenue was called after my brother Aaron. "

"A fine man he was, " said Miss Maria, speaking for the first time. "Ah, you don't see the like of him nowadays. "

"He was a good uncle to you, Maria, " said Miss Patty, with evidentemotion. "You do well to remember him. "

"I shall always remember him, " said Miss Maria solemnly. "I can see him, this minute, standing there before that fire, with his hands under hiscoat-tails, beaming on us. "

Miss Maria took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes; but Miss Pattycame resolutely back from the regions of sentiment to those of business. 

"I shall leave the dogs where they are, if you will promise to be verycareful of them, " she said. "Their names are Gog and Magog. Gog looksto the right and Magog to the left. And there's just one thing more. Youdon't object, I hope, to this house being called Patty's Place?"

"No, indeed. We think that is one of the nicest things about it. "

"You have sense, I see, " said Miss Patty in a tone of greatsatisfaction. "Would you believe it? All the people who came here torent the house wanted to know if they couldn't take the name off thegate during their occupation of it. I told them roundly that the namewent with the house. This has been Patty's Place ever since my brotherAaron left it to me in his will, and Patty's Place it shall remain untilI die and Maria dies. After that happens the next possessor can call itany fool name he likes, " concluded Miss Patty, much as she might havesaid, "After that--the deluge. " "And now, wouldn't you like to go overthe house and see it all before we consider the bargain made?"

Further exploration still further delighted the girls. Besides thebig living-room, there was a kitchen and a small bedroom downstairs. Upstairs were three rooms, one large and two small. Anne took anespecial fancy to one of the small ones, looking out into the bigpines, and hoped it would be hers. It was papered in pale blue and hada little, old-timey toilet table with sconces for candles. There was adiamond-paned window with a seat under the blue muslin frills that wouldbe a satisfying spot for studying or dreaming. 

"It's all so delicious that I know we are going to wake up and find it afleeting vision of the night, " said Priscilla as they went away. 

"Miss Patty and Miss Maria are hardly such stuff as dreams are made of, "laughed Anne. "Can you fancy them 'globe-trotting'--especially in thoseshawls and caps?"

"I suppose they'll take them off when they really begin to trot, " saidPriscilla, "but I know they'll take their knitting with them everywhere. They simply couldn't be parted from it. They will walk about WestminsterAbbey and knit, I feel sure. Meanwhile, Anne, we shall be living inPatty's Place--and on Spofford Avenue. I feel like a millionairess evennow. "

"I feel like one of the morning stars that sang for joy, " said Anne. 

Phil Gordon crept into Thirty-eight, St. John's, that night and flungherself on Anne's bed. 

"Girls, dear, I'm tired to death. I feel like the man without acountry--or was it without a shadow? I forget which. Anyway, I've beenpacking up. "

"And I suppose you are worn out because you couldn't decide which thingsto pack first, or where to put them, " laughed Priscilla. 

"E-zackly. And when I had got everything jammed in somehow, and mylandlady and her maid had both sat on it while I locked it, I discoveredI had packed a whole lot of things I wanted for Convocation at the verybottom. I had to unlock the old thing and poke and dive into it for anhour before I fished out what I wanted. I would get hold of somethingthat felt like what I was looking for, and I'd yank it up, and it wouldbe something else. No, Anne, I did NOT swear. "

"I didn't say you did. "

"Well, you looked it. But I admit my thoughts verged on the profane. AndI have such a cold in the head--I can do nothing but sniffle, sighand sneeze. Isn't that alliterative agony for you? Queen Anne, do saysomething to cheer me up. "

"Remember that next Thursday night, you'll be back in the land of Alecand Alonzo, " suggested Anne. 

Phil shook her head dolefully. 

"More alliteration. No, I don't want Alec and Alonzo when I have acold in the head. But what has happened you two? Now that I look atyou closely you seem all lighted up with an internal iridescence. Why, you're actually SHINING! What's up?"

"We are going to live in Patty's Place next winter, " said Annetriumphantly. "Live, mark you, not board! We've rented it, and StellaMaynard is coming, and her aunt is going to keep house for us. "

Phil bounced up, wiped her nose, and fell on her knees before Anne. 

"Girls--girls--let me come, too. Oh, I'll be so good. If there's no roomfor me I'll sleep in the little doghouse in the orchard--I've seen it. Only let me come. "

"Get up, you goose. "

"I won't stir off my marrow bones till you tell me I can live with younext winter. "

Anne and Priscilla looked at each other. Then Anne said slowly, "Phildear, we'd love to have you. But we may as well speak plainly. I'mpoor--Pris is poor--Stella Maynard is poor--our housekeeping will haveto be very simple and our table plain. You'd have to live as we would. Now, you are rich and your boardinghouse fare attests the fact. "

"Oh, what do I care for that?" demanded Phil tragically. "Better adinner of herbs where your chums are than a stalled ox in a lonelyboardinghouse. Don't think I'm ALL stomach, girls. I'll be willing tolive on bread and water--with just a LEETLE jam--if you'll let me come. "

"And then, " continued Anne, "there will be a good deal of work to bedone. Stella's aunt can't do it all. We all expect to have our chores todo. Now, you--"

"Toil not, neither do I spin, " finished Philippa. "But I'll learn to dothings. You'll only have to show me once. I CAN make my own bed to beginwith. And remember that, though I can't cook, I CAN keep my temper. That's something. And I NEVER growl about the weather. That's more. Oh, please, please! I never wanted anything so much in my life--and thisfloor is awfully hard. "

"There's just one more thing, " said Priscilla resolutely. "You, Phil, as all Redmond knows, entertain callers almost every evening. Now, atPatty's Place we can't do that. We have decided that we shall be at hometo our friends on Friday evenings only. If you come with us you'll haveto abide by that rule. "

"Well, you don't think I'll mind that, do you? Why, I'm glad of it. I knew I should have had some such rule myself, but I hadn't enoughdecision to make it or stick to it. When I can shuffle off theresponsibility on you it will be a real relief. If you won't let me castin my lot with you I'll die of the disappointment and then I'll comeback and haunt you. I'll camp on the very doorstep of Patty's Place andyou won't be able to go out or come in without falling over my spook. "

Again Anne and Priscilla exchanged eloquent looks. 

"Well, " said Anne, "of course we can't promise to take you until we'veconsulted with Stella; but I don't think she'll object, and, as far aswe are concerned, you may come and glad welcome. "

"If you get tired of our simple life you can leave us, and no questionsasked, " added Priscilla. 

Phil sprang up, hugged them both jubilantly, and went on her wayrejoicing. 

"I hope things will go right, " said Priscilla soberly. 

"We must MAKE them go right, " avowed Anne. "I think Phil will fit intoour 'appy little 'ome very well. "

"Oh, Phil's a dear to rattle round with and be chums. And, of course, the more there are of us the easier it will be on our slim purses. Buthow will she be to live with? You have to summer and winter with any onebefore you know if she's LIVABLE or not. "

"Oh, well, we'll all be put to the test, as far as that goes. Andwe must quit us like sensible folk, living and let live. Phil isn'tselfish, though she's a little thoughtless, and I believe we will allget on beautifully in Patty's Place. "

Chapter XI

The Round of Life

Anne was back in Avonlea with the luster of the Thorburn Scholarshipon her brow. People told her she hadn't changed much, in a tone whichhinted they were surprised and a little disappointed she hadn't. Avonleahad not changed, either. At least, so it seemed at first. But as Annesat in the Green Gables pew, on the first Sunday after her return, andlooked over the congregation, she saw several little changes which, allcoming home to her at once, made her realize that time did not quitestand still, even in Avonlea. A new minister was in the pulpit. In thepews more than one familiar face was missing forever. Old "Uncle Abe, "his prophesying over and done with, Mrs. Peter Sloane, who had sighed, it was to be hoped, for the last time, Timothy Cotton, who, as Mrs. Rachel Lynde said "had actually managed to die at last after practicingat it for twenty years, " and old Josiah Sloane, whom nobody knew in hiscoffin because he had his whiskers neatly trimmed, were all sleeping inthe little graveyard behind the church. And Billy Andrews was marriedto Nettie Blewett! They "appeared out" that Sunday. When Billy, beamingwith pride and happiness, showed his be-plumed and be-silked bride intothe Harmon Andrews' pew, Anne dropped her lids to hide her dancing eyes. She recalled the stormy winter night of the Christmas holidays when Janehad proposed for Billy. He certainly had not broken his heart over hisrejection. Anne wondered if Jane had also proposed to Nettie for him, orif he had mustered enough spunk to ask the fateful question himself. Allthe Andrews family seemed to share in his pride and pleasure, fromMrs. Harmon in the pew to Jane in the choir. Jane had resigned from theAvonlea school and intended to go West in the fall. 

"Can't get a beau in Avonlea, that's what, " said Mrs. Rachel Lyndescornfully. "SAYS she thinks she'll have better health out West. I neverheard her health was poor before. "

"Jane is a nice girl, " Anne had said loyally. "She never tried toattract attention, as some did. "

"Oh, she never chased the boys, if that's what you mean, " said Mrs. Rachel. "But she'd like to be married, just as much as anybody, that'swhat. What else would take her out West to some forsaken place whoseonly recommendation is that men are plenty and women scarce? Don't youtell me!"

But it was not at Jane, Anne gazed that day in dismay and surprise. Itwas at Ruby Gillis, who sat beside her in the choir. What had happenedto Ruby? She was even handsomer than ever; but her blue eyes weretoo bright and lustrous, and the color of her cheeks was hecticallybrilliant; besides, she was very thin; the hands that held her hymn-bookwere almost transparent in their delicacy. 

"Is Ruby Gillis ill?" Anne asked of Mrs. Lynde, as they went home fromchurch. 

"Ruby Gillis is dying of galloping consumption, " said Mrs. Lyndebluntly. "Everybody knows it except herself and her FAMILY. They won'tgive in. If you ask THEM, she's perfectly well. She hasn't been ableto teach since she had that attack of congestion in the winter, but shesays she's going to teach again in the fall, and she's after the WhiteSands school. She'll be in her grave, poor girl, when White Sands schoolopens, that's what. "

Anne listened in shocked silence. Ruby Gillis, her old school-chum, dying? Could it be possible? Of late years they had grown apart; but theold tie of school-girl intimacy was there, and made itself felt sharplyin the tug the news gave at Anne's heartstrings. Ruby, the brilliant, the merry, the coquettish! It was impossible to associate the thought ofher with anything like death. She had greeted Anne with gay cordialityafter church, and urged her to come up the next evening. 

"I'll be away Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, " she had whisperedtriumphantly. "There's a concert at Carmody and a party at White Sands. Herb Spencer's going to take me. He's my LATEST. Be sure to come uptomorrow. I'm dying for a good talk with you. I want to hear all aboutyour doings at Redmond. "

Anne knew that Ruby meant that she wanted to tell Anne all about her ownrecent flirtations, but she promised to go, and Diana offered to go withher. 

"I've been wanting to go to see Ruby for a long while, " she told Anne, when they left Green Gables the next evening, "but I really couldn'tgo alone. It's so awful to hear Ruby rattling on as she does, andpretending there is nothing the matter with her, even when she canhardly speak for coughing. She's fighting so hard for her life, and yetshe hasn't any chance at all, they say. "

The girls walked silently down the red, twilit road. The robins weresinging vespers in the high treetops, filling the golden air with theirjubilant voices. The silver fluting of the frogs came from marshes andponds, over fields where seeds were beginning to stir with life andthrill to the sunshine and rain that had drifted over them. The airwas fragrant with the wild, sweet, wholesome smell of young raspberrycopses. White mists were hovering in the silent hollows and violet starswere shining bluely on the brooklands. 

"What a beautiful sunset, " said Diana. "Look, Anne, it's just like aland in itself, isn't it? That long, low back of purple cloud is theshore, and the clear sky further on is like a golden sea. "

"If we could sail to it in the moonshine boat Paul wrote of in his oldcomposition--you remember?--how nice it would be, " said Anne, rousingfrom her reverie. "Do you think we could find all our yesterdays there, Diana--all our old springs and blossoms? The beds of flowers that Paulsaw there are the roses that have bloomed for us in the past?"

"Don't!" said Diana. "You make me feel as if we were old women witheverything in life behind us. "

"I think I've almost felt as if we were since I heard about poor Ruby, "said Anne. "If it is true that she is dying any other sad thing might betrue, too. "

"You don't mind calling in at Elisha Wright's for a moment, do you?"asked Diana. "Mother asked me to leave this little dish of jelly forAunt Atossa. "

"Who is Aunt Atossa?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? She's Mrs. Samson Coates of Spencervale--Mrs. Elisha Wright's aunt. She's father's aunt, too. Her husband died lastwinter and she was left very poor and lonely, so the Wrights took her tolive with them. Mother thought we ought to take her, but father put hisfoot down. Live with Aunt Atossa he would not. "

"Is she so terrible?" asked Anne absently. 

"You'll probably see what she's like before we can get away, " said Dianasignificantly. "Father says she has a face like a hatchet--it cuts theair. But her tongue is sharper still. "

Late as it was Aunt Atossa was cutting potato sets in the Wrightkitchen. She wore a faded old wrapper, and her gray hair was decidedlyuntidy. Aunt Atossa did not like being "caught in a kilter, " so she wentout of her way to be disagreeable. 

"Oh, so you're Anne Shirley?" she said, when Diana introduced Anne. "I've heard of you. " Her tone implied that she had heard nothing good. "Mrs. Andrews was telling me you were home. She said you had improved agood deal. "

There was no doubt Aunt Atossa thought there was plenty of room forfurther improvement. She ceased not from cutting sets with much energy. 

"Is it any use to ask you to sit down?" she inquired sarcastically. "Ofcourse, there's nothing very entertaining here for you. The rest are allaway. "

"Mother sent you this little pot of rhubarb jelly, " said Dianapleasantly. "She made it today and thought you might like some. "

"Oh, thanks, " said Aunt Atossa sourly. "I never fancy your mother'sjelly--she always makes it too sweet. However, I'll try to worry somedown. My appetite's been dreadful poor this spring. I'm far from well, "continued Aunt Atossa solemnly, "but still I keep a-doing. People whocan't work aren't wanted here. If it isn't too much trouble will you becondescending enough to set the jelly in the pantry? I'm in a hurry toget these spuds done tonight. I suppose you two LADIES never do anythinglike this. You'd be afraid of spoiling your hands. "

"I used to cut potato sets before we rented the farm, " smiled Anne. 

"I do it yet, " laughed Diana. "I cut sets three days last week. Ofcourse, " she added teasingly, "I did my hands up in lemon juice and kidgloves every night after it. "

Aunt Atossa sniffed. 

"I suppose you got that notion out of some of those silly magazines youread so many of. I wonder your mother allows you. But she always spoiledyou. We all thought when George married her she wouldn't be a suitablewife for him. "

Aunt Atossa sighed heavily, as if all forebodings upon the occasion ofGeorge Barry's marriage had been amply and darkly fulfilled. 

"Going, are you?" she inquired, as the girls rose. "Well, I suppose youcan't find much amusement talking to an old woman like me. It's such apity the boys ain't home. "

"We want to run in and see Ruby Gillis a little while, " explained Diana. 

"Oh, anything does for an excuse, of course, " said Aunt Atossa, amiably. "Just whip in and whip out before you have time to say how-do decently. It's college airs, I s'pose. You'd be wiser to keep away from RubyGillis. The doctors say consumption's catching. I always knew Ruby'd getsomething, gadding off to Boston last fall for a visit. People who ain'tcontent to stay home always catch something. "

"People who don't go visiting catch things, too. Sometimes they evendie, " said Diana solemnly. 

"Then they don't have themselves to blame for it, " retorted Aunt Atossatriumphantly. "I hear you are to be married in June, Diana. "

"There is no truth in that report, " said Diana, blushing. 

"Well, don't put it off too long, " said Aunt Atossa significantly. "You'll fade soon--you're all complexion and hair. And the Wrights areterrible fickle. You ought to wear a hat, MISS SHIRLEY. Your nose isfreckling scandalous. My, but you ARE redheaded! Well, I s'pose we'reall as the Lord made us! Give Marilla Cuthbert my respects. She's neverbeen to see me since I come to Avonlea, but I s'pose I oughtn't tocomplain. The Cuthberts always did think themselves a cut higher thanany one else round here. "

"Oh, isn't she dreadful?" gasped Diana, as they escaped down the lane. 

"She's worse than Miss Eliza Andrews, " said Anne. "But then think ofliving all your life with a name like Atossa! Wouldn't it sour almostany one? She should have tried to imagine her name was Cordelia. Itmight have helped her a great deal. It certainly helped me in the dayswhen I didn't like ANNE. "

"Josie Pye will be just like her when she grows up, " said Diana. "Josie's mother and Aunt Atossa are cousins, you know. Oh, dear, I'mglad that's over. She's so malicious--she seems to put a bad flavor ineverything. Father tells such a funny story about her. One time they hada minister in Spencervale who was a very good, spiritual man but verydeaf. He couldn't hear any ordinary conversation at all. Well, they usedto have a prayer meeting on Sunday evenings, and all the church memberspresent would get up and pray in turn, or say a few words on some Bibleverse. But one evening Aunt Atossa bounced up. She didn't either pray orpreach. Instead, she lit into everybody else in the church and gave thema fearful raking down, calling them right out by name and telling themhow they all had behaved, and casting up all the quarrels and scandalsof the past ten years. Finally she wound up by saying that she wasdisgusted with Spencervale church and she never meant to darken its dooragain, and she hoped a fearful judgment would come upon it. Then she satdown out of breath, and the minister, who hadn't heard a word she said, immediately remarked, in a very devout voice, 'amen! The Lord grant ourdear sister's prayer!' You ought to hear father tell the story. "

"Speaking of stories, Diana, " remarked Anne, in a significant, confidential tone, "do you know that lately I have been wondering ifI could write a short story--a story that would be good enough to bepublished?"

"Why, of course you could, " said Diana, after she had grasped theamazing suggestion. "You used to write perfectly thrilling stories yearsago in our old Story Club. "

"Well, I hardly meant one of that kind of stories, " smiled Anne. "I'vebeen thinking about it a little of late, but I'm almost afraid to try, for, if I should fail, it would be too humiliating. "

"I heard Priscilla say once that all Mrs. Morgan's first stories wererejected. But I'm sure yours wouldn't be, Anne, for it's likely editorshave more sense nowadays. "

"Margaret Burton, one of the Junior girls at Redmond, wrote a story lastwinter and it was published in the Canadian Woman. I really do think Icould write one at least as good. "

"And will you have it published in the Canadian Woman?"

"I might try one of the bigger magazines first. It all depends on whatkind of a story I write. "

"What is it to be about?"

"I don't know yet. I want to get hold of a good plot. I believe thisis very necessary from an editor's point of view. The only thing I'vesettled on is the heroine's name. It is to be AVERIL LESTER. Ratherpretty, don't you think? Don't mention this to any one, Diana. I haven'ttold anybody but you and Mr. Harrison. HE wasn't very encouraging--hesaid there was far too much trash written nowadays as it was, and he'dexpected something better of me, after a year at college. "

"What does Mr. Harrison know about it?" demanded Diana scornfully. 

They found the Gillis home gay with lights and callers. Leonard Kimball, of Spencervale, and Morgan Bell, of Carmody, were glaring at each otheracross the parlor. Several merry girls had dropped in. Ruby was dressedin white and her eyes and cheeks were very brilliant. She laughed andchattered incessantly, and after the other girls had gone she took Anneupstairs to display her new summer dresses. 

"I've a blue silk to make up yet, but it's a little heavy for summerwear. I think I'll leave it until the fall. I'm going to teach in WhiteSands, you know. How do you like my hat? That one you had on in churchyesterday was real dinky. But I like something brighter for myself. Did you notice those two ridiculous boys downstairs? They've both comedetermined to sit each other out. I don't care a single bit about eitherof them, you know. Herb Spencer is the one I like. Sometimes I reallydo think he's MR. RIGHT. At Christmas I thought the Spencervaleschoolmaster was that. But I found out something about him that turnedme against him. He nearly went insane when I turned him down. I wishthose two boys hadn't come tonight. I wanted to have a nice good talkwith you, Anne, and tell you such heaps of things. You and I were alwaysgood chums, weren't we?"

Ruby slipped her arm about Anne's waist with a shallow little laugh. Butjust for a moment their eyes met, and, behind all the luster of Ruby's, Anne saw something that made her heart ache. 

"Come up often, won't you, Anne?" whispered Ruby. "Come alone--I wantyou. "

"Are you feeling quite well, Ruby?"

"Me! Why, I'm perfectly well. I never felt better in my life. Of course, that congestion last winter pulled me down a little. But just see mycolor. I don't look much like an invalid, I'm sure. "

Ruby's voice was almost sharp. She pulled her arm away from Anne, asif in resentment, and ran downstairs, where she was gayer than ever, apparently so much absorbed in bantering her two swains that Diana andAnne felt rather out of it and soon went away. 

Chapter XII

"Averil's Atonement"

"What are you dreaming of, Anne?"

The two girls were loitering one evening in a fairy hollow of the brook. Ferns nodded in it, and little grasses were green, and wild pears hungfinely-scented, white curtains around it. 

Anne roused herself from her reverie with a happy sigh. 

"I was thinking out my story, Diana. "

"Oh, have you really begun it?" cried Diana, all alight with eagerinterest in a moment. 

"Yes, I have only a few pages written, but I have it all pretty wellthought out. I've had such a time to get a suitable plot. None of theplots that suggested themselves suited a girl named AVERIL. "

"Couldn't you have changed her name?"

"No, the thing was impossible. I tried to, but I couldn't do it, anymore than I could change yours. AVERIL was so real to me that no matterwhat other name I tried to give her I just thought of her as AVERILbehind it all. But finally I got a plot that matched her. Then came theexcitement of choosing names for all my characters. You have no ideahow fascinating that is. I've lain awake for hours thinking over thosenames. The hero's name is PERCEVAL DALRYMPLE. "

"Have you named ALL the characters?" asked Diana wistfully. "If youhadn't I was going to ask you to let me name one--just some unimportantperson. I'd feel as if I had a share in the story then. "

"You may name the little hired boy who lived with the LESTERS, " concededAnne. "He is not very important, but he is the only one left unnamed. "

"Call him RAYMOND FITZOSBORNE, " suggested Diana, who had a store of suchnames laid away in her memory, relics of the old "Story Club, " which sheand Anne and Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis had had in their schooldays. 

Anne shook her head doubtfully. 

"I'm afraid that is too aristocratic a name for a chore boy, Diana. Icouldn't imagine a Fitzosborne feeding pigs and picking up chips, couldyou?"

Diana didn't see why, if you had an imagination at all, you couldn'tstretch it to that extent; but probably Anne knew best, and the choreboy was finally christened ROBERT RAY, to be called BOBBY shouldoccasion require. 

"How much do you suppose you'll get for it?" asked Diana. 

But Anne had not thought about this at all. She was in pursuit of fame, not filthy lucre, and her literary dreams were as yet untainted bymercenary considerations. 

"You'll let me read it, won't you?" pleaded Diana. 

"When it is finished I'll read it to you and Mr. Harrison, and I shallwant you to criticize it SEVERELY. No one else shall see it until it ispublished. "

"How are you going to end it--happily or unhappily?"

"I'm not sure. I'd like it to end unhappily, because that would be somuch more romantic. But I understand editors have a prejudice againstsad endings. I heard Professor Hamilton say once that nobody but agenius should try to write an unhappy ending. And, " concluded Annemodestly, "I'm anything but a genius. "

"Oh I like happy endings best. You'd better let him marry her, " saidDiana, who, especially since her engagement to Fred, thought this washow every story should end. 

"But you like to cry over stories?"

"Oh, yes, in the middle of them. But I like everything to come right atlast. "

"I must have one pathetic scene in it, " said Anne thoughtfully. "I mightlet ROBERT RAY be injured in an accident and have a death scene. "

"No, you mustn't kill BOBBY off, " declared Diana, laughing. "He belongsto me and I want him to live and flourish. Kill somebody else if youhave to. "

For the next fortnight Anne writhed or reveled, according to mood, inher literary pursuits. Now she would be jubilant over a brilliantidea, now despairing because some contrary character would NOT behaveproperly. Diana could not understand this. 

"MAKE them do as you want them to, " she said. 

"I can't, " mourned Anne. "Averil is such an unmanageable heroine. SheWILL do and say things I never meant her to. Then that spoils everythingthat went before and I have to write it all over again. "

Finally, however, the story was finished, and Anne read it to Diana inthe seclusion of the porch gable. She had achieved her "pathetic scene"without sacrificing ROBERT RAY, and she kept a watchful eye on Diana asshe read it. Diana rose to the occasion and cried properly; but, whenthe end came, she looked a little disappointed. 

"Why did you kill MAURICE LENNOX?" she asked reproachfully. 

"He was the villain, " protested Anne. "He had to be punished. "

"I like him best of them all, " said unreasonable Diana. 

"Well, he's dead, and he'll have to stay dead, " said Anne, ratherresentfully. "If I had let him live he'd have gone on persecuting AVERILand PERCEVAL. "

"Yes--unless you had reformed him. "

"That wouldn't have been romantic, and, besides, it would have made thestory too long. "

"Well, anyway, it's a perfectly elegant story, Anne, and will make youfamous, of that I'm sure. Have you got a title for it?"

"Oh, I decided on the title long ago. I call it AVERIL'S ATONEMENT. Doesn't that sound nice and alliterative? Now, Diana, tell me candidly, do you see any faults in my story?"

"Well, " hesitated Diana, "that part where AVERIL makes the cake doesn'tseem to me quite romantic enough to match the rest. It's just whatanybody might do. Heroines shouldn't do cooking, _I_ think. "

"Why, that is where the humor comes in, and it's one of the best partsof the whole story, " said Anne. And it may be stated that in this shewas quite right. 

Diana prudently refrained from any further criticism, but Mr. Harrisonwas much harder to please. First he told her there was entirely too muchdescription in the story. 

"Cut out all those flowery passages, " he said unfeelingly. 

Anne had an uncomfortable conviction that Mr. Harrison was right, andshe forced herself to expunge most of her beloved descriptions, thoughit took three re-writings before the story could be pruned down toplease the fastidious Mr. Harrison. 

"I've left out ALL the descriptions but the sunset, " she said at last. "I simply COULDN'T let it go. It was the best of them all. "

"It hasn't anything to do with the story, " said Mr. Harrison, "and youshouldn't have laid the scene among rich city people. What do you knowof them? Why didn't you lay it right here in Avonlea--changing the name, of course, or else Mrs. Rachel Lynde would probably think she was theheroine. "

"Oh, that would never have done, " protested Anne. "Avonlea is thedearest place in the world, but it isn't quite romantic enough for thescene of a story. "

"I daresay there's been many a romance in Avonlea--and many a tragedy, too, " said Mr. Harrison drily. "But your folks ain't like real folksanywhere. They talk too much and use too high-flown language. There'sone place where that DALRYMPLE chap talks even on for two pages, andnever lets the girl get a word in edgewise. If he'd done that in reallife she'd have pitched him. "

"I don't believe it, " said Anne flatly. In her secret soul she thoughtthat the beautiful, poetical things said to AVERIL would win any girl'sheart completely. Besides, it was gruesome to hear of AVERIL, thestately, queen-like AVERIL, "pitching" any one. AVERIL "declined hersuitors. "

"Anyhow, " resumed the merciless Mr. Harrison, "I don't see why MAURICELENNOX didn't get her. He was twice the man the other is. He did badthings, but he did them. Perceval hadn't time for anything but mooning. "

"Mooning. " That was even worse than "pitching!"

"MAURICE LENNOX was the villain, " said Anne indignantly. "I don't seewhy every one likes him better than PERCEVAL. "

"Perceval is too good. He's aggravating. Next time you write about ahero put a little spice of human nature in him. "

"AVERIL couldn't have married MAURICE. He was bad. "

"She'd have reformed him. You can reform a man; you can't reform ajelly-fish, of course. Your story isn't bad--it's kind of interesting, I'll admit. But you're too young to write a story that would be worthwhile. Wait ten years. "

Anne made up her mind that the next time she wrote a story she wouldn'task anybody to criticize it. It was too discouraging. She would not readthe story to Gilbert, although she told him about it. 

"If it is a success you'll see it when it is published, Gilbert, but ifit is a failure nobody shall ever see it. "

Marilla knew nothing about the venture. In imagination Anne saw herselfreading a story out of a magazine to Marilla, entrapping her into praiseof it--for in imagination all things are possible--and then triumphantlyannouncing herself the author. 

One day Anne took to the Post Office a long, bulky envelope, addressed, with the delightful confidence of youth and inexperience, to the verybiggest of the "big" magazines. Diana was as excited over it as Anneherself. 

"How long do you suppose it will be before you hear from it?" she asked. 

"It shouldn't be longer than a fortnight. Oh, how happy and proud Ishall be if it is accepted!"

"Of course it will be accepted, and they will likely ask you to sendthem more. You may be as famous as Mrs. Morgan some day, Anne, and thenhow proud I'll be of knowing you, " said Diana, who possessed, at least, the striking merit of an unselfish admiration of the gifts and graces ofher friends. 

A week of delightful dreaming followed, and then came a bitterawakening. One evening Diana found Anne in the porch gable, withsuspicious-looking eyes. On the table lay a long envelope and a crumpledmanuscript. 

"Anne, your story hasn't come back?" cried Diana incredulously. 

"Yes, it has, " said Anne shortly. 

"Well, that editor must be crazy. What reason did he give?"

"No reason at all. There is just a printed slip saying that it wasn'tfound acceptable. "

"I never thought much of that magazine, anyway, " said Diana hotly. "The stories in it are not half as interesting as those in theCanadian Woman, although it costs so much more. I suppose the editoris prejudiced against any one who isn't a Yankee. Don't be discouraged, Anne. Remember how Mrs. Morgan's stories came back. Send yours to theCanadian Woman. "

"I believe I will, " said Anne, plucking up heart. "And if it ispublished I'll send that American editor a marked copy. But I'll cut thesunset out. I believe Mr. Harrison was right. "

Out came the sunset; but in spite of this heroic mutilation the editorof the Canadian Woman sent Averil's Atonement back so promptly that theindignant Diana declared that it couldn't have been read at all, andvowed she was going to stop her subscription immediately. Anne took thissecond rejection with the calmness of despair. She locked the story awayin the garret trunk where the old Story Club tales reposed; but firstshe yielded to Diana's entreaties and gave her a copy. 

"This is the end of my literary ambitions, " she said bitterly. 

She never mentioned the matter to Mr. Harrison, but one evening he askedher bluntly if her story had been accepted. 

"No, the editor wouldn't take it, " she answered briefly. 

Mr. Harrison looked sidewise at the flushed, delicate profile. 

"Well, I suppose you'll keep on writing them, " he said encouragingly. 

"No, I shall never try to write a story again, " declared Anne, with thehopeless finality of nineteen when a door is shut in its face. 

"I wouldn't give up altogether, " said Mr. Harrison reflectively. "I'dwrite a story once in a while, but I wouldn't pester editors with it. I'd write of people and places like I knew, and I'd make my characterstalk everyday English; and I'd let the sun rise and set in the usualquiet way without much fuss over the fact. If I had to have villainsat all, I'd give them a chance, Anne--I'd give them a chance. There aresome terrible bad men in the world, I suppose, but you'd have to go along piece to find them--though Mrs. Lynde believes we're all bad. Butmost of us have got a little decency somewhere in us. Keep on writing, Anne. "

"No. It was very foolish of me to attempt it. When I'm through RedmondI'll stick to teaching. I can teach. I can't write stories. "

"It'll be time for you to be getting a husband when you're throughRedmond, " said Mr. Harrison. "I don't believe in putting marrying offtoo long--like I did. "

Anne got up and marched home. There were times when Mr. Harrison wasreally intolerable. "Pitching, " "mooning, " and "getting a husband. " Ow!!

Chapter XIII

The Way of Transgressors

Davy and Dora were ready for Sunday School. They were going alone, whichdid not often happen, for Mrs. Lynde always attended Sunday School. ButMrs. Lynde had twisted her ankle and was lame, so she was staying homethis morning. The twins were also to represent the family at church, forAnne had gone away the evening before to spend Sunday with friends inCarmody, and Marilla had one of her headaches. 

Davy came downstairs slowly. Dora was waiting in the hall for him, having been made ready by Mrs. Lynde. Davy had attended to his ownpreparations. He had a cent in his pocket for the Sunday Schoolcollection, and a five-cent piece for the church collection; he carriedhis Bible in one hand and his Sunday School quarterly in the other;he knew his lesson and his Golden Text and his catechism questionperfectly. Had he not studied them--perforce--in Mrs. Lynde's kitchen, all last Sunday afternoon? Davy, therefore, should have been in a placidframe of mind. As a matter of fact, despite text and catechism, he wasinwardly as a ravening wolf. 

Mrs. Lynde limped out of her kitchen as he joined Dora. 

"Are you clean?" she demanded severely. 

"Yes--all of me that shows, " Davy answered with a defiant scowl. 

Mrs. Rachel sighed. She had her suspicions about Davy's neck and ears. But she knew that if she attempted to make a personal examination Davywould likely take to his heels and she could not pursue him today. 

"Well, be sure you behave yourselves, " she warned them. "Don't walk inthe dust. Don't stop in the porch to talk to the other children. Don'tsquirm or wriggle in your places. Don't forget the Golden Text. Don'tlose your collection or forget to put it in. Don't whisper at prayertime, and don't forget to pay attention to the sermon. "

Davy deigned no response. He marched away down the lane, followed by themeek Dora. But his soul seethed within. Davy had suffered, or thought hehad suffered, many things at the hands and tongue of Mrs. Rachel Lyndesince she had come to Green Gables, for Mrs. Lynde could not live withanybody, whether they were nine or ninety, without trying to bringthem up properly. And it was only the preceding afternoon that she hadinterfered to influence Marilla against allowing Davy to go fishing withthe Timothy Cottons. Davy was still boiling over this. 

As soon as he was out of the lane Davy stopped and twisted hiscountenance into such an unearthly and terrific contortion that Dora, although she knew his gifts in that respect, was honestly alarmed lesthe should never in the world be able to get it straightened out again. 

"Darn her, " exploded Davy. 

"Oh, Davy, don't swear, " gasped Dora in dismay. 

"'Darn' isn't swearing--not real swearing. And I don't care if it is, "retorted Davy recklessly. 

"Well, if you MUST say dreadful words don't say them on Sunday, " pleadedDora. 

Davy was as yet far from repentance, but in his secret soul he feltthat, perhaps, he had gone a little too far. 

"I'm going to invent a swear word of my own, " he declared. 

"God will punish you if you do, " said Dora solemnly. 

"Then I think God is a mean old scamp, " retorted Davy. "Doesn't He knowa fellow must have some way of 'spressing his feelings?"

"Davy!!!" said Dora. She expected that Davy would be struck down dead onthe spot. But nothing happened. 

"Anyway, I ain't going to stand any more of Mrs. Lynde's bossing, "spluttered Davy. "Anne and Marilla may have the right to boss me, butSHE hasn't. I'm going to do every single thing she told me not to do. You watch me. "

In grim, deliberate silence, while Dora watched him with the fascinationof horror, Davy stepped off the green grass of the roadside, ankle deepinto the fine dust which four weeks of rainless weather had made on theroad, and marched along in it, shuffling his feet viciously until he wasenveloped in a hazy cloud. 

"That's the beginning, " he announced triumphantly. "And I'm going tostop in the porch and talk as long as there's anybody there to talkto. I'm going to squirm and wriggle and whisper, and I'm going to sayI don't know the Golden Text. And I'm going to throw away both of mycollections RIGHT NOW. "

And Davy hurled cent and nickel over Mr. Barry's fence with fiercedelight. 

"Satan made you do that, " said Dora reproachfully. 

"He didn't, " cried Davy indignantly. "I just thought it out for myself. And I've thought of something else. I'm not going to Sunday Schoolor church at all. I'm going up to play with the Cottons. They told meyesterday they weren't going to Sunday School today, 'cause their motherwas away and there was nobody to make them. Come along, Dora, we'll havea great time. "

"I don't want to go, " protested Dora. 

"You've got to, " said Davy. "If you don't come I'll tell Marilla thatFrank Bell kissed you in school last Monday. "

"I couldn't help it. I didn't know he was going to, " cried Dora, blushing scarlet. 

"Well, you didn't slap him or seem a bit cross, " retorted Davy. "I'lltell her THAT, too, if you don't come. We'll take the short cut up thisfield. "

"I'm afraid of those cows, " protested poor Dora, seeing a prospect ofescape. 

"The very idea of your being scared of those cows, " scoffed Davy. "Why, they're both younger than you. "

"They're bigger, " said Dora. 

"They won't hurt you. Come along, now. This is great. When I grow upI ain't going to bother going to church at all. I believe I can get toheaven by myself. "

"You'll go to the other place if you break the Sabbath day, " saidunhappy Dora, following him sorely against her will. 

But Davy was not scared--yet. Hell was very far off, and the delights ofa fishing expedition with the Cottons were very near. He wished Dorahad more spunk. She kept looking back as if she were going to cry everyminute, and that spoiled a fellow's fun. Hang girls, anyway. Davy didnot say "darn" this time, even in thought. He was not sorry--yet--thathe had said it once, but it might be as well not to tempt the UnknownPowers too far on one day. 

The small Cottons were playing in their back yard, and hailed Davy'sappearance with whoops of delight. Pete, Tommy, Adolphus, and MirabelCotton were all alone. Their mother and older sisters were away. Dorawas thankful Mirabel was there, at least. She had been afraid she wouldbe alone in a crowd of boys. Mirabel was almost as bad as a boy--she wasso noisy and sunburned and reckless. But at least she wore dresses. 

"We've come to go fishing, " announced Davy. 

"Whoop, " yelled the Cottons. They rushed away to dig worms at once, Mirabel leading the van with a tin can. Dora could have sat down andcried. Oh, if only that hateful Frank Bell had never kissed her! Thenshe could have defied Davy, and gone to her beloved Sunday School. 

They dared not, of course, go fishing on the pond, where they would beseen by people going to church. They had to resort to the brook in thewoods behind the Cotton house. But it was full of trout, and they had aglorious time that morning--at least the Cottons certainly had, andDavy seemed to have it. Not being entirely bereft of prudence, he haddiscarded boots and stockings and borrowed Tommy Cotton's overalls. Thusaccoutered, bog and marsh and undergrowth had no terrors for him. Dorawas frankly and manifestly miserable. She followed the others in theirperegrinations from pool to pool, clasping her Bible and quarterlytightly and thinking with bitterness of soul of her beloved class whereshe should be sitting that very moment, before a teacher she adored. Instead, here she was roaming the woods with those half-wild Cottons, trying to keep her boots clean and her pretty white dress free fromrents and stains. Mirabel had offered the loan of an apron but Dora hadscornfully refused. 

The trout bit as they always do on Sundays. In an hour the transgressorshad all the fish they wanted, so they returned to the house, much toDora's relief. She sat primly on a hencoop in the yard while the othersplayed an uproarious game of tag; and then they all climbed to the topof the pig-house roof and cut their initials on the saddleboard. Theflat-roofed henhouse and a pile of straw beneath gave Davy anotherinspiration. They spent a splendid half hour climbing on the roof anddiving off into the straw with whoops and yells. 

But even unlawful pleasures must come to an end. When the rumble ofwheels over the pond bridge told that people were going home from churchDavy knew they must go. He discarded Tommy's overalls, resumed his ownrightful attire, and turned away from his string of trout with a sigh. No use to think of taking them home. 

"Well, hadn't we a splendid time?" he demanded defiantly, as they wentdown the hill field. 

"I hadn't, " said Dora flatly. "And I don't believe youhad--really--either, " she added, with a flash of insight that was not tobe expected of her. 

"I had so, " cried Davy, but in the voice of one who doth protest toomuch. "No wonder you hadn't--just sitting there like a--like a mule. "

"I ain't going to, 'sociate with the Cottons, " said Dora loftily. 

"The Cottons are all right, " retorted Davy. "And they have far bettertimes than we have. They do just as they please and say just what theylike before everybody. _I_'m going to do that, too, after this. "

"There are lots of things you wouldn't dare say before everybody, "averred Dora. 

"No, there isn't. "

"There is, too. Would you, " demanded Dora gravely, "would you say'tomcat' before the minister?"

This was a staggerer. Davy was not prepared for such a concrete exampleof the freedom of speech. But one did not have to be consistent withDora. 

"Of course not, " he admitted sulkily. 

"'Tomcat' isn't a holy word. I wouldn't mention such an animal before aminister at all. "

"But if you had to?" persisted Dora. 

"I'd call it a Thomas pussy, " said Davy. 

"_I_ think 'gentleman cat' would be more polite, " reflected Dora. 

"YOU thinking!" retorted Davy with withering scorn. 

Davy was not feeling comfortable, though he would have died before headmitted it to Dora. Now that the exhilaration of truant delights haddied away, his conscience was beginning to give him salutary twinges. After all, perhaps it would have been better to have gone to SundaySchool and church. Mrs. Lynde might be bossy; but there was always abox of cookies in her kitchen cupboard and she was not stingy. At thisinconvenient moment Davy remembered that when he had torn his new schoolpants the week before, Mrs. Lynde had mended them beautifully and neversaid a word to Marilla about them. 

But Davy's cup of iniquity was not yet full. He was to discover that onesin demands another to cover it. They had dinner with Mrs. Lynde thatday, and the first thing she asked Davy was, "Were all your class in Sunday School today?"

"Yes'm, " said Davy with a gulp. "All were there--'cept one. "

"Did you say your Golden Text and catechism?"

"Yes'm. "

"Did you put your collection in?"

"Yes'm. "

"Was Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson in church?"

"I don't know. " This, at least, was the truth, thought wretched Davy. 

"Was the Ladies' Aid announced for next week?"

"Yes'm"--quakingly. 

"Was prayer-meeting?"

"I--I don't know. "

"YOU should know. You should listen more attentively to theannouncements. What was Mr. Harvey's text?"

Davy took a frantic gulp of water and swallowed it and the last protestof conscience together. He glibly recited an old Golden Text learnedseveral weeks ago. Fortunately Mrs. Lynde now stopped questioning him;but Davy did not enjoy his dinner. 

He could only eat one helping of pudding. 

"What's the matter with you?" demanded justly astonished Mrs. Lynde. "Are you sick?"

"No, " muttered Davy. 

"You look pale. You'd better keep out of the sun this afternoon, "admonished Mrs. Lynde. 

"Do you know how many lies you told Mrs. Lynde?" asked Dorareproachfully, as soon as they were alone after dinner. 

Davy, goaded to desperation, turned fiercely. 

"I don't know and I don't care, " he said. "You just shut up, DoraKeith. "

Then poor Davy betook himself to a secluded retreat behind the woodpileto think over the way of transgressors. 

Green Gables was wrapped in darkness and silence when Anne reached home. She lost no time going to bed, for she was very tired and sleepy. Therehad been several Avonlea jollifications the preceding week, involvingrather late hours. Anne's head was hardly on her pillow before she washalf asleep; but just then her door was softly opened and a pleadingvoice said, "Anne. "

Anne sat up drowsily. 

"Davy, is that you? What is the matter?"

A white-clad figure flung itself across the floor and on to the bed. 

"Anne, " sobbed Davy, getting his arms about her neck. "I'm awful gladyou're home. I couldn't go to sleep till I'd told somebody. "

"Told somebody what?"

"How mis'rubul I am. "

"Why are you miserable, dear?"

"'Cause I was so bad today, Anne. Oh, I was awful bad--badder'n I'veever been yet. "

"What did you do?"

"Oh, I'm afraid to tell you. You'll never like me again, Anne. Icouldn't say my prayers tonight. I couldn't tell God what I'd done. Iwas 'shamed to have Him know. "

"But He knew anyway, Davy. "

"That's what Dora said. But I thought p'raps He mightn't have noticedjust at the time. Anyway, I'd rather tell you first. "

"WHAT is it you did?"

Out it all came in a rush. 

"I run away from Sunday School--and went fishing with the Cottons--andI told ever so many whoppers to Mrs. Lynde--oh! 'most half adozen--and--and--I--I said a swear word, Anne--a pretty near swear word, anyhow--and I called God names. "

There was silence. Davy didn't know what to make of it. Was Anne soshocked that she never would speak to him again?

"Anne, what are you going to do to me?" he whispered. 

"Nothing, dear. You've been punished already, I think. "

"No, I haven't. Nothing's been done to me. "

"You've been very unhappy ever since you did wrong, haven't you?"

"You bet!" said Davy emphatically. 

"That was your conscience punishing you, Davy. "

"What's my conscience? I want to know. "

"It's something in you, Davy, that always tells you when you are doingwrong and makes you unhappy if you persist in doing it. Haven't younoticed that?"

"Yes, but I didn't know what it was. I wish I didn't have it. I'd havelots more fun. Where is my conscience, Anne? I want to know. Is it in mystomach?"

"No, it's in your soul, " answered Anne, thankful for the darkness, sincegravity must be preserved in serious matters. 

"I s'pose I can't get clear of it then, " said Davy with a sigh. "Are yougoing to tell Marilla and Mrs. Lynde on me, Anne?"

"No, dear, I'm not going to tell any one. You are sorry you werenaughty, aren't you?"

"You bet!"

"And you'll never be bad like that again. "

"No, but--" added Davy cautiously, "I might be bad some other way. "

"You won't say naughty words, or run away on Sundays, or tell falsehoodsto cover up your sins?"

"No. It doesn't pay, " said Davy. 

"Well, Davy, just tell God you are sorry and ask Him to forgive you. "

"Have YOU forgiven me, Anne?"

"Yes, dear. "

"Then, " said Davy joyously, "I don't care much whether God does or not. "

"Davy!"

"Oh--I'll ask Him--I'll ask Him, " said Davy quickly, scrambling off thebed, convinced by Anne's tone that he must have said something dreadful. "I don't mind asking Him, Anne. --Please, God, I'm awful sorry I behavedbad today and I'll try to be good on Sundays always and please forgiveme. --There now, Anne. "

"Well, now, run off to bed like a good boy. "

"All right. Say, I don't feel mis'rubul any more. I feel fine. Goodnight. "

"Good night. "

Anne slipped down on her pillows with a sigh of relief. Oh--howsleepy--she was! In another second--

"Anne!" Davy was back again by her bed. Anne dragged her eyes open. 

"What is it now, dear?" she asked, trying to keep a note of impatienceout of her voice. 

"Anne, have you ever noticed how Mr. Harrison spits? Do you s'pose, if Ipractice hard, I can learn to spit just like him?"

Anne sat up. 

"Davy Keith, " she said, "go straight to your bed and don't let me catchyou out of it again tonight! Go, now!"

Davy went, and stood not upon the order of his going. 

Chapter XIV

The Summons

Anne was sitting with Ruby Gillis in the Gillis' garden after the dayhad crept lingeringly through it and was gone. It had been a warm, smokysummer afternoon. The world was in a splendor of out-flowering. The idlevalleys were full of hazes. The woodways were pranked with shadows andthe fields with the purple of the asters. 

Anne had given up a moonlight drive to the White Sands beach that shemight spend the evening with Ruby. She had so spent many eveningsthat summer, although she often wondered what good it did any one, andsometimes went home deciding that she could not go again. 

Ruby grew paler as the summer waned; the White Sands school was givenup--"her father thought it better that she shouldn't teach till NewYear's"--and the fancy work she loved oftener and oftener fell fromhands grown too weary for it. But she was always gay, always hopeful, always chattering and whispering of her beaux, and their rivalries anddespairs. It was this that made Anne's visits hard for her. What hadonce been silly or amusing was gruesome, now; it was death peeringthrough a wilful mask of life. Yet Ruby seemed to cling to her, andnever let her go until she had promised to come again soon. Mrs. Lyndegrumbled about Anne's frequent visits, and declared she would catchconsumption; even Marilla was dubious. 

"Every time you go to see Ruby you come home looking tired out, " shesaid. 

"It's so very sad and dreadful, " said Anne in a low tone. "Ruby doesn'tseem to realize her condition in the least. And yet I somehow feel sheneeds help--craves it--and I want to give it to her and can't. All thetime I'm with her I feel as if I were watching her struggle with aninvisible foe--trying to push it back with such feeble resistance as shehas. That is why I come home tired. "

But tonight Anne did not feel this so keenly. Ruby was strangely quiet. She said not a word about parties and drives and dresses and "fellows. "She lay in the hammock, with her untouched work beside her, and awhite shawl wrapped about her thin shoulders. Her long yellow braids ofhair--how Anne had envied those beautiful braids in old schooldays!--layon either side of her. She had taken the pins out--they made her headache, she said. The hectic flush was gone for the time, leaving her paleand childlike. 

The moon rose in the silvery sky, empearling the clouds around her. Below, the pond shimmered in its hazy radiance. Just beyond theGillis homestead was the church, with the old graveyard beside it. Themoonlight shone on the white stones, bringing them out in clear-cutrelief against the dark trees behind. 

"How strange the graveyard looks by moonlight!" said Ruby suddenly. "How ghostly!" she shuddered. "Anne, it won't be long now before I'llbe lying over there. You and Diana and all the rest will be going about, full of life--and I'll be there--in the old graveyard--dead!"

The surprise of it bewildered Anne. For a few moments she could notspeak. 

"You know it's so, don't you?" said Ruby insistently. 

"Yes, I know, " answered Anne in a low tone. "Dear Ruby, I know. "

"Everybody knows it, " said Ruby bitterly. "I know it--I've known it allsummer, though I wouldn't give in. And, oh, Anne"--she reached out andcaught Anne's hand pleadingly, impulsively--"I don't want to die. I'mAFRAID to die. "

"Why should you be afraid, Ruby?" asked Anne quietly. 

"Because--because--oh, I'm not afraid but that I'll go to heaven, Anne. I'm a church member. But--it'll be all so different. I think--andthink--and I get so frightened--and--and--homesick. Heaven must be verybeautiful, of course, the Bible says so--but, Anne, IT WON'T BE WHATI'VE BEEN USED TO. "

Through Anne's mind drifted an intrusive recollection of a funny storyshe had heard Philippa Gordon tell--the story of some old man who hadsaid very much the same thing about the world to come. It had soundedfunny then--she remembered how she and Priscilla had laughed over it. But it did not seem in the least humorous now, coming from Ruby's pale, trembling lips. It was sad, tragic--and true! Heaven could not be whatRuby had been used to. There had been nothing in her gay, frivolouslife, her shallow ideals and aspirations, to fit her for that greatchange, or make the life to come seem to her anything but alien andunreal and undesirable. Anne wondered helplessly what she could saythat would help her. Could she say anything? "I think, Ruby, " she beganhesitatingly--for it was difficult for Anne to speak to any one of thedeepest thoughts of her heart, or the new ideas that had vaguely begunto shape themselves in her mind, concerning the great mysteries of lifehere and hereafter, superseding her old childish conceptions, and itwas hardest of all to speak of them to such as Ruby Gillis--"I think, perhaps, we have very mistaken ideas about heaven--what it is and whatit holds for us. I don't think it can be so very different from lifehere as most people seem to think. I believe we'll just go on living, agood deal as we live here--and be OURSELVES just the same--only it willbe easier to be good and to--follow the highest. All the hindrancesand perplexities will be taken away, and we shall see clearly. Don't beafraid, Ruby. "

"I can't help it, " said Ruby pitifully. "Even if what you say aboutheaven is true--and you can't be sure--it may be only that imaginationof yours--it won't be JUST the same. It CAN'T be. I want to go on livingHERE. I'm so young, Anne. I haven't had my life. I've fought so hard tolive--and it isn't any use--I have to die--and leave EVERYTHING I carefor. " Anne sat in a pain that was almost intolerable. She could not tellcomforting falsehoods; and all that Ruby said was so horribly true. SheWAS leaving everything she cared for. She had laid up her treasureson earth only; she had lived solely for the little things of life--thethings that pass--forgetting the great things that go onward intoeternity, bridging the gulf between the two lives and making of death amere passing from one dwelling to the other--from twilight to uncloudedday. God would take care of her there--Anne believed--she wouldlearn--but now it was no wonder her soul clung, in blind helplessness, to the only things she knew and loved. 

Ruby raised herself on her arm and lifted up her bright, beautiful blueeyes to the moonlit skies. 

"I want to live, " she said, in a trembling voice. "I want to livelike other girls. I--I want to be married, Anne--and--and--have littlechildren. You know I always loved babies, Anne. I couldn't say this toany one but you. I know you understand. And then poor Herb--he--heloves me and I love him, Anne. The others meant nothing to me, but HEdoes--and if I could live I would be his wife and be so happy. Oh, Anne, it's hard. "

Ruby sank back on her pillows and sobbed convulsively. Anne pressed herhand in an agony of sympathy--silent sympathy, which perhaps helped Rubymore than broken, imperfect words could have done; for presently shegrew calmer and her sobs ceased. 

"I'm glad I've told you this, Anne, " she whispered. "It has helped mejust to say it all out. I've wanted to all summer--every time you came. I wanted to talk it over with you--but I COULDN'T. It seemed as if itwould make death so SURE if I SAID I was going to die, or if any oneelse said it or hinted it. I wouldn't say it, or even think it. In thedaytime, when people were around me and everything was cheerful, itwasn't so hard to keep from thinking of it. But in the night, when Icouldn't sleep--it was so dreadful, Anne. I couldn't get away fromit then. Death just came and stared me in the face, until I got sofrightened I could have screamed. 

"But you won't be frightened any more, Ruby, will you? You'll be brave, and believe that all is going to be well with you. "

"I'll try. I'll think over what you have said, and try to believe it. And you'll come up as often as you can, won't you, Anne?"

"Yes, dear. "

"It--it won't be very long now, Anne. I feel sure of that. And I'drather have you than any one else. I always liked you best of all thegirls I went to school with. You were never jealous, or mean, like someof them were. Poor Em White was up to see me yesterday. You remember Emand I were such chums for three years when we went to school? And thenwe quarrelled the time of the school concert. We've never spoken to eachother since. Wasn't it silly? Anything like that seems silly NOW. ButEm and I made up the old quarrel yesterday. She said she'd have spokenyears ago, only she thought I wouldn't. And I never spoke to herbecause I was sure she wouldn't speak to me. Isn't it strange how peoplemisunderstand each other, Anne?"

"Most of the trouble in life comes from misunderstanding, I think, " saidAnne. "I must go now, Ruby. It's getting late--and you shouldn't be outin the damp. "

"You'll come up soon again. "

"Yes, very soon. And if there's anything I can do to help you I'll be soglad. "

"I know. You HAVE helped me already. Nothing seems quite so dreadfulnow. Good night, Anne. "

"Good night, dear. "

Anne walked home very slowly in the moonlight. The evening had changedsomething for her. Life held a different meaning, a deeper purpose. On the surface it would go on just the same; but the deeps had beenstirred. It must not be with her as with poor butterfly Ruby. When shecame to the end of one life it must not be to face the next with theshrinking terror of something wholly different--something for whichaccustomed thought and ideal and aspiration had unfitted her. The littlethings of life, sweet and excellent in their place, must not be thethings lived for; the highest must be sought and followed; the life ofheaven must be begun here on earth. 

That good night in the garden was for all time. Anne never saw Ruby inlife again. The next night the A. V. I. S. Gave a farewell party to JaneAndrews before her departure for the West. And, while light feet dancedand bright eyes laughed and merry tongues chattered, there came asummons to a soul in Avonlea that might not be disregarded or evaded. The next morning the word went from house to house that Ruby Gillis wasdead. She had died in her sleep, painlessly and calmly, and on her facewas a smile--as if, after all, death had come as a kindly friend to leadher over the threshold, instead of the grisly phantom she had dreaded. 

Mrs. Rachel Lynde said emphatically after the funeral that Ruby Gilliswas the handsomest corpse she ever laid eyes on. Her loveliness, as shelay, white-clad, among the delicate flowers that Anne had placed abouther, was remembered and talked of for years in Avonlea. Ruby had alwaysbeen beautiful; but her beauty had been of the earth, earthy; it hadhad a certain insolent quality in it, as if it flaunted itself in thebeholder's eye; spirit had never shone through it, intellect had neverrefined it. But death had touched it and consecrated it, bringing outdelicate modelings and purity of outline never seen before--doing whatlife and love and great sorrow and deep womanhood joys might havedone for Ruby. Anne, looking down through a mist of tears, at her oldplayfellow, thought she saw the face God had meant Ruby to have, andremembered it so always. 

Mrs. Gillis called Anne aside into a vacant room before the funeralprocession left the house, and gave her a small packet. 

"I want you to have this, " she sobbed. "Ruby would have liked you tohave it. It's the embroidered centerpiece she was working at. It isn'tquite finished--the needle is sticking in it just where her poor littlefingers put it the last time she laid it down, the afternoon before shedied. "

"There's always a piece of unfinished work left, " said Mrs. Lynde, withtears in her eyes. "But I suppose there's always some one to finish it. "

"How difficult it is to realize that one we have always known can reallybe dead, " said Anne, as she and Diana walked home. "Ruby is the first ofour schoolmates to go. One by one, sooner or later, all the rest of usmust follow. "

"Yes, I suppose so, " said Diana uncomfortably. She did not want to talkof that. She would have preferred to have discussed the details of thefuneral--the splendid white velvet casket Mr. Gillis had insisted onhaving for Ruby--"the Gillises must always make a splurge, even atfunerals, " quoth Mrs. Rachel Lynde--Herb Spencer's sad face, theuncontrolled, hysteric grief of one of Ruby's sisters--but Anne wouldnot talk of these things. She seemed wrapped in a reverie in which Dianafelt lonesomely that she had neither lot nor part. 

"Ruby Gillis was a great girl to laugh, " said Davy suddenly. "Will shelaugh as much in heaven as she did in Avonlea, Anne? I want to know. "

"Yes, I think she will, " said Anne. 

"Oh, Anne, " protested Diana, with a rather shocked smile. 

"Well, why not, Diana?" asked Anne seriously. "Do you think we'll neverlaugh in heaven?"

"Oh--I--I don't know" floundered Diana. "It doesn't seem just right, somehow. You know it's rather dreadful to laugh in church. "

"But heaven won't be like church--all the time, " said Anne. 

"I hope it ain't, " said Davy emphatically. "If it is I don't want togo. Church is awful dull. Anyway, I don't mean to go for ever so long. Imean to live to be a hundred years old, like Mr. Thomas Blewett of WhiteSands. He says he's lived so long 'cause he always smoked tobacco and itkilled all the germs. Can I smoke tobacco pretty soon, Anne?"

"No, Davy, I hope you'll never use tobacco, " said Anne absently. 

"What'll you feel like if the germs kill me then?" demanded Davy. 

Chapter XV

A Dream Turned Upside Down

"Just one more week and we go back to Redmond, " said Anne. She washappy at the thought of returning to work, classes and Redmond friends. Pleasing visions were also being woven around Patty's Place. There wasa warm pleasant sense of home in the thought of it, even though she hadnever lived there. 

But the summer had been a very happy one, too--a time of glad livingwith summer suns and skies, a time of keen delight in wholesome things;a time of renewing and deepening of old friendships; a time in whichshe had learned to live more nobly, to work more patiently, to play moreheartily. 

"All life lessons are not learned at college, " she thought. "Lifeteaches them everywhere. "

But alas, the final week of that pleasant vacation was spoiled for Anne, by one of those impish happenings which are like a dream turned upsidedown. 

"Been writing any more stories lately?" inquired Mr. Harrison geniallyone evening when Anne was taking tea with him and Mrs. Harrison. 

"No, " answered Anne, rather crisply. 

"Well, no offense meant. Mrs. Hiram Sloane told me the other day that abig envelope addressed to the Rollings Reliable Baking Powder Company ofMontreal had been dropped into the post office box a month ago, and shesuspicioned that somebody was trying for the prize they'd offered forthe best story that introduced the name of their baking powder. She saidit wasn't addressed in your writing, but I thought maybe it was you. "

"Indeed, no! I saw the prize offer, but I'd never dream of competingfor it. I think it would be perfectly disgraceful to write a story toadvertise a baking powder. It would be almost as bad as Judson Parker'spatent medicine fence. "

So spake Anne loftily, little dreaming of the valley of humiliationawaiting her. That very evening Diana popped into the porch gable, bright-eyed and rosy cheeked, carrying a letter. 

"Oh, Anne, here's a letter for you. I was at the office, so I thoughtI'd bring it along. Do open it quick. If it is what I believe it is Ishall just be wild with delight. " Anne, puzzled, opened the letter andglanced over the typewritten contents. 

Miss Anne Shirley, Green Gables, Avonlea, P. E. Island. 

"DEAR MADAM: We have much pleasure in informing you that your charmingstory 'Averil's Atonement' has won the prize of twenty-five dollarsoffered in our recent competition. We enclose the check herewith. We arearranging for the publication of the story in several prominent Canadiannewspapers, and we also intend to have it printed in pamphlet form fordistribution among our patrons. Thanking you for the interest you haveshown in our enterprise, we remain, "Yours very truly, "THE ROLLINGS RELIABLE

"BAKING POWDER Co. "

"I don't understand, " said Anne, blankly. 

Diana clapped her hands. 

"Oh, I KNEW it would win the prize--I was sure of it. _I_ sent yourstory into the competition, Anne. "

"Diana--Barry!"

"Yes, I did, " said Diana gleefully, perching herself on the bed. "WhenI saw the offer I thought of your story in a minute, and at firstI thought I'd ask you to send it in. But then I was afraid youwouldn't--you had so little faith left in it. So I just decided I'd sendthe copy you gave me, and say nothing about it. Then, if it didn't winthe prize, you'd never know and you wouldn't feel badly over it, becausethe stories that failed were not to be returned, and if it did you'dhave such a delightful surprise. "

Diana was not the most discerning of mortals, but just at this moment itstruck her that Anne was not looking exactly overjoyed. The surprise wasthere, beyond doubt--but where was the delight?

"Why, Anne, you don't seem a bit pleased!" she exclaimed. 

Anne instantly manufactured a smile and put it on. 

"Of course I couldn't be anything but pleased over your unselfish wishto give me pleasure, " she said slowly. "But you know--I'm so amazed--Ican't realize it--and I don't understand. There wasn't a word in mystory about--about--" Anne choked a little over the word--"bakingpowder. "

"Oh, _I_ put that in, " said Diana, reassured. "It was as easy aswink--and of course my experience in our old Story Club helped me. Youknow the scene where Averil makes the cake? Well, I just stated thatshe used the Rollings Reliable in it, and that was why it turned out sowell; and then, in the last paragraph, where PERCEVAL clasps AVERIL inhis arms and says, 'Sweetheart, the beautiful coming years will bring usthe fulfilment of our home of dreams, ' I added, 'in which we will neveruse any baking powder except Rollings Reliable. '"

"Oh, " gasped poor Anne, as if some one had dashed cold water on her. 

"And you've won the twenty-five dollars, " continued Diana jubilantly. "Why, I heard Priscilla say once that the Canadian Woman only pays fivedollars for a story!"

Anne held out the hateful pink slip in shaking fingers. 

"I can't take it--it's yours by right, Diana. You sent the story in andmade the alterations. I--I would certainly never have sent it. So youmust take the check. "

"I'd like to see myself, " said Diana scornfully. "Why, what I did wasn'tany trouble. The honor of being a friend of the prizewinner is enoughfor me. Well, I must go. I should have gone straight home from the postoffice for we have company. But I simply had to come and hear the news. I'm so glad for your sake, Anne. "

Anne suddenly bent forward, put her arms about Diana, and kissed hercheek. 

"I think you are the sweetest and truest friend in the world, Diana, "she said, with a little tremble in her voice, "and I assure you Iappreciate the motive of what you've done. "

Diana, pleased and embarrassed, got herself away, and poor Anne, after flinging the innocent check into her bureau drawer as if itwere blood-money, cast herself on her bed and wept tears of shame andoutraged sensibility. Oh, she could never live this down--never!

Gilbert arrived at dusk, brimming over with congratulations, for he hadcalled at Orchard Slope and heard the news. But his congratulations diedon his lips at sight of Anne's face. 

"Why, Anne, what is the matter? I expected to find you radiant overwinning Rollings Reliable prize. Good for you!"

"Oh, Gilbert, not you, " implored Anne, in an ET-TU BRUTE tone. "Ithought YOU would understand. Can't you see how awful it is?"

"I must confess I can't. WHAT is wrong?"

"Everything, " moaned Anne. "I feel as if I were disgraced forever. Whatdo you think a mother would feel like if she found her child tattooedover with a baking powder advertisement? I feel just the same. I lovedmy poor little story, and I wrote it out of the best that was in me. And it is SACRILEGE to have it degraded to the level of a baking powderadvertisement. Don't you remember what Professor Hamilton used to tellus in the literature class at Queen's? He said we were never to writea word for a low or unworthy motive, but always to cling to the veryhighest ideals. What will he think when he hears I've written a story toadvertise Rollings Reliable? And, oh, when it gets out at Redmond! Thinkhow I'll be teased and laughed at!"

"That you won't, " said Gilbert, wondering uneasily if it were thatconfounded Junior's opinion in particular over which Anne was worried. "The Reds will think just as I thought--that you, being like nine out often of us, not overburdened with worldly wealth, had taken this way ofearning an honest penny to help yourself through the year. I don't seethat there's anything low or unworthy about that, or anything ridiculouseither. One would rather write masterpieces of literature no doubt--butmeanwhile board and tuition fees have to be paid. "

This commonsense, matter-of-fact view of the case cheered Anne a little. At least it removed her dread of being laughed at, though the deeperhurt of an outraged ideal remained. 

Chapter XVI

Adjusted Relationships

"It's the homiest spot I ever saw--it's homier than home, " avowedPhilippa Gordon, looking about her with delighted eyes. They were allassembled at twilight in the big living-room at Patty's Place--Anne andPriscilla, Phil and Stella, Aunt Jamesina, Rusty, Joseph, the Sarah-Cat, and Gog and Magog. The firelight shadows were dancing over the walls;the cats were purring; and a huge bowl of hothouse chrysanthemums, sent to Phil by one of the victims, shone through the golden gloom likecreamy moons. 

It was three weeks since they had considered themselves settled, andalready all believed the experiment would be a success. The firstfortnight after their return had been a pleasantly exciting one; theyhad been busy setting up their household goods, organizing their littleestablishment, and adjusting different opinions. 

Anne was not over-sorry to leave Avonlea when the time came to returnto college. The last few days of her vacation had not been pleasant. Her prize story had been published in the Island papers; and Mr. WilliamBlair had, upon the counter of his store, a huge pile of pink, green andyellow pamphlets, containing it, one of which he gave to every customer. He sent a complimentary bundle to Anne, who promptly dropped them all inthe kitchen stove. Her humiliation was the consequence of her own idealsonly, for Avonlea folks thought it quite splendid that she should havewon the prize. Her many friends regarded her with honest admiration; herfew foes with scornful envy. Josie Pye said she believed Anne Shirleyhad just copied the story; she was sure she remembered reading it ina paper years before. The Sloanes, who had found out or guessed thatCharlie had been "turned down, " said they didn't think it was much to beproud of; almost any one could have done it, if she tried. Aunt Atossatold Anne she was very sorry to hear she had taken to writing novels;nobody born and bred in Avonlea would do it; that was what came ofadopting orphans from goodness knew where, with goodness knew whatkind of parents. Even Mrs. Rachel Lynde was darkly dubious about thepropriety of writing fiction, though she was almost reconciled to it bythat twenty-five dollar check. 

"It is perfectly amazing, the price they pay for such lies, that'swhat, " she said, half-proudly, half-severely. 

All things considered, it was a relief when going-away time came. Andit was very jolly to be back at Redmond, a wise, experienced Soph withhosts of friends to greet on the merry opening day. Pris and Stella andGilbert were there, Charlie Sloane, looking more important than ever aSophomore looked before, Phil, with the Alec-and-Alonzo question stillunsettled, and Moody Spurgeon MacPherson. Moody Spurgeon had beenteaching school ever since leaving Queen's, but his mother had concludedit was high time he gave it up and turned his attention to learninghow to be a minister. Poor Moody Spurgeon fell on hard luck at the verybeginning of his college career. Half a dozen ruthless Sophs, who wereamong his fellow-boarders, swooped down upon him one night and shavedhalf of his head. In this guise the luckless Moody Spurgeon had to goabout until his hair grew again. He told Anne bitterly that there weretimes when he had his doubts as to whether he was really called to be aminister. 

Aunt Jamesina did not come until the girls had Patty's Place ready forher. Miss Patty had sent the key to Anne, with a letter in which shesaid Gog and Magog were packed in a box under the spare-room bed, butmight be taken out when wanted; in a postscript she added that she hopedthe girls would be careful about putting up pictures. The living roomhad been newly papered five years before and she and Miss Maria didnot want any more holes made in that new paper than was absolutelynecessary. For the rest she trusted everything to Anne. 

How those girls enjoyed putting their nest in order! As Phil said, itwas almost as good as getting married. You had the fun of homemakingwithout the bother of a husband. All brought something with them toadorn or make comfortable the little house. Pris and Phil and Stella hadknick-knacks and pictures galore, which latter they proceeded to hangaccording to taste, in reckless disregard of Miss Patty's new paper. 

"We'll putty the holes up when we leave, dear--she'll never know, " theysaid to protesting Anne. 

Diana had given Anne a pine needle cushion and Miss Ada had given bothher and Priscilla a fearfully and wonderfully embroidered one. Marillahad sent a big box of preserves, and darkly hinted at a hamper forThanksgiving, and Mrs. Lynde gave Anne a patchwork quilt and loaned herfive more. 

"You take them, " she said authoritatively. "They might as well be in useas packed away in that trunk in the garret for moths to gnaw. "

No moths would ever have ventured near those quilts, for they reeked ofmothballs to such an extent that they had to be hung in the orchard ofPatty's Place a full fortnight before they could be endured indoors. Verily, aristocratic Spofford Avenue had rarely beheld such a display. The gruff old millionaire who lived "next door" came over and wanted tobuy the gorgeous red and yellow "tulip-pattern" one which Mrs. Rachelhad given Anne. He said his mother used to make quilts like that, and byJove, he wanted one to remind him of her. Anne would not sell it, muchto his disappointment, but she wrote all about it to Mrs. Lynde. Thathighly-gratified lady sent word back that she had one just like it tospare, so the tobacco king got his quilt after all, and insisted onhaving it spread on his bed, to the disgust of his fashionable wife. 

Mrs. Lynde's quilts served a very useful purpose that winter. Patty'sPlace for all its many virtues, had its faults also. It was really arather cold house; and when the frosty nights came the girls were veryglad to snuggle down under Mrs. Lynde's quilts, and hoped that the loanof them might be accounted unto her for righteousness. Anne had the blueroom she had coveted at sight. Priscilla and Stella had the large one. Phil was blissfully content with the little one over the kitchen; andAunt Jamesina was to have the downstairs one off the living-room. Rustyat first slept on the doorstep. 

Anne, walking home from Redmond a few days after her return, becameaware that the people that she met surveyed her with a covert, indulgentsmile. Anne wondered uneasily what was the matter with her. Was her hatcrooked? Was her belt loose? Craning her head to investigate, Anne, forthe first time, saw Rusty. 

Trotting along behind her, close to her heels, was quite the mostforlorn specimen of the cat tribe she had ever beheld. The animal waswell past kitten-hood, lank, thin, disreputable looking. Pieces of bothears were lacking, one eye was temporarily out of repair, and one jowlludicrously swollen. As for color, if a once black cat had been well andthoroughly singed the result would have resembled the hue of this waif'sthin, draggled, unsightly fur. 

Anne "shooed, " but the cat would not "shoo. " As long as she stood he satback on his haunches and gazed at her reproachfully out of his one goodeye; when she resumed her walk he followed. Anne resigned herself to hiscompany until she reached the gate of Patty's Place, which she coldlyshut in his face, fondly supposing she had seen the last of him. But when, fifteen minutes later, Phil opened the door, there sat therusty-brown cat on the step. More, he promptly darted in and sprang uponAnne's lap with a half-pleading, half-triumphant "miaow. "

"Anne, " said Stella severely, "do you own that animal?"

"No, I do NOT, " protested disgusted Anne. "The creature followed me homefrom somewhere. I couldn't get rid of him. Ugh, get down. I like decentcats reasonably well; but I don't like beasties of your complexion. "

Pussy, however, refused to get down. He coolly curled up in Anne's lapand began to purr. 

"He has evidently adopted you, " laughed Priscilla. 

"I won't BE adopted, " said Anne stubbornly. 

"The poor creature is starving, " said Phil pityingly. "Why, his bonesare almost coming through his skin. "

"Well, I'll give him a square meal and then he must return to whence hecame, " said Anne resolutely. 

The cat was fed and put out. In the morning he was still on thedoorstep. On the doorstep he continued to sit, bolting in whenever thedoor was opened. No coolness of welcome had the least effect on him;of nobody save Anne did he take the least notice. Out of compassion thegirls fed him; but when a week had passed they decided that somethingmust be done. The cat's appearance had improved. His eye and cheek hadresumed their normal appearance; he was not quite so thin; and he hadbeen seen washing his face. 

"But for all that we can't keep him, " said Stella. "Aunt Jimsie iscoming next week and she will bring the Sarah-cat with her. We can'tkeep two cats; and if we did this Rusty Coat would fight all the timewith the Sarah-cat. He's a fighter by nature. He had a pitched battlelast evening with the tobacco-king's cat and routed him, horse, foot andartillery. "

"We must get rid of him, " agreed Anne, looking darkly at the subjectof their discussion, who was purring on the hearth rug with an air oflamb-like meekness. "But the question is--how? How can four unprotectedfemales get rid of a cat who won't be got rid of?"

"We must chloroform him, " said Phil briskly. "That is the most humaneway. "

"Who of us knows anything about chloroforming a cat?" demanded Annegloomily. 

"I do, honey. It's one of my few--sadly few--useful accomplishments. I've disposed of several at home. You take the cat in the morning andgive him a good breakfast. Then you take an old burlap bag--there's onein the back porch--put the cat on it and turn over him a wooden box. Then take a two-ounce bottle of chloroform, uncork it, and slip it underthe edge of the box. Put a heavy weight on top of the box and leave ittill evening. The cat will be dead, curled up peacefully as if he wereasleep. No pain--no struggle. "

"It sounds easy, " said Anne dubiously. 

"It IS easy. Just leave it to me. I'll see to it, " said Philreassuringly. 

Accordingly the chloroform was procured, and the next morning Rusty waslured to his doom. He ate his breakfast, licked his chops, and climbedinto Anne's lap. Anne's heart misgave her. This poor creature lovedher--trusted her. How could she be a party to this destruction?

"Here, take him, " she said hastily to Phil. "I feel like a murderess. "

"He won't suffer, you know, " comforted Phil, but Anne had fled. 

The fatal deed was done in the back porch. Nobody went near it that day. But at dusk Phil declared that Rusty must be buried. 

"Pris and Stella must dig his grave in the orchard, " declared Phil, "andAnne must come with me to lift the box off. That's the part I alwayshate. "

The two conspirators tip-toed reluctantly to the back porch. Philgingerly lifted the stone she had put on the box. Suddenly, faint butdistinct, sounded an unmistakable mew under the box. 

"He--he isn't dead, " gasped Anne, sitting blankly down on the kitchendoorstep. 

"He must be, " said Phil incredulously. 

Another tiny mew proved that he wasn't. The two girls stared at eachother. 

"What will we do?" questioned Anne. 

"Why in the world don't you come?" demanded Stella, appearing in thedoorway. "We've got the grave ready. 'What silent still and silentall?'" she quoted teasingly. 

"'Oh, no, the voices of the dead Sound like the distant torrent'sfall, '" promptly counter-quoted Anne, pointing solemnly to the box. 

A burst of laughter broke the tension. 

"We must leave him here till morning, " said Phil, replacing the stone. "He hasn't mewed for five minutes. Perhaps the mews we heard were hisdying groan. Or perhaps we merely imagined them, under the strain of ourguilty consciences. "

But, when the box was lifted in the morning, Rusty bounded at one gayleap to Anne's shoulder where he began to lick her face affectionately. Never was there a cat more decidedly alive. 

"Here's a knot hole in the box, " groaned Phil. "I never saw it. That'swhy he didn't die. Now, we've got to do it all over again. "

"No, we haven't, " declared Anne suddenly. "Rusty isn't going to bekilled again. He's my cat--and you've just got to make the best of it. "

"Oh, well, if you'll settle with Aunt Jimsie and the Sarah-cat, " saidStella, with the air of one washing her hands of the whole affair. 

From that time Rusty was one of the family. He slept o'nights on thescrubbing cushion in the back porch and lived on the fat of the land. By the time Aunt Jamesina came he was plump and glossy and tolerablyrespectable. But, like Kipling's cat, he "walked by himself. " His pawwas against every cat, and every cat's paw against him. One by one hevanquished the aristocratic felines of Spofford Avenue. As for humanbeings, he loved Anne and Anne alone. Nobody else even dared strokehim. An angry spit and something that sounded much like very improperlanguage greeted any one who did. 

"The airs that cat puts on are perfectly intolerable, " declared Stella. 

"Him was a nice old pussens, him was, " vowed Anne, cuddling her petdefiantly. 

"Well, I don't know how he and the Sarah-cat will ever make out tolive together, " said Stella pesimistically. "Cat-fights in the orchardo'nights are bad enough. But cat-fights here in the livingroom areunthinkable. " In due time Aunt Jamesina arrived. Anne and Priscilla andPhil had awaited her advent rather dubiously; but when Aunt Jamesina wasenthroned in the rocking chair before the open fire they figurativelybowed down and worshipped her. 

Aunt Jamesina was a tiny old woman with a little, softly-triangularface, and large, soft blue eyes that were alight with unquenchableyouth, and as full of hopes as a girl's. She had pink cheeks andsnow-white hair which she wore in quaint little puffs over her ears. 

"It's a very old-fashioned way, " she said, knitting industriouslyat something as dainty and pink as a sunset cloud. "But _I_ amold-fashioned. My clothes are, and it stands to reason my opinions are, too. I don't say they're any the better of that, mind you. In fact, Idaresay they're a good deal the worse. But they've worn nice andeasy. New shoes are smarter than old ones, but the old ones are morecomfortable. I'm old enough to indulge myself in the matter of shoes andopinions. I mean to take it real easy here. I know you expect me to lookafter you and keep you proper, but I'm not going to do it. You're oldenough to know how to behave if you're ever going to be. So, as far as Iam concerned, " concluded Aunt Jamesina, with a twinkle in her youngeyes, "you can all go to destruction in your own way. "

"Oh, will somebody separate those cats?" pleaded Stella, shudderingly. 

Aunt Jamesina had brought with her not only the Sarah-cat but Joseph. Joseph, she explained, had belonged to a dear friend of hers who hadgone to live in Vancouver. 

"She couldn't take Joseph with her so she begged me to take him. Ireally couldn't refuse. He's a beautiful cat--that is, his dispositionis beautiful. She called him Joseph because his coat is of many colors. "

It certainly was. Joseph, as the disgusted Stella said, looked like awalking rag-bag. It was impossible to say what his ground color was. Hislegs were white with black spots on them. His back was gray with a hugepatch of yellow on one side and a black patch on the other. His tail wasyellow with a gray tip. One ear was black and one yellow. A black patchover one eye gave him a fearfully rakish look. In reality he was meekand inoffensive, of a sociable disposition. In one respect, if in noother, Joseph was like a lily of the field. He toiled not neither didhe spin or catch mice. Yet Solomon in all his glory slept not on softercushions, or feasted more fully on fat things. 

Joseph and the Sarah-cat arrived by express in separate boxes. Afterthey had been released and fed, Joseph selected the cushion and cornerwhich appealed to him, and the Sarah-cat gravely sat herself downbefore the fire and proceeded to wash her face. She was a large, sleek, gray-and-white cat, with an enormous dignity which was not at allimpaired by any consciousness of her plebian origin. She had been givento Aunt Jamesina by her washerwoman. 

"Her name was Sarah, so my husband always called puss the Sarah-cat, "explained Aunt Jamesina. "She is eight years old, and a remarkablemouser. Don't worry, Stella. The Sarah-cat NEVER fights and Josephrarely. "

"They'll have to fight here in self-defense, " said Stella. 

At this juncture Rusty arrived on the scene. He bounded joyously halfway across the room before he saw the intruders. Then he stopped short;his tail expanded until it was as big as three tails. The fur on hisback rose up in a defiant arch; Rusty lowered his head, uttered afearful shriek of hatred and defiance, and launched himself at theSarah-cat. 

The stately animal had stopped washing her face and was looking at himcuriously. She met his onslaught with one contemptuous sweep of hercapable paw. Rusty went rolling helplessly over on the rug; he pickedhimself up dazedly. What sort of a cat was this who had boxed his ears?He looked dubiously at the Sarah-cat. Would he or would he not? TheSarah-cat deliberately turned her back on him and resumed her toiletoperations. Rusty decided that he would not. He never did. From thattime on the Sarah-cat ruled the roost. Rusty never again interfered withher. 

But Joseph rashly sat up and yawned. Rusty, burning to avenge hisdisgrace, swooped down upon him. Joseph, pacific by nature, could fightupon occasion and fight well. The result was a series of drawn battles. Every day Rusty and Joseph fought at sight. Anne took Rusty's part anddetested Joseph. Stella was in despair. But Aunt Jamesina only laughed. 

"Let them fight it out, " she said tolerantly. "They'll make friends aftera bit. Joseph needs some exercise--he was getting too fat. And Rusty hasto learn he isn't the only cat in the world. "

Eventually Joseph and Rusty accepted the situation and from swornenemies became sworn friends. They slept on the same cushion with theirpaws about each other, and gravely washed each other's faces. 

"We've all got used to each other, " said Phil. "And I've learned how towash dishes and sweep a floor. "

"But you needn't try to make us believe you can chloroform a cat, "laughed Anne. 

"It was all the fault of the knothole, " protested Phil. 

"It was a good thing the knothole was there, " said Aunt Jamesina ratherseverely. "Kittens HAVE to be drowned, I admit, or the world would beoverrun. But no decent, grown-up cat should be done to death--unless hesucks eggs. "

"You wouldn't have thought Rusty very decent if you'd seen him when hecame here, " said Stella. "He positively looked like the Old Nick. "

"I don't believe Old Nick can be so very, ugly" said Aunt Jamesinareflectively. "He wouldn't do so much harm if he was. _I_ always thinkof him as a rather handsome gentleman. "

Chapter XVII

A Letter from Davy

"It's beginning to snow, girls, " said Phil, coming in one Novemberevening, "and there are the loveliest little stars and crosses all overthe garden walk. I never noticed before what exquisite things snowflakesreally are. One has time to notice things like that in the simple life. Bless you all for permitting me to live it. It's really delightful tofeel worried because butter has gone up five cents a pound. "

"Has it?" demanded Stella, who kept the household accounts. 

"It has--and here's your butter. I'm getting quite expert at marketing. It's better fun than flirting, " concluded Phil gravely. 

"Everything is going up scandalously, " sighed Stella. 

"Never mind. Thank goodness air and salvation are still free, " said AuntJamesina. 

"And so is laughter, " added Anne. "There's no tax on it yet and that iswell, because you're all going to laugh presently. I'm going to readyou Davy's letter. His spelling has improved immensely this past year, though he is not strong on apostrophes, and he certainly possessesthe gift of writing an interesting letter. Listen and laugh, before wesettle down to the evening's study-grind. "

"Dear Anne, " ran Davy's letter, "I take my pen to tell you that we areall pretty well and hope this will find you the same. It's snowing sometoday and Marilla says the old woman in the sky is shaking her featherbeds. Is the old woman in the sky God's wife, Anne? I want to know. 

"Mrs. Lynde has been real sick but she is better now. She fell down thecellar stairs last week. When she fell she grabbed hold of the shelfwith all the milk pails and stewpans on it, and it gave way and wentdown with her and made a splendid crash. Marilla thought it was anearthquake at first. 

"One of the stewpans was all dinged up and Mrs. Lynde straned her ribs. The doctor came and gave her medicine to rub on her ribs but she didn'tunder stand him and took it all inside instead. The doctor said it wasa wonder it dident kill her but it dident and it cured her ribs and Mrs. Lynde says doctors dont know much anyhow. But we couldent fix up thestewpan. Marilla had to throw it out. Thanksgiving was last week. Therewas no school and we had a great dinner. I et mince pie and rost turkeyand frut cake and donuts and cheese and jam and choklut cake. Marillasaid I'd die but I dident. Dora had earake after it, only it wasent inher ears it was in her stummick. I dident have earake anywhere. 

"Our new teacher is a man. He does things for jokes. Last week he madeall us third-class boys write a composishun on what kind of a wife we'dlike to have and the girls on what kind of a husband. He laughed fit tokill when he read them. This was mine. I thought youd like to see it. 

"'The kind of a wife I'd like to Have. 

"'She must have good manners and get my meals on time and do what I tellher and always be very polite to me. She must be fifteen yers old. Shemust be good to the poor and keep her house tidy and be good temperedand go to church regularly. She must be very handsome and have curlyhair. If I get a wife that is just what I like Ill be an awful goodhusband to her. I think a woman ought to be awful good to her husband. Some poor women haven't any husbands. 

"'THE END. '"

"I was at Mrs. Isaac Wrights funeral at White Sands last week. Thehusband of the corpse felt real sorry. Mrs. Lynde says Mrs. Wrightsgrandfather stole a sheep but Marilla says we mustent speak ill of thedead. Why mustent we, Anne? I want to know. It's pretty safe, ain't it?

"Mrs. Lynde was awful mad the other day because I asked her if she wasalive in Noah's time. I dident mean to hurt her feelings. I just wantedto know. Was she, Anne?

"Mr. Harrison wanted to get rid of his dog. So he hunged him once but hecome to life and scooted for the barn while Mr. Harrison was digging thegrave, so he hunged him again and he stayed dead that time. Mr. Harrisonhas a new man working for him. He's awful okward. Mr. Harrison says heis left handed in both his feet. Mr. Barry's hired man is lazy. Mrs. Barry says that but Mr. Barry says he aint lazy exactly only he thinksit easier to pray for things than to work for them. 

"Mrs. Harmon Andrews prize pig that she talked so much of died in a fit. Mrs. Lynde says it was a judgment on her for pride. But I think itwas hard on the pig. Milty Boulter has been sick. The doctor gavehim medicine and it tasted horrid. I offered to take it for him for aquarter but the Boulters are so mean. Milty says he'd rather take ithimself and save his money. I asked Mrs. Boulter how a person would goabout catching a man and she got awful mad and said she dident know, shed never chased men. 

"The A. V. I. S. Is going to paint the hall again. They're tired of havingit blue. 

"The new minister was here to tea last night. He took three pieces ofpie. If I did that Mrs. Lynde would call me piggy. And he et fast andtook big bites and Marilla is always telling me not to do that. Why canministers do what boys can't? I want to know. 

"I haven't any more news. Here are six kisses. Xxxxxx. Dora sends one. Heres hers. X. 

"Your loving friend DAVID KEITH"

"P. S. Anne, who was the devils father? I want to know. "

Chapter XVIII

Miss Josepine Remembers the Anne-girl

When Christmas holidays came the girls of Patty's Place scattered totheir respective homes, but Aunt Jamesina elected to stay where she was. 

"I couldn't go to any of the places I've been invited and take thosethree cats, " she said. "And I'm not going to leave the poor creatureshere alone for nearly three weeks. If we had any decent neighbors whowould feed them I might, but there's nothing except millionaires on thisstreet. So I'll stay here and keep Patty's Place warm for you. "

Anne went home with the usual joyous anticipations--which were notwholly fulfilled. She found Avonlea in the grip of such an early, cold, and stormy winter as even the "oldest inhabitant" could not recall. Green Gables was literally hemmed in by huge drifts. Almost every day ofthat ill-starred vacation it stormed fiercely; and even on fine days itdrifted unceasingly. No sooner were the roads broken than they filledin again. It was almost impossible to stir out. The A. V. I. S. Tried, onthree evenings, to have a party in honor of the college students, and oneach evening the storm was so wild that nobody could go, so they gave upthe attempt in despair. Anne, despite her love of and loyalty to GreenGables, could not help thinking longingly of Patty's Place, its cosyopen fire, Aunt Jamesina's mirthful eyes, the three cats, the merrychatter of the girls, the pleasantness of Friday evenings when collegefriends dropped in to talk of grave and gay. 

Anne was lonely; Diana, during the whole of the holidays, was imprisonedat home with a bad attack of bronchitis. She could not come to GreenGables and it was rarely Anne could get to Orchard Slope, for the oldway through the Haunted Wood was impassable with drifts, and the longway over the frozen Lake of Shining Waters was almost as bad. RubyGillis was sleeping in the white-heaped graveyard; Jane Andrews wasteaching a school on western prairies. Gilbert, to be sure, was stillfaithful, and waded up to Green Gables every possible evening. ButGilbert's visits were not what they once were. Anne almost dreaded them. It was very disconcerting to look up in the midst of a sudden silenceand find Gilbert's hazel eyes fixed upon her with a quite unmistakableexpression in their grave depths; and it was still more disconcertingto find herself blushing hotly and uncomfortably under his gaze, just asif--just as if--well, it was very embarrassing. Anne wished herself backat Patty's Place, where there was always somebody else about to take theedge off a delicate situation. At Green Gables Marilla went promptly toMrs. Lynde's domain when Gilbert came and insisted on taking the twinswith her. The significance of this was unmistakable and Anne was in ahelpless fury over it. 

Davy, however, was perfectly happy. He reveled in getting out in themorning and shoveling out the paths to the well and henhouse. He gloriedin the Christmas-tide delicacies which Marilla and Mrs. Lynde vied witheach other in preparing for Anne, and he was reading an enthrallingtale, in a school library book, of a wonderful hero who seemed blessedwith a miraculous faculty for getting into scrapes from which he wasusually delivered by an earthquake or a volcanic explosion, which blewhim high and dry out of his troubles, landed him in a fortune, andclosed the story with proper ECLAT. 

"I tell you it's a bully story, Anne, " he said ecstatically. "I'd everso much rather read it than the Bible. "

"Would you?" smiled Anne. 

Davy peered curiously at her. 

"You don't seem a bit shocked, Anne. Mrs. Lynde was awful shocked when Isaid it to her. "

"No, I'm not shocked, Davy. I think it's quite natural that anine-year-old boy would sooner read an adventure story than the Bible. But when you are older I hope and think that you will realize what awonderful book the Bible is. "

"Oh, I think some parts of it are fine, " conceded Davy. "That storyabout Joseph now--it's bully. But if I'd been Joseph _I_ wouldn't haveforgive the brothers. No, siree, Anne. I'd have cut all their heads off. Mrs. Lynde was awful mad when I said that and shut the Bible up and saidshe'd never read me any more of it if I talked like that. So I don'ttalk now when she reads it Sunday afternoons; I just think things andsay them to Milty Boulter next day in school. I told Milty the storyabout Elisha and the bears and it scared him so he's never made fun ofMr. Harrison's bald head once. Are there any bears on P. E. Island, Anne?I want to know. "

"Not nowadays, " said Anne, absently, as the wind blew a scud of snowagainst the window. "Oh, dear, will it ever stop storming. "

"God knows, " said Davy airily, preparing to resume his reading. 

Anne WAS shocked this time. 

"Davy!" she exclaimed reproachfully. 

"Mrs. Lynde says that, " protested Davy. "One night last week Marillasaid 'Will Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix EVER get married?" and Mrs. Lynde said, "'God knows'--just like that. "

"Well, it wasn't right for her to say it, " said Anne, promptly decidingupon which horn of this dilemma to empale herself. "It isn't right foranybody to take that name in vain or speak it lightly, Davy. Don't everdo it again. "

"Not if I say it slow and solemn, like the minister?" queried Davygravely. 

"No, not even then. "

"Well, I won't. Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix live in Middle Graftonand Mrs. Rachel says he has been courting her for a hundred years. Won'tthey soon be too old to get married, Anne? I hope Gilbert won't courtYOU that long. When are you going to be married, Anne? Mrs. Lynde saysit's a sure thing. "

"Mrs. Lynde is a--" began Anne hotly; then stopped. "Awful old gossip, "completed Davy calmly. "That's what every one calls her. But is it asure thing, Anne? I want to know. "

"You're a very silly little boy, Davy, " said Anne, stalking haughtilyout of the room. The kitchen was deserted and she sat down by the windowin the fast falling wintry twilight. The sun had set and the wind haddied down. A pale chilly moon looked out behind a bank of purple cloudsin the west. The sky faded out, but the strip of yellow along thewestern horizon grew brighter and fiercer, as if all the stray gleamsof light were concentrating in one spot; the distant hills, rimmed withpriest-like firs, stood out in dark distinctness against it. Anne lookedacross the still, white fields, cold and lifeless in the harsh light ofthat grim sunset, and sighed. She was very lonely; and she was sad atheart; for she was wondering if she would be able to return to Redmondnext year. It did not seem likely. The only scholarship possible in theSophomore year was a very small affair. She would not take Marilla'smoney; and there seemed little prospect of being able to earn enough inthe summer vacation. 

"I suppose I'll just have to drop out next year, " she thought drearily, "and teach a district school again until I earn enough to finish mycourse. And by that time all my old class will have graduated andPatty's Place will be out of the question. But there! I'm not going tobe a coward. I'm thankful I can earn my way through if necessary. "

"Here's Mr. Harrison wading up the lane, " announced Davy, running out. "I hope he's brought the mail. It's three days since we got it. I wantto see what them pesky Grits are doing. I'm a Conservative, Anne. And Itell you, you have to keep your eye on them Grits. "

Mr. Harrison had brought the mail, and merry letters from Stella andPriscilla and Phil soon dissipated Anne's blues. Aunt Jamesina, too, hadwritten, saying that she was keeping the hearth-fire alight, and thatthe cats were all well, and the house plants doing fine. 

"The weather has been real cold, " she wrote, "so I let the cats sleepin the house--Rusty and Joseph on the sofa in the living-room, and theSarah-cat on the foot of my bed. It's real company to hear her purringwhen I wake up in the night and think of my poor daughter in the foreignfield. If it was anywhere but in India I wouldn't worry, but they saythe snakes out there are terrible. It takes all the Sarah-cats's purringto drive away the thought of those snakes. I have enough faith foreverything but the snakes. I can't think why Providence ever made them. Sometimes I don't think He did. I'm inclined to believe the Old Harryhad a hand in making THEM. "

Anne had left a thin, typewritten communication till the last, thinkingit unimportant. When she had read it she sat very still, with tears inher eyes. 

"What is the matter, Anne?" asked Marilla. 

"Miss Josephine Barry is dead, " said Anne, in a low tone. 

"So she has gone at last, " said Marilla. "Well, she has been sick forover a year, and the Barrys have been expecting to hear of her death anytime. It is well she is at rest for she has suffered dreadfully, Anne. She was always kind to you. "

"She has been kind to the last, Marilla. This letter is from her lawyer. She has left me a thousand dollars in her will. "

"Gracious, ain't that an awful lot of money, " exclaimed Davy. "She'sthe woman you and Diana lit on when you jumped into the spare room bed, ain't she? Diana told me that story. Is that why she left you so much?"

"Hush, Davy, " said Anne gently. She slipped away to the porch gable witha full heart, leaving Marilla and Mrs. Lynde to talk over the news totheir hearts' content. 

"Do you s'pose Anne will ever get married now?" speculated Davyanxiously. "When Dorcas Sloane got married last summer she said if she'dhad enough money to live on she'd never have been bothered with aman, but even a widower with eight children was better'n living with asister-in-law. "

"Davy Keith, do hold your tongue, " said Mrs. Rachel severely. "The wayyou talk is scandalous for a small boy, that's what. "

Chapter XIX

An Interlude

"To think that this is my twentieth birthday, and that I've left myteens behind me forever, " said Anne, who was curled up on the hearth-rugwith Rusty in her lap, to Aunt Jamesina who was reading in her petchair. They were alone in the living room. Stella and Priscilla hadgone to a committee meeting and Phil was upstairs adorning herself for aparty. 

"I suppose you feel kind of, sorry" said Aunt Jamesina. "The teens aresuch a nice part of life. I'm glad I've never gone out of them myself. "

Anne laughed. 

"You never will, Aunty. You'll be eighteen when you should be a hundred. Yes, I'm sorry, and a little dissatisfied as well. Miss Stacy told melong ago that by the time I was twenty my character would be formed, for good or evil. I don't feel that it's what it should be. It's full offlaws. "

"So's everybody's, " said Aunt Jamesina cheerfully. "Mine's cracked ina hundred places. Your Miss Stacy likely meant that when you are twentyyour character would have got its permanent bent in one direction or'tother, and would go on developing in that line. Don't worry over it, Anne. Do your duty by God and your neighbor and yourself, and have agood time. That's my philosophy and it's always worked pretty well. Where's Phil off to tonight?"

"She's going to a dance, and she's got the sweetest dress for it--creamyyellow silk and cobwebby lace. It just suits those brown tints of hers. "

"There's magic in the words 'silk' and 'lace, ' isn't there?" said AuntJamesina. "The very sound of them makes me feel like skipping off toa dance. And YELLOW silk. It makes one think of a dress of sunshine. I always wanted a yellow silk dress, but first my mother and then myhusband wouldn't hear of it. The very first thing I'm going to do when Iget to heaven is to get a yellow silk dress. "

Amid Anne's peal of laughter Phil came downstairs, trailing clouds ofglory, and surveyed herself in the long oval mirror on the wall. 

"A flattering looking glass is a promoter of amiability, " she said. "The one in my room does certainly make me green. Do I look pretty nice, Anne?"

"Do you really know how pretty you are, Phil?" asked Anne, in honestadmiration. 

"Of course I do. What are looking glasses and men for? That wasn't whatI meant. Are all my ends tucked in? Is my skirt straight? And would thisrose look better lower down? I'm afraid it's too high--it will make melook lop-sided. But I hate things tickling my ears. "

"Everything is just right, and that southwest dimple of yours islovely. "

"Anne, there's one thing in particular I like about you--you're soungrudging. There isn't a particle of envy in you. "

"Why should she be envious?" demanded Aunt Jamesina. "She's not quite asgoodlooking as you, maybe, but she's got a far handsomer nose. "

"I know it, " conceded Phil. 

"My nose always has been a great comfort to me, " confessed Anne. 

"And I love the way your hair grows on your forehead, Anne. And thatone wee curl, always looking as if it were going to drop, but neverdropping, is delicious. But as for noses, mine is a dreadful worry tome. I know by the time I'm forty it will be Byrney. What do you thinkI'll look like when I'm forty, Anne?"

"Like an old, matronly, married woman, " teased Anne. 

"I won't, " said Phil, sitting down comfortably to wait for her escort. "Joseph, you calico beastie, don't you dare jump on my lap. I won't goto a dance all over cat hairs. No, Anne, I WON'T look matronly. But nodoubt I'll be married. "

"To Alec or Alonzo?" asked Anne. 

"To one of them, I suppose, " sighed Phil, "if I can ever decide which. "

"It shouldn't be hard to decide, " scolded Aunt Jamesina. 

"I was born a see-saw Aunty, and nothing can ever prevent me fromteetering. "

"You ought to be more levelheaded, Philippa. "

"It's best to be levelheaded, of course, " agreed Philippa, "but you misslots of fun. As for Alec and Alonzo, if you knew them you'd understandwhy it's difficult to choose between them. They're equally nice. "

"Then take somebody who is nicer" suggested Aunt Jamesina. "There's thatSenior who is so devoted to you--Will Leslie. He has such nice, large, mild eyes. "

"They're a little bit too large and too mild--like a cow's, " said Philcruelly. 

"What do you say about George Parker?"

"There's nothing to say about him except that he always looks as if hehad just been starched and ironed. "

"Marr Holworthy then. You can't find a fault with him. "

"No, he would do if he wasn't poor. I must marry a rich man, AuntJamesina. That--and good looks--is an indispensable qualification. I'dmarry Gilbert Blythe if he were rich. "

"Oh, would you?" said Anne, rather viciously. 

"We don't like that idea a little bit, although we don't want Gilbertourselves, oh, no, " mocked Phil. "But don't let's talk of disagreeablesubjects. I'll have to marry sometime, I suppose, but I shall put offthe evil day as long as I can. "

"You mustn't marry anybody you don't love, Phil, when all's said anddone, " said Aunt Jamesina. 

 "'Oh, hearts that loved in the good old way Have been out o' the fashion this many a day. '"

trilled Phil mockingly. "There's the carriage. I fly--Bi-bi, you twoold-fashioned darlings. "

When Phil had gone Aunt Jamesina looked solemnly at Anne. 

"That girl is pretty and sweet and goodhearted, but do you think she isquite right in her mind, by spells, Anne?"

"Oh, I don't think there's anything the matter with Phil's mind, " saidAnne, hiding a smile. "It's just her way of talking. "

Aunt Jamesina shook her head. 

"Well, I hope so, Anne. I do hope so, because I love her. But _I_ can'tunderstand her--she beats me. She isn't like any of the girls I everknew, or any of the girls I was myself. "

"How many girls were you, Aunt Jimsie?"

"About half a dozen, my dear. "

Chapter XX

Gilbert Speaks

"This has been a dull, prosy day, " yawned Phil, stretching herself idlyon the sofa, having previously dispossessed two exceedingly indignantcats. 

Anne looked up from Pickwick Papers. Now that spring examinations wereover she was treating herself to Dickens. 

"It has been a prosy day for us, " she said thoughtfully, "but to somepeople it has been a wonderful day. Some one has been rapturously happyin it. Perhaps a great deed has been done somewhere today--or a greatpoem written--or a great man born. And some heart has been broken, Phil. "

"Why did you spoil your pretty thought by tagging that last sentenceon, honey?" grumbled Phil. "I don't like to think of broken hearts--oranything unpleasant. "

"Do you think you'll be able to shirk unpleasant things all your life, Phil?"

"Dear me, no. Am I not up against them now? You don't call Alec andAlonzo pleasant things, do you, when they simply plague my life out?"

"You never take anything seriously, Phil. "

"Why should I? There are enough folks who do. The world needs peoplelike me, Anne, just to amuse it. It would be a terrible place ifEVERYBODY were intellectual and serious and in deep, deadly earnest. MYmission is, as Josiah Allen says, 'to charm and allure. ' Confess now. Hasn't life at Patty's Place been really much brighter and pleasanterthis past winter because I've been here to leaven you?"

"Yes, it has, " owned Anne. 

"And you all love me--even Aunt Jamesina, who thinks I'm stark mad. Sowhy should I try to be different? Oh, dear, I'm so sleepy. I was awakeuntil one last night, reading a harrowing ghost story. I read it in bed, and after I had finished it do you suppose I could get out of bed to putthe light out? No! And if Stella had not fortunately come in late thatlamp would have burned good and bright till morning. When I heard StellaI called her in, explained my predicament, and got her to put out thelight. If I had got out myself to do it I knew something would grabme by the feet when I was getting in again. By the way, Anne, has AuntJamesina decided what to do this summer?"

"Yes, she's going to stay here. I know she's doing it for the sake ofthose blessed cats, although she says it's too much trouble to open herown house, and she hates visiting. "

"What are you reading?"

"Pickwick. "

"That's a book that always makes me hungry, " said Phil. "There's so muchgood eating in it. The characters seem always to be reveling on ham andeggs and milk punch. I generally go on a cupboard rummage after readingPickwick. The mere thought reminds me that I'm starving. Is there anytidbit in the pantry, Queen Anne?"

"I made a lemon pie this morning. You may have a piece of it. "

Phil dashed out to the pantry and Anne betook herself to the orchard incompany with Rusty. It was a moist, pleasantly-odorous night in earlyspring. The snow was not quite all gone from the park; a little dingybank of it yet lay under the pines of the harbor road, screened from theinfluence of April suns. It kept the harbor road muddy, and chilled theevening air. But grass was growing green in sheltered spots and Gilberthad found some pale, sweet arbutus in a hidden corner. He came up fromthe park, his hands full of it. 

Anne was sitting on the big gray boulder in the orchard looking at thepoem of a bare, birchen bough hanging against the pale red sunsetwith the very perfection of grace. She was building a castle in air--awondrous mansion whose sunlit courts and stately halls were steeped inAraby's perfume, and where she reigned queen and chatelaine. She frownedas she saw Gilbert coming through the orchard. Of late she had managednot to be left alone with Gilbert. But he had caught her fairly now; andeven Rusty had deserted her. 

Gilbert sat down beside her on the boulder and held out his Mayflowers. 

"Don't these remind you of home and our old schoolday picnics, Anne?"

Anne took them and buried her face in them. 

"I'm in Mr. Silas Sloane's barrens this very minute, " she saidrapturously. 

"I suppose you will be there in reality in a few days?"

"No, not for a fortnight. I'm going to visit with Phil in Bolingbrokebefore I go home. You'll be in Avonlea before I will. "

"No, I shall not be in Avonlea at all this summer, Anne. I've beenoffered a job in the Daily News office and I'm going to take it. "

"Oh, " said Anne vaguely. She wondered what a whole Avonlea summer wouldbe like without Gilbert. Somehow she did not like the prospect. "Well, "she concluded flatly, "it is a good thing for you, of course. "

"Yes, I've been hoping I would get it. It will help me out next year. "

"You mustn't work too HARD, " said Anne, without any very clear idea ofwhat she was saying. She wished desperately that Phil would come out. "You've studied very constantly this winter. Isn't this a delightfulevening? Do you know, I found a cluster of white violets under thatold twisted tree over there today? I felt as if I had discovered a goldmine. "

"You are always discovering gold mines, " said Gilbert--also absently. 

"Let us go and see if we can find some more, " suggested Anne eagerly. "I'll call Phil and--"

"Never mind Phil and the violets just now, Anne, " said Gilbert quietly, taking her hand in a clasp from which she could not free it. "There issomething I want to say to you. "

"Oh, don't say it, " cried Anne, pleadingly. "Don't--PLEASE, Gilbert. "

"I must. Things can't go on like this any longer. Anne, I love you. Youknow I do. I--I can't tell you how much. Will you promise me that someday you'll be my wife?"

"I--I can't, " said Anne miserably. "Oh, Gilbert--you--you've spoiledeverything. "

"Don't you care for me at all?" Gilbert asked after a very dreadfulpause, during which Anne had not dared to look up. 

"Not--not in that way. I do care a great deal for you as a friend. But Idon't love you, Gilbert. "

"But can't you give me some hope that you will--yet?"

"No, I can't, " exclaimed Anne desperately. "I never, never can loveyou--in that way--Gilbert. You must never speak of this to me again. "

There was another pause--so long and so dreadful that Anne was driven atlast to look up. Gilbert's face was white to the lips. And his eyes--butAnne shuddered and looked away. There was nothing romantic about this. Must proposals be either grotesque or--horrible? Could she ever forgetGilbert's face?

"Is there anybody else?" he asked at last in a low voice. 

"No--no, " said Anne eagerly. "I don't care for any one like THAT--and ILIKE you better than anybody else in the world, Gilbert. And we must--wemust go on being friends, Gilbert. "

Gilbert gave a bitter little laugh. 

"Friends! Your friendship can't satisfy me, Anne. I want your love--andyou tell me I can never have that. "

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, Gilbert, " was all Anne could say. Where, oh, where were all the gracious and graceful speeches wherewith, inimagination, she had been wont to dismiss rejected suitors?

Gilbert released her hand gently. 

"There isn't anything to forgive. There have been times when I thoughtyou did care. I've deceived myself, that's all. Goodbye, Anne. "

Anne got herself to her room, sat down on her window seat behindthe pines, and cried bitterly. She felt as if something incalculablyprecious had gone out of her life. It was Gilbert's friendship, ofcourse. Oh, why must she lose it after this fashion?

"What is the matter, honey?" asked Phil, coming in through the moonlitgloom. 

Anne did not answer. At that moment she wished Phil were a thousandmiles away. 

"I suppose you've gone and refused Gilbert Blythe. You are an idiot, Anne Shirley!"

"Do you call it idiotic to refuse to marry a man I don't love?" saidAnne coldly, goaded to reply. 

"You don't know love when you see it. You've tricked something out withyour imagination that you think love, and you expect the real thing tolook like that. There, that's the first sensible thing I've ever said inmy life. I wonder how I managed it?"

"Phil, " pleaded Anne, "please go away and leave me alone for a littlewhile. My world has tumbled into pieces. I want to reconstruct it. "

"Without any Gilbert in it?" said Phil, going. 

A world without any Gilbert in it! Anne repeated the words drearily. Would it not be a very lonely, forlorn place? Well, it was all Gilbert'sfault. He had spoiled their beautiful comradeship. She must just learnto live without it. 

Chapter XXI

Roses of Yesterday

The fortnight Anne spent in Bolingbroke was a very pleasant one, with alittle under current of vague pain and dissatisfaction running throughit whenever she thought about Gilbert. There was not, however, much timeto think about him. "Mount Holly, " the beautiful old Gordon homestead, was a very gay place, overrun by Phil's friends of both sexes. There wasquite a bewildering succession of drives, dances, picnics and boatingparties, all expressively lumped together by Phil under the head of"jamborees"; Alec and Alonzo were so constantly on hand that Annewondered if they ever did anything but dance attendance on thatwill-o'-the-wisp of a Phil. They were both nice, manly fellows, but Annewould not be drawn into any opinion as to which was the nicer. 

"And I depended so on you to help me make up my mind which of them Ishould promise to marry, " mourned Phil. 

"You must do that for yourself. You are quite expert at making upyour mind as to whom other people should marry, " retorted Anne, rathercaustically. 

"Oh, that's a very different thing, " said Phil, truly. 

But the sweetest incident of Anne's sojourn in Bolingbroke was the visitto her birthplace--the little shabby yellow house in an out-of-the-waystreet she had so often dreamed about. She looked at it with delightedeyes, as she and Phil turned in at the gate. 

"It's almost exactly as I've pictured it, " she said. "There is nohoneysuckle over the windows, but there is a lilac tree by the gate, and--yes, there are the muslin curtains in the windows. How glad I am itis still painted yellow. "

A very tall, very thin woman opened the door. 

"Yes, the Shirleys lived here twenty years ago, " she said, in answer toAnne's question. "They had it rented. I remember 'em. They both died offever at onct. It was turrible sad. They left a baby. I guess it's deadlong ago. It was a sickly thing. Old Thomas and his wife took it--as ifthey hadn't enough of their own. "

"It didn't die, " said Anne, smiling. "I was that baby. "

"You don't say so! Why, you have grown, " exclaimed the woman, as if shewere much surprised that Anne was not still a baby. "Come to look atyou, I see the resemblance. You're complected like your pa. He hadred hair. But you favor your ma in your eyes and mouth. She was a nicelittle thing. My darter went to school to her and was nigh crazy abouther. They was buried in the one grave and the School Board put up atombstone to them as a reward for faithful service. Will you come in?"

"Will you let me go all over the house?" asked Anne eagerly. 

"Laws, yes, you can if you like. 'Twon't take you long--there ain't muchof it. I keep at my man to build a new kitchen, but he ain't one of yourhustlers. The parlor's in there and there's two rooms upstairs. Justprowl about yourselves. I've got to see to the baby. The east room wasthe one you were born in. I remember your ma saying she loved to see thesunrise; and I mind hearing that you was born just as the sun was risingand its light on your face was the first thing your ma saw. "

Anne went up the narrow stairs and into that little east room with afull heart. It was as a shrine to her. Here her mother had dreamed theexquisite, happy dreams of anticipated motherhood; here that red sunriselight had fallen over them both in the sacred hour of birth; here hermother had died. Anne looked about her reverently, her eyes with tears. It was for her one of the jeweled hours of life that gleam out radiantlyforever in memory. 

"Just to think of it--mother was younger than I am now when I was born, "she whispered. 

When Anne went downstairs the lady of the house met her in the hall. Sheheld out a dusty little packet tied with faded blue ribbon. 

"Here's a bundle of old letters I found in that closet upstairs when Icame here, " she said. "I dunno what they are--I never bothered to lookin 'em, but the address on the top one is 'Miss Bertha Willis, ' and thatwas your ma's maiden name. You can take 'em if you'd keer to have 'em. "

"Oh, thank you--thank you, " cried Anne, clasping the packet rapturously. 

"That was all that was in the house, " said her hostess. "The furniturewas all sold to pay the doctor bills, and Mrs. Thomas got your ma'sclothes and little things. I reckon they didn't last long among thatdrove of Thomas youngsters. They was destructive young animals, as Imind 'em. "

"I haven't one thing that belonged to my mother, " said Anne, chokily. "I--I can never thank you enough for these letters. "

"You're quite welcome. Laws, but your eyes is like your ma's. She couldjust about talk with hers. Your father was sorter homely but awful nice. I mind hearing folks say when they was married that there never was twopeople more in love with each other--Pore creatures, they didn't livemuch longer; but they was awful happy while they was alive, and I s'posethat counts for a good deal. "

Anne longed to get home to read her precious letters; but she made onelittle pilgrimage first. She went alone to the green corner of the "old"Bolingbroke cemetery where her father and mother were buried, and lefton their grave the white flowers she carried. Then she hastened backto Mount Holly, shut herself up in her room, and read the letters. Some were written by her father, some by her mother. There were notmany--only a dozen in all--for Walter and Bertha Shirley had not beenoften separated during their courtship. The letters were yellow andfaded and dim, blurred with the touch of passing years. No profoundwords of wisdom were traced on the stained and wrinkled pages, but onlylines of love and trust. The sweetness of forgotten things clung tothem--the far-off, fond imaginings of those long-dead lovers. BerthaShirley had possessed the gift of writing letters which embodied thecharming personality of the writer in words and thoughts that retainedtheir beauty and fragrance after the lapse of time. The letters weretender, intimate, sacred. To Anne, the sweetest of all was the onewritten after her birth to the father on a brief absence. It was fullof a proud young mother's accounts of "baby"--her cleverness, herbrightness, her thousand sweetnesses. 

"I love her best when she is asleep and better still when she is awake, "Bertha Shirley had written in the postscript. Probably it was the lastsentence she had ever penned. The end was very near for her. 

"This has been the most beautiful day of my life, " Anne said to Philthat night. "I've FOUND my father and mother. Those letters have madethem REAL to me. I'm not an orphan any longer. I feel as if I had openeda book and found roses of yesterday, sweet and beloved, between itsleaves. "

Chapter XXII

Spring and Anne Return to Green Gables

The firelight shadows were dancing over the kitchen walls at GreenGables, for the spring evening was chilly; through the open east windowdrifted in the subtly sweet voices of the night. Marilla was sitting bythe fire--at least, in body. In spirit she was roaming olden ways, withfeet grown young. Of late Marilla had thus spent many an hour, when shethought she should have been knitting for the twins. 

"I suppose I'm growing old, " she said. 

Yet Marilla had changed but little in the past nine years, save to growsomething thinner, and even more angular; there was a little more grayin the hair that was still twisted up in the same hard knot, with twohairpins--WERE they the same hairpins?--still stuck through it. But herexpression was very different; the something about the mouth which hadhinted at a sense of humor had developed wonderfully; her eyes weregentler and milder, her smile more frequent and tender. 

Marilla was thinking of her whole past life, her cramped but not unhappychildhood, the jealously hidden dreams and the blighted hopes of hergirlhood, the long, gray, narrow, monotonous years of dull middle lifethat followed. And the coming of Anne--the vivid, imaginative, impetuouschild with her heart of love, and her world of fancy, bringing with hercolor and warmth and radiance, until the wilderness of existence hadblossomed like the rose. Marilla felt that out of her sixty years shehad lived only the nine that had followed the advent of Anne. And Annewould be home tomorrow night. 

The kitchen door opened. Marilla looked up expecting to see Mrs. Lynde. Anne stood before her, tall and starry-eyed, with her hands full ofMayflowers and violets. 

"Anne Shirley!" exclaimed Marilla. For once in her life she wassurprised out of her reserve; she caught her girl in her arms andcrushed her and her flowers against her heart, kissing the bright hairand sweet face warmly. "I never looked for you till tomorrow night. Howdid you get from Carmody?"

"Walked, dearest of Marillas. Haven't I done it a score of times inthe Queen's days? The mailman is to bring my trunk tomorrow; I just gothomesick all at once, and came a day earlier. And oh! I've had such alovely walk in the May twilight; I stopped by the barrens and pickedthese Mayflowers; I came through Violet-Vale; it's just a big bowlfulof violets now--the dear, sky-tinted things. Smell them, Marilla--drinkthem in. "

Marilla sniffed obligingly, but she was more interested in Anne than indrinking violets. 

"Sit down, child. You must be real tired. I'm going to get you somesupper. "

"There's a darling moonrise behind the hills tonight, Marilla, and oh, how the frogs sang me home from Carmody! I do love the music of thefrogs. It seems bound up with all my happiest recollections of oldspring evenings. And it always reminds me of the night I came herefirst. Do you remember it, Marilla?"

"Well, yes, " said Marilla with emphasis. "I'm not likely to forget itever. "

"They used to sing so madly in the marsh and brook that year. I wouldlisten to them at my window in the dusk, and wonder how they could seemso glad and so sad at the same time. Oh, but it's good to be home again!Redmond was splendid and Bolingbroke delightful--but Green Gables isHOME. "

"Gilbert isn't coming home this summer, I hear, " said Marilla. 

"No. " Something in Anne's tone made Marilla glance at her sharply, butAnne was apparently absorbed in arranging her violets in a bowl. "See, aren't they sweet?" she went on hurriedly. "The year is a book, isn'tit, Marilla? Spring's pages are written in Mayflowers and violets, summer's in roses, autumn's in red maple leaves, and winter in holly andevergreen. "

"Did Gilbert do well in his examinations?" persisted Marilla. 

"Excellently well. He led his class. But where are the twins and Mrs. Lynde?"

"Rachel and Dora are over at Mr. Harrison's. Davy is down at Boulters'. I think I hear him coming now. "

Davy burst in, saw Anne, stopped, and then hurled himself upon her witha joyful yell. 

"Oh, Anne, ain't I glad to see you! Say, Anne, I've grown two inchessince last fall. Mrs. Lynde measured me with her tape today, and say, Anne, see my front tooth. It's gone. Mrs. Lynde tied one end of a stringto it and the other end to the door, and then shut the door. I sold itto Milty for two cents. Milty's collecting teeth. "

"What in the world does he want teeth for?" asked Marilla. 

"To make a necklace for playing Indian Chief, " explained Davy, climbingupon Anne's lap. "He's got fifteen already, and everybody's else'spromised, so there's no use in the rest of us starting to collect, too. I tell you the Boulters are great business people. "

"Were you a good boy at Mrs. Boulter's?" asked Marilla severely. 

"Yes; but say, Marilla, I'm tired of being good. "

"You'd get tired of being bad much sooner, Davy-boy, " said Anne. 

"Well, it'd be fun while it lasted, wouldn't it?" persisted Davy. "Icould be sorry for it afterwards, couldn't I?"

"Being sorry wouldn't do away with the consequences of being bad, Davy. Don't you remember the Sunday last summer when you ran away from SundaySchool? You told me then that being bad wasn't worth while. What wereyou and Milty doing today?"

"Oh, we fished and chased the cat, and hunted for eggs, and yelled atthe echo. There's a great echo in the bush behind the Boulter barn. Say, what is echo, Anne; I want to know. "

"Echo is a beautiful nymph, Davy, living far away in the woods, andlaughing at the world from among the hills. "

"What does she look like?"

"Her hair and eyes are dark, but her neck and arms are white as snow. No mortal can ever see how fair she is. She is fleeter than a deer, andthat mocking voice of hers is all we can know of her. You can hear hercalling at night; you can hear her laughing under the stars. But youcan never see her. She flies afar if you follow her, and laughs at youalways just over the next hill. "

"Is that true, Anne? Or is it a whopper?" demanded Davy staring. 

"Davy, " said Anne despairingly, "haven't you sense enough to distinguishbetween a fairytale and a falsehood?"

"Then what is it that sasses back from the Boulter bush? I want toknow, " insisted Davy. 

"When you are a little older, Davy, I'll explain it all to you. "

The mention of age evidently gave a new turn to Davy's thoughts forafter a few moments of reflection, he whispered solemnly:

"Anne, I'm going to be married. "

"When?" asked Anne with equal solemnity. 

"Oh, not until I'm grown-up, of course. "

"Well, that's a relief, Davy. Who is the lady?"

"Stella Fletcher; she's in my class at school. And say, Anne, she's theprettiest girl you ever saw. If I die before I grow up you'll keep aneye on her, won't you?"

"Davy Keith, do stop talking such nonsense, " said Marilla severely. 

"'Tisn't nonsense, " protested Davy in an injured tone. "She's mypromised wife, and if I was to die she'd be my promised widow, wouldn'tshe? And she hasn't got a soul to look after her except her oldgrandmother. "

"Come and have your supper, Anne, " said Marilla, "and don't encouragethat child in his absurd talk. "

Chapter XXIII

Paul Cannot Find the Rock People

Life was very pleasant in Avonlea that summer, although Anne, amidall her vacation joys, was haunted by a sense of "something gone whichshould be there. " She would not admit, even in her inmost reflections, that this was caused by Gilbert's absence. But when she had to walk homealone from prayer meetings and A. V. I. S. Pow-wows, while Diana and Fred, and many other gay couples, loitered along the dusky, starlit countryroads, there was a queer, lonely ache in her heart which she could notexplain away. Gilbert did not even write to her, as she thought he mighthave done. She knew he wrote to Diana occasionally, but she wouldnot inquire about him; and Diana, supposing that Anne heard from him, volunteered no information. Gilbert's mother, who was a gay, frank, light-hearted lady, but not overburdened with tact, had a veryembarrassing habit of asking Anne, always in a painfully distinct voiceand always in the presence of a crowd, if she had heard from Gilbertlately. Poor Anne could only blush horribly and murmur, "not verylately, " which was taken by all, Mrs. Blythe included, to be merely amaidenly evasion. 

Apart from this, Anne enjoyed her summer. Priscilla came for a merryvisit in June; and, when she had gone, Mr. And Mrs. Irving, Paul andCharlotta the Fourth came "home" for July and August. 

Echo Lodge was the scene of gaieties once more, and the echoes over theriver were kept busy mimicking the laughter that rang in the old gardenbehind the spruces. 

"Miss Lavendar" had not changed, except to grow even sweeter andprettier. Paul adored her, and the companionship between them wasbeautiful to see. 

"But I don't call her 'mother' just by itself, " he explained to Anne. "You see, THAT name belongs just to my own little mother, and I can'tgive it to any one else. You know, teacher. But I call her 'MotherLavendar' and I love her next best to father. I--I even love her aLITTLE better than you, teacher. "

"Which is just as it ought to be, " answered Anne. 

Paul was thirteen now and very tall for his years. His face and eyeswere as beautiful as ever, and his fancy was still like a prism, separating everything that fell upon it into rainbows. He and Anne haddelightful rambles to wood and field and shore. Never were there twomore thoroughly "kindred spirits. "

Charlotta the Fourth had blossomed out into young ladyhood. She wore herhair now in an enormous pompador and had discarded the blue ribbon bowsof auld lang syne, but her face was as freckled, her nose as snubbed, and her mouth and smiles as wide as ever. 

"You don't think I talk with a Yankee accent, do you, Miss Shirley, ma'am?" she demanded anxiously. 

"I don't notice it, Charlotta. "

"I'm real glad of that. They said I did at home, but I thought likelythey just wanted to aggravate me. I don't want no Yankee accent. Notthat I've a word to say against the Yankees, Miss Shirley, ma'am. They're real civilized. But give me old P. E. Island every time. "

Paul spent his first fortnight with his grandmother Irving in Avonlea. Anne was there to meet him when he came, and found him wild witheagerness to get to the shore--Nora and the Golden Lady and the TwinSailors would be there. He could hardly wait to eat his supper. Couldhe not see Nora's elfin face peering around the point, watching for himwistfully? But it was a very sober Paul who came back from the shore inthe twilight. 

"Didn't you find your Rock People?" asked Anne. 

Paul shook his chestnut curls sorrowfully. 

"The Twin Sailors and the Golden Lady never came at all, " he said. "Norawas there--but Nora is not the same, teacher. She is changed. "

"Oh, Paul, it is you who are changed, " said Anne. "You have grown tooold for the Rock People. They like only children for playfellows. Iam afraid the Twin Sailors will never again come to you in the pearly, enchanted boat with the sail of moonshine; and the Golden Lady will playno more for you on her golden harp. Even Nora will not meet you muchlonger. You must pay the penalty of growing-up, Paul. You must leavefairyland behind you. "

"You two talk as much foolishness as ever you did, " said old Mrs. Irving, half-indulgently, half-reprovingly. 

"Oh, no, we don't, " said Anne, shaking her head gravely. "We are gettingvery, very wise, and it is such a pity. We are never half so interestingwhen we have learned that language is given us to enable us to concealour thoughts. "

"But it isn't--it is given us to exchange our thoughts, " said Mrs. Irving seriously. She had never heard of Tallyrand and did notunderstand epigrams. 

Anne spent a fortnight of halcyon days at Echo Lodge in the golden primeof August. While there she incidentally contrived to hurry Ludovic Speedin his leisurely courting of Theodora Dix, as related duly in anotherchronicle of her history. (1) Arnold Sherman, an elderly friend of theIrvings, was there at the same time, and added not a little to thegeneral pleasantness of life. 

 (1 Chronicles of Avonlea. )

"What a nice play-time this has been, " said Anne. "I feel like a giantrefreshed. And it's only a fortnight more till I go back to Kingsport, and Redmond and Patty's Place. Patty's Place is the dearest spot, MissLavendar. I feel as if I had two homes--one at Green Gables and oneat Patty's Place. But where has the summer gone? It doesn't seem a daysince I came home that spring evening with the Mayflowers. When Iwas little I couldn't see from one end of the summer to the other. Itstretched before me like an unending season. Now, ''tis a handbreadth, 'tis a tale. '"

"Anne, are you and Gilbert Blythe as good friends as you used to be?"asked Miss Lavendar quietly. 

"I am just as much Gilbert's friend as ever I was, Miss Lavendar. "

Miss Lavendar shook her head. 

"I see something's gone wrong, Anne. I'm going to be impertinent and askwhat. Have you quarrelled?"

"No; it's only that Gilbert wants more than friendship and I can't givehim more. "

"Are you sure of that, Anne?"

"Perfectly sure. "

"I'm very, very sorry. "

"I wonder why everybody seems to think I ought to marry Gilbert Blythe, "said Anne petulantly. 

"Because you were made and meant for each other, Anne--that is why. Youneedn't toss that young head of yours. It's a fact. "

Chapter XXIV

Enter Jonas

"PROSPECT POINT, "August 20th. 

"Dear Anne--spelled--with--an--E, " wrote Phil, "I must prop my eyelidsopen long enough to write you. I've neglected you shamefully thissummer, honey, but all my other correspondents have been neglected, too. I have a huge pile of letters to answer, so I must gird up the loinsof my mind and hoe in. Excuse my mixed metaphors. I'm fearfully sleepy. Last night Cousin Emily and I were calling at a neighbor's. There wereseveral other callers there, and as soon as those unfortunate creaturesleft, our hostess and her three daughters picked them all to pieces. Iknew they would begin on Cousin Emily and me as soon as the door shutbehind us. When we came home Mrs. Lilly informed us that the aforesaidneighbor's hired boy was supposed to be down with scarlet fever. You canalways trust Mrs. Lilly to tell you cheerful things like that. I havea horror of scarlet fever. I couldn't sleep when I went to bed forthinking of it. I tossed and tumbled about, dreaming fearful dreams whenI did snooze for a minute; and at three I wakened up with a high fever, a sore throat, and a raging headache. I knew I had scarlet fever; I gotup in a panic and hunted up Cousin Emily's 'doctor book' to read up thesymptoms. Anne, I had them all. So I went back to bed, and knowing theworst, slept like a top the rest of the night. Though why a top shouldsleep sounder than anything else I never could understand. But thismorning I was quite well, so it couldn't have been the fever. I supposeif I did catch it last night it couldn't have developed so soon. I canremember that in daytime, but at three o'clock at night I never can belogical. 

"I suppose you wonder what I'm doing at Prospect Point. Well, I alwayslike to spend a month of summer at the shore, and father insists thatI come to his second-cousin Emily's 'select boardinghouse' at ProspectPoint. So a fortnight ago I came as usual. And as usual old 'Uncle MarkMiller' brought me from the station with his ancient buggy and what hecalls his 'generous purpose' horse. He is a nice old man and gave mea handful of pink peppermints. Peppermints always seem to me such areligious sort of candy--I suppose because when I was a little girlGrandmother Gordon always gave them to me in church. Once I asked, referring to the smell of peppermints, 'Is that the odor of sanctity?' Ididn't like to eat Uncle Mark's peppermints because he just fished themloose out of his pocket, and had to pick some rusty nails and otherthings from among them before he gave them to me. But I wouldn't hurthis dear old feelings for anything, so I carefully sowed them along theroad at intervals. When the last one was gone, Uncle Mark said, a littlerebukingly, 'Ye shouldn't a'et all them candies to onct, Miss Phil. You'll likely have the stummick-ache. '

"Cousin Emily has only five boarders besides myself--four old ladies andone young man. My right-hand neighbor is Mrs. Lilly. She is one of thosepeople who seem to take a gruesome pleasure in detailing all their manyaches and pains and sicknesses. You cannot mention any ailment but shesays, shaking her head, 'Ah, I know too well what that is'--and then youget all the details. Jonas declares he once spoke of locomotor ataxia inhearing and she said she knew too well what that was. She suffered fromit for ten years and was finally cured by a traveling doctor. 

"Who is Jonas? Just wait, Anne Shirley. You'll hear all about Jonas inthe proper time and place. He is not to be mixed up with estimable oldladies. 

"My left-hand neighbor at the table is Mrs. Phinney. She always speakswith a wailing, dolorous voice--you are nervously expecting her to burstinto tears every moment. She gives you the impression that life to heris indeed a vale of tears, and that a smile, never to speak of a laugh, is a frivolity truly reprehensible. She has a worse opinion of me thanAunt Jamesina, and she doesn't love me hard to atone for it, as Aunty J. Does, either. 

"Miss Maria Grimsby sits cati-corner from me. The first day I came Iremarked to Miss Maria that it looked a little like rain--and Miss Marialaughed. I said the road from the station was very pretty--and MissMaria laughed. I said there seemed to be a few mosquitoes left yet--andMiss Maria laughed. I said that Prospect Point was as beautiful asever--and Miss Maria laughed. If I were to say to Miss Maria, 'My fatherhas hanged himself, my mother has taken poison, my brother is in thepenitentiary, and I am in the last stages of consumption, ' Miss Mariawould laugh. She can't help it--she was born so; but is very sad andawful. 

"The fifth old lady is Mrs. Grant. She is a sweet old thing; butshe never says anything but good of anybody and so she is a veryuninteresting conversationalist. 

"And now for Jonas, Anne. 

"That first day I came I saw a young man sitting opposite me at thetable, smiling at me as if he had known me from my cradle. I knew, forUncle Mark had told me, that his name was Jonas Blake, that he was aTheological Student from St. Columbia, and that he had taken charge ofthe Point Prospect Mission Church for the summer. 

"He is a very ugly young man--really, the ugliest young man I've everseen. He has a big, loose-jointed figure with absurdly long legs. Hishair is tow-color and lank, his eyes are green, and his mouth is big, and his ears--but I never think about his ears if I can help it. 

"He has a lovely voice--if you shut your eyes he is adorable--and hecertainly has a beautiful soul and disposition. 

"We were good chums right way. Of course he is a graduate of Redmond, and that is a link between us. We fished and boated together; and wewalked on the sands by moonlight. He didn't look so homely by moonlightand oh, he was nice. Niceness fairly exhaled from him. The oldladies--except Mrs. Grant--don't approve of Jonas, because he laughs andjokes--and because he evidently likes the society of frivolous me betterthan theirs. 

"Somehow, Anne, I don't want him to think me frivolous. This isridiculous. Why should I care what a tow-haired person called Jonas, whom I never saw before thinks of me?

"Last Sunday Jonas preached in the village church. I went, of course, but I couldn't realize that Jonas was going to preach. The fact that hewas a minister--or going to be one--persisted in seeming a huge joke tome. 

"Well, Jonas preached. And, by the time he had preached ten minutes, Ifelt so small and insignificant that I thought I must be invisible tothe naked eye. Jonas never said a word about women and he neverlooked at me. But I realized then and there what a pitiful, frivolous, small-souled little butterfly I was, and how horribly different I mustbe from Jonas' ideal woman. SHE would be grand and strong and noble. Hewas so earnest and tender and true. He was everything a minister oughtto be. I wondered how I could ever have thought him ugly--but he reallyis!--with those inspired eyes and that intellectual brow which theroughly-falling hair hid on week days. 

"It was a splendid sermon and I could have listened to it forever, andit made me feel utterly wretched. Oh, I wish I was like YOU, Anne. 

"He caught up with me on the road home, and grinned as cheerfully asusual. But his grin could never deceive me again. I had seen the REALJonas. I wondered if he could ever see the REAL PHIL--whom NOBODY, noteven you, Anne, has ever seen yet. 

"'Jonas, ' I said--I forgot to call him Mr. Blake. Wasn't it dreadful?But there are times when things like that don't matter--'Jonas, you wereborn to be a minister. You COULDN'T be anything else. '

"'No, I couldn't, ' he said soberly. 'I tried to be something else fora long time--I didn't want to be a minister. But I came to see at lastthat it was the work given me to do--and God helping me, I shall try todo it. '

"His voice was low and reverent. I thought that he would do his work anddo it well and nobly; and happy the woman fitted by nature and trainingto help him do it. SHE would be no feather, blown about by every ficklewind of fancy. SHE would always know what hat to put on. Probably shewould have only one. Ministers never have much money. But she wouldn'tmind having one hat or none at all, because she would have Jonas. 

"Anne Shirley, don't you dare to say or hint or think that I'vefallen in love with Mr. Blake. Could I care for a lank, poor, uglytheologue--named Jonas? As Uncle Mark says, 'It's impossible, and what'smore it's improbable. '

"Good night, PHIL. "

"P. S. It is impossible--but I am horribly afraid it's true. I'm happyand wretched and scared. HE can NEVER care for me, I know. Do you thinkI could ever develop into a passable minister's wife, Anne? And WOULDthey expect me to lead in prayer? P G. "

Chapter XXV

Enter Prince Charming

"I'm contrasting the claims of indoors and out, " said Anne, looking fromthe window of Patty's Place to the distant pines of the park. 

"I've an afternoon to spend in sweet doing nothing, Aunt Jimsie. ShallI spend it here where there is a cosy fire, a plateful of deliciousrussets, three purring and harmonious cats, and two impeccable chinadogs with green noses? Or shall I go to the park, where there is thelure of gray woods and of gray water lapping on the harbor rocks?"

"If I was as young as you, I'd decide in favor of the park, " said AuntJamesina, tickling Joseph's yellow ear with a knitting needle. 

"I thought that you claimed to be as young as any of us, Aunty, " teasedAnne. 

"Yes, in my soul. But I'll admit my legs aren't as young as yours. Yougo and get some fresh air, Anne. You look pale lately. "

"I think I'll go to the park, " said Anne restlessly. "I don't feel liketame domestic joys today. I want to feel alone and free and wild. Thepark will be empty, for every one will be at the football match. "

"Why didn't you go to it?"

"'Nobody axed me, sir, she said'--at least, nobody but that horridlittle Dan Ranger. I wouldn't go anywhere with him; but rather than hurthis poor little tender feelings I said I wasn't going to the game atall. I don't mind. I'm not in the mood for football today somehow. "

"You go and get some fresh air, " repeated Aunt Jamesina, "but take yourumbrella, for I believe it's going to rain. I've rheumatism in my leg. "

"Only old people should have rheumatism, Aunty. "

"Anybody is liable to rheumatism in her legs, Anne. It's only old peoplewho should have rheumatism in their souls, though. Thank goodness, Inever have. When you get rheumatism in your soul you might as well goand pick out your coffin. "

It was November--the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines. Anne roamedthrough the pineland alleys in the park and, as she said, let that greatsweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul. Anne was not wont to betroubled with soul fog. But, somehow, since her return to Redmond forthis third year, life had not mirrored her spirit back to her with itsold, perfect, sparkling clearness. 

Outwardly, existence at Patty's Place was the same pleasant roundof work and study and recreation that it had always been. On Fridayevenings the big, fire-lighted livingroom was crowded by callersand echoed to endless jest and laughter, while Aunt Jamesina smiledbeamingly on them all. The "Jonas" of Phil's letter came often, runningup from St. Columbia on the early train and departing on the late. Hewas a general favorite at Patty's Place, though Aunt Jamesina shook herhead and opined that divinity students were not what they used to be. 

"He's VERY nice, my dear, " she told Phil, "but ministers ought to begraver and more dignified. "

"Can't a man laugh and laugh and be a Christian still?" demanded Phil. 

"Oh, MEN--yes. But I was speaking of MINISTERS, my dear, " said AuntJamesina rebukingly. "And you shouldn't flirt so with Mr. Blake--youreally shouldn't. "

"I'm not flirting with him, " protested Phil. 

Nobody believed her, except Anne. The others thought she was amusingherself as usual, and told her roundly that she was behaving very badly. 

"Mr. Blake isn't of the Alec-and-Alonzo type, Phil, " said Stellaseverely. "He takes things seriously. You may break his heart. "

"Do you really think I could?" asked Phil. "I'd love to think so. "

"Philippa Gordon! I never thought you were utterly unfeeling. The ideaof you saying you'd love to break a man's heart!"

"I didn't say so, honey. Quote me correctly. I said I'd like to think ICOULD break it. I would like to know I had the POWER to do it. "

"I don't understand you, Phil. You are leading that man ondeliberately--and you know you don't mean anything by it. "

"I mean to make him ask me to marry him if I can, " said Phil calmly. 

"I give you up, " said Stella hopelessly. 

Gilbert came occasionally on Friday evenings. He seemed always in goodspirits, and held his own in the jests and repartee that flew about. He neither sought nor avoided Anne. When circumstances brought themin contact he talked to her pleasantly and courteously, as to anynewly-made acquaintance. The old camaraderie was gone entirely. Annefelt it keenly; but she told herself she was very glad and thankful thatGilbert had got so completely over his disappointment in regard to her. She had really been afraid, that April evening in the orchard, that shehad hurt him terribly and that the wound would be long in healing. Nowshe saw that she need not have worried. Men have died and the wormshave eaten them but not for love. Gilbert evidently was in no danger ofimmediate dissolution. He was enjoying life, and he was full of ambitionand zest. For him there was to be no wasting in despair because a womanwas fair and cold. Anne, as she listened to the ceaseless badinage thatwent on between him and Phil, wondered if she had only imagined thatlook in his eyes when she had told him she could never care for him. 

There were not lacking those who would gladly have stepped intoGilbert's vacant place. But Anne snubbed them without fear and withoutreproach. If the real Prince Charming was never to come she would havenone of a substitute. So she sternly told herself that gray day in thewindy park. 

Suddenly the rain of Aunt Jamesina's prophecy came with a swish andrush. Anne put up her umbrella and hurried down the slope. As she turnedout on the harbor road a savage gust of wind tore along it. Instantlyher umbrella turned wrong side out. Anne clutched at it in despair. Andthen--there came a voice close to her. 

"Pardon me--may I offer you the shelter of my umbrella?"

Anne looked up. Tall and handsome and distinguished-looking--dark, melancholy, inscrutable eyes--melting, musical, sympathetic voice--yes, the very hero of her dreams stood before her in the flesh. He could nothave more closely resembled her ideal if he had been made to order. 

"Thank you, " she said confusedly. 

"We'd better hurry over to that little pavillion on the point, "suggested the unknown. "We can wait there until this shower is over. Itis not likely to rain so heavily very long. "

The words were very commonplace, but oh, the tone! And the smile whichaccompanied them! Anne felt her heart beating strangely. 

Together they scurried to the pavilion and sat breathlessly down underits friendly roof. Anne laughingly held up her false umbrella. 

"It is when my umbrella turns inside out that I am convinced of thetotal depravity of inanimate things, " she said gaily. 

The raindrops sparkled on her shining hair; its loosened rings curledaround her neck and forehead. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes big andstarry. Her companion looked down at her admiringly. She felt herselfblushing under his gaze. Who could he be? Why, there was a bit of theRedmond white and scarlet pinned to his coat lapel. Yet she had thoughtshe knew, by sight at least, all the Redmond students except theFreshmen. And this courtly youth surely was no Freshman. 

"We are schoolmates, I see, " he said, smiling at Anne's colors. "Thatought to be sufficient introduction. My name is Royal Gardner. And youare the Miss Shirley who read the Tennyson paper at the Philomathic theother evening, aren't you?"

"Yes; but I cannot place you at all, " said Anne, frankly. "Please, whereDO you belong?"

"I feel as if I didn't belong anywhere yet. I put in my Freshman andSophomore years at Redmond two years ago. I've been in Europe eversince. Now I've come back to finish my Arts course. "

"This is my Junior year, too, " said Anne. 

"So we are classmates as well as collegemates. I am reconciled to theloss of the years that the locust has eaten, " said her companion, with aworld of meaning in those wonderful eyes of his. 

The rain came steadily down for the best part of an hour. But the timeseemed really very short. When the clouds parted and a burst of paleNovember sunshine fell athwart the harbor and the pines Anne and hercompanion walked home together. By the time they had reached the gate ofPatty's Place he had asked permission to call, and had received it. Annewent in with cheeks of flame and her heart beating to her fingertips. Rusty, who climbed into her lap and tried to kiss her, found a veryabsent welcome. Anne, with her soul full of romantic thrills, had noattention to spare just then for a crop-eared pussy cat. 

That evening a parcel was left at Patty's Place for Miss Shirley. It wasa box containing a dozen magnificent roses. Phil pounced impertinentlyon the card that fell from it, read the name and the poetical quotationwritten on the back. 

"Royal Gardner!" she exclaimed. "Why, Anne, I didn't know you wereacquainted with Roy Gardner!"

"I met him in the park this afternoon in the rain, " explained Annehurriedly. "My umbrella turned inside out and he came to my rescue withhis. "

"Oh!" Phil peered curiously at Anne. "And is that exceedinglycommonplace incident any reason why he should send us longstemmed rosesby the dozen, with a very sentimental rhyme? Or why we should blushdivinest rosy-red when we look at his card? Anne, thy face betrayeththee. "

"Don't talk nonsense, Phil. Do you know Mr. Gardner?"

"I've met his two sisters, and I know of him. So does everybodyworthwhile in Kingsport. The Gardners are among the richest, bluest, of Bluenoses. Roy is adorably handsome and clever. Two years ago hismother's health failed and he had to leave college and go abroad withher--his father is dead. He must have been greatly disappointed to haveto give up his class, but they say he was perfectly sweet about it. Fee--fi--fo--fum, Anne. I smell romance. Almost do I envy you, but notquite. After all, Roy Gardner isn't Jonas. "

"You goose!" said Anne loftily. But she lay long awake that night, nordid she wish for sleep. Her waking fancies were more alluring than anyvision of dreamland. Had the real Prince come at last? Recalling thoseglorious dark eyes which had gazed so deeply into her own, Anne was verystrongly inclined to think he had. 

Chapter XXVI

Enter Christine

The girls at Patty's Place were dressing for the reception which theJuniors were giving for the Seniors in February. Anne surveyed herselfin the mirror of the blue room with girlish satisfaction. She had aparticularly pretty gown on. Originally it had been only a simple littleslip of cream silk with a chiffon overdress. But Phil had insisted ontaking it home with her in the Christmas holidays and embroidering tinyrosebuds all over the chiffon. Phil's fingers were deft, and the resultwas a dress which was the envy of every Redmond girl. Even Allie Boone, whose frocks came from Paris, was wont to look with longing eyes on thatrosebud concoction as Anne trailed up the main staircase at Redmond init. 

Anne was trying the effect of a white orchid in her hair. Roy Gardnerhad sent her white orchids for the reception, and she knew no otherRedmond girl would have them that night--when Phil came in with admiringgaze. 

"Anne, this is certainly your night for looking handsome. Nine nightsout of ten I can easily outshine you. The tenth you blossom out suddenlyinto something that eclipses me altogether. How do you manage it?"

"It's the dress, dear. Fine feathers. "

"'Tisn't. The last evening you flamed out into beauty you wore your oldblue flannel shirtwaist that Mrs. Lynde made you. If Roy hadn't alreadylost head and heart about you he certainly would tonight. But I don'tlike orchids on you, Anne. No; it isn't jealousy. Orchids don't seem toBELONG to you. They're too exotic--too tropical--too insolent. Don't putthem in your hair, anyway. "

"Well, I won't. I admit I'm not fond of orchids myself. I don't thinkthey're related to me. Roy doesn't often send them--he knows I likeflowers I can live with. Orchids are only things you can visit with. "

"Jonas sent me some dear pink rosebuds for the evening--but--he isn'tcoming himself. He said he had to lead a prayer-meeting in the slums! Idon't believe he wanted to come. Anne, I'm horribly afraid Jonas doesn'treally care anything about me. And I'm trying to decide whether I'llpine away and die, or go on and get my B. A. And be sensible and useful. "

"You couldn't possibly be sensible and useful, Phil, so you'd betterpine away and die, " said Anne cruelly. 

"Heartless Anne!"

"Silly Phil! You know quite well that Jonas loves you. "

"But--he won't TELL me so. And I can't MAKE him. He LOOKS it, I'lladmit. But speak-to-me-only-with-thine-eyes isn't a really reliablereason for embroidering doilies and hemstitching tablecloths. I don'twant to begin such work until I'm really engaged. It would be temptingFate. "

"Mr. Blake is afraid to ask you to marry him, Phil. He is poor and can'toffer you a home such as you've always had. You know that is the onlyreason he hasn't spoken long ago. "

"I suppose so, " agreed Phil dolefully. "Well"--brightening up--"if heWON'T ask me to marry him I'll ask him, that's all. So it's bound tocome right. I won't worry. By the way, Gilbert Blythe is going aboutconstantly with Christine Stuart. Did you know?"

Anne was trying to fasten a little gold chain about her throat. Shesuddenly found the clasp difficult to manage. WHAT was the matter withit--or with her fingers?

"No, " she said carelessly. "Who is Christine Stuart?"

"Ronald Stuart's sister. She's in Kingsport this winter studying music. I haven't seen her, but they say she's very pretty and that Gilbert isquite crazy over her. How angry I was when you refused Gilbert, Anne. But Roy Gardner was foreordained for you. I can see that now. You wereright, after all. "

Anne did not blush, as she usually did when the girls assumed that hereventual marriage to Roy Gardner was a settled thing. All at once shefelt rather dull. Phil's chatter seemed trivial and the reception abore. She boxed poor Rusty's ears. 

"Get off that cushion instantly, you cat, you! Why don't you stay downwhere you belong?"

Anne picked up her orchids and went downstairs, where Aunt Jamesina waspresiding over a row of coats hung before the fire to warm. Roy Gardnerwas waiting for Anne and teasing the Sarah-cat while he waited. TheSarah-cat did not approve of him. She always turned her back on him. But everybody else at Patty's Place liked him very much. Aunt Jamesina, carried away by his unfailing and deferential courtesy, and the pleadingtones of his delightful voice, declared he was the nicest young man sheever knew, and that Anne was a very fortunate girl. Such remarks madeAnne restive. Roy's wooing had certainly been as romantic as girlishheart could desire, but--she wished Aunt Jamesina and the girls wouldnot take things so for granted. When Roy murmured a poetical complimentas he helped her on with her coat, she did not blush and thrill asusual; and he found her rather silent in their brief walk to Redmond. He thought she looked a little pale when she came out of the coeds'dressing room; but as they entered the reception room her color andsparkle suddenly returned to her. She turned to Roy with her gayestexpression. He smiled back at her with what Phil called "his deep, black, velvety smile. " Yet she really did not see Roy at all. She wasacutely conscious that Gilbert was standing under the palms just acrossthe room talking to a girl who must be Christine Stuart. 

She was very handsome, in the stately style destined to become rathermassive in middle life. A tall girl, with large dark-blue eyes, ivoryoutlines, and a gloss of darkness on her smooth hair. 

"She looks just as I've always wanted to look, " thought Anne miserably. "Rose-leaf complexion--starry violet eyes--raven hair--yes, she has themall. It's a wonder her name isn't Cordelia Fitzgerald into the bargain!But I don't believe her figure is as good as mine, and her nosecertainly isn't. "

Anne felt a little comforted by this conclusion. 

Chapter XXVII

Mutual Confidences

March came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followedby a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland ofmoonshine. 

Over the girls at Patty's Place was falling the shadow of Aprilexaminations. They were studying hard; even Phil had settled down totext and notebooks with a doggedness not to be expected of her. 

"I'm going to take the Johnson Scholarship in Mathematics, " sheannounced calmly. "I could take the one in Greek easily, but I'd rathertake the mathematical one because I want to prove to Jonas that I'mreally enormously clever. "

"Jonas likes you better for your big brown eyes and your crooked smilethan for all the brains you carry under your curls, " said Anne. 

"When I was a girl it wasn't considered lady-like to know anything aboutMathematics, " said Aunt Jamesina. "But times have changed. I don't knowthat it's all for the better. Can you cook, Phil?"

"No, I never cooked anything in my life except a gingerbread and it wasa failure--flat in the middle and hilly round the edges. You know thekind. But, Aunty, when I begin in good earnest to learn to cook don'tyou think the brains that enable me to win a mathematical scholarshipwill also enable me to learn cooking just as well?"

"Maybe, " said Aunt Jamesina cautiously. "I am not decrying the highereducation of women. My daughter is an M. A. She can cook, too. ButI taught her to cook BEFORE I let a college professor teach herMathematics. "

In mid-March came a letter from Miss Patty Spofford, saying that she andMiss Maria had decided to remain abroad for another year. 

"So you may have Patty's Place next winter, too, " she wrote. "Maria andI are going to run over Egypt. I want to see the Sphinx once before Idie. "

"Fancy those two dames 'running over Egypt'! I wonder if they'll look upat the Sphinx and knit, " laughed Priscilla. 

"I'm so glad we can keep Patty's Place for another year, " said Stella. "I was afraid they'd come back. And then our jolly little nest herewould be broken up--and we poor callow nestlings thrown out on the cruelworld of boardinghouses again. "

"I'm off for a tramp in the park, " announced Phil, tossing her bookaside. "I think when I am eighty I'll be glad I went for a walk in thepark tonight. "

"What do you mean?" asked Anne. 

"Come with me and I'll tell you, honey. "

They captured in their ramble all the mysteries and magics of a Marchevening. Very still and mild it was, wrapped in a great, white, broodingsilence--a silence which was yet threaded through with many littlesilvery sounds which you could hear if you hearkened as much with yoursoul as your ears. The girls wandered down a long pineland aisle thatseemed to lead right out into the heart of a deep-red, overflowingwinter sunset. 

"I'd go home and write a poem this blessed minute if I only knew how, "declared Phil, pausing in an open space where a rosy light was stainingthe green tips of the pines. "It's all so wonderful here--this great, white stillness, and those dark trees that always seem to be thinking. "

"'The woods were God's first temples, '" quoted Anne softly. "One can'thelp feeling reverent and adoring in such a place. I always feel so nearHim when I walk among the pines. "

"Anne, I'm the happiest girl in the world, " confessed Phil suddenly. 

"So Mr. Blake has asked you to marry him at last?" said Anne calmly. 

"Yes. And I sneezed three times while he was asking me. Wasn't thathorrid? But I said 'yes' almost before he finished--I was so afraid hemight change his mind and stop. I'm besottedly happy. I couldn't reallybelieve before that Jonas would ever care for frivolous me. "

"Phil, you're not really frivolous, " said Anne gravely. "'Way downunderneath that frivolous exterior of yours you've got a dear, loyal, womanly little soul. Why do you hide it so?"

"I can't help it, Queen Anne. You are right--I'm not frivolous at heart. But there's a sort of frivolous skin over my soul and I can't take itoff. As Mrs. Poyser says, I'd have to be hatched over again and hatcheddifferent before I could change it. But Jonas knows the real me andloves me, frivolity and all. And I love him. I never was so surprisedin my life as I was when I found out I loved him. I'd never thought itpossible to fall in love with an ugly man. Fancy me coming down to onesolitary beau. And one named Jonas! But I mean to call him Jo. That'ssuch a nice, crisp little name. I couldn't nickname Alonzo. "

"What about Alec and Alonzo?"

"Oh, I told them at Christmas that I never could marry either of them. It seems so funny now to remember that I ever thought it possible that Imight. They felt so badly I just cried over both of them--howled. But Iknew there was only one man in the world I could ever marry. I had madeup my own mind for once and it was real easy, too. It's very delightfulto feel so sure, and know it's your own sureness and not somebodyelse's. "

"Do you suppose you'll be able to keep it up?"

"Making up my mind, you mean? I don't know, but Jo has given me asplendid rule. He says, when I'm perplexed, just to do what I wouldwish I had done when I shall be eighty. Anyhow, Jo can make up his mindquickly enough, and it would be uncomfortable to have too much mind inthe same house. "

"What will your father and mother say?"

"Father won't say much. He thinks everything I do right. But mother WILLtalk. Oh, her tongue will be as Byrney as her nose. But in the end itwill be all right. "

"You'll have to give up a good many things you've always had, when youmarry Mr. Blake, Phil. "

"But I'll have HIM. I won't miss the other things. We're to be marrieda year from next June. Jo graduates from St. Columbia this spring, youknow. Then he's going to take a little mission church down on PattersonStreet in the slums. Fancy me in the slums! But I'd go there or toGreenland's icy mountains with him. "

"And this is the girl who would NEVER marry a man who wasn't rich, "commented Anne to a young pine tree. 

"Oh, don't cast up the follies of my youth to me. I shall be poor asgaily as I've been rich. You'll see. I'm going to learn how to cookand make over dresses. I've learned how to market since I've livedat Patty's Place; and once I taught a Sunday School class for a wholesummer. Aunt Jamesina says I'll ruin Jo's career if I marry him. ButI won't. I know I haven't much sense or sobriety, but I've got what isever so much better--the knack of making people like me. There is aman in Bolingbroke who lisps and always testifies in prayer-meeting. He says, 'If you can't thine like an electric thtar thine like acandlethtick. ' I'll be Jo's little candlestick. "

"Phil, you're incorrigible. Well, I love you so much that I can't makenice, light, congratulatory little speeches. But I'm heart-glad of yourhappiness. "

"I know. Those big gray eyes of yours are brimming over with realfriendship, Anne. Some day I'll look the same way at you. You're goingto marry Roy, aren't you, Anne?"

"My dear Philippa, did you ever hear of the famous Betty Baxter, who'refused a man before he'd axed her'? I am not going to emulate thatcelebrated lady by either refusing or accepting any one before he 'axes'me. "

"All Redmond knows that Roy is crazy about you, " said Phil candidly. "And you DO love him, don't you, Anne?"

"I--I suppose so, " said Anne reluctantly. She felt that she ought to beblushing while making such a confession; but she was not; on the otherhand, she always blushed hotly when any one said anything about GilbertBlythe or Christine Stuart in her hearing. Gilbert Blythe and ChristineStuart were nothing to her--absolutely nothing. But Anne had given uptrying to analyze the reason of her blushes. As for Roy, of course shewas in love with him--madly so. How could she help it? Was he not herideal? Who could resist those glorious dark eyes, and that pleadingvoice? Were not half the Redmond girls wildly envious? And what acharming sonnet he had sent her, with a box of violets, on her birthday!Anne knew every word of it by heart. It was very good stuff of its kind, too. Not exactly up to the level of Keats or Shakespeare--even Annewas not so deeply in love as to think that. But it was very tolerablemagazine verse. And it was addressed to HER--not to Laura or Beatrice orthe Maid of Athens, but to her, Anne Shirley. To be told in rhythmicalcadences that her eyes were stars of the morning--that her cheek hadthe flush it stole from the sunrise--that her lips were redder than theroses of Paradise, was thrillingly romantic. Gilbert would never havedreamed of writing a sonnet to her eyebrows. But then, Gilbert couldsee a joke. She had once told Roy a funny story--and he had not seenthe point of it. She recalled the chummy laugh she and Gilbert had hadtogether over it, and wondered uneasily if life with a man who had nosense of humor might not be somewhat uninteresting in the long run. Butwho could expect a melancholy, inscrutable hero to see the humorous sideof things? It would be flatly unreasonable. 

Chapter XXVIII

A June Evening

"I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was alwaysJune, " said Anne, as she came through the spice and bloom of the twilitorchard to the front door steps, where Marilla and Mrs. Rachel weresitting, talking over Mrs. Samson Coates' funeral, which they hadattended that day. Dora sat between them, diligently studying herlessons; but Davy was sitting tailor-fashion on the grass, looking asgloomy and depressed as his single dimple would let him. 

"You'd get tired of it, " said Marilla, with a sigh. 

"I daresay; but just now I feel that it would take me a long time to gettired of it, if it were all as charming as today. Everything loves June. Davy-boy, why this melancholy November face in blossom-time?"

"I'm just sick and tired of living, " said the youthful pessimist. 

"At ten years? Dear me, how sad!"

"I'm not making fun, " said Davy with dignity. "I'mdis--dis--discouraged"--bringing out the big word with a valiant effort. 

"Why and wherefore?" asked Anne, sitting down beside him. 

"'Cause the new teacher that come when Mr. Holmes got sick give me tensums to do for Monday. It'll take me all day tomorrow to do them. Itisn't fair to have to work Saturdays. Milty Boulter said he wouldn't dothem, but Marilla says I've got to. I don't like Miss Carson a bit. "

"Don't talk like that about your teacher, Davy Keith, " said Mrs. Rachelseverely. "Miss Carson is a very fine girl. There is no nonsense abouther. "

"That doesn't sound very attractive, " laughed Anne. "I like people tohave a little nonsense about them. But I'm inclined to have a betteropinion of Miss Carson than you have. I saw her in prayer-meeting lastnight, and she has a pair of eyes that can't always look sensible. Now, Davy-boy, take heart of grace. 'Tomorrow will bring another day' andI'll help you with the sums as far as in me lies. Don't waste thislovely hour 'twixt light and dark worrying over arithmetic. "

"Well, I won't, " said Davy, brightening up. "If you help me with thesums I'll have 'em done in time to go fishing with Milty. I wish oldAunt Atossa's funeral was tomorrow instead of today. I wanted to go toit 'cause Milty said his mother said Aunt Atossa would be sure to riseup in her coffin and say sarcastic things to the folks that come to seeher buried. But Marilla said she didn't. "

"Poor Atossa laid in her coffin peaceful enough, " said Mrs. Lyndesolemnly. "I never saw her look so pleasant before, that's what. Well, there weren't many tears shed over her, poor old soul. The ElishaWrights are thankful to be rid of her, and I can't say I blame them amite. "

"It seems to me a most dreadful thing to go out of the world and notleave one person behind you who is sorry you are gone, " said Anne, shuddering. 

"Nobody except her parents ever loved poor Atossa, that's certain, noteven her husband, " averred Mrs. Lynde. "She was his fourth wife. He'dsort of got into the habit of marrying. He only lived a few years afterhe married her. The doctor said he died of dyspepsia, but I shall alwaysmaintain that he died of Atossa's tongue, that's what. Poor soul, shealways knew everything about her neighbors, but she never was very wellacquainted with herself. Well, she's gone anyhow; and I suppose the nextexcitement will be Diana's wedding. "

"It seems funny and horrible to think of Diana's being married, " sighedAnne, hugging her knees and looking through the gap in the Haunted Woodto the light that was shining in Diana's room. 

"I don't see what's horrible about it, when she's doing so well, " saidMrs. Lynde emphatically. "Fred Wright has a fine farm and he is a modelyoung man. "

"He certainly isn't the wild, dashing, wicked, young man Diana oncewanted to marry, " smiled Anne. "Fred is extremely good. "

"That's just what he ought to be. Would you want Diana to marry a wickedman? Or marry one yourself?"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked, but I thinkI'd like it if he COULD be wicked and WOULDN'T. Now, Fred is HOPELESSLYgood. "

"You'll have more sense some day, I hope, " said Marilla. 

Marilla spoke rather bitterly. She was grievously disappointed. She knewAnne had refused Gilbert Blythe. Avonlea gossip buzzed over the fact, which had leaked out, nobody knew how. Perhaps Charlie Sloane hadguessed and told his guesses for truth. Perhaps Diana had betrayed itto Fred and Fred had been indiscreet. At all events it was known; Mrs. Blythe no longer asked Anne, in public or private, if she had heardlately from Gilbert, but passed her by with a frosty bow. Anne, whohad always liked Gilbert's merry, young-hearted mother, was grieved insecret over this. Marilla said nothing; but Mrs. Lynde gave Anne manyexasperated digs about it, until fresh gossip reached that worthy lady, through the medium of Moody Spurgeon MacPherson's mother, that Anne hadanother "beau" at college, who was rich and handsome and good all inone. After that Mrs. Rachel held her tongue, though she still wished inher inmost heart that Anne had accepted Gilbert. Riches were all verywell; but even Mrs. Rachel, practical soul though she was, did notconsider them the one essential. If Anne "liked" the Handsome Unknownbetter than Gilbert there was nothing more to be said; but Mrs. Rachelwas dreadfully afraid that Anne was going to make the mistake ofmarrying for money. Marilla knew Anne too well to fear this; but shefelt that something in the universal scheme of things had gone sadlyawry. 

"What is to be, will be, " said Mrs. Rachel gloomily, "and what isn'tto be happens sometimes. I can't help believing it's going to happen inAnne's case, if Providence doesn't interfere, that's what. " Mrs. Rachelsighed. She was afraid Providence wouldn't interfere; and she didn'tdare to. 

Anne had wandered down to the Dryad's Bubble and was curled up among theferns at the root of the big white birch where she and Gilbert had sooften sat in summers gone by. He had gone into the newspaper officeagain when college closed, and Avonlea seemed very dull without him. Henever wrote to her, and Anne missed the letters that never came. To besure, Roy wrote twice a week; his letters were exquisite compositionswhich would have read beautifully in a memoir or biography. Anne feltherself more deeply in love with him than ever when she read them; buther heart never gave the queer, quick, painful bound at sight of hisletters which it had given one day when Mrs. Hiram Sloane had handed herout an envelope addressed in Gilbert's black, upright handwriting. Annehad hurried home to the east gable and opened it eagerly--to find atypewritten copy of some college society report--"only that and nothingmore. " Anne flung the harmless screed across her room and sat down towrite an especially nice epistle to Roy. 

Diana was to be married in five more days. The gray house at OrchardSlope was in a turmoil of baking and brewing and boiling and stewing, for there was to be a big, old-timey wedding. Anne, of course, was tobe bridesmaid, as had been arranged when they were twelve years old, andGilbert was coming from Kingsport to be best man. Anne was enjoying theexcitement of the various preparations, but under it all she carried alittle heartache. She was, in a sense, losing her dear old chum; Diana'snew home would be two miles from Green Gables, and the old constantcompanionship could never be theirs again. Anne looked up at Diana'slight and thought how it had beaconed to her for many years; but soon itwould shine through the summer twilights no more. Two big, painful tearswelled up in her gray eyes. 

"Oh, " she thought, "how horrible it is that people have to grow up--andmarry--and CHANGE!"

Chapter XXIX

Diana's Wedding

"After all, the only real roses are the pink ones, " said Anne, as shetied white ribbon around Diana's bouquet in the westward-looking gable atOrchard Slope. "They are the flowers of love and faith. "

Diana was standing nervously in the middle of the room, arrayed in herbridal white, her black curls frosted over with the film of her weddingveil. Anne had draped that veil, in accordance with the sentimentalcompact of years before. 

"It's all pretty much as I used to imagine it long ago, when I wept overyour inevitable marriage and our consequent parting, " she laughed. "Youare the bride of my dreams, Diana, with the 'lovely misty veil'; andI am YOUR bridesmaid. But, alas! I haven't the puffed sleeves--thoughthese short lace ones are even prettier. Neither is my heart whollybreaking nor do I exactly hate Fred. "

"We are not really parting, Anne, " protested Diana. "I'm not going faraway. We'll love each other just as much as ever. We've always kept that'oath' of friendship we swore long ago, haven't we?"

"Yes. We've kept it faithfully. We've had a beautiful friendship, Diana. We've never marred it by one quarrel or coolness or unkind word; andI hope it will always be so. But things can't be quite the same afterthis. You'll have other interests. I'll just be on the outside. But'such is life' as Mrs. Rachel says. Mrs. Rachel has given you one ofher beloved knitted quilts of the 'tobacco stripe' pattern, and she sayswhen I am married she'll give me one, too. "

"The mean thing about your getting married is that I won't be able to beyour bridesmaid, " lamented Diana. 

"I'm to be Phil's bridesmaid next June, when she marries Mr. Blake, andthen I must stop, for you know the proverb 'three times a bridesmaid, never a bride, '" said Anne, peeping through the window over the pinkand snow of the blossoming orchard beneath. "Here comes the minister, Diana. "

"Oh, Anne, " gasped Diana, suddenly turning very pale and beginning totremble. "Oh, Anne--I'm so nervous--I can't go through with it--Anne, Iknow I'm going to faint. "

"If you do I'll drag you down to the rainwater hogshed and drop you in, "said Anne unsympathetically. "Cheer up, dearest. Getting married can'tbe so very terrible when so many people survive the ceremony. See howcool and composed I am, and take courage. "

"Wait till your turn comes, Miss Anne. Oh, Anne, I hear father comingupstairs. Give me my bouquet. Is my veil right? Am I very pale?"

"You look just lovely. Di, darling, kiss me good-bye for the last time. Diana Barry will never kiss me again. "

"Diana Wright will, though. There, mother's calling. Come. "

Following the simple, old-fashioned way in vogue then, Anne went down tothe parlor on Gilbert's arm. They met at the top of the stairs for thefirst time since they had left Kingsport, for Gilbert had arrived onlythat day. Gilbert shook hands courteously. He was looking very well, though, as Anne instantly noted, rather thin. He was not pale; there wasa flush on his cheek that had burned into it as Anne came along the halltowards him, in her soft, white dress with lilies-of-the-valley in theshining masses of her hair. As they entered the crowded parlor togethera little murmur of admiration ran around the room. "What a fine-lookingpair they are, " whispered the impressible Mrs. Rachel to Marilla. 

Fred ambled in alone, with a very red face, and then Diana swept in onher father's arm. She did not faint, and nothing untoward occurred tointerrupt the ceremony. Feasting and merry-making followed; then, as theevening waned, Fred and Diana drove away through the moonlight to theirnew home, and Gilbert walked with Anne to Green Gables. 

Something of their old comradeship had returned during the informalmirth of the evening. Oh, it was nice to be walking over that well-knownroad with Gilbert again!

The night was so very still that one should have been able to hear thewhisper of roses in blossom--the laughter of daisies--the piping ofgrasses--many sweet sounds, all tangled up together. The beauty ofmoonlight on familiar fields irradiated the world. 

"Can't we take a ramble up Lovers' Lane before you go in?" asked Gilbertas they crossed the bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters, in which themoon lay like a great, drowned blossom of gold. 

Anne assented readily. Lovers' Lane was a veritable path in a fairylandthat night--a shimmering, mysterious place, full of wizardry in thewhite-woven enchantment of moonlight. There had been a time when sucha walk with Gilbert through Lovers' Lane would have been far toodangerous. But Roy and Christine had made it very safe now. Anne foundherself thinking a good deal about Christine as she chatted lightly toGilbert. She had met her several times before leaving Kingsport, and hadbeen charmingly sweet to her. Christine had also been charminglysweet. Indeed, they were a most cordial pair. But for all that, theiracquaintance had not ripened into friendship. Evidently Christine wasnot a kindred spirit. 

"Are you going to be in Avonlea all summer?" asked Gilbert. 

"No. I'm going down east to Valley Road next week. Esther Haythornewants me to teach for her through July and August. They have a summerterm in that school, and Esther isn't feeling well. So I'm going tosubstitute for her. In one way I don't mind. Do you know, I'm beginningto feel a little bit like a stranger in Avonlea now? It makes mesorry--but it's true. It's quite appalling to see the number ofchildren who have shot up into big boys and girls--really young men andwomen--these past two years. Half of my pupils are grown up. It makes mefeel awfully old to see them in the places you and I and our mates usedto fill. "

Anne laughed and sighed. She felt very old and mature and wise--whichshowed how young she was. She told herself that she longed greatly to goback to those dear merry days when life was seen through a rosy mistof hope and illusion, and possessed an indefinable something that hadpassed away forever. Where was it now--the glory and the dream?

"'So wags the world away, '" quoted Gilbert practically, and a trifleabsently. Anne wondered if he were thinking of Christine. Oh, Avonleawas going to be so lonely now--with Diana gone!

Chapter XXX

Mrs. Skinner's Romance

Anne stepped off the train at Valley Road station and looked about tosee if any one had come to meet her. She was to board with a certainMiss Janet Sweet, but she saw no one who answered in the least to herpreconception of that lady, as formed from Esther's letter. The onlyperson in sight was an elderly woman, sitting in a wagon with mail bagspiled around her. Two hundred would have been a charitable guess at herweight; her face was as round and red as a harvest-moon and almostas featureless. She wore a tight, black, cashmere dress, made in thefashion of ten years ago, a little dusty black straw hat trimmed withbows of yellow ribbon, and faded black lace mits. 

"Here, you, " she called, waving her whip at Anne. "Are you the newValley Road schoolma'am?"

"Yes. "

"Well, I thought so. Valley Road is noted for its good-lookingschoolma'ams, just as Millersville is noted for its humly ones. JanetSweet asked me this morning if I could bring you out. I said, 'SartinI kin, if she don't mind being scrunched up some. This rig of mine'skinder small for the mail bags and I'm some heftier than Thomas!' Justwait, miss, till I shift these bags a bit and I'll tuck you in somehow. It's only two miles to Janet's. Her next-door neighbor's hired boy iscoming for your trunk tonight. My name is Skinner--Amelia Skinner. "

Anne was eventually tucked in, exchanging amused smiles with herselfduring the process. 

"Jog along, black mare, " commanded Mrs. Skinner, gathering up the reinsin her pudgy hands. "This is my first trip on the mail rowte. Thomaswanted to hoe his turnips today so he asked me to come. So I jest sotdown and took a standing-up snack and started. I sorter like it. O'course it's rather tejus. Part of the time I sits and thinks and therest I jest sits. Jog along, black mare. I want to git home airly. Thomas is terrible lonesome when I'm away. You see, we haven't beenmarried very long. "

"Oh!" said Anne politely. 

"Just a month. Thomas courted me for quite a spell, though. It was realromantic. " Anne tried to picture Mrs. Skinner on speaking terms withromance and failed. 

"Oh?" she said again. 

"Yes. Y'see, there was another man after me. Jog along, black mare. I'dbeen a widder so long folks had given up expecting me to marry again. But when my darter--she's a schoolma'am like you--went out West to teachI felt real lonesome and wasn't nowise sot against the idea. Bime-byThomas began to come up and so did the other feller--William ObadiahSeaman, his name was. For a long time I couldn't make up my mind whichof them to take, and they kep' coming and coming, and I kep' worrying. Y'see, W. O. Was rich--he had a fine place and carried considerablestyle. He was by far the best match. Jog along, black mare. "

"Why didn't you marry him?" asked Anne. 

"Well, y'see, he didn't love me, " answered Mrs. Skinner, solemnly. 

Anne opened her eyes widely and looked at Mrs. Skinner. But there wasnot a glint of humor on that lady's face. Evidently Mrs. Skinner sawnothing amusing in her own case. 

"He'd been a widder-man for three yers, and his sister kept house forhim. Then she got married and he just wanted some one to look after hishouse. It was worth looking after, too, mind you that. It's a handsomehouse. Jog along, black mare. As for Thomas, he was poor, and if hishouse didn't leak in dry weather it was about all that could be said forit, though it looks kind of pictureaskew. But, y'see, I loved Thomas, and I didn't care one red cent for W. O. So I argued it out with myself. 'Sarah Crowe, ' say I--my first was a Crowe--'you can marry your rich manif you like but you won't be happy. Folks can't get along together inthis world without a little bit of love. You'd just better tie up toThomas, for he loves you and you love him and nothing else ain't goingto do you. ' Jog along, black mare. So I told Thomas I'd take him. Allthe time I was getting ready I never dared drive past W. O. 's place forfear the sight of that fine house of his would put me in the swithersagain. But now I never think of it at all, and I'm just that comfortableand happy with Thomas. Jog along, black mare. "

"How did William Obadiah take it?" queried Anne. 

"Oh, he rumpussed a bit. But he's going to see a skinny old maid inMillersville now, and I guess she'll take him fast enough. She'll makehim a better wife than his first did. W. O. Never wanted to marry her. He just asked her to marry him 'cause his father wanted him to, neverdreaming but that she'd say 'no. ' But mind you, she said 'yes. ' Therewas a predicament for you. Jog along, black mare. She was a greathousekeeper, but most awful mean. She wore the same bonnet for eighteenyears. Then she got a new one and W. O. Met her on the road and didn'tknow her. Jog along, black mare. I feel that I'd a narrer escape. Imight have married him and been most awful miserable, like my poorcousin, Jane Ann. Jane Ann married a rich man she didn't care anythingabout, and she hasn't the life of a dog. She come to see me last weekand says, says she, 'Sarah Skinner, I envy you. I'd rather live in alittle hut on the side of the road with a man I was fond of than in mybig house with the one I've got. ' Jane Ann's man ain't such a bad sort, nuther, though he's so contrary that he wears his fur coat when thethermometer's at ninety. The only way to git him to do anything is tocoax him to do the opposite. But there ain't any love to smooth thingsdown and it's a poor way of living. Jog along, black mare. There'sJanet's place in the hollow--'Wayside, ' she calls it. Quitepictureaskew, ain't it? I guess you'll be glad to git out of this, withall them mail bags jamming round you. "

"Yes, but I have enjoyed my drive with you very much, " said Annesincerely. 

"Git away now!" said Mrs. Skinner, highly flattered. "Wait till I tellThomas that. He always feels dretful tickled when I git a compliment. Jog along, black mare. Well, here we are. I hope you'll git on well inthe school, miss. There's a short cut to it through the ma'sh back ofJanet's. If you take that way be awful keerful. If you once got stuck inthat black mud you'd be sucked right down and never seen or heard tellof again till the day of judgment, like Adam Palmer's cow. Jog along, black mare. "

Chapter XXXI

Anne to Philippa

"Anne Shirley to Philippa Gordon, greeting. 

"Well-beloved, it's high time I was writing you. Here am I, installedonce more as a country 'schoolma'am' at Valley Road, boarding at'Wayside, ' the home of Miss Janet Sweet. Janet is a dear soul and verynicelooking; tall, but not over-tall; stoutish, yet with a certainrestraint of outline suggestive of a thrifty soul who is not going tobe overlavish even in the matter of avoirdupois. She has a knot of soft, crimpy, brown hair with a thread of gray in it, a sunny face with rosycheeks, and big, kind eyes as blue as forget-me-nots. Moreover, she isone of those delightful, old-fashioned cooks who don't care a bit ifthey ruin your digestion as long as they can give you feasts of fatthings. 

"I like her; and she likes me--principally, it seems, because she had asister named Anne who died young. 

"'I'm real glad to see you, ' she said briskly, when I landed in heryard. 'My, you don't look a mite like I expected. I was sure you'd bedark--my sister Anne was dark. And here you're redheaded!'

"For a few minutes I thought I wasn't going to like Janet as much as Ihad expected at first sight. Then I reminded myself that I really mustbe more sensible than to be prejudiced against any one simply becauseshe called my hair red. Probably the word 'auburn' was not in Janet'svocabulary at all. 

"'Wayside' is a dear sort of little spot. The house is small and white, set down in a delightful little hollow that drops away from the road. Between road and house is an orchard and flower-garden all mixedup together. The front door walk is bordered with quahogclam-shells--'cow-hawks, ' Janet calls them; there is Virginia Creeperover the porch and moss on the roof. My room is a neat little spot 'offthe parlor'--just big enough for the bed and me. Over the head of mybed there is a picture of Robby Burns standing at Highland Mary'sgrave, shadowed by an enormous weeping willow tree. Robby's face is solugubrious that it is no wonder I have bad dreams. Why, the first nightI was here I dreamed I COULDN'T LAUGH. 

"The parlor is tiny and neat. Its one window is so shaded by a hugewillow that the room has a grotto-like effect of emerald gloom. Thereare wonderful tidies on the chairs, and gay mats on the floor, and booksand cards carefully arranged on a round table, and vases of dried grasson the mantel-piece. Between the vases is a cheerful decoration ofpreserved coffin plates--five in all, pertaining respectively to Janet'sfather and mother, a brother, her sister Anne, and a hired man who diedhere once! If I go suddenly insane some of these days 'know all men bythese presents' that those coffin-plates have caused it. 

"But it's all delightful and I said so. Janet loved me for it, justas she detested poor Esther because Esther had said so much shade wasunhygienic and had objected to sleeping on a feather bed. Now, I gloryin feather-beds, and the more unhygienic and feathery they are the moreI glory. Janet says it is such a comfort to see me eat; she had beenso afraid I would be like Miss Haythorne, who wouldn't eat anything butfruit and hot water for breakfast and tried to make Janet give up fryingthings. Esther is really a dear girl, but she is rather given to fads. The trouble is that she hasn't enough imagination and HAS a tendency toindigestion. 

"Janet told me I could have the use of the parlor when any young mencalled! I don't think there are many to call. I haven't seen a young manin Valley Road yet, except the next-door hired boy--Sam Toliver, a verytall, lank, tow-haired youth. He came over one evening recently and satfor an hour on the garden fence, near the front porch where Janet and Iwere doing fancy-work. The only remarks he volunteered in all thattime were, 'Hev a peppermint, miss! Dew now-fine thing for carARRH, peppermints, ' and, 'Powerful lot o' jump-grasses round here ternight. Yep. '

"But there is a love affair going on here. It seems to be my fortune tobe mixed up, more or less actively, with elderly love affairs. Mr. AndMrs. Irving always say that I brought about their marriage. Mrs. StephenClark of Carmody persists in being most grateful to me for a suggestionwhich somebody else would probably have made if I hadn't. I do reallythink, though, that Ludovic Speed would never have got any further alongthan placid courtship if I had not helped him and Theodora Dix out. 

"In the present affair I am only a passive spectator. I've tried onceto help things along and made an awful mess of it. So I shall not meddleagain. I'll tell you all about it when we meet. "

Chapter XXXII

Tea with Mrs. Douglas

On the first Thursday night of Anne's sojourn in Valley Road Janet askedher to go to prayer-meeting. Janet blossomed out like a rose to attendthat prayer-meeting. She wore a pale-blue, pansy-sprinkled muslin dresswith more ruffles than one would ever have supposed economical Janetcould be guilty of, and a white leghorn hat with pink roses and threeostrich feathers on it. Anne felt quite amazed. Later on, she found outJanet's motive in so arraying herself--a motive as old as Eden. 

Valley Road prayer-meetings seemed to be essentially feminine. Therewere thirty-two women present, two half-grown boys, and one solitaryman, beside the minister. Anne found herself studying this man. He wasnot handsome or young or graceful; he had remarkably long legs--solong that he had to keep them coiled up under his chair to dispose ofthem--and he was stoop-shouldered. His hands were big, his hair wantedbarbering, and his moustache was unkempt. But Anne thought she liked hisface; it was kind and honest and tender; there was something else in it, too--just what, Anne found it hard to define. She finally concluded thatthis man had suffered and been strong, and it had been made manifestin his face. There was a sort of patient, humorous endurance in hisexpression which indicated that he would go to the stake if need be, butwould keep on looking pleasant until he really had to begin squirming. 

When prayer-meeting was over this man came up to Janet and said, "May I see you home, Janet?"

Janet took his arm--"as primly and shyly as if she were no more thansixteen, having her first escort home, " Anne told the girls at Patty'sPlace later on. 

"Miss Shirley, permit me to introduce Mr. Douglas, " she said stiffly. 

Mr. Douglas nodded and said, "I was looking at you in prayer-meeting, miss, and thinking what a nice little girl you were. "

Such a speech from ninety-nine people out of a hundred would haveannoyed Anne bitterly; but the way in which Mr. Douglas said it madeher feel that she had received a very real and pleasing compliment. She smiled appreciatively at him and dropped obligingly behind on themoonlit road. 

So Janet had a beau! Anne was delighted. Janet would make a paragon of awife--cheery, economical, tolerant, and a very queen of cooks. It wouldbe a flagrant waste on Nature's part to keep her a permanent old maid. 

"John Douglas asked me to take you up to see his mother, " said Janetthe next day. "She's bed-rid a lot of the time and never goes out ofthe house. But she's powerful fond of company and always wants to see myboarders. Can you go up this evening?"

Anne assented; but later in the day Mr. Douglas called on his mother'sbehalf to invite them up to tea on Saturday evening. 

"Oh, why didn't you put on your pretty pansy dress?" asked Anne, whenthey left home. It was a hot day, and poor Janet, between her excitementand her heavy black cashmere dress, looked as if she were being broiledalive. 

"Old Mrs. Douglas would think it terrible frivolous and unsuitable, I'mafraid. John likes that dress, though, " she added wistfully. 

The old Douglas homestead was half a mile from "Wayside" cresting awindy hill. The house itself was large and comfortable, old enough to bedignified, and girdled with maple groves and orchards. There were big, trim barns behind it, and everything bespoke prosperity. Whatever thepatient endurance in Mr. Douglas' face had meant it hadn't, so Annereflected, meant debts and duns. 

John Douglas met them at the door and took them into the sitting-room, where his mother was enthroned in an armchair. 

Anne had expected old Mrs. Douglas to be tall and thin, because Mr. Douglas was. Instead, she was a tiny scrap of a woman, with softpink cheeks, mild blue eyes, and a mouth like a baby's. Dressed in abeautiful, fashionably-made black silk dress, with a fluffy white shawlover her shoulders, and her snowy hair surmounted by a dainty lace cap, she might have posed as a grandmother doll. 

"How do you do, Janet dear?" she said sweetly. "I am so glad to see youagain, dear. " She put up her pretty old face to be kissed. "And this isour new teacher. I'm delighted to meet you. My son has been singing yourpraises until I'm half jealous, and I'm sure Janet ought to be whollyso. "

Poor Janet blushed, Anne said something polite and conventional, andthen everybody sat down and made talk. It was hard work, even for Anne, for nobody seemed at ease except old Mrs. Douglas, who certainly did notfind any difficulty in talking. She made Janet sit by her andstroked her hand occasionally. Janet sat and smiled, looking horriblyuncomfortable in her hideous dress, and John Douglas sat withoutsmiling. 

At the tea table Mrs. Douglas gracefully asked Janet to pour the tea. Janet turned redder than ever but did it. Anne wrote a description ofthat meal to Stella. 

"We had cold tongue and chicken and strawberry preserves, lemon pie andtarts and chocolate cake and raisin cookies and pound cake and fruitcake--and a few other things, including more pie--caramel pie, I thinkit was. After I had eaten twice as much as was good for me, Mrs. Douglassighed and said she feared she had nothing to tempt my appetite. 

"'I'm afraid dear Janet's cooking has spoiled you for any other, ' shesaid sweetly. 'Of course nobody in Valley Road aspires to rival HER. WON'T you have another piece of pie, Miss Shirley? You haven't eatenANYTHING. '

"Stella, I had eaten a helping of tongue and one of chicken, threebiscuits, a generous allowance of preserves, a piece of pie, a tart, anda square of chocolate cake!"

After tea Mrs. Douglas smiled benevolently and told John to take "dearJanet" out into the garden and get her some roses. "Miss Shirley willkeep me company while you are out--won't you?" she said plaintively. Shesettled down in her armchair with a sigh. 

"I am a very frail old woman, Miss Shirley. For over twenty years I'vebeen a great sufferer. For twenty long, weary years I've been dying byinches. "

"How painful!" said Anne, trying to be sympathetic and succeeding onlyin feeling idiotic. 

"There have been scores of nights when they've thought I could neverlive to see the dawn, " went on Mrs. Douglas solemnly. "Nobody knows whatI've gone through--nobody can know but myself. Well, it can't last verymuch longer now. My weary pilgrimage will soon be over, Miss Shirley. It is a great comfort to me that John will have such a good wife to lookafter him when his mother is gone--a great comfort, Miss Shirley. "

"Janet is a lovely woman, " said Anne warmly. 

"Lovely! A beautiful character, " assented Mrs. Douglas. "And a perfecthousekeeper--something I never was. My health would not permit it, MissShirley. I am indeed thankful that John has made such a wise choice. Ihope and believe that he will be happy. He is my only son, Miss Shirley, and his happiness lies very near my heart. "

"Of course, " said Anne stupidly. For the first time in her life she wasstupid. Yet she could not imagine why. She seemed to have absolutelynothing to say to this sweet, smiling, angelic old lady who was pattingher hand so kindly. 

"Come and see me soon again, dear Janet, " said Mrs. Douglas lovingly, when they left. "You don't come half often enough. But then I supposeJohn will be bringing you here to stay all the time one of these days. "Anne, happening to glance at John Douglas, as his mother spoke, gave apositive start of dismay. He looked as a tortured man might look whenhis tormentors gave the rack the last turn of possible endurance. Shefelt sure he must be ill and hurried poor blushing Janet away. 

"Isn't old Mrs. Douglas a sweet woman?" asked Janet, as they went downthe road. 

"M--m, " answered Anne absently. She was wondering why John Douglas hadlooked so. 

"She's been a terrible sufferer, " said Janet feelingly. "She takesterrible spells. It keeps John all worried up. He's scared to leave homefor fear his mother will take a spell and nobody there but the hiredgirl. "

Chapter XXXIII

"He Just Kept Coming and Coming"

Three days later Anne came home from school and found Janet crying. Tears and Janet seemed so incongruous that Anne was honestly alarmed. 

"Oh, what is the matter?" she cried anxiously. 

"I'm--I'm forty today, " sobbed Janet. 

"Well, you were nearly that yesterday and it didn't hurt, " comfortedAnne, trying not to smile. 

"But--but, " went on Janet with a big gulp, "John Douglas won't ask me tomarry him. "

"Oh, but he will, " said Anne lamely. "You must give him time, Janet

"Time!" said Janet with indescribable scorn. "He has had twenty years. How much time does he want?"

"Do you mean that John Douglas has been coming to see you for twentyyears?"

"He has. And he has never so much as mentioned marriage to me. And Idon't believe he ever will now. I've never said a word to a mortal aboutit, but it seems to me I've just got to talk it out with some one atlast or go crazy. John Douglas begun to go with me twenty years ago, before mother died. Well, he kept coming and coming, and after a spell Ibegun making quilts and things; but he never said anything about gettingmarried, only just kept coming and coming. There wasn't anything I coulddo. Mother died when we'd been going together for eight years. I thoughthe maybe would speak out then, seeing as I was left alone in the world. He was real kind and feeling, and did everything he could for me, buthe never said marry. And that's the way it has been going on ever since. People blame ME for it. They say I won't marry him because his mother isso sickly and I don't want the bother of waiting on her. Why, I'd LOVEto wait on John's mother! But I let them think so. I'd rather they'dblame me than pity me! It's so dreadful humiliating that John won't askme. And WHY won't he? Seems to me if I only knew his reason I wouldn'tmind it so much. "

"Perhaps his mother doesn't want him to marry anybody, " suggested Anne. 

"Oh, she does. She's told me time and again that she'd love to see Johnsettled before her time comes. She's always giving him hints--you heardher yourself the other day. I thought I'd ha' gone through the floor. "

"It's beyond me, " said Anne helplessly. She thought of Ludovic Speed. But the cases were not parallel. John Douglas was not a man of Ludovic'stype. 

"You should show more spirit, Janet, " she went on resolutely. "Whydidn't you send him about his business long ago?"

"I couldn't, " said poor Janet pathetically. "You see, Anne, I've alwaysbeen awful fond of John. He might just as well keep coming as not, forthere was never anybody else I'd want, so it didn't matter. "

"But it might have made him speak out like a man, " urged Anne. 

Janet shook her head. 

"No, I guess not. I was afraid to try, anyway, for fear he'd think Imeant it and just go. I suppose I'm a poor-spirited creature, but thatis how I feel. And I can't help it. "

"Oh, you COULD help it, Janet. It isn't too late yet. Take a firm stand. Let that man know you are not going to endure his shillyshallying anylonger. I'LL back you up. "

"I dunno, " said Janet hopelessly. "I dunno if I could ever get up enoughspunk. Things have drifted so long. But I'll think it over. "

Anne felt that she was disappointed in John Douglas. She had liked himso well, and she had not thought him the sort of man who would play fastand loose with a woman's feelings for twenty years. He certainly shouldbe taught a lesson, and Anne felt vindictively that she would enjoyseeing the process. Therefore she was delighted when Janet told her, asthey were going to prayer-meeting the next night, that she meant to showsome "sperrit. "

"I'll let John Douglas see I'm not going to be trodden on any longer. "

"You are perfectly right, " said Anne emphatically. 

When prayer-meeting was over John Douglas came up with his usualrequest. Janet looked frightened but resolute. 

"No, thank you, " she said icily. "I know the road home pretty wellalone. I ought to, seeing I've been traveling it for forty years. So youneedn't trouble yourself, MR. Douglas. "

Anne was looking at John Douglas; and, in that brilliant moonlight, she saw the last twist of the rack again. Without a word he turned andstrode down the road. 

"Stop! Stop!" Anne called wildly after him, not caring in the least forthe other dumbfounded onlookers. "Mr. Douglas, stop! Come back. "

John Douglas stopped but he did not come back. Anne flew down the road, caught his arm and fairly dragged him back to Janet. 

"You must come back, " she said imploringly. "It's all a mistake, Mr. Douglas--all my fault. I made Janet do it. She didn't want to--but it'sall right now, isn't it, Janet?"

Without a word Janet took his arm and walked away. Anne followed themmeekly home and slipped in by the back door. 

"Well, you are a nice person to back me up, " said Janet sarcastically. 

"I couldn't help it, Janet, " said Anne repentantly. "I just felt as if Ihad stood by and seen murder done. I HAD to run after him. "

"Oh, I'm just as glad you did. When I saw John Douglas making off downthat road I just felt as if every little bit of joy and happiness thatwas left in my life was going with him. It was an awful feeling. "

"Did he ask you why you did it?" asked Anne. 

"No, he never said a word about it, " replied Janet dully. 

Chapter XXXIV

John Douglas Speaks at Last

Anne was not without a feeble hope that something might come of it afterall. But nothing did. John Douglas came and took Janet driving, andwalked home from prayer-meeting with her, as he had been doing fortwenty years, and as he seemed likely to do for twenty years more. Thesummer waned. Anne taught her school and wrote letters and studied alittle. Her walks to and from school were pleasant. She always went byway of the swamp; it was a lovely place--a boggy soil, green with thegreenest of mossy hillocks; a silvery brook meandered through it andspruces stood erectly, their boughs a-trail with gray-green mosses, their roots overgrown with all sorts of woodland lovelinesses. 

Nevertheless, Anne found life in Valley Road a little monotonous. To besure, there was one diverting incident. 

She had not seen the lank, tow-headed Samuel of the peppermints sincethe evening of his call, save for chance meetings on the road. But onewarm August night he appeared, and solemnly seated himself on the rusticbench by the porch. He wore his usual working habiliments, consisting ofvaripatched trousers, a blue jean shirt, out at the elbows, and a raggedstraw hat. He was chewing a straw and he kept on chewing it while helooked solemnly at Anne. Anne laid her book aside with a sigh and tookup her doily. Conversation with Sam was really out of the question. 

After a long silence Sam suddenly spoke. 

"I'm leaving over there, " he said abruptly, waving his straw in thedirection of the neighboring house. 

"Oh, are you?" said Anne politely. 

"Yep. "

"And where are you going now?"

"Wall, I've been thinking some of gitting a place of my own. There'sone that'd suit me over at Millersville. But ef I rents it I'll want awoman. "

"I suppose so, " said Anne vaguely. 

"Yep. "

There was another long silence. Finally Sam removed his straw again andsaid, "Will yeh hev me?"

"Wh--a--t!" gasped Anne. 

"Will yeh hev me?"

"Do you mean--MARRY you?" queried poor Anne feebly. 

"Yep. "

"Why, I'm hardly acquainted with you, " cried Anne indignantly. 

"But yeh'd git acquainted with me after we was married, " said Sam. 

Anne gathered up her poor dignity. 

"Certainly I won't marry you, " she said haughtily. 

"Wall, yeh might do worse, " expostulated Sam. "I'm a good worker andI've got some money in the bank. "

"Don't speak of this to me again. Whatever put such an idea into yourhead?" said Anne, her sense of humor getting the better of her wrath. Itwas such an absurd situation. 

"Yeh're a likely-looking girl and hev a right-smart way o' stepping, "said Sam. "I don't want no lazy woman. Think it over. I won't change mymind yit awhile. Wall, I must be gitting. Gotter milk the cows. "

Anne's illusions concerning proposals had suffered so much of late yearsthat there were few of them left. So she could laugh wholeheartedly overthis one, not feeling any secret sting. She mimicked poor Sam to Janetthat night, and both of them laughed immoderately over his plunge intosentiment. 

One afternoon, when Anne's sojourn in Valley Road was drawing to aclose, Alec Ward came driving down to "Wayside" in hot haste for Janet. 

"They want you at the Douglas place quick, " he said. "I really believeold Mrs. Douglas is going to die at last, after pretending to do it fortwenty years. "

Janet ran to get her hat. Anne asked if Mrs. Douglas was worse thanusual. 

"She's not half as bad, " said Alec solemnly, "and that's what makes methink it's serious. Other times she'd be screaming and throwing herselfall over the place. This time she's lying still and mum. When Mrs. Douglas is mum she is pretty sick, you bet. "

"You don't like old Mrs. Douglas?" said Anne curiously. 

"I like cats as IS cats. I don't like cats as is women, " was Alec'scryptic reply. 

Janet came home in the twilight. 

"Mrs. Douglas is dead, " she said wearily. "She died soon after I gotthere. She just spoke to me once--'I suppose you'll marry John now?' shesaid. It cut me to the heart, Anne. To think John's own mother thoughtI wouldn't marry him because of her! I couldn't say a word either--therewere other women there. I was thankful John had gone out. "

Janet began to cry drearily. But Anne brewed her a hot drink of gingertea to her comforting. To be sure, Anne discovered later on that shehad used white pepper instead of ginger; but Janet never knew thedifference. 

The evening after the funeral Janet and Anne were sitting on the frontporch steps at sunset. The wind had fallen asleep in the pinelands andlurid sheets of heat-lightning flickered across the northern skies. Janet wore her ugly black dress and looked her very worst, her eyes andnose red from crying. They talked little, for Janet seemed faintlyto resent Anne's efforts to cheer her up. She plainly preferred to bemiserable. 

Suddenly the gate-latch clicked and John Douglas strode into the garden. He walked towards them straight over the geranium bed. Janet stoodup. So did Anne. Anne was a tall girl and wore a white dress; but JohnDouglas did not see her. 

"Janet, " he said, "will you marry me?"

The words burst out as if they had been wanting to be said for twentyyears and MUST be uttered now, before anything else. 

Janet's face was so red from crying that it couldn't turn any redder, soit turned a most unbecoming purple. 

"Why didn't you ask me before?" she said slowly. 

"I couldn't. She made me promise not to--mother made me promise not to. Nineteen years ago she took a terrible spell. We thought she couldn'tlive through it. She implored me to promise not to ask you to marry mewhile she was alive. I didn't want to promise such a thing, even thoughwe all thought she couldn't live very long--the doctor only gave hersix months. But she begged it on her knees, sick and suffering. I had topromise. "

"What had your mother against me?" cried Janet. 

"Nothing--nothing. She just didn't want another woman--ANY woman--therewhile she was living. She said if I didn't promise she'd die rightthere and I'd have killed her. So I promised. And she's held me to thatpromise ever since, though I've gone on my knees to her in my turn tobeg her to let me off. "

"Why didn't you tell me this?" asked Janet chokingly. "If I'd onlyKNOWN! Why didn't you just tell me?"

"She made me promise I wouldn't tell a soul, " said John hoarsely. "She swore me to it on the Bible; Janet, I'd never have done it if I'ddreamed it was to be for so long. Janet, you'll never know what I'vesuffered these nineteen years. I know I've made you suffer, too, butyou'll marry me for all, won't you, Janet? Oh, Janet, won't you? I'vecome as soon as I could to ask you. "

At this moment the stupefied Anne came to her senses and realized thatshe had no business to be there. She slipped away and did not see Janetuntil the next morning, when the latter told her the rest of the story. 

"That cruel, relentless, deceitful old woman!" cried Anne. 

"Hush--she's dead, " said Janet solemnly. "If she wasn't--but she IS. So we mustn't speak evil of her. But I'm happy at last, Anne. And Iwouldn't have minded waiting so long a bit if I'd only known why. "

"When are you to be married?"

"Next month. Of course it will be very quiet. I suppose people will talkterrible. They'll say I made enough haste to snap John up as soon as hispoor mother was out of the way. John wanted to let them know the truthbut I said, 'No, John; after all she was your mother, and we'll keep thesecret between us, and not cast any shadow on her memory. I don't mindwhat people say, now that I know the truth myself. It don't matter amite. Let it all be buried with the dead' says I to him. So I coaxed himround to agree with me. "

"You're much more forgiving than I could ever be, " Anne said, rathercrossly. 

"You'll feel differently about a good many things when you get to be myage, " said Janet tolerantly. "That's one of the things we learn as wegrow older--how to forgive. It comes easier at forty than it did attwenty. "

Chapter XXXV

The Last Redmond Year Opens

"Here we are, all back again, nicely sunburned and rejoicing as a strongman to run a race, " said Phil, sitting down on a suitcase with a sigh ofpleasure. "Isn't it jolly to see this dear old Patty's Place again--andAunty--and the cats? Rusty has lost another piece of ear, hasn't he?"

"Rusty would be the nicest cat in the world if he had no ears at all, "declared Anne loyally from her trunk, while Rusty writhed about her lapin a frenzy of welcome. 

"Aren't you glad to see us back, Aunty?" demanded Phil. 

"Yes. But I wish you'd tidy things up, " said Aunt Jamesina plaintively, looking at the wilderness of trunks and suitcases by which the fourlaughing, chattering girls were surrounded. "You can talk just as welllater on. Work first and then play used to be my motto when I was agirl. "

"Oh, we've just reversed that in this generation, Aunty. OUR motto isplay your play and then dig in. You can do your work so much better ifyou've had a good bout of play first. "

"If you are going to marry a minister, " said Aunt Jamesina, picking upJoseph and her knitting and resigning herself to the inevitable with thecharming grace that made her the queen of housemothers, "you will haveto give up such expressions as 'dig in. '"

"Why?" moaned Phil. "Oh, why must a minister's wife be supposed to utteronly prunes and prisms? I shan't. Everybody on Patterson Street usesslang--that is to say, metaphorical language--and if I didn't they wouldthink me insufferably proud and stuck up. "

"Have you broken the news to your family?" asked Priscilla, feeding theSarah-cat bits from her lunchbasket. 

Phil nodded. 

"How did they take it?"

"Oh, mother rampaged. But I stood rockfirm--even I, Philippa Gordon, whonever before could hold fast to anything. Father was calmer. Father'sown daddy was a minister, so you see he has a soft spot in his heart forthe cloth. I had Jo up to Mount Holly, after mother grew calm, andthey both loved him. But mother gave him some frightful hints in everyconversation regarding what she had hoped for me. Oh, my vacationpathway hasn't been exactly strewn with roses, girls dear. But--I've wonout and I've got Jo. Nothing else matters. "

"To you, " said Aunt Jamesina darkly. 

"Nor to Jo, either, " retorted Phil. "You keep on pitying him. Why, pray?I think he's to be envied. He's getting brains, beauty, and a heart ofgold in ME. "

"It's well we know how to take your speeches, " said Aunt Jamesinapatiently. "I hope you don't talk like that before strangers. What wouldthey think?"

"Oh, I don't want to know what they think. I don't want to see myself asothers see me. I'm sure it would be horribly uncomfortable most of thetime. I don't believe Burns was really sincere in that prayer, either. "

"Oh, I daresay we all pray for some things that we really don't want, ifwe were only honest enough to look into our hearts, " owned Aunt Jamesinacandidly. "I've a notion that such prayers don't rise very far. _I_ usedto pray that I might be enabled to forgive a certain person, but I knownow I really didn't want to forgive her. When I finally got that I DIDwant to I forgave her without having to pray about it. "

"I can't picture you as being unforgiving for long, " said Stella. 

"Oh, I used to be. But holding spite doesn't seem worth while when youget along in years. "

"That reminds me, " said Anne, and told the tale of John and Janet. 

"And now tell us about that romantic scene you hinted so darkly at inone of your letters, " demanded Phil. 

Anne acted out Samuel's proposal with great spirit. The girls shriekedwith laughter and Aunt Jamesina smiled. 

"It isn't in good taste to make fun of your beaux, " she said severely;"but, " she added calmly, "I always did it myself. "

"Tell us about your beaux, Aunty, " entreated Phil. "You must have hadany number of them. "

"They're not in the past tense, " retorted Aunt Jamesina. "I've got themyet. There are three old widowers at home who have been casting sheep'seyes at me for some time. You children needn't think you own all theromance in the world. "

"Widowers and sheep's eyes don't sound very romantic, Aunty. "

"Well, no; but young folks aren't always romantic either. Some of mybeaux certainly weren't. I used to laugh at them scandalous, poor boys. There was Jim Elwood--he was always in a sort of day-dream--never seemedto sense what was going on. He didn't wake up to the fact that I'd said'no' till a year after I'd said it. When he did get married his wifefell out of the sleigh one night when they were driving home from churchand he never missed her. Then there was Dan Winston. He knew too much. He knew everything in this world and most of what is in the next. Hecould give you an answer to any question, even if you asked him when theJudgment Day was to be. Milton Edwards was real nice and I liked him butI didn't marry him. For one thing, he took a week to get a joke throughhis head, and for another he never asked me. Horatio Reeve was the mostinteresting beau I ever had. But when he told a story he dressed it upso that you couldn't see it for frills. I never could decide whether hewas lying or just letting his imagination run loose. "

"And what about the others, Aunty?"

"Go away and unpack, " said Aunt Jamesina, waving Joseph at them bymistake for a needle. "The others were too nice to make fun of. I shallrespect their memory. There's a box of flowers in your room, Anne. Theycame about an hour ago. "

After the first week the girls of Patty's Place settled down to a steadygrind of study; for this was their last year at Redmond and graduationhonors must be fought for persistently. Anne devoted herself to English, Priscilla pored over classics, and Philippa pounded away at Mathematics. Sometimes they grew tired, sometimes they felt discouraged, sometimesnothing seemed worth the struggle for it. In one such mood Stellawandered up to the blue room one rainy November evening. Anne sat on thefloor in a little circle of light cast by the lamp beside her, amid asurrounding snow of crumpled manuscript. 

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Just looking over some old Story Club yarns. I wanted something tocheer AND inebriate. I'd studied until the world seemed azure. So I cameup here and dug these out of my trunk. They are so drenched in tears andtragedy that they are excruciatingly funny. "

"I'm blue and discouraged myself, " said Stella, throwing herself on thecouch. "Nothing seems worthwhile. My very thoughts are old. I've thoughtthem all before. What is the use of living after all, Anne?"

"Honey, it's just brain fag that makes us feel that way, and theweather. A pouring rainy night like this, coming after a hard day'sgrind, would squelch any one but a Mark Tapley. You know it ISworthwhile to live. "

"Oh, I suppose so. But I can't prove it to myself just now. "

"Just think of all the great and noble souls who have lived and workedin the world, " said Anne dreamily. "Isn't it worthwhile to come afterthem and inherit what they won and taught? Isn't it worthwhile to thinkwe can share their inspiration? And then, all the great souls that willcome in the future? Isn't it worthwhile to work a little and prepare theway for them--make just one step in their path easier?"

"Oh, my mind agrees with you, Anne. But my soul remains doleful anduninspired. I'm always grubby and dingy on rainy nights. "

"Some nights I like the rain--I like to lie in bed and hear it patteringon the roof and drifting through the pines. "

"I like it when it stays on the roof, " said Stella. "It doesn't always. I spent a gruesome night in an old country farmhouse last summer. Theroof leaked and the rain came pattering down on my bed. There was nopoetry in THAT. I had to get up in the 'mirk midnight' and chivy roundto pull the bedstead out of the drip--and it was one of those solid, old-fashioned beds that weigh a ton--more or less. And then thatdrip-drop, drip-drop kept up all night until my nerves just went topieces. You've no idea what an eerie noise a great drop of rain fallingwith a mushy thud on a bare floor makes in the night. It sounds likeghostly footsteps and all that sort of thing. What are you laughingover, Anne?"

"These stories. As Phil would say they are killing--in more senses thanone, for everybody died in them. What dazzlingly lovely heroineswe had--and how we dressed them!

"Silks--satins--velvets--jewels--laces--they never wore anything else. Here is one of Jane Andrews' stories depicting her heroine as sleepingin a beautiful white satin nightdress trimmed with seed pearls. "

"Go on, " said Stella. "I begin to feel that life is worth living as longas there's a laugh in it. "

"Here's one I wrote. My heroine is disporting herself at a ball'glittering from head to foot with large diamonds of the first water. 'But what booted beauty or rich attire? 'The paths of glory lead but tothe grave. ' They must either be murdered or die of a broken heart. Therewas no escape for them. "

"Let me read some of your stories. "

"Well, here's my masterpiece. Note its cheerful title--'My Graves. ' Ished quarts of tears while writing it, and the other girls shed gallonswhile I read it. Jane Andrews' mother scolded her frightfully becauseshe had so many handkerchiefs in the wash that week. It's a harrowingtale of the wanderings of a Methodist minister's wife. I made her aMethodist because it was necessary that she should wander. She buried achild every place she lived in. There were nine of them and theirgraves were severed far apart, ranging from Newfoundland to Vancouver. Idescribed the children, pictured their several death beds, and detailedtheir tombstones and epitaphs. I had intended to bury the whole ninebut when I had disposed of eight my invention of horrors gave out and Ipermitted the ninth to live as a hopeless cripple. "

While Stella read My Graves, punctuating its tragic paragraphs withchuckles, and Rusty slept the sleep of a just cat who has been out allnight curled up on a Jane Andrews tale of a beautiful maiden of fifteenwho went to nurse in a leper colony--of course dying of the loathsomedisease finally--Anne glanced over the other manuscripts and recalledthe old days at Avonlea school when the members of the Story Club, sitting under the spruce trees or down among the ferns by the brook, hadwritten them. What fun they had had! How the sunshine and mirth of thoseolden summers returned as she read. Not all the glory that was Greeceor the grandeur that was Rome could weave such wizardry as those funny, tearful tales of the Story Club. Among the manuscripts Anne found onewritten on sheets of wrapping paper. A wave of laughter filled hergray eyes as she recalled the time and place of its genesis. It was thesketch she had written the day she fell through the roof of the Cobbduckhouse on the Tory Road. 

Anne glanced over it, then fell to reading it intently. It was a littledialogue between asters and sweet-peas, wild canaries in the lilac bush, and the guardian spirit of the garden. After she had read it, shesat, staring into space; and when Stella had gone she smoothed out thecrumpled manuscript. 

"I believe I will, " she said resolutely. 

Chapter XXXVI

The Gardners'Call

"Here is a letter with an Indian stamp for you, Aunt Jimsie, " said Phil. "Here are three for Stella, and two for Pris, and a glorious fat one forme from Jo. There's nothing for you, Anne, except a circular. "

Nobody noticed Anne's flush as she took the thin letter Phil tossed hercarelessly. But a few minutes later Phil looked up to see a transfiguredAnne. 

"Honey, what good thing has happened?"

"The Youth's Friend has accepted a little sketch I sent them a fortnightago, " said Anne, trying hard to speak as if she were accustomed tohaving sketches accepted every mail, but not quite succeeding. 

"Anne Shirley! How glorious! What was it? When is it to be published?Did they pay you for it?"

"Yes; they've sent a check for ten dollars, and the editor writes thathe would like to see more of my work. Dear man, he shall. It was anold sketch I found in my box. I re-wrote it and sent it in--but I neverreally thought it could be accepted because it had no plot, " said Anne, recalling the bitter experience of Averil's Atonement. 

"What are you going to do with that ten dollars, Anne? Let's all go uptown and get drunk, " suggested Phil. 

"I AM going to squander it in a wild soulless revel of some sort, "declared Anne gaily. "At all events it isn't tainted money--like thecheck I got for that horrible Reliable Baking Powder story. I spent ITusefully for clothes and hated them every time I put them on. "

"Think of having a real live author at Patty's Place, " said Priscilla. 

"It's a great responsibility, " said Aunt Jamesina solemnly. 

"Indeed it is, " agreed Pris with equal solemnity. "Authors are kittlecattle. You never know when or how they will break out. Anne may makecopy of us. "

"I meant that the ability to write for the Press was a greatresponsibility, " said Aunt Jamesina severely, "and I hope Anne realizes, it. My daughter used to write stories before she went to the foreignfield, but now she has turned her attention to higher things. She usedto say her motto was 'Never write a line you would be ashamed to readat your own funeral. ' You'd better take that for yours, Anne, if you aregoing to embark in literature. Though, to be sure, " added Aunt Jamesinaperplexedly, "Elizabeth always used to laugh when she said it. Shealways laughed so much that I don't know how she ever came to decideon being a missionary. I'm thankful she did--I prayed that shemight--but--I wish she hadn't. "

Then Aunt Jamesina wondered why those giddy girls all laughed. 

Anne's eyes shone all that day; literary ambitions sprouted and buddedin her brain; their exhilaration accompanied her to Jennie Cooper'swalking party, and not even the sight of Gilbert and Christine, walkingjust ahead of her and Roy, could quite subdue the sparkle of her starryhopes. Nevertheless, she was not so rapt from things of earth as to beunable to notice that Christine's walk was decidedly ungraceful. 

"But I suppose Gilbert looks only at her face. So like a man, " thoughtAnne scornfully. 

"Shall you be home Saturday afternoon?" asked Roy. 

"Yes. "

"My mother and sisters are coming to call on you, " said Roy quietly. 

Something went over Anne which might be described as a thrill, but itwas hardly a pleasant one. She had never met any of Roy's family; sherealized the significance of his statement; and it had, somehow, anirrevocableness about it that chilled her. 

"I shall be glad to see them, " she said flatly; and then wondered if shereally would be glad. She ought to be, of course. But would it not besomething of an ordeal? Gossip had filtered to Anne regarding the lightin which the Gardners viewed the "infatuation" of son and brother. Roymust have brought pressure to bear in the matter of this call. Anneknew she would be weighed in the balance. From the fact that they hadconsented to call she understood that, willingly or unwillingly, theyregarded her as a possible member of their clan. 

"I shall just be myself. I shall not TRY to make a good impression, "thought Anne loftily. But she was wondering what dress she would betterwear Saturday afternoon, and if the new style of high hair-dressingwould suit her better than the old; and the walking party was ratherspoiled for her. By night she had decided that she would wear her brownchiffon on Saturday, but would do her hair low. 

Friday afternoon none of the girls had classes at Redmond. Stella tookthe opportunity to write a paper for the Philomathic Society, and wassitting at the table in the corner of the living-room with an untidylitter of notes and manuscript on the floor around her. Stella alwaysvowed she never could write anything unless she threw each sheet down asshe completed it. Anne, in her flannel blouse and serge skirt, with herhair rather blown from her windy walk home, was sitting squarely in themiddle of the floor, teasing the Sarah-cat with a wishbone. Joseph andRusty were both curled up in her lap. A warm plummy odor filled thewhole house, for Priscilla was cooking in the kitchen. Presently shecame in, enshrouded in a huge work-apron, with a smudge of flour on hernose, to show Aunt Jamesina the chocolate cake she had just iced. 

At this auspicious moment the knocker sounded. Nobody paid any attentionto it save Phil, who sprang up and opened it, expecting a boy with thehat she had bought that morning. On the doorstep stood Mrs. Gardner andher daughters. 

Anne scrambled to her feet somehow, emptying two indignant cats out ofher lap as she did so, and mechanically shifting her wishbone from herright hand to her left. Priscilla, who would have had to cross the roomto reach the kitchen door, lost her head, wildly plunged the chocolatecake under a cushion on the inglenook sofa, and dashed upstairs. Stellabegan feverishly gathering up her manuscript. Only Aunt Jamesina andPhil remained normal. Thanks to them, everybody was soon sitting atease, even Anne. Priscilla came down, apronless and smudgeless, Stellareduced her corner to decency, and Phil saved the situation by a streamof ready small talk. 

Mrs. Gardner was tall and thin and handsome, exquisitely gowned, cordialwith a cordiality that seemed a trifle forced. Aline Gardner was ayounger edition of her mother, lacking the cordiality. She endeavoredto be nice, but succeeded only in being haughty and patronizing. DorothyGardner was slim and jolly and rather tomboyish. Anne knew she was Roy'sfavorite sister and warmed to her. She would have looked very muchlike Roy if she had had dreamy dark eyes instead of roguish hazel ones. Thanks to her and Phil, the call really went off very well, except fora slight sense of strain in the atmosphere and two rather untowardincidents. Rusty and Joseph, left to themselves, began a game of chase, and sprang madly into Mrs. Gardner's silken lap and out of it in theirwild career. Mrs. Gardner lifted her lorgnette and gazed after theirflying forms as if she had never seen cats before, and Anne, chokingback slightly nervous laughter, apologized as best she could. 

"You are fond of cats?" said Mrs. Gardner, with a slight intonation oftolerant wonder. 

Anne, despite her affection for Rusty, was not especially fond of cats, but Mrs. Gardner's tone annoyed her. Inconsequently she rememberedthat Mrs. John Blythe was so fond of cats that she kept as many as herhusband would allow. 

"They ARE adorable animals, aren't they?" she said wickedly. 

"I have never liked cats, " said Mrs. Gardner remotely. 

"I love them, " said Dorothy. "They are so nice and selfish. Dogs areTOO good and unselfish. They make me feel uncomfortable. But cats aregloriously human. "

"You have two delightful old china dogs there. May I look at themclosely?" said Aline, crossing the room towards the fireplace andthereby becoming the unconscious cause of the other accident. Picking upMagog, she sat down on the cushion under which was secreted Priscilla'schocolate cake. Priscilla and Anne exchanged agonized glances butcould do nothing. The stately Aline continued to sit on the cushion anddiscuss china dogs until the time of departure. 

Dorothy lingered behind a moment to squeeze Anne's hand and whisperimpulsively. 

"I KNOW you and I are going to be chums. Oh, Roy has told me all aboutyou. I'm the only one of the family he tells things to, poor boy--nobodyCOULD confide in mamma and Aline, you know. What glorious times yougirls must have here! Won't you let me come often and have a share inthem?"

"Come as often as you like, " Anne responded heartily, thankful that oneof Roy's sisters was likable. She would never like Aline, so much wascertain; and Aline would never like her, though Mrs. Gardner might bewon. Altogether, Anne sighed with relief when the ordeal was over. 

 "'Of all sad words of tongue or pen The saddest are it might have been, '"

quoted Priscilla tragically, lifting the cushion. "This cake is now whatyou might call a flat failure. And the cushion is likewise ruined. Nevertell me that Friday isn't unlucky. "

"People who send word they are coming on Saturday shouldn't come onFriday, " said Aunt Jamesina. 

"I fancy it was Roy's mistake, " said Phil. "That boy isn't reallyresponsible for what he says when he talks to Anne. Where IS Anne?"

Anne had gone upstairs. She felt oddly like crying. But she made herselflaugh instead. Rusty and Joseph had been TOO awful! And Dorothy WAS adear. 

Chapter XXXVII

Full-fledged B. A. 's

"I wish I were dead, or that it were tomorrow night, " groaned Phil. 

"If you live long enough both wishes will come true, " said Anne calmly. 

"It's easy for you to be serene. You're at home in Philosophy. I'mnot--and when I think of that horrible paper tomorrow I quail. If Ishould fail in it what would Jo say?"

"You won't fail. How did you get on in Greek today?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it was a good paper and perhaps it was bad enoughto make Homer turn over in his grave. I've studied and mulled overnotebooks until I'm incapable of forming an opinion of anything. Howthankful little Phil will be when all this examinating is over. "

"Examinating? I never heard such a word. "

"Well, haven't I as good a right to make a word as any one else?"demanded Phil. 

"Words aren't made--they grow, " said Anne. 

"Never mind--I begin faintly to discern clear water ahead where noexamination breakers loom. Girls, do you--can you realize that ourRedmond Life is almost over?"

"I can't, " said Anne, sorrowfully. "It seems just yesterday that Prisand I were alone in that crowd of Freshmen at Redmond. And now we areSeniors in our final examinations. "

"'Potent, wise, and reverend Seniors, '" quoted Phil. "Do you suppose wereally are any wiser than when we came to Redmond?"

"You don't act as if you were by times, " said Aunt Jamesina severely. 

"Oh, Aunt Jimsie, haven't we been pretty good girls, take us by andlarge, these three winters you've mothered us?" pleaded Phil. 

"You've been four of the dearest, sweetest, goodest girls that ever wenttogether through college, " averred Aunt Jamesina, who never spoiled acompliment by misplaced economy. 

"But I mistrust you haven't any too much sense yet. It's not to beexpected, of course. Experience teaches sense. You can't learn it in acollege course. You've been to college four years and I never was, but Iknow heaps more than you do, young ladies. "

 "'There are lots of things that never go by rule, There's a powerful pile o' knowledge That you never get at college, There are heaps of things you never learn at school, '"

quoted Stella. 

"Have you learned anything at Redmond except dead languages and geometryand such trash?" queried Aunt Jamesina. 

"Oh, yes. I think we have, Aunty, " protested Anne. 

"We've learned the truth of what Professor Woodleigh told us lastPhilomathic, " said Phil. "He said, 'Humor is the spiciest condiment inthe feast of existence. Laugh at your mistakes but learn from them, jokeover your troubles but gather strength from them, make a jest ofyour difficulties but overcome them. ' Isn't that worth learning, AuntJimsie?"

"Yes, it is, dearie. When you've learned to laugh at the things thatshould be laughed at, and not to laugh at those that shouldn't, you'vegot wisdom and understanding. "

"What have you got out of your Redmond course, Anne?" murmured Priscillaaside. 

"I think, " said Anne slowly, "that I really have learned to look uponeach little hindrance as a jest and each great one as the foreshadowingof victory. Summing up, I think that is what Redmond has given me. "

"I shall have to fall back on another Professor Woodleigh quotation toexpress what it has done for me, " said Priscilla. "You remember thathe said in his address, 'There is so much in the world for us all if weonly have the eyes to see it, and the heart to love it, and the handto gather it to ourselves--so much in men and women, so much in art andliterature, so much everywhere in which to delight, and for which to bethankful. ' I think Redmond has taught me that in some measure, Anne. "

"Judging from what you all, say" remarked Aunt Jamesina, "the sumand substance is that you can learn--if you've got natural gumptionenough--in four years at college what it would take about twenty yearsof living to teach you. Well, that justifies higher education in myopinion. It's a matter I was always dubious about before. "

"But what about people who haven't natural gumption, Aunt Jimsie?"

"People who haven't natural gumption never learn, " retorted AuntJamesina, "neither in college nor life. If they live to be a hundredthey really don't know anything more than when they were born. It'stheir misfortune not their fault, poor souls. But those of us who havesome gumption should duly thank the Lord for it. "

"Will you please define what gumption is, Aunt Jimsie?" asked Phil. 

"No, I won't, young woman. Any one who has gumption knows what it is, and any one who hasn't can never know what it is. So there is no need ofdefining it. "

The busy days flew by and examinations were over. Anne took High Honorsin English. Priscilla took Honors in Classics, and Phil in Mathematics. Stella obtained a good all-round showing. Then came Convocation. 

"This is what I would once have called an epoch in my life, " saidAnne, as she took Roy's violets out of their box and gazed at themthoughtfully. She meant to carry them, of course, but her eyes wanderedto another box on her table. It was filled with lilies-of-the-valley, asfresh and fragrant as those which bloomed in the Green Gables yard whenJune came to Avonlea. Gilbert Blythe's card lay beside it. 

Anne wondered why Gilbert should have sent her flowers for Convocation. She had seen very little of him during the past winter. He had come toPatty's Place only one Friday evening since the Christmas holidays, andthey rarely met elsewhere. She knew he was studying very hard, aiming atHigh Honors and the Cooper Prize, and he took little part in the socialdoings of Redmond. Anne's own winter had been quite gay socially. She had seen a good deal of the Gardners; she and Dorothy were veryintimate; college circles expected the announcement of her engagement toRoy any day. Anne expected it herself. Yet just before she left Patty'sPlace for Convocation she flung Roy's violets aside and put Gilbert'slilies-of-the-valley in their place. She could not have told why shedid it. Somehow, old Avonlea days and dreams and friendships seemed veryclose to her in this attainment of her long-cherished ambitions. Sheand Gilbert had once picturedout merrily the day on which they shouldbe capped and gowned graduates in Arts. The wonderful day had come andRoy's violets had no place in it. Only her old friend's flowers seemedto belong to this fruition of old-blossoming hopes which he had onceshared. 

For years this day had beckoned and allured to her; but when it came theone single, keen, abiding memory it left with her was not that of thebreathless moment when the stately president of Redmond gave her cap anddiploma and hailed her B. A. ; it was not of the flash in Gilbert's eyeswhen he saw her lilies, nor the puzzled pained glance Roy gave her as hepassed her on the platform. It was not of Aline Gardner's condescendingcongratulations, or Dorothy's ardent, impulsive good wishes. It was ofone strange, unaccountable pang that spoiled this long-expected day forher and left in it a certain faint but enduring flavor of bitterness. 

The Arts graduates gave a graduation dance that night. When Anne dressedfor it she tossed aside the pearl beads she usually wore and took fromher trunk the small box that had come to Green Gables on Christmas day. In it was a thread-like gold chain with a tiny pink enamel heart as apendant. On the accompanying card was written, "With all good wishesfrom your old chum, Gilbert. " Anne, laughing over the memory the enamelheart conjured up the fatal day when Gilbert had called her "Carrots"and vainly tried to make his peace with a pink candy heart, had writtenhim a nice little note of thanks. But she had never worn the trinket. Tonight she fastened it about her white throat with a dreamy smile. 

She and Phil walked to Redmond together. Anne walked in silence; Philchattered of many things. Suddenly she said, "I heard today that Gilbert Blythe's engagement to Christine Stuart wasto be announced as soon as Convocation was over. Did you hear anythingof it?"

"No, " said Anne. 

"I think it's true, " said Phil lightly. 

Anne did not speak. In the darkness she felt her face burning. Sheslipped her hand inside her collar and caught at the gold chain. Oneenergetic twist and it gave way. Anne thrust the broken trinket into herpocket. Her hands were trembling and her eyes were smarting. 

But she was the gayest of all the gay revellers that night, and toldGilbert unregretfully that her card was full when he came to ask her fora dance. Afterwards, when she sat with the girls before the dying embersat Patty's Place, removing the spring chilliness from their satin skins, none chatted more blithely than she of the day's events. 

"Moody Spurgeon MacPherson called here tonight after you left, " saidAunt Jamesina, who had sat up to keep the fire on. "He didn't know aboutthe graduation dance. That boy ought to sleep with a rubber band aroundhis head to train his ears not to stick out. I had a beau once who didthat and it improved him immensely. It was I who suggested it to him andhe took my advice, but he never forgave me for it. "

"Moody Spurgeon is a very serious young man, " yawned Priscilla. "Heis concerned with graver matters than his ears. He is going to be aminister, you know. "

"Well, I suppose the Lord doesn't regard the ears of a man, " said AuntJamesina gravely, dropping all further criticism of Moody Spurgeon. Aunt Jamesina had a proper respect for the cloth even in the case of anunfledged parson. 

Chapter XXXVIII

False Dawn

"Just imagine--this night week I'll be in Avonlea--delightful thought!"said Anne, bending over the box in which she was packing Mrs. RachelLynde's quilts. "But just imagine--this night week I'll be gone foreverfrom Patty's Place--horrible thought!"

"I wonder if the ghost of all our laughter will echo through the maidendreams of Miss Patty and Miss Maria, " speculated Phil. 

Miss Patty and Miss Maria were coming home, after having trotted overmost of the habitable globe. 

"We'll be back the second week in May" wrote Miss Patty. "I expectPatty's Place will seem rather small after the Hall of the Kings atKarnak, but I never did like big places to live in. And I'll be gladenough to be home again. When you start traveling late in life you'reapt to do too much of it because you know you haven't much time left, and it's a thing that grows on you. I'm afraid Maria will never becontented again. "

"I shall leave here my fancies and dreams to bless the next comer, " saidAnne, looking around the blue room wistfully--her pretty blue room whereshe had spent three such happy years. She had knelt at its window topray and had bent from it to watch the sunset behind the pines. Shehad heard the autumn raindrops beating against it and had welcomedthe spring robins at its sill. She wondered if old dreams could hauntrooms--if, when one left forever the room where she had joyed andsuffered and laughed and wept, something of her, intangible andinvisible, yet nonetheless real, did not remain behind like a voicefulmemory. 

"I think, " said Phil, "that a room where one dreams and grieves andrejoices and lives becomes inseparably connected with those processesand acquires a personality of its own. I am sure if I came into thisroom fifty years from now it would say 'Anne, Anne' to me. What nicetimes we've had here, honey! What chats and jokes and good chummyjamborees! Oh, dear me! I'm to marry Jo in June and I know I willbe rapturously happy. But just now I feel as if I wanted this lovelyRedmond life to go on forever. "

"I'm unreasonable enough just now to wish that, too, " admitted Anne. "Nomatter what deeper joys may come to us later on we'll never again havejust the same delightful, irresponsible existence we've had here. It'sover forever, Phil. "

"What are you going to do with Rusty?" asked Phil, as that privilegedpussy padded into the room. 

"I am going to take him home with me and Joseph and the Sarah-cat, "announced Aunt Jamesina, following Rusty. "It would be a shame toseparate those cats now that they have learned to live together. It's ahard lesson for cats and humans to learn. "

"I'm sorry to part with Rusty, " said Anne regretfully, "but it would beno use to take him to Green Gables. Marilla detests cats, and Davy wouldtease his life out. Besides, I don't suppose I'll be home very long. I've been offered the principalship of the Summerside High School. "

"Are you going to accept it?" asked Phil. 

"I--I haven't decided yet, " answered Anne, with a confused flush. 

Phil nodded understandingly. Naturally Anne's plans could not be settleduntil Roy had spoken. He would soon--there was no doubt of that. Andthere was no doubt that Anne would say "yes" when he said "Willyou please?" Anne herself regarded the state of affairs with aseldom-ruffled complacency. She was deeply in love with Roy. True, itwas not just what she had imagined love to be. But was anything in life, Anne asked herself wearily, like one's imagination of it? It was the olddiamond disillusion of childhood repeated--the same disappointment shehad felt when she had first seen the chill sparkle instead of the purplesplendor she had anticipated. "That's not my idea of a diamond, " she hadsaid. But Roy was a dear fellow and they would be very happy together, even if some indefinable zest was missing out of life. When Roy camedown that evening and asked Anne to walk in the park every one atPatty's Place knew what he had come to say; and every one knew, orthought they knew, what Anne's answer would be. 

"Anne is a very fortunate girl, " said Aunt Jamesina. 

"I suppose so, " said Stella, shrugging her shoulders. "Roy is a nicefellow and all that. But there's really nothing in him. "

"That sounds very like a jealous remark, Stella Maynard, " said AuntJamesina rebukingly. 

"It does--but I am not jealous, " said Stella calmly. "I love Anne and Ilike Roy. Everybody says she is making a brilliant match, and even Mrs. Gardner thinks her charming now. It all sounds as if it were made inheaven, but I have my doubts. Make the most of that, Aunt Jamesina. "

Roy asked Anne to marry him in the little pavilion on the harbor shorewhere they had talked on the rainy day of their first meeting. Annethought it very romantic that he should have chosen that spot. And hisproposal was as beautifully worded as if he had copied it, as one ofRuby Gillis' lovers had done, out of a Deportment of Courtship andMarriage. The whole effect was quite flawless. And it was also sincere. There was no doubt that Roy meant what he said. There was no false noteto jar the symphony. Anne felt that she ought to be thrilling from headto foot. But she wasn't; she was horribly cool. When Roy paused for hisanswer she opened her lips to say her fateful yes. And then--she foundherself trembling as if she were reeling back from a precipice. To hercame one of those moments when we realize, as by a blinding flash ofillumination, more than all our previous years have taught us. Shepulled her hand from Roy's. 

"Oh, I can't marry you--I can't--I can't, " she cried, wildly. 

Roy turned pale--and also looked rather foolish. He had--small blame tohim--felt very sure. 

"What do you mean?" he stammered. 

"I mean that I can't marry you, " repeated Anne desperately. "I thought Icould--but I can't. "

"Why can't you?" Roy asked more calmly. 

"Because--I don't care enough for you. "

A crimson streak came into Roy's face. 

"So you've just been amusing yourself these two years?" he said slowly. 

"No, no, I haven't, " gasped poor Anne. Oh, how could she explain? SheCOULDN'T explain. There are some things that cannot be explained. "I didthink I cared--truly I did--but I know now I don't. "

"You have ruined my life, " said Roy bitterly. 

"Forgive me, " pleaded Anne miserably, with hot cheeks and stinging eyes. 

Roy turned away and stood for a few minutes looking out seaward. When hecame back to Anne, he was very pale again. 

"You can give me no hope?" he said. 

Anne shook her head mutely. 

"Then--good-bye, " said Roy. "I can't understand it--I can't believeyou are not the woman I've believed you to be. But reproaches are idlebetween us. You are the only woman I can ever love. I thank you for yourfriendship, at least. Good-bye, Anne. "

"Good-bye, " faltered Anne. When Roy had gone she sat for a long time inthe pavilion, watching a white mist creeping subtly and remorselesslylandward up the harbor. It was her hour of humiliation and self-contemptand shame. Their waves went over her. And yet, underneath it all, was aqueer sense of recovered freedom. 

She slipped into Patty's Place in the dusk and escaped to her room. ButPhil was there on the window seat. 

"Wait, " said Anne, flushing to anticipate the scene. "Wait til you hearwhat I have to say. Phil, Roy asked me to marry him-and I refused. "

"You--you REFUSED him?" said Phil blankly. 

"Yes. "

"Anne Shirley, are you in your senses?"

"I think so, " said Anne wearily. "Oh, Phil, don't scold me. You don'tunderstand. "

"I certainly don't understand. You've encouraged Roy Gardner in everyway for two years--and now you tell me you've refused him. Then you'vejust been flirting scandalously with him. Anne, I couldn't have believedit of YOU. "

"I WASN'T flirting with him--I honestly thought I cared up to the lastminute--and then--well, I just knew I NEVER could marry him. "

"I suppose, " said Phil cruelly, "that you intended to marry him for hismoney, and then your better self rose up and prevented you. "

"I DIDN'T. I never thought about his money. Oh, I can't explain it toyou any more than I could to him. "

"Well, I certainly think you have treated Roy shamefully, " said Phil inexasperation. "He's handsome and clever and rich and good. What more doyou want?"

"I want some one who BELONGS in my life. He doesn't. I was swept offmy feet at first by his good looks and knack of paying romanticcompliments; and later on I thought I MUST be in love because he was mydark-eyed ideal. "

"I am bad enough for not knowing my own mind, but you are worse, " saidPhil. 

"_I_ DO know my own mind, " protested Anne. "The trouble is, my mindchanges and then I have to get acquainted with it all over again. "

"Well, I suppose there is no use in saying anything to you. "

"There is no need, Phil. I'm in the dust. This has spoiled everythingbackwards. I can never think of Redmond days without recalling thehumiliation of this evening. Roy despises me--and you despise me--and Idespise myself. "

"You poor darling, " said Phil, melting. "Just come here and let mecomfort you. I've no right to scold you. I'd have married Alec or Alonzoif I hadn't met Jo. Oh, Anne, things are so mixed-up in real life. Theyaren't clear-cut and trimmed off, as they are in novels. "

"I hope that NO one will ever again ask me to marry him as long as Ilive, " sobbed poor Anne, devoutly believing that she meant it. 

Chapter XXXIX

Deals with Weddings

Anne felt that life partook of the nature of an anticlimax during thefirst few weeks after her return to Green Gables. She missed the merrycomradeship of Patty's Place. She had dreamed some brilliant dreamsduring the past winter and now they lay in the dust around her. In herpresent mood of self-disgust, she could not immediately begin dreamingagain. And she discovered that, while solitude with dreams is glorious, solitude without them has few charms. 

She had not seen Roy again after their painful parting in the parkpavilion; but Dorothy came to see her before she left Kingsport. 

"I'm awfully sorry you won't marry Roy, " she said. "I did want you for asister. But you are quite right. He would bore you to death. I love him, and he is a dear sweet boy, but really he isn't a bit interesting. Helooks as if he ought to be, but he isn't. "

"This won't spoil OUR friendship, will it, Dorothy?" Anne had askedwistfully. 

"No, indeed. You're too good to lose. If I can't have you for a sisterI mean to keep you as a chum anyway. And don't fret over Roy. He isfeeling terribly just now--I have to listen to his outpourings everyday--but he'll get over it. He always does. "

"Oh--ALWAYS?" said Anne with a slight change of voice. "So he has 'gotover it' before?"

"Dear me, yes, " said Dorothy frankly. "Twice before. And he raved to mejust the same both times. Not that the others actually refused him--theysimply announced their engagements to some one else. Of course, when hemet you he vowed to me that he had never really loved before--that theprevious affairs had been merely boyish fancies. But I don't think youneed worry. "

Anne decided not to worry. Her feelings were a mixture of relief andresentment. Roy had certainly told her she was the only one he had everloved. No doubt he believed it. But it was a comfort to feel that shehad not, in all likelihood, ruined his life. There were other goddesses, and Roy, according to Dorothy, must needs be worshipping at some shrine. Nevertheless, life was stripped of several more illusions, and Annebegan to think drearily that it seemed rather bare. 

She came down from the porch gable on the evening of her return with asorrowful face. 

"What has happened to the old Snow Queen, Marilla?"

"Oh, I knew you'd feel bad over that, " said Marilla. "I felt bad myself. That tree was there ever since I was a young girl. It blew down in thebig gale we had in March. It was rotten at the core. "

"I'll miss it so, " grieved Anne. "The porch gable doesn't seem the sameroom without it. I'll never look from its window again without a senseof loss. And oh, I never came home to Green Gables before that Dianawasn't here to welcome me. "

"Diana has something else to think of just now, " said Mrs. Lyndesignificantly. 

"Well, tell me all the Avonlea news, " said Anne, sitting down on theporch steps, where the evening sunshine fell over her hair in a finegolden rain. 

"There isn't much news except what we've wrote you, " said Mrs. Lynde. "Isuppose you haven't heard that Simon Fletcher broke his leg last week. It's a great thing for his family. They're getting a hundred things donethat they've always wanted to do but couldn't as long as he was about, the old crank. "

"He came of an aggravating family, " remarked Marilla. 

"Aggravating? Well, rather! His mother used to get up in prayer-meetingand tell all her children's shortcomings and ask prayers for them. 'Course it made them mad, and worse than ever. "

"You haven't told Anne the news about Jane, " suggested Marilla. 

"Oh, Jane, " sniffed Mrs. Lynde. "Well, " she conceded grudgingly, "JaneAndrews is home from the West--came last week--and she's going to bemarried to a Winnipeg millionaire. You may be sure Mrs. Harmon lost notime in telling it far and wide. "

"Dear old Jane--I'm so glad, " said Anne heartily. "She deserves the goodthings of life. "

"Oh, I ain't saying anything against Jane. She's a nice enough girl. Butshe isn't in the millionaire class, and you'll find there's not much torecommend that man but his money, that's what. Mrs. Harmon says he's anEnglishman who has made money in mines but _I_ believe he'll turn out tobe a Yankee. He certainly must have money, for he has just showered Janewith jewelry. Her engagement ring is a diamond cluster so big that itlooks like a plaster on Jane's fat paw. "

Mrs. Lynde could not keep some bitterness out of her tone. Here wasJane Andrews, that plain little plodder, engaged to a millionaire, whileAnne, it seemed, was not yet bespoken by any one, rich or poor. And Mrs. Harmon Andrews did brag insufferably. 

"What has Gilbert Blythe been doing to at college?" asked Marilla. "Isaw him when he came home last week, and he is so pale and thin I hardlyknew him. "

"He studied very hard last winter, " said Anne. "You know he took HighHonors in Classics and the Cooper Prize. It hasn't been taken for fiveyears! So I think he's rather run down. We're all a little tired. "

"Anyhow, you're a B. A. And Jane Andrews isn't and never will be, " saidMrs. Lynde, with gloomy satisfaction. 

A few evenings later Anne went down to see Jane, but the latter wasaway in Charlottetown--"getting sewing done, " Mrs. Harmon informed Anneproudly. "Of course an Avonlea dressmaker wouldn't do for Jane under thecircumstances. "

"I've heard something very nice about Jane, " said Anne. 

"Yes, Jane has done pretty well, even if she isn't a B. A. , " said Mrs. Harmon, with a slight toss of her head. "Mr. Inglis is worth millions, and they're going to Europe on their wedding tour. When they come backthey'll live in a perfect mansion of marble in Winnipeg. Jane has onlyone trouble--she can cook so well and her husband won't let her cook. Heis so rich he hires his cooking done. They're going to keep a cook andtwo other maids and a coachman and a man-of-all-work. But what aboutYOU, Anne? I don't hear anything of your being married, after all yourcollege-going. "

"Oh, " laughed Anne, "I am going to be an old maid. I really can't findany one to suit me. " It was rather wicked of her. She deliberately meantto remind Mrs. Andrews that if she became an old maid it was not becauseshe had not had at least one chance of marriage. But Mrs. Harmon tookswift revenge. 

"Well, the over-particular girls generally get left, I notice. Andwhat's this I hear about Gilbert Blythe being engaged to a Miss Stuart?Charlie Sloane tells me she is perfectly beautiful. Is it true?"

"I don't know if it is true that he is engaged to Miss Stuart, " repliedAnne, with Spartan composure, "but it is certainly true that she is verylovely. "

"I once thought you and Gilbert would have made a match of it, " saidMrs. Harmon. "If you don't take care, Anne, all of your beaux will slipthrough your fingers. "

Anne decided not to continue her duel with Mrs. Harmon. You could notfence with an antagonist who met rapier thrust with blow of battle axe. 

"Since Jane is away, " she said, rising haughtily, "I don't think I canstay longer this morning. I'll come down when she comes home. "

"Do, " said Mrs. Harmon effusively. "Jane isn't a bit proud. She justmeans to associate with her old friends the same as ever. She'll be realglad to see you. "

Jane's millionaire arrived the last of May and carried her off in ablaze of splendor. Mrs. Lynde was spitefully gratified to find thatMr. Inglis was every day of forty, and short and thin and grayish. Mrs. Lynde did not spare him in her enumeration of his shortcomings, you maybe sure. 

"It will take all his gold to gild a pill like him, that's what, " saidMrs. Rachel solemnly. 

"He looks kind and good-hearted, " said Anne loyally, "and I'm sure hethinks the world of Jane. "

"Humph!" said Mrs. Rachel. 

Phil Gordon was married the next week and Anne went over to Bolingbroketo be her bridesmaid. Phil made a dainty fairy of a bride, and the Rev. Jo was so radiant in his happiness that nobody thought him plain. 

"We're going for a lovers' saunter through the land of Evangeline, " saidPhil, "and then we'll settle down on Patterson Street. Mother thinksit is terrible--she thinks Jo might at least take a church in a decentplace. But the wilderness of the Patterson slums will blossom like therose for me if Jo is there. Oh, Anne, I'm so happy my heart aches withit. "

Anne was always glad in the happiness of her friends; but it issometimes a little lonely to be surrounded everywhere by a happinessthat is not your own. And it was just the same when she went back toAvonlea. This time it was Diana who was bathed in the wonderful glorythat comes to a woman when her first-born is laid beside her. Annelooked at the white young mother with a certain awe that had neverentered into her feelings for Diana before. Could this pale woman withthe rapture in her eyes be the little black-curled, rosy-cheeked Dianashe had played with in vanished schooldays? It gave her a queer desolatefeeling that she herself somehow belonged only in those past years andhad no business in the present at all. 

"Isn't he perfectly beautiful?" said Diana proudly. 

The little fat fellow was absurdly like Fred--just as round, just asred. Anne really could not say conscientiously that she thought himbeautiful, but she vowed sincerely that he was sweet and kissable andaltogether delightful. 

"Before he came I wanted a girl, so that I could call her ANNE, " saidDiana. "But now that little Fred is here I wouldn't exchange him for amillion girls. He just COULDN'T have been anything but his own preciousself. "

"'Every little baby is the sweetest and the best, '" quoted Mrs. Allangaily. "If little Anne HAD come you'd have felt just the same abouther. "

Mrs. Allan was visiting in Avonlea, for the first time since leaving it. She was as gay and sweet and sympathetic as ever. Her old girl friendshad welcomed her back rapturously. The reigning minister's wife was anestimable lady, but she was not exactly a kindred spirit. 

"I can hardly wait till he gets old enough to talk, " sighed Diana. "Ijust long to hear him say 'mother. ' And oh, I'm determined that hisfirst memory of me shall be a nice one. The first memory I have ofmy mother is of her slapping me for something I had done. I am sure Ideserved it, and mother was always a good mother and I love her dearly. But I do wish my first memory of her was nicer. "

"I have just one memory of my mother and it is the sweetest of allmy memories, " said Mrs. Allan. "I was five years old, and I had beenallowed to go to school one day with my two older sisters. When schoolcame out my sisters went home in different groups, each supposing I waswith the other. Instead I had run off with a little girl I had playedwith at recess. We went to her home, which was near the school, andbegan making mud pies. We were having a glorious time when my oldersister arrived, breathless and angry. 

"'You naughty girl" she cried, snatching my reluctant hand and draggingme along with her. 'Come home this minute. Oh, you're going to catch it!Mother is awful cross. She is going to give you a good whipping. '

"I had never been whipped. Dread and terror filled my poor little heart. I have never been so miserable in my life as I was on that walk home. Ihad not meant to be naughty. Phemy Cameron had asked me to go home withher and I had not known it was wrong to go. And now I was to be whippedfor it. When we got home my sister dragged me into the kitchen wheremother was sitting by the fire in the twilight. My poor wee legs weretrembling so that I could hardly stand. And mother--mother just took meup in her arms, without one word of rebuke or harshness, kissed meand held me close to her heart. 'I was so frightened you were lost, darling, ' she said tenderly. I could see the love shining in her eyes asshe looked down on me. She never scolded or reproached me for what I haddone--only told me I must never go away again without asking permission. She died very soon afterwards. That is the only memory I have of her. Isn't it a beautiful one?"

Anne felt lonelier than ever as she walked home, going by way of theBirch Path and Willowmere. She had not walked that way for many moons. It was a darkly-purple bloomy night. The air was heavy with blossomfragrance--almost too heavy. The cloyed senses recoiled from it asfrom an overfull cup. The birches of the path had grown from the fairysaplings of old to big trees. Everything had changed. Anne felt that shewould be glad when the summer was over and she was away at work again. Perhaps life would not seem so empty then. 

 "'I've tried the world--it wears no more The coloring of romance it wore, '"

sighed Anne--and was straightway much comforted by the romance in theidea of the world being denuded of romance!

Chapter XL

A Book of Revelation

The Irvings came back to Echo Lodge for the summer, and Anne spenta happy three weeks there in July. Miss Lavendar had not changed;Charlotta the Fourth was a very grown-up young lady now, but stilladored Anne sincerely. 

"When all's said and done, Miss Shirley, ma'am, I haven't seen any onein Boston that's equal to you, " she said frankly. 

Paul was almost grown up, too. He was sixteen, his chestnut curls hadgiven place to close-cropped brown locks, and he was more interestedin football than fairies. But the bond between him and his old teacherstill held. Kindred spirits alone do not change with changing years. 

It was a wet, bleak, cruel evening in July when Anne came back to GreenGables. One of the fierce summer storms which sometimes sweep over thegulf was ravaging the sea. As Anne came in the first raindrops dashedagainst the panes. 

"Was that Paul who brought you home?" asked Marilla. "Why didn't youmake him stay all night. It's going to be a wild evening. "

"He'll reach Echo Lodge before the rain gets very heavy, I think. Anyway, he wanted to go back tonight. Well, I've had a splendid visit, but I'm glad to see you dear folks again. 'East, west, hame's best. 'Davy, have you been growing again lately?"

"I've growed a whole inch since you left, " said Davy proudly. "I'm astall as Milty Boulter now. Ain't I glad. He'll have to stop crowingabout being bigger. Say, Anne, did you know that Gilbert Blythe isdying?" Anne stood quite silent and motionless, looking at Davy. Herface had gone so white that Marilla thought she was going to faint. 

"Davy, hold your tongue, " said Mrs. Rachel angrily. "Anne, don'tlook like that--DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT! We didn't mean to tell you sosuddenly. "

"Is--it--true?" asked Anne in a voice that was not hers. 

"Gilbert is very ill, " said Mrs. Lynde gravely. "He took down withtyphoid fever just after you left for Echo Lodge. Did you never hear ofit?"

"No, " said that unknown voice. 

"It was a very bad case from the start. The doctor said he'd beenterribly run down. They've a trained nurse and everything's been done. DON'T look like that, Anne. While there's life there's hope. "

"Mr. Harrison was here this evening and he said they had no hope ofhim, " reiterated Davy. 

Marilla, looking old and worn and tired, got up and marched Davy grimlyout of the kitchen. 

"Oh, DON'T look so, dear, " said Mrs. Rachel, putting her kind old armsabout the pallid girl. "I haven't given up hope, indeed I haven't. He'sgot the Blythe constitution in his favor, that's what. "

Anne gently put Mrs. Lynde's arms away from her, walked blindly acrossthe kitchen, through the hall, up the stairs to her old room. At itswindow she knelt down, staring out unseeingly. It was very dark. Therain was beating down over the shivering fields. The Haunted Woods wasfull of the groans of mighty trees wrung in the tempest, and the airthrobbed with the thunderous crash of billows on the distant shore. AndGilbert was dying!

There is a book of Revelation in every one's life, as there is in theBible. Anne read hers that bitter night, as she kept her agonized vigilthrough the hours of storm and darkness. She loved Gilbert--had alwaysloved him! She knew that now. She knew that she could no more cast himout of her life without agony than she could have cut off her right handand cast it from her. And the knowledge had come too late--too late evenfor the bitter solace of being with him at the last. If she had not beenso blind--so foolish--she would have had the right to go to him now. Buthe would never know that she loved him--he would go away from thislife thinking that she did not care. Oh, the black years of emptinessstretching before her! She could not live through them--she could not!She cowered down by her window and wished, for the first time in hergay young life, that she could die, too. If Gilbert went away from her, without one word or sign or message, she could not live. Nothing was ofany value without him. She belonged to him and he to her. In her hourof supreme agony she had no doubt of that. He did not love ChristineStuart--never had loved Christine Stuart. Oh, what a fool she had beennot to realize what the bond was that had held her to Gilbert--to thinkthat the flattered fancy she had felt for Roy Gardner had been love. Andnow she must pay for her folly as for a crime. 

Mrs. Lynde and Marilla crept to her door before they went to bed, shooktheir heads doubtfully at each other over the silence, and went away. The storm raged all night, but when the dawn came it was spent. Annesaw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of darkness. Soon the easternhilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim. The clouds rolled themselves awayinto great, soft, white masses on the horizon; the sky gleamed blue andsilvery. A hush fell over the world. 

Anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs. The freshness of therain-wind blew against her white face as she went out into the yard, andcooled her dry, burning eyes. A merry rollicking whistle was lilting upthe lane. A moment later Pacifique Buote came in sight. 

Anne's physical strength suddenly failed her. If she had not clutchedat a low willow bough she would have fallen. Pacifique was GeorgeFletcher's hired man, and George Fletcher lived next door to theBlythes. Mrs. Fletcher was Gilbert's aunt. Pacifique would knowif--if--Pacifique would know what there was to be known. 

Pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling. He did notsee Anne. She made three futile attempts to call him. He was almost pastbefore she succeeded in making her quivering lips call, "Pacifique!"

Pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning. 

"Pacifique, " said Anne faintly, "did you come from George Fletcher'sthis morning?"

"Sure, " said Pacifique amiably. "I got de word las' night dat my fader, he was seeck. It was so stormy dat I couldn't go den, so I start vairearly dis mornin'. I'm goin' troo de woods for short cut. "

"Did you hear how Gilbert Blythe was this morning?" Anne's desperationdrove her to the question. Even the worst would be more endurable thanthis hideous suspense. 

"He's better, " said Pacifique. "He got de turn las' night. De doctor sayhe'll be all right now dis soon while. Had close shave, dough! Dat boy, he jus' keel himself at college. Well, I mus' hurry. De old man, he'llbe in hurry to see me. "

Pacifique resumed his walk and his whistle. Anne gazed after him witheyes where joy was driving out the strained anguish of the night. He wasa very lank, very ragged, very homely youth. But in her sight he was asbeautiful as those who bring good tidings on the mountains. Never, aslong as she lived, would Anne see Pacifique's brown, round, black-eyedface without a warm remembrance of the moment when he had given to herthe oil of joy for mourning. 

Long after Pacifique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom of musicand then into silence far up under the maples of Lover's Lane Anne stoodunder the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness of life when somegreat dread has been removed from it. The morning was a cup filledwith mist and glamor. In the corner near her was a rich surprise ofnew-blown, crystal-dewed roses. The trills and trickles of song from thebirds in the big tree above her seemed in perfect accord with her mood. A sentence from a very old, very true, very wonderful Book came to herlips, "Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning. "

XLI

Love Takes Up the Glass of Time

"I've come up to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles throughSeptember woods and 'over hills where spices grow, ' this afternoon, "said Gilbert, coming suddenly around the porch corner. "Suppose we visitHester Gray's garden. "

Anne, sitting on the stone step with her lap full of a pale, filmy, green stuff, looked up rather blankly. 

"Oh, I wish I could, " she said slowly, "but I really can't, Gilbert. I'mgoing to Alice Penhallow's wedding this evening, you know. I've got todo something to this dress, and by the time it's finished I'll have toget ready. I'm so sorry. I'd love to go. "

"Well, can you go tomorrow afternoon, then?" asked Gilbert, apparentlynot much disappointed. 

"Yes, I think so. "

"In that case I shall hie me home at once to do something I shouldotherwise have to do tomorrow. So Alice Penhallow is to be marriedtonight. Three weddings for you in one summer, Anne--Phil's, Alice's, and Jane's. I'll never forgive Jane for not inviting me to her wedding. "

"You really can't blame her when you think of the tremendous Andrewsconnection who had to be invited. The house could hardly hold them all. I was only bidden by grace of being Jane's old chum--at least on Jane'spart. I think Mrs. Harmon's motive for inviting me was to let me seeJane's surpassing gorgeousness. "

"Is it true that she wore so many diamonds that you couldn't tell wherethe diamonds left off and Jane began?"

Anne laughed. 

"She certainly wore a good many. What with all the diamonds and whitesatin and tulle and lace and roses and orange blossoms, prim littleJane was almost lost to sight. But she was VERY happy, and so was Mr. Inglis--and so was Mrs. Harmon. "

"Is that the dress you're going to wear tonight?" asked Gilbert, lookingdown at the fluffs and frills. 

"Yes. Isn't it pretty? And I shall wear starflowers in my hair. TheHaunted Wood is full of them this summer. "

Gilbert had a sudden vision of Anne, arrayed in a frilly green gown, with the virginal curves of arms and throat slipping out of it, andwhite stars shining against the coils of her ruddy hair. The vision madehim catch his breath. But he turned lightly away. 

"Well, I'll be up tomorrow. Hope you'll have a nice time tonight. "

Anne looked after him as he strode away, and sighed. Gilbert wasfriendly--very friendly--far too friendly. He had come quite often toGreen Gables after his recovery, and something of their old comradeshiphad returned. But Anne no longer found it satisfying. The rose of lovemade the blossom of friendship pale and scentless by contrast. AndAnne had again begun to doubt if Gilbert now felt anything for her butfriendship. In the common light of common day her radiant certainty ofthat rapt morning had faded. She was haunted by a miserable fear thather mistake could never be rectified. It was quite likely that it wasChristine whom Gilbert loved after all. Perhaps he was even engagedto her. Anne tried to put all unsettling hopes out of her heart, andreconcile herself to a future where work and ambition must take theplace of love. She could do good, if not noble, work as a teacher; andthe success her little sketches were beginning to meet with in certaineditorial sanctums augured well for her budding literary dreams. But--but--Anne picked up her green dress and sighed again. 

When Gilbert came the next afternoon he found Anne waiting for him, fresh as the dawn and fair as a star, after all the gaiety of thepreceding night. She wore a green dress--not the one she had worn tothe wedding, but an old one which Gilbert had told her at a Redmondreception he liked especially. It was just the shade of green thatbrought out the rich tints of her hair, and the starry gray of hereyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin. Gilbert, glancing at hersideways as they walked along a shadowy woodpath, thought she had neverlooked so lovely. Anne, glancing sideways at Gilbert, now and then, thought how much older he looked since his illness. It was as if he hadput boyhood behind him forever. 

The day was beautiful and the way was beautiful. Anne was almost sorrywhen they reached Hester Gray's garden, and sat down on the old bench. But it was beautiful there, too--as beautiful as it had been on thefaraway day of the Golden Picnic, when Diana and Jane and Priscilla andshe had found it. Then it had been lovely with narcissus and violets;now golden rod had kindled its fairy torches in the corners and astersdotted it bluely. The call of the brook came up through the woods fromthe valley of birches with all its old allurement; the mellow airwas full of the purr of the sea; beyond were fields rimmed by fencesbleached silvery gray in the suns of many summers, and long hillsscarfed with the shadows of autumnal clouds; with the blowing of thewest wind old dreams returned. 

"I think, " said Anne softly, "that 'the land where dreams come true' isin the blue haze yonder, over that little valley. "

"Have you any unfulfilled dreams, Anne?" asked Gilbert. 

Something in his tone--something she had not heard since that miserableevening in the orchard at Patty's Place--made Anne's heart beat wildly. But she made answer lightly. 

"Of course. Everybody has. It wouldn't do for us to have all our dreamsfulfilled. We would be as good as dead if we had nothing left to dreamabout. What a delicious aroma that low-descending sun is extractingfrom the asters and ferns. I wish we could see perfumes as well as smellthem. I'm sure they would be very beautiful. "

Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked. 

"I have a dream, " he said slowly. "I persist in dreaming it, although ithas often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a homewith a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends--andYOU!"

Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breakingover her like a wave. It almost frightened her. 

"I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it againtoday will you give me a different answer?"

Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with allthe love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for amoment. He wanted no other answer. 

They lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in Edenmust have been, crept over it. There was so much to talk over andrecall--things said and done and heard and thought and felt andmisunderstood. 

"I thought you loved Christine Stuart, " Anne told him, as reproachfullyas if she had not given him every reason to suppose that she loved RoyGardner. 

Gilbert laughed boyishly. 

"Christine was engaged to somebody in her home town. I knew it and sheknew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me his sister wascoming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if Iwould look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. So I did. And then I liked Christine for her own sake. She is one ofthe nicest girls I've ever known. I knew college gossip credited us withbeing in love with each other. I didn't care. Nothing mattered much tome for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else--there never could be anybody else for me but you. I've loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head inschool. "

"I don't see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a littlefool, " said Anne. 

"Well, I tried to stop, " said Gilbert frankly, "not because I thoughtyou what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there was no chancefor me after Gardner came on the scene. But I couldn't--and I can't tellyou, either, what it's meant to me these two years to believe you weregoing to marry him, and be told every week by some busybody that yourengagement was on the point of being announced. I believed it until oneblessed day when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter fromPhil Gordon--Phil Blake, rather--in which she told me there was reallynothing between you and Roy, and advised me to 'try again. ' Well, thedoctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that. "

Anne laughed--then shivered. 

"I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, Iknew--I KNEW then--and I thought it was too late. "

"But it wasn't, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn't it? Let's resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty allour lives for the gift it has given us. "

"It's the birthday of our happiness, " said Anne softly. "I've alwaysloved this old garden of Hester Gray's, and now it will be dearer thanever. "

"But I'll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne, " said Gilbertsadly. "It will be three years before I'll finish my medical course. Andeven then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls. "

Anne laughed. 

"I don't want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU. You see I'mquite as shameless as Phil about it. Sunbursts and marble halls may beall very well, but there is more 'scope for imagination' without them. And as for the waiting, that doesn't matter. We'll just be happy, waiting and working for each other--and dreaming. Oh, dreams will bevery sweet now. "

Gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her. Then they walked hometogether in the dusk, crowned king and queen in the bridal realm oflove, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest flowers that everbloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hope and memory blew.