diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-31 17:58:52 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-31 17:58:52 -0700 |
| commit | 5d24c4e6f68f4370a92b44a7e4f2273aefcf2f62 (patch) | |
| tree | 459d9588c43a70d86e8ef69533b744e6e4629ef1 /old/iland10.txt | |
| parent | 8e87b96a58b9f381e0a3a8c4ab636f667ae8115c (diff) | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/iland10.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/iland10.txt | 9575 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9575 deletions
diff --git a/old/iland10.txt b/old/iland10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4674625..0000000 --- a/old/iland10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9575 +0,0 @@ -*******The Project Gutenberg Etext of Anne of The Island******* -*****This file should be named iland10.txt or iland10.zip****** - -Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, iland11.txt. -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, iland10a.txt. - -Official release date is January 1993, scanned by Charles Keller - -Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) - -We produce about one million dollars for each hour we work. One -hundred hours is a conservative estimate for how long it we take -to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright -searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This -projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value -per text is nominally estimated at one dollar, then we produce a -million dollars per hour; this year we will have to do four text -files per month, thus upping our productivity to two million/hr. -The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext -Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] -This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers. - -We need your donations more than ever! - -All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/IBC", and are -tax deductible to the extent allowable by law ("IBC" is Illinois -Benedictine College). (Subscriptions to our paper newsletter go -to IBC, too) - -For these and other matters, please mail to: - -David Turner, Project Gutenberg -Illinois Benedictine College -5700 College Road -Lisle, IL 60532-0900 - -Email requests to: -Internet: chipmonk@eagle.ibc.edu (David Turner) -Compuserve: chipmonk@eagle.ibc.edu (David Turner) -Attmail: internet!chipmonk@eagle.ibc.edu (David Turner) -MCImail: (David Turner) -ADDRESS TYPE: MCI / EMS: INTERNET / MBX:chipmonk@eagle.ibc.edu - -When all other email fails try our Michael S. Hart, Executive Director: -hart@vmd.cso.uiuc.edu (internet) hart@uiucvmd (bitnet) - -We would prefer to send you this information by email -(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). - -****** -If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please: - -FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: -ftp mrcnext.cso.uiuc.edu -login: anonymous -password: your@login -cd etext/etext91 -or cd etext92 [for new books] [now also cd etext/etext92] -or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] -dir [to see files] -get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] -GET INDEX and AAINDEX -for a list of books -and -GET NEW GUT for general information -and -MGET GUT* for newsletters. - -**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** -(Three Pages) - -****START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START**** - -Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. -They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with -your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from -someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our -fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement -disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how -you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. - -*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT - -By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, -you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept this -"Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive a -refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by sending -a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person you got -it from. If you received this etext on a physical medium (such -as a disk), you must return it with your request. - -ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS - -This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor -Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association (the -"Project"). Among other things, this means that no one owns a -United States copyright on or for this work, so the Project (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special -rules, set forth below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute -this etext under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. - -To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable efforts -to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain works. -Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any medium they -may be on may contain "Defects". Among other things, Defects -may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, -transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property -infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other etext medium, -a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be -read by your equipment. - -DISCLAIMER - -But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, -[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this etext -from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all liability to -you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees, and -[2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR UNDER STRICT LIABILI- -TY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL -DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGES. - -If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of -receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you -paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that time to -the person you received it from. If you received it on a -physical medium, you must return it with your note, and such -person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement copy. -If you received it electronically, such person may choose to -alternatively give you a second opportunity to receive it elec- -tronically. - -THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS -TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A -PARTICULAR PURPOSE. - -Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or -the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the -above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you -may have other legal rights. - -INDEMNITY - -You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, -officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost -and expense, including legal fees, that arise from any -distribution of this etext for which you are responsible, and -from [1] any alteration, modification or addition to the etext -for which you are responsible, or [2] any Defect. - -DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" - -You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by -disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this "Small -Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, or: - -[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this re- - quires that you do not remove, alter or modify the etext or - this "small print!" statement. You may however, if you - wish, distribute this etext in machine readable binary, - compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, including any - form resulting from conversion by word processing or hyper- - text software, but only so long as *EITHER*: - - [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable. We - consider an etext *not* clearly readable if it - contains characters other than those intended by the - author of the work, although tilde (~), asterisk (*) - and underline (_) characters may be used to convey - punctuation intended by the author, and additional - characters may be used to indicate hypertext links. - - [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no - expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form - by the program that displays the etext (as is the - case, for instance, with most word processors). - - [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no - additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext - in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC or - other equivalent proprietary form). - -[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this - "Small Print!" statement. - -[3] Pay a trademark license fee of 20% (twenty percent) of the - net profits you derive from distributing this etext under - the trademark, determined in accordance with generally - accepted accounting practices. The license fee: - - [*] Is required only if you derive such profits. In - distributing under our trademark, you incur no - obligation to charge money or earn profits for your - distribution. - - [*] Shall be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / - Illinois Benedictine College" (or to such other person - as the Project Gutenberg Association may direct) - within the 60 days following each date you prepare (or - were legally required to prepare) your year-end tax - return with respect to your income for that year. - -WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? - -The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, -scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty -free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution -you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg -Association / Illinois Benedictine College". - -WRITE TO US! We can be reached at: - -Project Gutenberg Director of Communications (PGDIRCOM) - -Internet: pgdircom@vmd.cso.uiuc.edu -Bitnet: pgdircom@uiucvmd -CompuServe: >internet:pgdircom@.vmd.cso.uiuc.edu -Attmail: internet!vmd.cso.uiuc.edu!pgdircom - -Drafted by CHARLES B. KRAMER, Attorney -CompuServe: 72600,2026 - Internet: 72600.2026@compuserve.com - Tel: (212) 254-5093 -*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.07.02.92*END* - - - - - - 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, -gazing across the shorn fields dreamily. She and Diana Barry had -been picking apples in the Green Gables orchard, but were now -resting from their labors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of -thistledown drifted by on the wings of a wind that was still -summer-sweet with the incense of ferns in the Haunted Wood. - -But everything in the landscape around them spoke of autumn. -The sea was roaring hollowly in the distance, the fields were bare -and sere, scarfed with golden rod, the brook valley below Green -Gables overflowed with asters of ethereal purple, and the Lake of -Shining Waters was blue -- blue -- blue; not the changeful blue -of spring, nor the pale azure of summer, but a clear, steadfast, -serene blue, as if the water were past all moods and tenses of emotion -and had settled down to a tranquility unbroken by fickle dreams. - -"It has been a nice summer," said Diana, twisting the new ring on -her left hand with a smile. "And Miss Lavendar's wedding seemed -to come as a sort of crown to it. I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Irving -are on the Pacific coast 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. -Everything has changed. Miss Lavendar and Mr. and Mrs. Allan gone --- how lonely the manse looks with the shutters all closed! -I went past it last night, and it 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 -this winter, and half the Sundays no preaching at all. And you and -Gilbert gone -- 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 not heard Anne's remark. - -"Tomorrow. I'm glad she's coming -- but it will be another change. -Marilla and 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 we were committing sacrilege. That old spare -room has always seemed like a shrine to me. When I was a child -I thought it the most wonderful apartment in the world. You -remember what a consuming desire I had to sleep 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 a wink -from awe. I never WALKED through that room when Marilla sent me in -on an errand -- no, indeed, I tiptoed through it and held my breath, -as if I were in church, and felt relieved when I got out of it. -The pictures of George Whitefield and the Duke of Wellington -hung there, one on each side 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 the house that didn't twist my face a little. -I always wondered how Marilla dared houseclean that room. And now it's -not only cleaned but stripped bare. George Whitefield and the Duke -have been relegated to the upstairs hall. `So passes the glory of -this world,' " concluded Anne, with a laugh in which there was a -little note of regret. It is never pleasant to 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 next -week rob us of this week's joy. I hate the thought of going myself --- home and I are such good friends. Talk of being lonesome! -It's I who should groan. 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's italics and slyness. - -"Charlie Sloane will be a great comfort, of course," agreed Anne -sarcastically; whereupon both those irresponsible damsels laughed. -Diana knew exactly what Anne thought of Charlie Sloane; but, -despite sundry confidential talks, she did not know just what -Anne thought of Gilbert Blythe. To be sure, Anne herself -did not know that. - -"The boys may be boarding at the other end of Kingsport, for all -I know," Anne went on. "I am glad I'm going to Redmond, and I am -sure I shall 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 visit home, as I had when I went to Queen's. -Christmas will seem like a thousand years away." - -"Everything is changing -- or going to change," said Diana sadly. -"I have a feeling that things will never be the same again, Anne." - -"We have come to a parting of the ways, I suppose," said Anne -thoughtfully. "We had to come to it. Do you think, Diana, that -being grown-up is really as nice as we used to imagine it would -be when we were 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 the effect of making Anne feel suddenly left out and -inexperienced. "But there are so many puzzling things, too. -Sometimes I feel as if being grown-up just frightened me -- and -then I would give anything to be a little girl again." - -"I suppose we'll get used to being grownup in time," said Anne -cheerfully. "There won't be so many unexpected things about it -by and by -- though, after all, I fancy it's the unexpected -things that give spice 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'll be 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't -aspire to spare rooms, and I shall be as 'umble as Uriah Heep, -and quite content with a little over-the-porch or off-the-parlor -cubby hole." - -"What nonsense you do talk, Anne," laughed Diana. "You'll marry -somebody splendid and handsome and rich -- and no spare room in -Avonlea will be half gorgeous enough for you -- and you'll turn -up your nose at all the friends of your youth." - -"That would be a pity; my nose is quite nice, but I fear turning -it up would spoil it," said Anne, patting that shapely organ. -"I haven't so many good features that I could afford to spoil -those I have; so, even if I should marry the King of the Cannibal -Islands, I promise you I won't turn up my nose at you, Diana." - -With another gay laugh the girls separated, Diana to return to -Orchard Slope, Anne to walk to the Post Office. She found a -letter awaiting her there, and when Gilbert Blythe overtook her -on the bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters she was sparkling -with the excitement of it. - -"Priscilla Grant is going to Redmond, too," she exclaimed. -"Isn't that splendid? I hoped she would, but she didn't think -her father would consent. He has, however, and we're to board -together. I feel that I can face an army with banners -- or all -the professors of Redmond in one fell phalanx -- 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 heard that the scenery in it is magnificent." - -"I wonder if it will be -- can be -- any more beautiful than this," -murmured Anne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes -of those to whom "home" must always be the loveliest spot in the world, -no matter what fairer lands may lie under alien stars. - -They were leaning on the bridge of the old pond, drinking deep of -the enchantment of the dusk, just at the spot where Anne had climbed -from her sinking Dory on the day Elaine floated down to Camelot. -The fine, empurpling dye of sunset still stained the western skies, -but the moon was 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 -will vanish just like a broken silence," breathed Anne. - -Gilbert suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying -on the rail of the bridge. His hazel eyes deepened into darkness, -his still boyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope -that thrilled his soul. But Anne snatched her hand away and -turned quickly. The spell of 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 -be in some dreadful mischief by this time. I really shouldn't have -stayed away so long." - -She chattered ceaselessly and inconsequently until they reached -the Green Gables lane. Poor Gilbert hardly had a chance to get -a word in edgewise. Anne felt rather relieved when they parted. -There had been a new, secret self-consciousness in her heart with -regard to Gilbert, ever since that fleeting moment of revelation -in the garden of Echo Lodge. Something alien had intruded into -the old, perfect, school-day comradeship -- 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 -just sensible!" - -Anne had an uneasy doubt that it was not strictly "sensible" that -she should still feel on her hand the warm pressure of Gilbert's, -as distinctly as she had felt it for the swift second his had -rested there; and still less sensible that the sensation was far -from being an unpleasant one -- very different from that which -had attended a similar demonstration on Charlie Sloane's part, -when she had been sitting out a dance with him at a White Sands -party three nights before. Anne shivered over the disagreeable -recollection. But all problems connected with infatuated swains -vanished from her mind when she entered the homely, unsentimental -atmosphere of the Green Gables kitchen where an eight-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 -'cause Dora fell down the outside cellar steps, heels over head, -and scraped all 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. Crying never helps any one, Davy-boy, and -- " - -"I ain't crying 'cause Dora fell down cellar," said Davy, cutting -short Anne's wellmeant preachment with increasing bitterness. -"I'm crying, cause I wasn't there to see her fall. I'm always -missing some fun or other, seems to me." - -"Oh, Davy!" Anne choked back an unholy shriek of laughter. -"Would you call 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 been killed I'd have been real sorry, Anne. But the Keiths -ain't so easy killed. They're like the Blewetts, I guess. Herb -Blewett fell off the hayloft last Wednesday, and rolled right -down through the turnip chute into the box stall, where they had -a fearful wild, cross horse, and rolled right under his heels. -And still he got out alive, with only three bones broke. Mrs. -Lynde says there are some folks you can't kill with 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 -prayers before 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'll wait 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 -and leave 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 -grown up 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 -want to do." - -"I won't," said Davy flatly. "Catch me! I have to do things I -don't want to now 'cause you and Marilla'll send me to bed if I don't. -But when I grow up you can't do that, and there'll be nobody to tell me -not to do things. Won't I have the time! Say, Anne, Milty Boulter says -his mother says 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, -reminding herself that Mrs. Boulter's crude vulgarity of thought -and speech could not harm her. - -"No, Davy, I'm not. I'm going to study and grow and learn about many things." - -"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 want to know," persisted Davy, for whom the subject evidently -possessed a certain fascination. - -"You'd better ask Mrs. Boulter," said Anne thoughtlessly. "I -think it's likely 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 the scrape. - -After Davy had gone to bed Anne wandered down to Victoria Island -and sat there alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, -while the water laughed around her in a duet of brook and wind. -Anne had always loved that brook. Many a dream had she spun over -its sparkling water in days gone by. She forgot lovelorn youths, -and the cayenne speeches of malicious neighbors, and all the -problems of her girlish existence. In imagination she sailed -over storied seas that wash the distant shining shores of "faery -lands forlorn," where lost Atlantis and Elysium lie, with the -evening star for pilot, to the land of Heart's Desire. And she -was 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, being -pleasant or otherwise, according to whether callers and called-upon were -heartily in sympathy with Anne's hopes, or thought she was too much -puffed-up over going to college and that it was their duty to "take her -down a peg or two." - -The A.V.I.S. gave a farewell party in honor of Anne and Gilbert -one evening at the home of Josie Pye, choosing that place, partly -because Mr. Pye's house was large and convenient, partly because -it was strongly suspected that the Pye girls would have nothing -to do with the affair if their offer of the house for the party -was not accepted. It was a very pleasant little time, for the -Pye girls were gracious, and said and did nothing to mar the -harmony of the occasion -- which was not according to their wont. -Josie was unusually amiable -- so much so that she even remarked -condescendingly to Anne, - -"Your new dress is rather becoming to you, Anne. Really, you -look ALMOST PRETTY in it." - -"How kind of you to say so," responded Anne, with dancing eyes. -Her sense of humor was developing, and the speeches that would -have hurt her at fourteen were becoming merely food for amusement -now. Josie suspected that Anne was laughing at her behind those -wicked eyes; but she contented herself with whispering to Gertie, -as they went downstairs, that Anne Shirley would put on more airs -than ever now that she was going to college -- you'd see! - -All the "old crowd" was there, full of mirth and zest and -youthful lightheartedness. Diana Barry, rosy and dimpled, -shadowed by the faithful Fred; Jane Andrews, neat and sensible -and plain; Ruby Gillis, looking her handsomest and brightest in a -cream silk blouse, with red geraniums in her golden hair; Gilbert -Blythe and Charlie Sloane, both trying to keep as near the -elusive Anne as possible; Carrie Sloane, looking pale and -melancholy because, so it was reported, her father would not -allow Oliver Kimball to come near the place; Moody Spurgeon -MacPherson, whose round face and objectionable ears were as round -and objectionable as ever; and Billy Andrews, who sat in a corner all -the evening, chuckled when any one spoke to him, and watched Anne -Shirley with a grin of pleasure on his broad, freckled countenance. - -Anne had known beforehand of the party, but she had not known -that she and Gilbert were, as the founders of the Society, to be -presented with a very complimentary "address" and "tokens of -respect" -- in her case a volume of Shakespeare's plays, in -Gilbert's a fountain pen. She was so taken by surprise and -pleased by the nice things said in the address, read in Moody -Spurgeon's most solemn and ministerial tones, that the tears -quite drowned the sparkle of her big gray eyes. She had worked -hard and faithfully for the A.V.I.S., and it warmed the cockles -of her heart that the members appreciated her efforts so sincerely. -And they were all so nice and friendly and jolly -- even the Pye -girls had their merits; at that moment Anne loved all the world. - -She enjoyed the evening tremendously, but the end of it rather -spoiled all. Gilbert again made the mistake of saying something -sentimental to her as they ate their supper on the moonlit -verandah; and Anne, to punish him, was gracious to Charlie Sloane -and allowed the latter to walk home with her. She found, -however, that revenge hurts nobody quite so much as the one who -tries to inflict it. Gilbert walked airily off with Ruby Gillis, -and Anne could hear them laughing and talking gaily as they -loitered along in the still, crisp autumn air. They were -evidently having the best of good times, while she was horribly -bored by Charlie Sloane, who talked unbrokenly on, and never, -even by accident, said one thing that was worth listening to. -Anne gave an occasional absent "yes" or "no," and thought how -beautiful Ruby had looked that night, how very goggly Charlie's -eyes were in the moonlight -- worse even than by daylight -- and -that the world, somehow, wasn't quite such a nice place as she -had believed it to be earlier in the evening. - -"I'm just tired out -- that is what is the matter with me," -she said, when she thankfully found herself alone in her own room. -And she honestly believed 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 saw Gilbert striding down through the -Haunted Wood and crossing the old log bridge with that firm, -quick step of his. So Gilbert was not going to spend 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 -because I've been packing my trunk and sewing all day. But I'm -disgruntled because six women have been here to say good-bye to -me, and every one of the six managed to say something that seemed -to take the color right out of life and leave it as gray and -dismal and cheerless as a November morning." - -"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 are all nice, kind, motherly souls, who like me -and whom I like, and that is why what they said, or hinted, had -such undue weight with me. They let me see they thought I was -crazy going to Redmond and trying to take a B.A., and ever since -I've been wondering if I am. Mrs. Peter Sloane sighed 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 the -end of my third year; Mrs. Eben Wright said it must cost an awful -lot to put in four years at Redmond; and I felt all over me that -it was unpardonable of me to squander Marilla's money and my own -on such a folly. 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 four Redmond years would see me a most -insufferable creature, thinking I knew it all, and looking down -on everything and everybody in Avonlea; Mrs. Elisha Wright said -she understood that Redmond girls, especially those who belonged -to Kingsport, were 'dreadful dressy and stuck-up,' and she -guessed I wouldn't feel much at home among them; and I saw -myself, a snubbed, dowdy, humiliated country girl, shuffling -through Redmond's classic halls in coppertoned boots." - -Anne ended with a laugh and a sigh commingled. With her sensitive -nature all disapproval had weight, even the disapproval of those -for whose opinions 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 know exactly how narrow their outlook on life is, excellent -creatures though they are. To do anything THEY have never done -is anathema maranatha. You are the first Avonlea girl who has -ever gone to college; and you know that all pioneers are considered -to be afflicted with moonstruck madness." - -"Oh, I know. But FEELING is so different from KNOWING. My common -sense tells me all you can say, but there are times when common -sense has no 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 -with me -- a ramble back through the woods beyond the marsh. -There should be something 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 of the wind." - -They started gaily off. Anne, remembering the unpleasantness of -the preceding evening, was very nice to Gilbert; and Gilbert, who -was learning wisdom, took care to be nothing save the schoolboy -comrade again. 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 -went against her grain to hear the matter spoken of in Mrs. Lynde's -gossipy matter-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's what. Anne is a young woman and Gilbert's a man, -and he worships the ground she walks on, as any one can see. -He's a fine fellow, and Anne can't do better. I hope she won't -get any romantic nonsense into her head at Redmond. I don't -approve of them coeducational places and never did, that's what. -I don't believe," concluded Mrs. Lynde solemnly, "that the -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. She never was flirtatious. But she doesn't appreciate -Gilbert at his full value, 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 -Sloanes might not be very illuminating, but she understood. -Every village has such a family; good, honest, respectable people -they may be, but SLOANES they are and must ever remain, though -they speak with the tongues of men and angels. - -Gilbert and Anne, happily unconscious that their future was thus -being settled by Mrs. Rachel, were sauntering through the shadows -of the Haunted Wood. Beyond, the harvest hills were basking in -an amber sunset radiance, under a pale, aerial sky of rose and blue. -The distant spruce groves were burnished bronze, and their long shadows -barred the upland meadows. But around them a little wind sang among -the fir tassels, and in it there was the note of autumn. - -"This wood really is haunted now -- by old memories," said Anne, -stooping to gather a spray of ferns, bleached to waxen whiteness -by frost. "It seems to me that the little girls Diana and I used -to be play here still, and sit by the Dryad's Bubble in the -twilights, trysting with the ghosts. Do you know, I can never go -up this path in the dusk without feeling a bit of the old fright -and shiver? There was one especially horrifying phantom which we -created -- the ghost of the murdered child that crept up behind -you and laid cold fingers on yours. I confess that, to this day, -I cannot help fancying its little, furtive footsteps behind me -when I come here after nightfall. I'm not afraid of the White -Lady or the headless man or the skeletons, but I wish I had never -imagined that baby's ghost into existence. How angry Marilla -and Mrs. Barry were over that 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 -and a maple-fringed, sun-warm valley they found the "something" -Gilbert was looking 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 -midst of pines and beeches, a mile away from any orchard. I was -here one day last spring and found it, all white with blossom. -So I resolved I'd come again in the fall and see if it had been -apples. See, it's loaded. They look good, too -- tawny as -russets but with a dusky red cheek. Most wild seedlings are -green and uninviting." - -"I suppose it sprang years ago from some chance-sown seed," said -Anne dreamily." And how it has grown and flourished and held its -own here all alone among aliens, the brave determined thing!" - -"Here's a fallen tree with a cushion of moss. Sit down, Anne -- -it will serve for a woodland throne. I'll climb for some apples. -They all grow high -- 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 proper apple taste, they had a certain wild, delightful tang -no orchard-grown apple ever possessed. - -"The fatal apple of Eden couldn't have had a rarer flavor," -commented Anne. "But it's time we were going home. See, it was -twilight three minutes ago and now it's moonlight. What a pity -we couldn't have caught the moment of transformation. But such -moments never are caught, I suppose." - -"Let's go back around the marsh and home by way of Lover's Lane. -Do you feel as disgruntled now as when you started out, Anne?" - -"Not I. Those apples have been as manna to a hungry soul. I feel -that I shall 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 -Anne lightly. "I've no idea what may be around it -- I don't -want to have. It's nicer not to know." - -Lover's Lane was a dear place that night, still and mysteriously -dim in the pale radiance of the moonlight. They loitered through -it in a pleasant chummy silence, neither caring to talk. - -"If Gilbert were always as he has been this evening how nice and -simple everything 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 -pang of self-destruct. - - - - -Chapter III - -Greeting and Farewell - - -Charlie Sloane, Gilbert Blythe and Anne Shirley left Avonlea the -following Monday morning. Anne had hoped for a fine day. Diana -was to drive her to the station and they wanted this, their last -drive together for some time, to be a pleasant one. But when Anne -went to bed Sunday night the east wind was moaning around Green -Gables with an ominous prophecy which was fulfilled in the morning. -Anne awoke to find raindrops pattering against her window and -shadowing the pond's gray surface with widening rings; hills and -sea were hidden in mist, and the whole world seemed dim and dreary. -Anne dressed in the cheerless gray dawn, for an early start was -necessary to catch the boat train; she struggled against the tears -that WOULD well up in her eyes in spite of herself. She was leaving -the home that was so dear to her, and something told her that she was -leaving it forever, save as a holiday refuge. Things would never be -the same again; coming back for vacations would not be living there. -And oh, how dear and beloved everything was -- that little white porch room, -sacred to the dreams of girlhood, the old Snow Queen at the window, -the brook in the hollow, the Dryad's Bubble, the Haunted Woods, -and Lover's Lane -- all the thousand and one dear spots where memories -of the old years bided. Could she ever be really happy anywhere 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 -blubbered shamelessly over his porridge. Nobody else seemed to -have much appetite, save Dora, who tucked away her rations comfortably. -Dora, like the immortal and most prudent Charlotte, who "went on -cutting bread and butter" when her frenzied lover's body had been -carried past on a shutter, was one of those fortunate creatures -who are seldom disturbed by anything. Even at eight it took a -great deal to ruffle Dora's placidity. She was sorry Anne was -going away, of course, but was that any reason why she should -fail to appreciate a poached egg on toast? Not at 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 -face glowing 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 and warn her to be careful of her health, -whatever she did. Marilla, brusque and tearless, pecked Anne's -cheek and said she supposed they'd hear from her when she got -settled. A casual observer might have concluded that Anne's -going mattered very little to her -- unless said observer had -happened to get a good look in her eyes. Dora kissed Anne primly -and squeezed out two decorous little tears; but Davy, who had -been crying on the back porch step ever since they rose from the -table, refused to say good-bye at all. When he saw Anne coming -towards him he sprang to his feet, bolted up the back stairs, and -hid in a clothes closet, out of which he would not come. His muffled -howls were the last sounds Anne heard as she left Green Gables. - -It rained heavily all the way to Bright River, to which station -they had to go, since the branch line train from Carmody did not -connect with the boat train. Charlie and Gilbert were on the -station platform when they reached it, and the train was whistling. -Anne had just time to get her ticket and trunk check, say a hurried -farewell to Diana, and hasten on board. She wished she were going back -with Diana to Avonlea; she knew she was going to die of homesickness. -And oh, if only that dismal rain would stop pouring down as if the -whole world were weeping over summer vanished and joys departed! -Even Gilbert's presence brought her no comfort, for Charlie Sloane -was there, too, and Sloanishness could be tolerated only in fine weather. -It was absolutely insufferable in rain. - -But when the boat steamed out of Charlottetown harbor things took -a turn for the better. The rain ceased and the sun began to -burst out goldenly now and again between the rents in the clouds, -burnishing the gray seas with copper-hued radiance, and lighting -up the mists that curtained the Island's red shores with gleams -of gold foretokening a fine day after all. Besides, Charlie -Sloane promptly became so seasick that he had to go 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 on water," thought Anne mercilessly. "I am sure I couldn't -take my farewell look at the `ould sod' with Charlie standing -there pretending to look sentimentally 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 -eyes vigorously. "Nova Scotia is that, I suppose. But one's -native shore is the land one loves the best, and that's good old -P.E.I. for me. I can't believe I didn't always live here. -Those eleven years before I came seem like a bad dream. -It's seven years since I crossed on this boat -- the evening -Mrs. Spencer brought me over from Hopetown. I can see myself, -in that dreadful old wincey dress and faded sailor hat, exploring -decks and cabins with enraptured curiosity. It was a fine evening; -and how those red Island shores did gleam in the sunshine. Now I'm -crossing the strait again. Oh, Gilbert, I do hope I'll like Redmond -and Kingsport, but I'm sure I won't!" - -"Where's all your philosophy gone, Anne?" - -"It's all submerged under a great, swamping wave of loneliness -and homesickness. I've longed for three years to go to Redmond --- and now I'm going -- and I wish I weren't! Never mind! I -shall be cheerful and philosophical 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 boardinghouse bed tonight, wherever it may -be, before I can have it. Then Anne will be herself again. I -wonder if Davy has come out of the closet yet." - -It was nine that night when their train reached Kingsport, and -they found themselves in the blue-white glare of the crowded station. -Anne felt horribly bewildered, but a moment later she was seized by -Priscilla Grant, who had come to Kingsport on Saturday. - -"Here you are, beloved! And I suppose you're as tired as I was -when I got here Saturday night." - -"Tired! Priscilla, don't talk of it. I'm tired, and green, -and provincial, and only about ten years old. For pity's sake -take your poor, 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 I should just sit down on my suitcase, here and now, and -weep bitter tears. What a comfort one familiar face is in a -howling wilderness of strangers!" - -"Is that Gilbert Blythe over there, Anne? How he has grown up -this past year! He was only a schoolboy when I taught in Carmody. -And of course that's Charlie Sloane. HE hasn't changed -- couldn't! -He looked just like that when he was born, and he'll look like that -when he's eighty. This way, 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 back yard." - -"It isn't a horrible boardinghouse, Anne-girl. Here's our cab. -Hop in -- the driver will get your trunk. Oh, yes, the boardinghouse --- it's really a very nice place of its kind, as you'll admit tomorrow -morning when 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 little constitutional from Redmond. It used to be the -`residence' of great folk, but fashion has deserted St. John Street -and its houses only dream now of better days. They're so big that -people living in them have to take boarders just to fill up. At least, -that is the reason our landladies 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 -about fifty years ago." - -"I can't get away from twins, it seems," smiled Anne. "Wherever I -go they confront me." - -"Oh, they're not twins now, dear. After they reached the age of -thirty they never were twins again. Miss Hannah has grown old, -not too gracefully, and Miss Ada has stayed thirty, less -gracefully still. I don't know whether Miss Hannah can smile or -not; I've never caught her 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 every year because Miss Hannah's -economical soul cannot bear to `waste room space' -- not because -they need to or have to, as Miss Ada has told me seven times -since Saturday night. As for our rooms, I admit they are hall -bedrooms, and mine does look out on the back yard. Your room is -a front one and looks out on Old St. John's graveyard, which is -just across the street." - -"That sounds gruesome," shivered Anne. "I think I'd rather have -the back yard 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 become one of the sights of Kingsport. I was all -through it yesterday for a pleasure exertion. There's a big -stone wall and a row of enormous trees all around it, and rows of -trees all through it, and the queerest old tombstones, with the -queerest and quaintest inscriptions. You'll go there to study, Anne, -see if you don't. Of course, nobody is ever buried there now. -But a few years ago they put up a beautiful monument to the -memory of Nova Scotian soldiers who fell in the Crimean War. -It is just opposite 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 to say 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 call occasionally. -Miss Hannah gravely told me we could have `young gentlemen -callers' two evenings in the week, if they went away at a -reasonable hour; and Miss Ada asked me, smiling, please to be -sure they didn't sit on her beautiful cushions. I promised to -see to it; but goodness knows where else they CAN sit, unless -they sit on the floor, for there are cushions on EVERYTHING. -Miss Ada even has an elaborate Battenburg one on top of the piano." - -Anne was laughing by this time. Priscilla's gay chatter had the -intended effect of cheering her up; homesickness vanished for the -time being, and did not even return in full force when she -finally found herself alone in her little bedroom. She went to -her window and looked out. The street below was dim and quiet. -Across it the moon was shining above the trees in Old St. John's, -just behind the great dark head of the lion on the monument. -Anne wondered if it could have been only that morning that -she had left Green Gables. She had the sense of a long -passage of time which one day of change and travel gives. - -"I suppose that very moon is looking down on Green Gables now," -she mused. "But I won't think about it -- that way homesickness -lies. I'm not even going to have my good cry. I'll put that off -to a more convenient season, 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 garments fashioned like those of her youth. Here and there -it sprouts out into modernity, but at heart it is still unspoiled; -it is full of curious relics, and haloed by the romance of many -legends of the past. Once it was a mere frontier station on the -fringe of the wilderness, and those were the days when Indians -kept life from being monotonous to the settlers. Then it grew -to be a bone of contention between the British and the French, -being occupied now by the one and now by the other, emerging from -each occupation with some fresh scar of battling nations branded 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 several antiquated cannon in its public squares. -It has other historic spots also, which may be hunted out by the -curious, and none is more quaint and delightful than Old St. John's -Cemetery at the very core of the town, with streets of quiet, -old-time houses on two sides, and busy, bustling, modern -thoroughfares on the others. Every citizen of Kingsport feels a -thrill of possessive pride in Old St. John's, for, if he be of -any 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 most part no great art or skill was lavished -on those old tombstones. The larger number are of roughly -chiselled brown or gray native stone, and only in a few cases is -there any attempt at ornamentation. Some are adorned with skull -and cross-bones, and this grizzly decoration is frequently -coupled with a cherub's head. Many are prostrate and in ruins. -Into almost all Time's tooth has been gnawing, until some -inscriptions have been completely effaced, and others can only be -deciphered 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, -forever crooned to by the winds and leaves over them, and quite -undisturbed by the clamor of traffic just beyond. - -Anne took the first of many rambles in Old St. John's the next afternoon. -She and Priscilla had gone to Redmond in the forenoon and registered as -students, after which there was nothing more to do that day. The girls -gladly made their escape, for it was not exhilarating to be surrounded -by crowds of strangers, most of whom had a rather alien appearance, -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 -and generation, had banded themselves together on the big -staircase of the entrance hall, where they were shouting out -glees with all the vigor of youthful lungs, as a species of -defiance to their traditional enemies, the Sophomores, a few of -whom were prowling loftily about, looking properly disdainful of -the "unlicked cubs" on the stairs. Gilbert and Charlie were -nowhere to be seen. - -"Little did I think the day would ever come when I'd be glad of -the sight of a Sloane," said Priscilla, as they crossed the -campus, "but I'd welcome Charlie's goggle eyes almost -ecstatically. At least, they'd be familiar eyes." - -"Oh," sighed Anne. "I can't describe how I felt when I was -standing there, waiting my turn to be registered -- as -insignificant as the teeniest drop in a most enormous bucket. -It's bad enough to feel insignificant, but it's unbearable to -have it grained into your soul that you will never, can never, -be anything but insignificant, and that is how I did feel -- -as if I were invisible to the naked eye and some of those 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 look as bored and sophisticated as any Sophomore of them all. -No doubt it is rather dreadful to feel insignificant; but I think -it's better than to feel as big and awkward as I did -- as if I were -sprawled all over Redmond. That's how I felt -- I suppose because -I was a good two inches taller than any one else in the crowd. -I wasn't afraid a Soph might walk over me; I was afraid they'd take -me for an elephant, or an overgrown sample of a potato-fed Islander." - -"I suppose the trouble is we can't forgive big Redmond for not -being little Queen's," said Anne, gathering about her the shreds -of her old cheerful philosophy to cover her nakedness of spirit. -"When we left Queen's we knew everybody and had a place of our own. -I suppose we have been unconsciously expecting to take life -up at Redmond just where we left off at Queen's, and now we feel -as if the ground had slipped from under our feet. I'm thankful -that neither Mrs. Lynde nor Mrs. Elisha Wright know, or ever -will know, my state of mind at present. They would exult in -saying `I told you so,' and be convinced it was the beginning of -the end. Whereas it is just the end of the beginning." - -"Exactly. That sounds more Anneish. In a little while we'll be -acclimated and acquainted, and all will be well. Anne, did you -notice the girl who stood alone just outside the door of the -coeds' dressing room all the morning -- the pretty one with the -brown eyes and crooked mouth?" - -"Yes, I did. I noticed her particularly because she seemed the -only creature 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 her make 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 the aforesaid elephant I'd have gone to her. -But I couldn't lumber across that big hall with all those boys -howling on the stairs. She was the prettiest freshette I saw today, -but probably favor is deceitful and even beauty is vain on your -first day at Redmond," concluded Priscilla with a laugh. - -"I'm going across to Old St. John's after lunch," said Anne. -"I don't know that a graveyard is a very good place to go to get -cheered up, but it seems the only get-at-able place where there -are trees, and trees I must have. I'll sit on one of those old -slabs and shut my eyes and imagine I'm in the Avonlea woods." - -Anne did not do that, however, for she found enough of interest -in Old St. John's to keep her eyes wide open. They went in by -the entrance gates, past the simple, massive, stone arch -surmounted by the great lion of 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 a dim, cool, green place where winds were fond of purring. -Up and down the long grassy aisles they wandered, reading the -quaint, voluminous epitaphs, carved in an age that had more -leisure than our own. - -"`Here lieth the body of Albert Crawford, Esq.,'" read Anne -from a worn, gray slab, "`for many years Keeper of His Majesty's -Ordnance at Kingsport. He served in the army till the peace of -1763, when he retired from bad health. He was a brave officer, -the best of husbands, the best of fathers, the best of friends. -He died October 29th, 1792, aged 84 years.' There's an epitaph -for you, Prissy. There is certainly some `scope for imagination' -in it. How full such a life must have been of adventure! And as -for his personal qualities, I'm sure human eulogy couldn't go -further. I wonder if they told him he was all those best things -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 one -whom he served so faithfully for 27 years that he was regarded as a friend, -deserving the fullest confidence and attachment.' " - -"A very good epitaph," commented Anne thoughtfully. "I wouldn't -wish a better. We are all servants of some sort, and if the fact -that we are faithful can be truthfully inscribed on our tombstones -nothing more need be added. Here's a sorrowful little gray stone, -Prissy -- `to the memory of a favorite child.' And here is another -`erected to the memory of one who is buried elsewhere.' I wonder -where that unknown grave is. Really, Pris, the graveyards of today -will never be as interesting as this. You were right -- I shall -come here often. I love it already. I see we're not alone 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 -the avenue exactly half a dozen times, and half a dozen times has she -turned and gone back. Either she's dreadfully shy or she has got -something on her conscience. Let's go and meet her. It's easier -to get acquainted in a graveyard than at Redmond, I believe." - -They walked down the long grassy arcade towards the stranger, who -was sitting on a gray slab under an enormous willow. She was -certainly very pretty, with a vivid, irregular, bewitching type -of prettiness. There was a gloss as of brown nuts on her -satin-smooth hair and a soft, ripe glow on her round cheeks. -Her eyes were big and brown and velvety, under oddly-pointed -black brows, and her crooked mouth was rose-red. She wore a -smart brown suit, with two very modish little shoes peeping -from beneath it; and her hat of dull pink straw, wreathed with -golden-brown poppies, had the indefinable, unmistakable air -which pertains to the "creation" of an artist in millinery. -Priscilla had a sudden stinging consciousness that her own hat -had been trimmed by her village store milliner, and Anne wondered -uncomfortably if the blouse she had made herself, and which Mrs. -Lynde had fitted, looked VERY countrified and home-made besides -the stranger's smart attire. For a moment both girls felt like -turning back. - -But they had already stopped and turned towards the gray slab. -It was too late to retreat, for the brown-eyed girl had evidently -concluded that they were coming to speak to her. Instantly she -sprang up and came forward with outstretched hand and a gay, -friendly smile in which there seemed not a shadow of either -shyness or burdened conscience. - -"Oh, I want to know who you two girls are," she exclaimed eagerly. -"I've been DYING to know. I saw you at Redmond this morning. -Say, wasn't it AWFUL there? For the time I wished I had stayed -home and got married." - -Anne and Priscilla both broke into unconstrained laughter at this -unexpected conclusion. The brown-eyed girl laughed, too. - -"I really did. I COULD have, you know. Come, let's all sit down -on this gravestone and get acquainted. It won't be hard. I know -we're going to adore each other -- I knew it as soon as I saw you -at Redmond this morning. 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 -make up 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 another course would be the correct one. It's a -dreadful misfortune, but I was born that way, and there is no use -in blaming me for it, as some people do. So I couldn't make up -my mind to go and speak to you, much as I wanted to." - -"We thought you were too shy," said Anne. - -"No, no, dear. Shyness isn't among the many failings -- or -virtues -- of Philippa Gordon -- Phil for short. Do call me Phil -right off. Now, what are 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 that if a man was born in a stable it didn't make him a horse? -I'm Island to the core." - -"Well, I'm glad you were born in Bolingbroke anyway. It makes us -kind of neighbors, doesn't it? And I like that, because when I tell -you secrets it won't be as if I were telling them to a stranger. -I have to tell them. I can't keep secrets -- it's no use to try. -That's my worst failing -- that, and indecision, as aforesaid. -Would you believe it? -- it took me half an hour to decide which -hat to wear when I was coming here -- HERE, to a graveyard! -At first I inclined to my brown one with the feather; -but as soon as I put it on I thought this pink one with the -floppy brim would be more becoming. When I got IT pinned in -place I liked the brown one better. At last I put them close -together on the bed, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hat pin. -The pin speared the pink one, so I put it on. It is becoming, -isn't it? Tell me, what do you think of my looks?" - -At this naive demand, made in a perfectly serious tone, Priscilla -laughed again. But Anne said, impulsively squeezing Philippa's -hand, - -"We thought this morning that you were the prettiest girl we saw -at Redmond." - -Philippa's crooked mouth flashed into a bewitching, crooked smile -over very white little teeth. - -"I thought that myself," was her next astounding statement, -"but I wanted some one else's opinion to bolster mine up. -I can't decide even on my own appearance. Just as soon as I've -decided that I'm pretty I begin to feel miserably that I'm not. -Besides, have a horrible old great-aunt who is always saying to me, -with a mournful sigh, `You were such 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 that I am pretty, if you don't mind. -I feel so much more comfortable when I can believe I'm pretty. And -I'll be just as obliging to you if you want me to -- I CAN be, with -a clear conscience." - -"Thanks," laughed Anne, "but Priscilla and I are so firmly convinced -of our own good looks that we don't need any assurance about them, -so you needn't trouble." - -"Oh, you're laughing at me. I know you think I'm abominably vain, -but I'm not. There really isn't one spark of vanity in me. -And I'm never a bit grudging about paying compliments to other -girls when they deserve them. I'm so glad I know you folks. -I came up on Saturday and I've nearly died of homesickness -ever since. It's a horrible feeling, isn't it? In Bolingbroke -I'm an important personage, and in Kingsport I'm just nobody! -There were times when I could feel my soul turning a delicate blue. -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 -my room looks out on such an unholy back yard. It's the ugliest place -in the world. As for cats -- well, surely ALL the Kingsport cats can't -congregate there at night, but half of them must. I adore cats on -hearth rugs, snoozing before nice, friendly fires, but cats in back -yards at midnight are totally different animals. The first night -I was here I cried all night, and so did the cats. You should have -seen my nose in the 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 at all, 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 come here. His heart was set on it -- why, I don't know. It -seems perfectly ridiculous to think of me studying for a B.A. -degree, doesn't it? Not but 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 want to 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 wanted that -- wanted it decidedly. Mother -has plenty of decision. But I really hated the thought of -being married for a few years yet. I want to have heaps of fun -before I settle down. And, ridiculous as the idea of my being a -B.A. is, the idea of my being an old married woman is still more -absurd, isn't it? I'm only eighteen. No, I concluded I would -rather come to Redmond than be married. Besides, how could I -ever have made up my mind which man to marry?" - -"Were there so many?" laughed Anne. - -"Heaps. The boys like me awfully -- they really do. But there -were only two that mattered. The rest were all too young and too -poor. I must marry a rich man, you know." - -"Why must you?" - -"Honey, you couldn't imagine ME being a poor man's wife, could you? -I can't do a single useful thing, and I am VERY extravagant. Oh, no, -my husband 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 life -that 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 and -transformation of life. - -"Goodness, no. _I_ couldn't love anybody. It isn't in me. -Besides I wouldn'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 I really don't know which I like the better. -That is the trouble. Alec is the best looking, of course, and I -simply couldn't marry a man who wasn't handsome. He is good-tempered -too, and has lovely, curly, black hair. He's rather too perfect -- -I don't believe I'd like a perfect husband -- 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't believe I could endure it. But he has a classic nose, -and it WOULD be a comfort to have a nose in the family that could -be depended on. I can't depend on mine. So far, it takes after the -Gordon pattern, but I'm so afraid it will develop Byrne tendencies -as I grow older. I examine it every day anxiously to make sure it's -still Gordon. Mother was a Byrne and has the Byrne nose in the -Byrnest degree. Wait till you see it. I adore nice noses. -Your nose is awfully nice, Anne Shirley. Alonzo's nose nearly -turned the balance in his favor. But ALONZO! No, I couldn't decide. -If I could have done as I did with the hats -- stood them both up -together, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hatpin -- it would have -been quite easy." - -"What did Alec and Alonzo feel like when you came away?" queried Priscilla. - -"Oh, they still have hope. I told them they'd have to wait -till I could make 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 have heaps of beaux at Redmond. -I can't be happy unless I have, you know. But don't you think -the freshmen are fearfully homely? - -I saw only one really handsome fellow among them. He went away -before you came. I heard his chum call him Gilbert. His chum -had eyes that stuck out THAT FAR. But you're not going yet, girls? -Don't go yet." - -"I think we must," said Anne, rather coldly. "It's getting late, -and I've some work to do." - -"But you'll both come to see me, won't you?" asked Philippa, -getting up and putting an arm around each. "And let me come to -see you. I want to be chummy with you. I've taken such a fancy -to you both. And I haven't quite disgusted you with my frivolity, -have I?" - -"Not quite," laughed Anne, responding to Phil's squeeze, with a -return of cordiality. - -"Because I'm not half so silly as I seem on the surface, you -know. You just 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 sweet place? I'd love to be buried here. -Here's a grave I didn't see before -- this one in the iron -railing -- oh, girls, look, see -- the stone says it's the grave -of a middy who was killed in the fight between the Shannon and -the Chesapeake. Just fancy!" - -Anne paused by the railing and looked at the worn stone, her pulses -thrilling with sudden excitement. The old graveyard, with its -over-arching trees and long aisles of shadows, faded from her sight. -Instead, she saw the Kingsport Harbor of nearly a century agone. -Out of the mist came slowly a great frigate, brilliant with -"the meteor flag of England." Behind her was another, with -a still, heroic form, wrapped in his own starry flag, lying on -the quarter deck -- the gallant Lawrence. Time's finger had -turned back his pages, and that was the Shannon sailing -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 the -English won that victory, I think it was because of the brave, -defeated commander I love it. This grave seems to bring it so -near and make it so real. This poor little middy was only -eighteen. He `died of desperate wounds received in gallant -action' -- so reads his epitaph. It is such as a soldier might -wish for." - -Before she turned away, Anne unpinned the little cluster of -purple pansies she wore and dropped it softly on the grave of the -boy who had perished in the great sea-duel. - -"Well, what do you think of our new friend?" asked Priscilla, -when Phil had left them. - -"I like her. There is something very lovable about her, in spite -of all her nonsense. I believe, as she says herself, that she -isn't half as silly as she sounds. She's a dear, kissable baby --- and I don't know that she'll ever really grow up." - -"I like her, too," said Priscilla, decidedly. "She talks as much -about boys as Ruby Gillis does. But it always enrages or sickens -me to hear Ruby, whereas I just wanted to laugh good-naturedly at -Phil. Now, what is the why of that?" - -"There is a difference," said Anne meditatively. "I think it's -because Ruby 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 doing it to rub it well into you that you -haven't half so many. Now, when Phil talks of her beaux it -sounds as if she was just speaking of chums. She really looks -upon boys as good comrades, and she is pleased when she has -dozens of them tagging round, simply because she likes to be -popular and to be thought popular. Even Alex and Alonzo -- I'll -never be able to think of those two names separately after this --- are to her just two playfellows who want her to play with them -all their lives. I'm glad we met her, and I'm glad we went to -Old St. John's. I believe I've put forth a tiny soul-root into -Kingsport soil this afternoon. I hope so. I hate to feel transplanted." - - - - -Chapter V - -Letters from Home - - -For the next three weeks Anne and Priscilla continued to feel as -strangers in a strange land. Then, suddenly, everything seemed -to fall into focus -- Redmond, professors, classes, students, -studies, social doings. Life became homogeneous again, instead -of being made up of detached fragments. The Freshmen, instead of -being a collection of unrelated individuals, found themselves a -class, with a class spirit, a class 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 Sophomores had won in -the "rush"; that the victory of this year perched upon the -Freshmen's banner was attributed to the strategic generalship of -Gilbert Blythe, who marshalled the campaign and originated -certain new tactics, which demoralized the Sophs and swept the -Freshmen to triumph. As a reward of merit he was elected -president of the Freshman Class, a position 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 a Freshman. As a -preparatory initiation ordeal he had to parade the principal -business streets of Kingsport for a whole day wearing a sunbonnet -and a voluminous kitchen apron of gaudily flowered calico. This -he did cheerfully, doffing his sunbonnet with courtly grace when -he met ladies of his acquaintance. Charlie Sloane, who had not -been asked to join the Lambs, told Anne he did not see how Blythe -could do it, and HE, for his part, could never humiliate himself so. - -"Fancy Charlie Sloane in a `caliker' apron and a `sunbunnit,' " -giggled Priscilla. "He'd look exactly like his old Grandmother -Sloane. Gilbert, now, looked as much like a man in them as in -his own proper habiliments." - -Anne and Priscilla found themselves in the thick of the social -life of Redmond. That this came about so speedily was due in -great measure to Philippa Gordon. Philippa was the daughter of a -rich and well-known man, and belonged to an old and exclusive -"Bluenose" family. This, combined with her beauty and charm -- a -charm acknowledged by all who met her -- promptly opened the -gates of all cliques, clubs and classes in Redmond to her; and -where she went Anne and Priscilla went, too. Phil "adored" Anne -and Priscilla, especially Anne. She was a loyal little soul, -crystal-free from any form of snobbishness. "Love me, love my -friends" seemed to be her unconscious motto. Without effort, -she took them with her into her ever widening circle of -acquaintanceship, and the two Avonlea girls found their social -pathway at Redmond made very easy and pleasant for them, to the -envy and wonderment of the other freshettes, who, lacking -Philippa's sponsorship, were doomed to remain rather on the -fringe of things during their first college year. - -To Anne and Priscilla, with their more serious views of life, -Phil remained the amusing, lovable baby she had seemed on their -first meeting. Yet, as she said herself, she had "heaps" of -brains. When or where she found time to study was a mystery, for -she seemed always in demand for some kind of "fun," and her home -evenings were crowded with callers. She had all the "beaux" that -heart could desire, for nine-tenths of the Freshmen and a big -fraction of all the other classes were rivals for her smiles. -She was naively delighted over this, and gleefully recounted each -new conquest to Anne and Priscilla, with comments that might have -made the unlucky lover's ears burn fiercely. - -"Alec and Alonzo don't seem to have any serious rival yet," -remarked Anne, teasingly. - -"Not one," agreed Philippa. "I write them both every week and -tell them all about my young men here. I'm sure it must amuse them. -But, of course, the one I like best I can't get. Gilbert Blythe -won't take any notice of me, except to look at me as if I were a -nice little kitten he'd like to pat. Too well I know the reason. -I owe you a grudge, Queen Anne. I really ought to hate you and -instead I love you madly, and I'm miserable if I don't see you -every day. You're different from any girl I ever knew before. -When you look at me in a certain way I feel what an -insignificant, frivolous little beast I am, and I long to -be better and wiser and stronger. And then I make good -resolutions; but the first nice-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 that first 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 yearn to 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 when you ever get time to learn your lessons." - -Phil must have found time for she held her own in every class of -her year. 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 Shirley left her far behind. Anne -herself found the studies of her Freshman year very easy, thanks -in great part to the steady work she and Gilbert had put in -during those two past years in Avonlea. This left her more time -for a social life which she thoroughly enjoyed. But never for a -moment did she forget Avonlea and the friends there. To her, the -happiest moments in each week were those in which letters came -from home. It was not until she had got her first letters that -she began to think she could ever like Kingsport or feel at home -there. Before they came, Avonlea had seemed thousands of miles -away; those letters brought it near and linked the old life to -the new so closely that they began to seem 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 copperplate -production, with every "t" nicely crossed and every "i" precisely -dotted, and not an interesting sentence in it. She never -mentioned the school, concerning which Anne was avid to hear; she -never answered one of the questions Anne had asked in her letter. -But she told Anne how many yards of lace she had recently -crocheted, and the kind of weather they were having in Avonlea, -and how she intended to have her new dress made, and the way she -felt when her head ached. Ruby Gillis wrote a gushing epistle -deploring Anne's absence, assuring her she was horribly missed in -everything, asking what the Redmond "fellows" were like, and -filling the rest with accounts of her own harrowing experiences -with her numerous admirers. It was a silly, harmless letter, and -Anne would have laughed over it had it not been for the postscript. -"Gilbert seems to be enjoying Redmond, judging from his letters," -wrote Ruby. "I don't think Charlie 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 first letter and that Gilbert had answered it from -mere courtesy. She tossed Ruby'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 otherwise crowded and crossed -with items of interest, and Anne almost felt herself back in -Avonlea while reading it. Marilla's was a rather prim and -colorless epistle, severely innocent of gossip or emotion. -Yet somehow it conveyed to Anne a whiff of the wholesome, simple -life at Green Gables, with its savor of ancient peace, and the -steadfast abiding love that was there for her. Mrs. Lynde's -letter was full of church news. Having broken up housekeeping, -Mrs. Lynde had more time than ever to devote to church affairs -and had flung herself into them heart and soul. She was at -present much worked up over the poor "supplies" they were having -in the vacant Avonlea pulpit. - -"I don't believe any but fools enter the ministry nowadays," she -wrote bitterly. "Such candidates as they have sent us, and such -stuff as they preach! Half of it ain't true, and, what's worse, -it ain't sound doctrine. The one we have now is the worst of the -lot. He mostly takes a text and preaches about something else. -And he says he doesn't believe all the heathen will be eternally -lost. The idea! If they won't all the money we've been giving -to Foreign Missions will be clean wasted, that's what! Last -Sunday night he announced that next Sunday he'd preach on the -axe-head that swam. I think he'd better confine himself to the -Bible and leave sensational subjects alone. Things have come to -a pretty pass if a 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 apt to get so careless about -church-going away from home, and I understand college students -are great sinners in this respect. I'm told many of them actually -study their lessons on Sunday. I hope you'll never sink that low, -Anne. Remember how you were brought up. And be very careful what -friends you make. You never know what sort of creatures are in -them colleges. Outwardly they may be as whited sepulchers and -inwardly as ravening wolves, that's what. You'd better not have -anything to say to any young man who isn't from the Island. - -"I forgot to tell you what happened the day the minister called -here. It was the funniest thing I ever saw. I said to Marilla, -`If Anne had been here wouldn't she have had a laugh?' Even -Marilla laughed. You know he's a 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 and broke 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 one -wild bolt to get out, but there was nowhere to bolt to except -between them bow legs. So there it went, and, being as it was so -big and the minister 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 to the door. I'll never forget the -look of him. And that poor pig was near scared to death. I'll -never be able to read that account in the Bible of the swine that -rushed madly down the steep place into the sea without seeing -Mr. Harrison's pig careering down the hill with that minister. -I guess the pig thought he had the Old Boy on his back instead -of inside of him. I was thankful the twins weren't about. -It wouldn't have been the right thing for them to have seen -a minister in such an undignified predicament. Just before -they got to the brook the minister jumped off or fell off. -The pig rushed through the brook like mad and up through the woods. -Marilla and I run down and helped the minister get up and brush -his coat. He wasn't hurt, but he was mad. He seemed to hold -Marilla and me responsible for it all, though we told him the pig -didn't belong to us, and had been pestering us all summer. -Besides, what did he come 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 an ill wind that blows no good. -We've never seen hoof or hair of that pig since, and it's my -belief we never will. - -"Things is pretty quiet in Avonlea. I don't find Green Gables -as lonesome as I expected. I think I'll start another cotton -warp quilt this winter. Mrs. Silas Sloane has a handsome new -apple-leaf pattern. - -"When I feel that I must have some excitement I read the murder -trials in that Boston paper my niece sends me. I never used to -do it, but they're real interesting. The States must be an awful -place. I hope you'll never go there, Anne. But the way girls -roam over the earth now is something terrible. It always makes -me think of Satan in the Book of Job, going to and fro and walking -up and down. I don't believe the Lord ever intended it, that's what. - -"Davy has been pretty good since you went away. One day he was -bad and Marilla punished him by making him wear Dora's apron all -day, and then he went and cut all Dora's aprons up. I spanked -him for that and then he went and chased my rooster to death. - -"The MacPhersons have moved down to my place. She's a great -housekeeper and very particular. She's rooted all my June lilies -up because she says they make a garden look so untidy. Thomas -set them lilies out when we were married. Her husband seems a -nice sort of a man, but she can't get over being an old maid, -that's what. - -"Don't study too hard, and be sure and put your winter -underclothes on as soon as the weather gets cool. -Marilla worries a lot about you, but I tell her you've -got a lot more sense than I ever thought you would have -at 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 of the bridge when I go fishing the boys make fun of me when -she does. Its awful lonesome here without you but grate fun in -school. Jane andrews is 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 round the 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 the -pig pen she mite of sold him to mr. blair. mr. blair is giving -50 sense apeace for good ded roosters now. I herd mrs. lynde -asking the minister to 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 a grate story in school -yesterday. it is troo. old Joe Mosey and Leon were playing -cards one nite last week in the woods. The cards were on a stump -and a big black man bigger than the trees come along and grabbed -the cards and the stump and disapered with a noys like thunder. -Ill bet they were skared. Milty says the black man was the old -harry. was he, anne, I want to know. Mr. kimball over at -spenservale is very sick and will have to go to the hospitable. -please excuse me while I ask marilla if thats spelled rite. -Marilla says its the silem he has to go to not the other place. -He thinks he has a snake inside of him. whats it like to have a -snake inside of you, anne. I want to know. mrs. lawrence bell -is sick to. mrs. lynde says that all that is the matter with -her is that she thinks too much about her insides." - -"I wonder," said Anne, as she folded up her letters, "what Mrs. -Lynde would 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 -stay in and finish my blouse. But I couldn't sew on a day like this. -There's something in the air that gets into my blood and makes a sort -of glory in my soul. My fingers would twitch and I'd sew a crooked seam. -So it's ho 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 will include you, also." - -"But," said Philippa dolefully, "if I go I'll have to be gooseberry, -and that will be a new experience for Philippa Gordon." - -"Well, new experiences are broadening. Come along, and you'll be -able to sympathize with all poor souls who have to play -gooseberry often. But where are all the victims?" - -"Oh, I was tired of them all and simply couldn't be bothered with -any of 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 Alec and Alonzo last week. I put the letters -into envelopes and addressed them, 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 the envelope -and scribbled down a postscript. Then I mailed both letters. I -got Alonzo's reply this morning. Girls, I had put that postscript -to his letter and he was furious. Of course he'll get over it -- -and I don't care if he doesn't -- but it spoiled my day. -So I thought I'd come to you darlings to get cheered up. -After the football season opens I won't have any spare Saturday -afternoons. I adore football. I've got the most gorgeous -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 -the Freshman football team?" - -"Yes, he told us so last evening," said Priscilla, seeing that -outraged Anne would not answer. "He and Charlie were down. -We knew they were coming, so we painstakingly put out of sight -or out of reach all Miss Ada's cushions. That very elaborate one -with the raised embroidery I dropped on the floor in the corner -behind the chair it was on. I thought it would be safe there. -But would you believe it? Charlie Sloane made for 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 was a matter of predestination coupled with inveterate -Sloanishness and I wasn't a match for both combined." - -"Miss Ada's cushions are really getting on my nerves," said Anne. -"She finished two new ones last week, stuffed and embroidered -within an inch of their lives. There being absolutely no other -cushionless place to put them she stood them up against the wall -on the stair landing. They topple over half the time and if we -come up or down the stairs in the dark we fall over them. Last -Sunday, when Dr. Davis prayed for all those exposed to the -perils of the sea, I added in thought `and for all those who 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. -Do you cast in your lot with us, Phil?" - -"I'll go, if I can walk with Priscilla and Charlie. That will be -a bearable 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 was of 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 a previous existence to be punished with such eyes. -Pris and I are going to have such sport with him this afternoon. -We'll make fun of him to his face and he'll never know it." - -Doubtless, "the abandoned P's," as Anne called them, did carry -out their amiable intentions. But Sloane was blissfully -ignorant; he thought he was quite a fine fellow to be walking -with two such coeds, especially Philippa Gordon, the class beauty -and belle. It must surely impress Anne. 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 the road that climbed and twisted round the harbor shore. - -"The silence here is like a prayer, isn't it?" said Anne, -her face upturned to the shining sky. "How I love the pines! -They seem to strike their roots deep into the romance of all the ages. -It is so comforting to creep away now and then for a good talk with them. -I always feel so happy 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 -pines for comfort," said Anne dreamily. - -"I hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne," said Gilbert, -who could not connect the idea of sorrow with the vivid, joyous -creature beside him, unwitting that those who can soar to the -highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and that -the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer -most sharply. - -"But there must -- sometime," mused Anne. "Life seems like a cup -of glory held to my lips just now. But there must be some -bitterness in it -- there is in every cup. I shall taste mine -some day. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it. -And I hope it won't be through my own fault that it will come. -Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sunday evening -- that -the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strength with them, -while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or -wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear? But we mustn't talk -of sorrow on an afternoon like this. It's meant for the sheer -joy of living, isn't it?" - -"If I had my way I'd shut everything out of your life but -happiness and pleasure, Anne," said Gilbert in the tone that -meant "danger ahead." - -"Then you would be very unwise," rejoined Anne hastily. "I'm sure -no life can be properly developed and rounded out without some -trial and sorrow -- though I suppose it is only when we are pretty -comfortable that we admit it. Come -- the others have got to the -pavilion and are beckoning to us." - -They all sat down in the little pavilion to watch an autumn -sunset of deep red fire and pallid gold. To their left lay -Kingsport, its roofs and spires dim in their shroud of violet smoke. -To their right lay the harbor, taking on tints of rose and copper as -it stretched out into the sunset. 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 flared through the mist like a baleful star, -and was answered by another in the far horizon. - -"Did you ever see such a strong-looking place?" asked Philippa. -"I don't want William's Island especially, but I'm sure I couldn't -get it if I did. Look at that sentry on the summit of the fort, -right beside the flag. Doesn't he look as if he had stepped out -of a romance?" - -"Speaking of romance," said Priscilla, "we've been looking for -heather -- but, of course, we couldn't find any. It's too late -in the season, 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, -I forget where. The famous Highland Regiment, the Black Watch, -camped here one year, and, when the men shook out the straw of -their beds in the spring, some seeds of heather took root." - -"Oh, how delightful!" said enchanted Anne. - -"Let's go home around by Spofford Avenue," suggested Gilbert. -"We can see all `the handsome houses where the wealthy nobles -dwell.' Spofford Avenue is the finest residential street in -Kingsport. Nobody can build on it unless he's a millionaire." - -"Oh, do," said Phil. "There's a perfectly killing little place I -want to show you, Anne. IT wasn't built by a millionaire. It's -the first place after you leave the park, and must have grown -while Spofford Avenue was still a country road. It DID grow -- -it wasn't built! I don't care for the houses on the Avenue. -They're too brand new and plateglassy. But this little 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. -Just on the crest, where Spofford Avenue petered out into a -plain road, was a little white frame house with groups of pines -on either side of it, stretching their arms protectingly over its -low roof. It was covered with red and gold vines, through which -its green-shuttered windows peeped. 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 tiny brick -wall, in herring-bone pattern, led from the gate to the front -porch. The whole place might have been transplanted from some -remote country village; yet there was something about it that -made its nearest neighbor, the big lawn-encircled palace of a -tobacco king, look exceedingly crude and showy and ill-bred by -contrast. As Phil said, it was the difference between being born -and being made. - -"It's the dearest place I ever saw," said Anne delightedly. "It -gives me one of my old, delightful funny aches. It's dearer and -quainter than even Miss Lavendar's stone house." - -"It's the name I want you to notice especially," said Phil. -"Look -- in white letters, around the archway over the gate. -`Patty's Place.' Isn't that killing? Especially on this Avenue -of Pinehursts and Elmwolds and Cedarcrofts? `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've -discovered. She lives there with her niece, and they've lived -there for hundreds of years, more or less -- maybe a little less, -Anne. Exaggeration is merely a flight of poetic fancy. I understand -that wealthy folk have tried to buy the lot time and again -- it's -really worth a small fortune now, you know -- but `Patty' won't sell -upon any consideration. And there's an apple orchard behind the house -in place of a back yard -- you'll see it when we get a little past -- -a real apple orchard on Spofford Avenue!" - -"I'm going to dream about `Patty's Place' tonight," said Anne. -"Why, I feel as if I belonged to it. I wonder if, by any chance, -we'll ever see the 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 you like -- 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 -of the term flew by on wings of wind. Before they realized it -the Redmond students found themselves in the grind of Christmas -examinations, emerging therefrom more or less triumphantly. The -honor of leading in the Freshman classes fluctuated between Anne, -Gilbert and Philippa; Priscilla did very well; Charlie Sloane -scraped through respectably, and comported himself as complacently -as if he had led in everything. - -"I can't really believe that this time tomorrow I'll be in Green Gables," -said Anne on the night before departure. "But I shall be. And you, Phil, -will be in Bolingbroke with Alec and Alonzo." - -"I'm longing to see them," admitted Phil, between the chocolate -she was nibbling. "They really are such dear boys, you know. -There's to be no end of dances and drives and general jamborees. -I shall never forgive you, Queen Anne, for not coming home with -me for the holidays." - -"`Never' means three days with you, Phil. It was dear of you to -ask me -- and I'd love to go to Bolingbroke some day. But I -can't go this year -- 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 one or two quilting parties, I suppose; and all the old -gossips will talk you 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 style and, oh, everything! You're so DIFFERENT. You'd be -such a success -- and I would bask in reflected glory -- `not the -rose but near the rose.' Do come, after all, Anne." - -"Your picture of social triumphs is quite fascinating, Phil, but -I'll paint one to offset it. I'm going home to an old country -farmhouse, once green, rather faded now, set among leafless apple -orchards. There is a brook below and a December fir wood beyond, -where I've heard harps swept by the fingers of rain and wind. -There is a pond nearby that will be gray 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, one a perfect model, -the other what Mrs. Lynde calls a `holy terror.' There will be a -little room upstairs over the porch, where old dreams hang thick, -and a big, fat, glorious feather bed which will almost seem the -height of luxury after a boardinghouse mattress. How do you like -my picture, 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 never find anywhere else in the world -- love that's waiting -for me. That makes my picture a masterpiece, doesn't it, even if -the colors are not very brilliant?" - -Phil silently got up, tossed her box of chocolates away, went up -to Anne, 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 -drove home together under silent, star-sown depths of sky. Green -Gables had a very festal appearance as they drove up the lane. -There was a light in every window, the glow breaking out through -the darkness like flame-red blossoms swung against the dark -background of the Haunted Wood. And in the yard was a brave -bonfire with two gay little figures dancing around it, one of -which gave an unearthly yell as the buggy turned in under the poplars. - -"Davy means that for an Indian war-whoop," said Diana. "Mr. -Harrison's hired boy taught it to him, and he's been practicing -it up to welcome you with. Mrs. Lynde says it has worn her -nerves to a frazzle. He creeps up behind her, you know, and then -lets go. He was determined to have a bonfire for you, too. He's -been piling up branches for a fortnight and pestering Marilla to -be let pour some kerosene oil over it before setting it on fire. -I guess she did, by the smell, though Mrs. Lynde said up to the last -that Davy would blow himself and everybody else up if he was let." - -Anne was out of the buggy by this time, and Davy was rapturously -hugging her knees, while even Dora was clinging to her hand. - -"Isn't that a bully bonfire, Anne? Just let me show you how to -poke it -- see the sparks? I did it for you, Anne, 'cause I was -so glad you were coming home." - -The kitchen door opened and Marilla's spare form darkened against -the inner light. She preferred to meet Anne in the shadows, for -she was 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 love that Anne had told Phil was -waiting for her surrounded her and enfolded her with its blessing -and its sweetness. Nothing, after all, could compare with old ties, -old friends, and old Green Gables! How starry Anne's eyes were -as they sat down to the loaded supper table, how pink her cheeks, -how silver-clear her laughter! And Diana was going to stay all -night, too. How like the dear old times it was! And the -rose-bud tea-set graced the table! With Marilla the force of -nature could no further go. - -"I suppose you and Diana will now proceed to talk all night," -said Marilla sarcastically, as the girls went upstairs. -Marilla was always sarcastic after any self-betrayal. - -"Yes," agreed Anne gaily, "but I'm going to put Davy to bed first. -He insists on that." - -"You bet," said Davy, as they went along the hall. "I want somebody -to say 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 -I can 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 -did not seem in a hurry to begin. He stood before Anne, -shuffling one bare foot 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 after all. -I haven't felt like it for a week now. I -- I DIDN'T pray last night nor -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 his head 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 be awful sorry when I tell you this, Anne -- and you'll -be 'shamed of me, I s'pose." - -"Have you done something naughty, Davy, and is that why you can't -say your 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 -desperate effort. "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'm saying 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 the dreadful 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 it again. I knew it was bad, but I didn't s'pose it was so --- so -- I didn't s'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 I were 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 --- words that 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 if you could say your prayers, Davy?" - -"Oh, yes," said Davy, eagerly wriggling down on his knees, "I can -say them now all right. I ain't scared now to say `if I should -die before I wake,' like I was when I was wanting to say that word." - -Probably Anne and Diana did empty out their souls to each other -that night, but no record of their confidences has been preserved. -They both looked as fresh and bright-eyed at breakfast as only -youth can look after unlawful hours of revelry and confession. -There had been no snow up to this time, but as Diana crossed -the old log bridge on her homeward way the white flakes were -beginning to flutter down over the fields and woods, russet -and gray in their dreamless sleep. Soon the far-away slopes -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 was waiting for her wintry bridegroom. So they had a white -Christmas after all, and a very pleasant day it was. In the -forenoon letters and gifts came from Miss Lavendar and Paul; -Anne opened them in the cheerful Green Gables 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 it by the general tone of her letter -- but there's a -note from Charlotta the Fourth. She doesn't like Boston at all, -and she is fearfully homesick. Miss Lavendar wants me to go -through to Echo Lodge some day while I'm home and light a fire to -air it, and see that the cushions aren't getting moldy. I think -I'll get Diana to go over with me next week, and we can spend the -evening with Theodora Dix. I want to see Theodora. By the way, -is Ludovic Speed still going to see her?" - -"They say so," said Marilla, "and he's likely to continue it. -Folks have given 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 and Alonzo, what they said and what they did, and how they -looked when they saw her. - -"But I can't make up my mind yet which to marry," wrote Phil. -"I do wish you had come with me to decide for me. Some one -will have to. When I saw Alec my heart gave a great thump and I -thought, `He might be the right one.' And then, when Alonzo came, -thump went my heart again. So that's no guide, though it should be, -according to all the novels I've ever read. Now, Anne, YOUR heart -wouldn't thump for anybody but the genuine Prince Charming, would it? -There must be something radically wrong with mine. But I'm having a -perfectly gorgeous time. How I wish you were here! It's snowing -today, and I'm rapturous. I was so afraid we'd have a green -Christmas and I loathe them. You know, when Christmas is a dirty -grayey-browney affair, looking as if it had been left over a hundred -years ago and had been in soak ever since, it is called a GREEN Christmas! -Don't ask me why. As Lord Dundreary says, `there are thome thingth no -fellow can underthtand.' - -"Anne, did you ever get on a street car and then discover that you -hadn't any money with you to pay your fare? I did, the other day. -It's quite awful. I had a nickel with me when I got on the car. -I thought it was in the left pocket of my coat. When I got -settled down comfortably I felt for it. It wasn't there. -I had a cold chill. I felt in the other pocket. Not there. -I had another chill. Then I felt in a little inside pocket. -All in vain. I had two chills at once. - -"I took off my gloves, laid them on the seat, and went over all -my pockets again. It was not there. I stood up and shook myself, -and then looked on the floor. The car was full of people, who -were going home from the opera, and they all stared at me, but -I was past caring for a little thing like that. - -"But I could not find my fare. I concluded I must have put it in -my mouth and swallowed it inadvertently. - -"I didn't know what to do. Would the conductor, I wondered, stop -the car and put me off in ignominy and shame? Was it possible -that I could convince him that I was merely the victim of my own -absentmindedness, and not an unprincipled creature trying to -obtain a ride upon false pretenses? How I wished that Alec -or Alonzo were there. But they weren't because I wanted them. -If I HADN'T wanted them they would have been there by the dozen. -And I couldn't decide what to say to the conductor when he came -around. As soon as I got one sentence of explanation mapped out -in my mind I felt nobody could believe it and I must compose -another. It seemed there was nothing to do but trust in -Providence, and for all the comfort that gave me I might as well -have been the old lady who, when told by the captain during a -storm that she must put her trust in the Almighty exclaimed, -`Oh, Captain, is it as bad as that?' - -"Just at the conventional moment, when all hope had fled, and -the conductor was holding out his box to the passenger next to me, -I suddenly 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 -index finger of my glove and poked it in the box. I smiled at -everybody and felt that it was a beautiful world." - -The visit to Echo Lodge was not the least pleasant of many -pleasant holiday outings. Anne and Diana went back to it by the -old way of the beech woods, carrying a lunch basket with them. -Echo Lodge, which had been closed ever since Miss Lavendar's -wedding, was briefly thrown open to wind and sunshine once more, -and firelight glimmered again in the little rooms. The perfume -of Miss Lavendar's rose bowl still filled the air. It was hardly -possible to believe that Miss Lavendar would not come tripping in -presently, with her brown eyes a-star with welcome, and that -Charlotta the Fourth, blue of bow and wide of smile, would not -pop through the door. Paul, too, seemed hovering around, with -his fairy fancies. - -"It really makes me feel a little bit like a ghost revisiting the -old time glimpses of the moon," laughed Anne. "Let's go out and -see if the echoes are at home. Bring the old horn. It is still -behind the kitchen door." - -The echoes were at home, over the white river, as silver-clear -and multitudinous as ever; and when they had ceased to answer the -girls locked up Echo Lodge again and went away in the perfect -half hour that follows 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-yellow sunset. Instead, it went out with a wild, white -bluster and blow. It was one of the nights when the storm-wind -hurtles over the frozen meadows and black hollows, and moans -around the eaves like a lost creature, and drives the snow -sharply against the shaking panes. - -"Just the sort of night people like to cuddle down between their -blankets and count their mercies," said Anne to Jane Andrews, who -had come up to spend the afternoon and stay all night. But when -they were cuddled between their blankets, in Anne's little porch -room, it was not her 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 the night before. She would much rather have gone to sleep -than listen to Jane's confidences, which she was sure would bore her. -She had no prophetic inkling of what was coming. Probably Jane was -engaged, too; rumor averred that Ruby Gillis was engaged to the -Spencervale schoolteacher, about whom all the girls were said -to be quite wild. - -"I'll soon be the only fancy-free maiden of our old quartet," -thought Anne, drowsily. Aloud she said, "Of course." - -"Anne," said Jane, still more solemnly, "what do you think of my -brother Billy?" - -Anne gasped over this unexpected question, and floundered -helplessly in her thoughts. Goodness, what DID she think of -Billy Andrews? She had never thought ANYTHING about him -- -round-faced, stupid, perpetually smiling, good-natured Billy -Andrews. Did ANYBODY ever think about Billy Andrews? - -"I -- I don't understand, Jane," she stammered. "What do you -mean -- exactly?" - -"Do you like Billy?" asked Jane bluntly. - -"Why -- why -- yes, I like him, of course," gasped Anne, -wondering if she were telling the literal truth. Certainly she -did not DISlike Billy. But could the indifferent tolerance with -which she regarded him, when he happened to be in her range of -vision, be considered positive enough for liking? 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 with the problem of her exact opinion of Billy Andrews. -Now she fell flatly back on her pillows, the very breath gone -out of her. "Whose husband?" - -"Yours, of course," answered Jane. "Billy wants to marry you. -He's always been crazy about you -- and now father has given him -the upper farm in 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 got me to do it. I'd rather not -have, but he gave me no peace till I said I would, 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 find yourself engaged or married to some one you hate or -don't know, without the slightest idea how it ever came about? -No, she, Anne Shirley, was lying there, wide awake, in her own bed, -and Jane Andrews was beside her, calmly proposing for her brother Billy. -Anne did not know whether she wanted to writhe or laugh; but she could -do neither, for Jane's feelings 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 -too shy to think of courting. But you might think it over, Anne. -Billy is a good fellow. I must say that, if he is my brother. -He has no bad habits and he's a great worker, and you can depend -on him. `A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' He told me to -tell you he'd be quite willing to wait till you got through college, -if you insisted, though he'd RATHER get married this spring before -the planting begins. He'd always be very good to you, I'm sure, -and you know, Anne, I'd love to have you for 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 is no 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 it was a bit of use to ask you, but he insisted. Well, -you've made your decision, Anne, and I hope you won't regret it." - -Jane spoke rather coldly. She had been perfectly sure that the -enamored Billy 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 her brother -- one of the Avonlea Andrews. Well, -pride sometimes goes before a fall, Jane reflected ominously. - -Anne permitted herself to smile in the darkness over the idea -that she might 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 he -married 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. -Please don't mention this to any one, will you, Anne?" - -"Certainly not," said Anne, who had no desire whatever to publish -abroad the fact that Billy Andrews wanted to marry her, preferring her, -when all 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 -MacBeth in 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, but her meditations were far from being romantic. -It was not, however, until the next morning that she had an opportunity -to indulge in a good laugh over the whole affair. When Jane had gone home --- still with a hint of frost in voice and manner because Anne had declined -so ungratefully and decidedly the honor of an alliance with the House of -Andrews -- Anne retreated to the porch room, shut the door, and had her -laugh out at last. - -"If I could only share the joke with some one!" she thought. -"But I can't. Diana is the only one I'd want to tell, and, even -if I hadn't sworn secrecy to Jane, I can't tell Diana things now. -She tells everything to Fred -- I know she does. Well, I've had -my first proposal. I supposed it would come some day -- but I -certainly never thought it would be 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 put it into words. She had had her secret dreams of -the first time some one should ask her the great question. -And it had, in those dreams, always been very romantic and beautiful: -and the "some one" was to be very handsome and dark-eyed and -distinguished-looking and eloquent, whether he were Prince Charming -to be enraptured with "yes," or one to whom a regretful, beautifully -worded, but hopeless refusal must be given. If the latter, the -refusal was to be expressed so delicately that it would be next best -thing to acceptance, and he would go away, after kissing her hand, -assuring her of his unalterable, life-long devotion. And it would -always be a beautiful memory, to be proud of and a little sad about, also. - -And now, this thrilling experience had turned out to be merely grotesque. -Billy Andrews had got his sister to propose for him because his 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! Anne laughed -- and then sighed. -The bloom had been brushed from one little maiden dream. Would the painful -process go on until everything became prosaic and hum-drum? - - - - -Chapter IX - - -An Unwelcome Lover and a Welcome Friend - - -The second term at Redmond sped as quickly as had the first -- -"actually whizzed away," Philippa said. Anne enjoyed it -thoroughly in all its phases -- the stimulating class rivalry, -the making and deepening of new and helpful friendships, the gay -little social stunts, the doings of the various societies of -which she was a member, the widening of horizons and interests. -She studied hard, for she had made up her mind to win the Thorburn -Scholarship in English. This being won, meant that she could -come back to Redmond the next year without trenching on Marilla's -small savings -- something Anne was determined she would not do. - -Gilbert, too, was in full chase after a scholarship, but found -plenty of time for frequent calls at Thirty-eight, St. John's. -He was Anne's escort at nearly all the college affairs, and she -knew that their names were coupled in Redmond gossip. Anne raged -over this but was helpless; she could not cast an old friend like -Gilbert aside, especially when he had grown suddenly wise and -wary, as behooved him in the dangerous proximity of more than one -Redmond youth who would gladly have taken his place by the side -of the slender, red-haired coed, whose gray eyes were as alluring -as stars of evening. Anne was never attended by the crowd of -willing victims who hovered around Philippa's conquering march -through her Freshman year; but there was a lanky, brainy Freshie, -a jolly, little, round Sophomore, and a tall, learned Junior who -all liked to call at Thirty-eight, St. John's, and talk over -'ologies and 'isms, as well as lighter subjects, with Anne, in -the becushioned parlor of that domicile. Gilbert did not love -any of them, and he was exceedingly careful to give none of them -the advantage over him by any untimely display of his real -feelings Anne-ward. To her he had become again the boy-comrade -of Avonlea days, and as such could hold his own against any -smitten swain who had so far entered the lists against him. -As a companion, Anne honestly acknowledged nobody could be so -satisfactory as Gilbert; she was very glad, so she told herself, -that he had evidently dropped all nonsensical ideas -- though she -spent considerable time secretly wondering why. - -Only one disagreeable incident marred that winter. Charlie Sloane, -sitting bolt upright on Miss Ada's most dearly beloved cushion, -asked Anne one night if she would promise "to become Mrs. Charlie -Sloane some day." Coming after Billy Andrews' proxy effort, -this was not quite the shock to Anne's romantic sensibilities -that it would otherwise have been; but it was certainly another -heart-rending disillusion. She was angry, too, for she felt that -she had never given Charlie the slightest encouragement to suppose -such a thing possible. But what could you expect of a Sloane, -as Mrs. Rachel Lynde would ask scornfully? Charlie's whole attitude, -tone, air, words, fairly reeked with Sloanishness. "He was conferring -a great honor -- no doubt whatever about that. And when Anne, utterly -insensible to the honor, refused him, as delicately and considerately -as she could -- for even a Sloane had feelings which ought not to be -unduly lacerated -- Sloanishness still further betrayed itself. -Charlie certainly did not take his dismissal as Anne's imaginary -rejected suitors did. Instead, he became angry, and showed it; -he said two or three quite nasty things; Anne's temper flashed up -mutinously and she retorted with a cutting little speech whose -keenness pierced even Charlie's protective Sloanishness and -reached the quick; he caught up his hat and flung himself out of -the house with a very red face; Anne rushed upstairs, falling twice -over Miss Ada's cushions on the way, and threw herself on her bed, -in tears of humiliation and rage. Had she actually stooped to -quarrel with a Sloane? Was it possible anything Charlie Sloane -could say had power to make her angry? Oh, this was degradation, -indeed -- worse even than being the rival of Nettie Blewett! - -"I wish I need never see the horrible creature again," she sobbed -vindictively into her pillows. - -She could not avoid seeing him again, but the outraged Charlie -took care that it should not be at very close quarters. Miss -Ada's cushions were henceforth safe from his depredations, -and when he met Anne on the street, or in Redmond's halls, -his bow was icy in the extreme. Relations between these two -old schoolmates continued to be thus strained for nearly a year! -Then Charlie transferred his blighted affections to a round, -rosy, snub-nosed, blue-eyed, little Sophomore who appreciated -them as they deserved, whereupon he forgave Anne and condescended -to be civil to her again; in a patronizing manner intended to -show her just what she had lost. - -One day Anne scurried excitedly into Priscilla's room. - -"Read that," she cried, tossing Priscilla a letter. "It's from -Stella -- and she's coming to Redmond next year -- and what do -you think of her idea? I think it's a perfectly splendid one, -if we can only carry it out. Do you suppose we can, Pris?" - -"I'll be better able to tell you when I find out what it is," -said Priscilla, casting aside a Greek lexicon and taking up -Stella's letter. Stella Maynard had been one of their chums at -Queen's Academy and had been teaching school ever since. - -"But I'm going to give it up, Anne dear," she wrote, "and go to -college next year. As I took the third year at Queen's I can -enter the Sophomore year. I'm tired of teaching in a back -country school. Some day I'm going to write a treatise on -`The Trials of a Country Schoolmarm.' It will be a harrowing bit -of realism. It seems to be the prevailing impression that we live -in clover, and have nothing to do but draw our quarter's salary. -My treatise shall tell the truth about us. Why, if a week should -pass without some one telling me that I am doing easy work for -big pay I would conclude that I might as well order my ascension -robe `immediately and to onct.' `Well, you get your money easy,' -some rate-payer will tell me, condescendingly. `All you have to -do is to sit there and hear lessons.' 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 so stubborn 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 of everything, -from investigating the interiors of earthworms to the study of -the solar system. My youngest pupil is four -- his mother sends -him to school to `get him out of the way' -- and my oldest twenty --- it `suddenly struck him' that it would be easier to go to -school and get an education than follow the plough any longer. -In the wild effort to cram all sorts of research into six hours a -day I don't wonder if the children feel like the little boy who -was taken to see the biograph. `I have to look for what's coming -next before I know what went last,' he complained. I feel like -that myself. - -"And the letters I get, Anne! Tommy's mother writes me that -Tommy is not coming on in arithmetic as fast as she would like. -He is only in simple reduction yet, and Johnny Johnson is in -fractions, and Johnny isn't half as smart as her Tommy, and she -can't understand it. And Susy's father wants to know why Susy -can't write a letter without misspelling half the words, and -Dick's aunt wants me to change his seat, because that bad Brown -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 the gods wish to destroy they first make country schoolmarms! - -"There, I feel better, after that growl. After all, I've enjoyed -these past 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 like -enduring three years more of it. - -Now, why can't you and Priscilla and I club together, rent -a little house somewhere in Kingsport, and board ourselves? -It would be cheaper than any other way. Of course, we would -have to have a housekeeper and I 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't help that! -She was called Jamesina because her father, whose name was James, -was drowned at sea a month before she was born. I always call her -Aunt Jimsie. Well, her only daughter has recently married and -gone to the foreign mission field. Aunt Jamesina is left alone -in a great big house, and she is horribly lonesome. She will -come to Kingsport and keep house for us if we want her, and I -know you'll both love her. The more I 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 -idea for you, who are on the spot, to look around and see if you -can find a suitable house this spring? That would be better than -leaving it till the fall. If you could get a furnished one so -much the better, but if not, we can scare up a few sticks of -finiture between us and old family friends with attics. Anyhow, -decide as soon as you can and write me, so that 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 nice -boardinghouse here, but, when all's said and done, a boardinghouse -isn't home. 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 -nice localities will probably be away beyond our means. We'll likely -have to content ourselves with a shabby little place on some street -whereon live people whom to know is to be unknown, and make life -inside compensate for the outside." - -Accordingly they went house-hunting, but to find just what -they wanted proved even harder than Priscilla had feared. -Houses there were galore, furnished and unfurnished; but one -was too big, another too small; this one too expensive, that -one too far from Redmond. Exams were on and over; 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," said -Priscilla wearily, as they rambled through the park on one of April's -darling days of breeze and blue, when the harbor was creaming and -shimmering beneath the pearl-hued mists floating over it. "We may -find some shack to shelter us then; and if not, boardinghouses we -shall have always with us." - -"I'm not going to worry about it just now, anyway, and spoil this -lovely afternoon," said Anne, gazing around her with delight. -The fresh chill air was faintly charged with the aroma of pine -balsam, and the sky above was crystal clear and blue -- a great -inverted cup of blessing. "Spring is singing 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 is from 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 -rain on the eaves and sad waves on a gray shore. When I get old -I shall have rheumatism when the wind is east." - -"And isn't it jolly when you discard furs and winter garments -for the first time and sally forth, like this, in spring attire?" -laughed Priscilla. "Don't you feel as if you had been made over new?" - -"Everything is new in the spring," said Anne. "Springs themselves -are always so new, too. No spring is ever just like any other spring. -It always has something of its own to be its own peculiar sweetness. -See how green the grass is around that little pond, and how the willow -buds are bursting." - -"And exams are over and gone -- the time of Convocation will come -soon -- 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 down over Mr. Harrison's fields. I want to hunt ferns -in the Haunted Wood and gather violets in Violet Vale. Do you -remember the day of our golden picnic, Priscilla? I want to hear -the frogs singing and the poplars whispering. But I've learned -to love Kingsport, too, and I'm glad I'm coming back next fall. -If I hadn't won the Thorburn I don't believe I could have. I -COULDN'T take any of Marilla's little hoard." - -"If we could only find a house!" sighed Priscilla. "Look over -there at Kingsport, Anne -- houses, houses everywhere, and not -one for us." - -"Stop it, Pris. `The best is yet to be.' Like the old Roman, -we'll find a house or build one. On a day like this there's -no such word as fail in my bright lexicon." - -They lingered in the park until sunset, living in the amazing -miracle and glory and wonder of the springtide; and they went -home as usual, by way of Spofford Avenue, that they might have -the delight of looking at Patty's Place. - -"I feel as if something mysterious were going to happen right -away -- `by the pricking of my thumbs,' " said Anne, as they went -up the slope. "It's a nice story-bookish feeling. Why -- why -- -why! Priscilla Grant, look over 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 the arched 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 that we could rent Patty's Place?" - -"No, I don't," averred Priscilla. "It would be too good to be -true. Fairy tales don't happen nowadays. I won't hope, Anne. -The disappointment would be too awful to bear. They're sure to -want more for it than we can afford. Remember, it's on Spofford -Avenue." - -"We must find out anyhow," said Anne resolutely. "It's too late -to call this evening, but we'll come tomorrow. Oh, Pris, if we -can get this darling spot! I've always felt that my fortunes -were linked with Patty's Place, ever since I saw it first." - - - - -Chapter X - -Patty's Place - - -The next evening found them treading resolutely the herring-bone -walk through the tiny garden. The April wind was filling the -pine trees with its roundelay, and the grove was alive with robins --- great, plump, saucy fellows, strutting along the paths. -The girls rang rather timidly, and were admitted by a grim and -ancient handmaiden. The door opened directly into a large -living-room, where by a cheery little fire sat two other ladies, -both of whom were also grim and ancient. Except that one looked -to be about seventy and the other fifty, there seemed little -difference between them. Each had amazingly big, light-blue eyes -behind steel-rimmed spectacles; each wore a cap and a gray shawl; -each was knitting without haste and without rest; each rocked -placidly and looked at the girls without speaking; and just -behind each sat a large white china dog, with round green spots -all over it, a green nose and green ears. Those dogs captured -Anne's fancy on the spot; they seemed like the twin guardian -deities of Patty's Place. - -For a few minutes nobody spoke. The girls were too nervous to -find words, and neither the ancient ladies nor the china dogs -seemed conversationally inclined. Anne glanced about the room. -What a dear place it was! Another door opened out of it directly -into the pine grove and the robins came boldly up on the very step. -The floor was spotted with round, braided mats, such as Marilla -made at Green Gables, but which were considered out of date -everywhere else, even in Avonlea. And yet here they were on -Spofford Avenue! A big, polished grandfather's clock ticked -loudly and solemnly in a corner. There were delightful little -cupboards over the mantelpiece, behind whose glass doors gleamed -quaint bits of china. The walls were hung with old prints and -silhouettes. In one corner the stairs went up, and at the first -low turn was a long window with an inviting seat. It was all -just as Anne had known it must be. - -By this time the silence had grown too dreadful, and Priscilla -nudged Anne 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 -to some 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. -I did 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 human being. The other lady followed her example so -perfectly that she might as well have been a reflection in a mirror. - -"You LOVE it," said Miss Patty with emphasis. "Does that mean -that you really LOVE it? Or that you merely like the looks of it? -The girls nowadays indulge in such exaggerated statements that one -never can tell what they DO mean. It wasn't so in my young days. -THEN a girl did not say she LOVED turnips, in just the same tone -as she might have said she loved 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 saw it last fall. My two college chums and I want to keep house -next year instead of boarding, so we are looking for a little place -to rent; and when 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 -decided today that we would not let it after all, because we did -not like any of the people who have wanted it. We don't HAVE to -let it. We can afford to go to Europe even if we don't let it. -It would help us out, but not for gold will I let my home pass -into the possession of such people as have come here and looked -at it. YOU are different. I believe you do love it and 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 each other. Priscilla shook her head. - -"I'm afraid we can't afford quite so much," said Anne, choking -back her disappointment. "You see, we are only college girls -and we are poor." - -"What were you thinking you could afford?" demanded Miss Patty, -ceasing not to knit. - -Anne named her amount. Miss Patty nodded gravely. - -"That will do. As I told you, it is not strictly necessary that -we should let it at all. We are not rich, but we have enough to -go to Europe on. I have never been in Europe in my life, and never -expected or wanted to go. But my niece there, Maria Spofford, has -taken a fancy to go. Now, you know a young person like Maria can't -go globetrotting alone." - -"No -- I -- I suppose not," murmured Anne, seeing that Miss Patty -was quite solemnly in earnest. - -"Of course not. So I have to go along to look after her. I expect to -enjoy 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 and we -shall send you the key, and leave all in order for you to take -possession when you choose. We shall pack away a few things we -prize especially, 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 -over a hundred years old, and they have sat on either side of this -fireplace ever 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 evident emotion. -"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 his -coat-tails, beaming on us." - -Miss Maria took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes; but Miss Patty -came 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 -very careful of them," she said. "Their names are Gog and Magog. -Gog looks to the right and Magog to the left. And there's just -one thing more. You don'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 great satisfaction. -"Would you believe it? All the people who came here to rent the house -wanted to know if they couldn't take the name off the gate during their -occupation of it. I told them roundly that the name went with the house. -This has been Patty's Place ever since my brother Aaron left it to me in -his will, and Patty's Place it shall remain until I die and Maria dies. -After that happens the next possessor can call it any fool name he likes," -concluded Miss Patty, much as she might have said, "After that -- the deluge." -"And now, wouldn't you like to go over the house and see it all before we -consider the bargain made?" - -Further exploration still further delighted the girls. Besides the -big living-room, there was a kitchen and a small bedroom downstairs. -Upstairs were three rooms, one large and two small. Anne took an -especial fancy to one of the small ones, looking out into the big pines, -and hoped it would be hers. It was papered in pale blue and had a -little, old-timey toilet table with sconces for candles. There was -a diamond-paned window with a seat under the blue muslin frills that -would be a satisfying spot for studying or dreaming. - -"It's all so delicious that I know we are going to wake up and find -it a fleeting 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 those shawls and caps?" - -"I suppose they'll take them off when they really begin to trot," -said Priscilla, "but I know they'll take their knitting with -them everywhere. They simply couldn't be parted from it. -They will walk about Westminster Abbey and knit, I feel sure. -Meanwhile, Anne, we shall be living in Patty's Place -- and on -Spofford Avenue. I feel like a millionairess even now." - -"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 -flung herself on Anne's bed. - -"Girls, dear, I'm tired to death. I feel like the man without a country -- -or was it without a shadow? I forget which. Anyway, I've been packing up." - -"And I suppose you are worn out because you couldn't decide which -things to pack first, or where to put them," laughed Priscilla. - -"E-zackly. And when I had got everything jammed in somehow, and -my landlady and her maid had both sat on it while I locked it, I -discovered I had packed a whole lot of things I wanted for -Convocation at the very bottom. I had to unlock the old thing -and poke and dive into it for an hour before I fished out what I -wanted. I would get hold of something that felt like what I was -looking for, and I'd yank it up, and it would be 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. -And I have such a cold in the head -- I can do nothing but sniffle, -sigh and sneeze. Isn't that alliterative agony for you? Queen Anne, -do say something to cheer me up." - -"Remember that next Thursday night, you'll be back in the land of -Alec and Alonzo," suggested Anne. - -Phil shook her head dolefully. - -"More alliteration. No, I don't want Alec and Alonzo when I have -a cold in the head. But what has happened you two? Now that I look -at you 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 Anne triumphantly. -"Live, mark you, not board! We've rented it, and Stella Maynard 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 room for 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 you next winter." - -Anne and Priscilla looked at each other. Then Anne said slowly, -"Phil dear, we'd love to have you. But we may as well speak plainly. -I'm poor -- Pris is poor -- Stella Maynard is poor -- our housekeeping -will have to 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 a dinner of herbs where your chums are than a stalled ox -in a lonely boardinghouse. Don't think I'm ALL stomach, girls. -I'll be willing to live 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 be done. -Stella's aunt can't do it all. We all expect to have our chores to do. -Now, you -- " - -"Toil not, neither do I spin," finished Philippa. "But I'll learn -to do things. You'll only have to show me once. I CAN make my -own bed to begin with. 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 this floor is awfully hard." - -"There's just one more thing," said Priscilla resolutely. -"You, Phil, as all Redmond knows, entertain callers almost every -evening. Now, at Patty's Place we can't do that. We have decided -that we shall be at home to our friends on Friday evenings only. -If you come with us you'll have to 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 -enough decision to make it or stick to it. When I can shuffle -off the responsibility on you it will be a real relief. If you -won't let me cast in my lot with you I'll die of the disappointment -and then I'll come back and haunt you. I'll camp on the very doorstep -of Patty's Place and you 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've consulted with Stella; but I don't think she'll object, -and, as far as we are concerned, you may come and glad welcome." - -"If you get tired of our simple life you can leave us, and no -questions asked," added Priscilla. - -Phil sprang up, hugged them both jubilantly, and went on her way -rejoicing. - -"I hope things will go right," said Priscilla soberly. - -"We must MAKE them go right," avowed Anne. "I think Phil will -fit into our '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. -But how will she be to live with? You have to summer and winter with -any one before you know if she's LIVABLE or not." - -"Oh, well, we'll all be put to the test, as far as that goes. -And we must quit us like sensible folk, living and let live. -Phil isn't selfish, though she's a little thoughtless, and I -believe we will all get on beautifully in Patty's Place." - - - - -Chapter XI - -The Round of Life - - -Anne was back in Avonlea with the luster of the Thorburn Scholarship -on her brow. People told her she hadn't changed much, in a tone -which hinted they were surprised and a little disappointed she hadn't. -Avonlea had not changed, either. At least, so it seemed at first. -But as Anne sat in the Green Gables pew, on the first Sunday after -her return, and looked over the congregation, she saw several little -changes which, all coming home to her at once, made her realize that -time did not quite stand still, even in Avonlea. A new minister was in -the pulpit. In the pews 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 practicing at it for twenty years," and old Josiah Sloane, whom -nobody knew in his coffin because he had his whiskers neatly trimmed, -were all sleeping in the little graveyard behind the church. And Billy -Andrews was married to Nettie Blewett! They "appeared out" that Sunday. -When Billy, beaming with pride and happiness, showed his be-plumed and -be-silked bride into the Harmon Andrews' pew, Anne dropped her lids to -hide her dancing eyes. She recalled the stormy winter night of the -Christmas holidays when Jane had proposed for Billy. He certainly -had not broken his heart over his rejection. Anne wondered if Jane -had also proposed to Nettie for him, or if he had mustered enough -spunk to ask the fateful question himself. All the Andrews family -seemed to share in his pride and pleasure, from Mrs. Harmon in the -pew to Jane in the choir. Jane had resigned from the Avonlea school -and intended to go West in the fall. - -"Can't get a beau in Avonlea, that's what," said Mrs. Rachel Lynde -scornfully. "SAYS she thinks she'll have better health out West. -I never heard her health was poor before." - -"Jane is a nice girl," Anne had said loyally. "She never tried -to attract 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's what. What else would take her out West to some -forsaken place whose only recommendation is that men are plenty -and women scarce? Don't you tell me!" - -But it was not at Jane, Anne gazed that day in dismay and surprise. -It was at Ruby Gillis, who sat beside her in the choir. What had -happened to Ruby? She was even handsomer than ever; but her blue -eyes were too bright and lustrous, and the color of her cheeks was -hectically brilliant; besides, she was very thin; the hands that -held her hymn-book were almost transparent in their delicacy. - -"Is Ruby Gillis ill?" Anne asked of Mrs. Lynde, as they went -home from church. - -"Ruby Gillis is dying of galloping consumption," said Mrs. Lynde -bluntly. "Everybody knows it except herself and her FAMILY. -They won't give in. If you ask THEM, she's perfectly well. -She hasn't been able to teach since she had that attack of -congestion in the winter, but she says she's going to teach -again in the fall, and she's after the White Sands school. -She'll be in her grave, poor girl, when White Sands school opens, -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 the old tie of school-girl intimacy was there, and made itself -felt sharply in the tug the news gave at Anne's heartstrings. -Ruby, the brilliant, the merry, the coquettish! It was impossible -to associate the thought of her with anything like death. She had -greeted Anne with gay cordiality after church, and urged her to -come up the next evening. - -"I'll be away Tuesday and Wednesday evenings," she had whispered -triumphantly. "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 up tomorrow. I'm dying for a good talk with you. I want -to hear all about your doings at Redmond." - -Anne knew that Ruby meant that she wanted to tell Anne all about -her own recent flirtations, but she promised to go, and Diana -offered to go with her. - -"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't -go alone. It's so awful to hear Ruby rattling on as she does, and -pretending there is nothing the matter with her, even when she can -hardly speak for coughing. She's fighting so hard for her life, -and yet she hasn't any chance at all, they say." - -The girls walked silently down the red, twilit road. The robins -were singing vespers in the high treetops, filling the golden air -with their jubilant voices. The silver fluting of the frogs came -from marshes and ponds, over fields where seeds were beginning to -stir with life and thrill to the sunshine and rain that had -drifted over them. The air was fragrant with the wild, sweet, -wholesome smell of young raspberry copses. White mists were -hovering in the silent hollows and violet stars were shining -bluely on the brooklands. - -"What a beautiful sunset," said Diana. "Look, Anne, it's just like -a land in itself, isn't it? That long, low back of purple cloud -is the shore, 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 old composition -- you remember? -- how nice it would be," -said Anne, rousing from her reverie. "Do you think we could find -all our yesterdays there, Diana -- all our old springs and -blossoms? The beds of flowers that Paul saw 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 -with everything 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 -be true, 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 -for Aunt 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 last winter and she was left very poor and lonely, -so the Wrights took her to live with them. Mother thought we -ought to take her, but father put his foot 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 Diana significantly. "Father says she has a face like a -hatchet -- it cuts the air. But her tongue is sharper still." - -Late as it was Aunt Atossa was cutting potato sets in the Wright -kitchen. She wore a faded old wrapper, and her gray hair was -decidedly untidy. Aunt Atossa did not like being "caught in a -kilter," so she went out 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 -a good deal." - -There was no doubt Aunt Atossa thought there was plenty of room for -further improvement. She ceased not from cutting sets with much energy. - -"Is it any use to ask you to sit down?" she inquired sarcastically. -"Of course, there's nothing very entertaining here for you. The rest -are all away." - -"Mother sent you this little pot of rhubarb jelly," said Diana -pleasantly. "She made it today and thought you might like some." - -"Oh, thanks," said Aunt Atossa sourly. "I never fancy your -mother's jelly -- she always makes it too sweet. However, I'll -try to worry some down. My appetite's been dreadful poor this -spring. I'm far from well," continued Aunt Atossa solemnly, "but -still I keep a-doing. People who can't work aren't wanted here. -If it isn't too much trouble will you be condescending enough -to set the jelly in the pantry? I'm in a hurry to get these spuds -done tonight. I suppose you two LADIES never do anything like 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. -Of course," she added teasingly, "I did my hands up in lemon -juice and kid gloves every night after it." - -Aunt Atossa sniffed. - -"I suppose you got that notion out of some of those silly -magazines you read so many of. I wonder your mother allows you. -But she always spoiled you. We all thought when George married -her she wouldn't be a suitable wife for him." - -Aunt Atossa sighed heavily, as if all forebodings upon the -occasion of George Barry's marriage had been amply and darkly -fulfilled. - -"Going, are you?" she inquired, as the girls rose. "Well, I -suppose you can't find much amusement talking to an old woman -like me. It's such a pity 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 Ruby Gillis. -The doctors say consumption's catching. I always knew Ruby'd get something, -gadding off to Boston last fall for a visit. People who ain't content to -stay home always catch something." - -"People who don't go visiting catch things, too. Sometimes they even die," -said Diana solemnly. - -"Then they don't have themselves to blame for it," retorted Aunt Atossa -triumphantly. "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 -are terrible fickle. You ought to wear a hat, MISS SHIRLEY. Your nose -is freckling scandalous. My, but you ARE redheaded! Well, I s'pose -we're all as the Lord made us! Give Marilla Cuthbert my respects. -She's never been to see me since I come to Avonlea, but I s'pose I -oughtn't to complain. The Cuthberts always did think themselves -a cut higher than any 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 -of living all your life with a name like Atossa! Wouldn't it sour -almost any one? She should have tried to imagine her name was Cordelia. -It might have helped her a great deal. It certainly helped me in the -days when 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'm glad that's over. She's so malicious -- she seems to put a -bad flavor in everything. Father tells such a funny story about her. -One time they had a minister in Spencervale who was a very good, -spiritual man but very deaf. He couldn't hear any ordinary -conversation at all. Well, they used to have a prayer meeting on -Sunday evenings, and all the church members present would get up -and pray in turn, or say a few words on some Bible verse. But -one evening Aunt Atossa bounced up. She didn't either pray or -preach. Instead, she lit into everybody else in the church and -gave them a fearful raking down, calling them right out by name -and telling them how they all had behaved, and casting up all the -quarrels and scandals of the past ten years. Finally she wound -up by saying that she was disgusted with Spencervale church and -she never meant to darken its door again, and she hoped a fearful -judgment would come upon it. Then she sat down 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 our dear -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 -if I could write a short story -- a story that would be good -enough to be published?" - -"Why, of course you could," said Diana, after she had grasped the -amazing suggestion. "You used to write perfectly thrilling stories -years ago in our old Story Club." - -"Well, I hardly meant one of that kind of stories," smiled Anne. -"I've been 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 -were rejected. But I'm sure yours wouldn't be, Anne, for it's -likely editors have more sense nowadays." - -"Margaret Burton, one of the Junior girls at Redmond, wrote a -story last winter and it was published in the Canadian Woman. -I really do think I could 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 what kind 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 -this is very necessary from an editor's point of view. The only -thing I've settled on is the heroine's name. It is to be AVERIL -LESTER. Rather pretty, don't you think? Don't mention this to -any one, Diana. I haven't told anybody but you and Mr. Harrison. -HE wasn't very encouraging -- he said there was far too much -trash written nowadays as it was, and he'd expected 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 other across the parlor. Several merry girls had dropped in. -Ruby was dressed in white and her eyes and cheeks were very brilliant. -She laughed and chattered incessantly, and after the other girls had -gone she took Anne upstairs to display her new summer dresses. - -"I've a blue silk to make up yet, but it's a little heavy for -summer wear. I think I'll leave it until the fall. I'm going -to teach in White Sands, you know. How do you like my hat? -That one you had on in church yesterday was real dinky. -But I like something brighter for myself. Did you notice -those two ridiculous boys downstairs? They've both come -determined to sit each other out. I don't care a single bit -about either of them, you know. Herb Spencer is the one I like. -Sometimes I really do think he's MR. RIGHT. At Christmas I -thought the Spencervale schoolmaster was that. But I found -out something about him that turned me against him. He nearly -went insane when I turned him down. I wish those two boys hadn't -come tonight. I wanted to have a nice good talk with you, Anne, -and tell you such heaps of things. You and I were always good -chums, weren't we?" - -Ruby slipped her arm about Anne's waist with a shallow little laugh. -But just 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 want you." - -"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 my color. I don't look much like an invalid, I'm sure." - -Ruby's voice was almost sharp. She pulled her arm away from Anne, -as if in resentment, and ran downstairs, where she was gayer than -ever, apparently so much absorbed in bantering her two swains that -Diana and Anne 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 hung finely-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 -eager interest in a moment. - -"Yes, I have only a few pages written, but I have it all pretty -well thought out. I've had such a time to get a suitable plot. -None of the plots 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, -any more than I could change yours. AVERIL was so real to me -that no matter what other name I tried to give her I just thought -of her as AVERIL behind it all. But finally I got a plot that -matched her. Then came the excitement of choosing names for -all my characters. You have no idea how fascinating that is. -I've lain awake for hours thinking over those names. The hero's -name is PERCEVAL DALRYMPLE." - -"Have you named ALL the characters?" asked Diana wistfully. "If -you hadn't I was going to ask you to let me name one -- just some -unimportant person. 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," -conceded Anne. "He is not very important, but he is the only one -left unnamed." - -"Call him RAYMOND FITZOSBORNE," suggested Diana, who had a store -of such names laid away in her memory, relics of the old "Story -Club," which she and 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. I couldn't imagine a Fitzosborne feeding pigs and picking -up chips, could you?" - -Diana didn't see why, if you had an imagination at all, you -couldn't stretch it to that extent; but probably Anne knew best, -and the chore boy was finally christened ROBERT RAY, to be called -BOBBY should occasion 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 by mercenary 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 -shall want you to criticize it SEVERELY. No one else shall see -it until it is published." - -"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 so much more romantic. But I understand editors have a prejudice -against sad endings. I heard Professor Hamilton say once that nobody -but a genius should try to write an unhappy ending. - -And," concluded Anne modestly, "I'm anything but a genius." - -"Oh I like happy endings best. You'd better let him marry her," -said Diana, who, especially since her engagement to Fred, thought -this was how 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 at last." - -"I must have one pathetic scene in it," said Anne thoughtfully. -"I might let ROBERT RAY be injured in an accident and have a -death scene." - -"No, you mustn't kill BOBBY off," declared Diana, laughing. -"He belongs to me and I want him to live and flourish. Kill -somebody else if you have to." - -For the next fortnight Anne writhed or reveled, according to -mood, in her literary pursuits. Now she would be jubilant over a -brilliant idea, now despairing because some contrary character -would NOT behave properly. 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. -She WILL do and say things I never meant her to. Then that spoils -everything that went before and I have to write it all over again." - -Finally, however, the story was finished, and Anne read it to -Diana in the seclusion of the porch gable. She had achieved her -"pathetic scene" without sacrificing ROBERT RAY, and she kept a -watchful eye on Diana as she read it. Diana rose to the occasion -and cried properly; but, when the 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, -rather resentfully. "If I had let him live he'd have gone -on persecuting AVERIL and PERCEVAL." - -"Yes -- unless you had reformed him." - -"That wouldn't have been romantic, and, besides, it would have -made the story too long." - -"Well, anyway, it's a perfectly elegant story, Anne, and will -make you famous, 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't seem to me quite romantic enough to match the rest. It's -just what anybody might do. Heroines shouldn't do cooking, _I_ think." - -"Why, that is where the humor comes in, and it's one of the best -parts of the whole story," said Anne. And it may be stated that -in this she was quite right. - -Diana prudently refrained from any further criticism, but -Mr. Harrison was much harder to please. First he told her -there was entirely too much description in the story. - -"Cut out all those flowery passages," he said unfeelingly. - -Anne had an uncomfortable conviction that Mr. Harrison was right, -and she forced herself to expunge most of her beloved descriptions, -though it took three re-writings before the story could be pruned -down to please 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 you shouldn't have laid the scene among rich city people. -What do you know of 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 the heroine." - -"Oh, that would never have done," protested Anne. "Avonlea is -the dearest place in the world, but it isn't quite romantic -enough for the scene 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 folks anywhere. They talk too much and use too -high-flown language. There's one place where that DALRYMPLE chap -talks even on for two pages, and never lets the girl get a word in -edgewise. If he'd done that in real life she'd have pitched him." - -"I don't believe it," said Anne flatly. In her secret soul she -thought that the beautiful, poetical things said to AVERIL would -win any girl's heart completely. Besides, it was gruesome to hear -of AVERIL, the stately, queen-like AVERIL, "pitching" any one. -AVERIL "declined her suitors." - -"Anyhow," resumed the merciless Mr. Harrison, "I don't see why -MAURICE LENNOX didn't get her. He was twice the man the other is. -He did bad things, 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 see why every one likes him better than PERCEVAL." - -"Perceval is too good. He's aggravating. Next time you write -about a hero 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 -a jelly-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 worth while. Wait ten years." - -Anne made up her mind that the next time she wrote a story she -wouldn't ask anybody to criticize it. It was too discouraging. -She would not read the story to Gilbert, although she told him -about it. - -"If it is a success you'll see it when it is published, Gilbert, -but if it is a failure nobody shall ever see it." - -Marilla knew nothing about the venture. In imagination Anne saw -herself reading a story out of a magazine to Marilla, entrapping -her into praise of it -- for in imagination all things are -possible -- and then triumphantly announcing 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 very biggest of the "big" magazines. -Diana was as excited over it as Anne herself. - -"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 I shall be if it is accepted!" - -"Of course it will be accepted, and they will likely ask you to -send them more. You may be as famous as Mrs. Morgan some day, -Anne, and then how 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 of her friends. - -A week of delightful dreaming followed, and then came a bitter awakening. -One evening Diana found Anne in the porch gable, with suspicious-looking -eyes. On the table lay a long envelope and a crumpled manuscript. - -"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't found acceptable." - -"I never thought much of that magazine, anyway," said Diana hotly. -"The stories in it are not half as interesting as those in the -Canadian Woman, although it costs so much more. I suppose -the editor is 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 the Canadian Woman." - -"I believe I will," said Anne, plucking up heart. "And if it is -published I'll send that American editor a marked copy. But I'll -cut the sunset out. I believe Mr. Harrison was right." - -Out came the sunset; but in spite of this heroic mutilation the -editor of the Canadian Woman sent Averil's Atonement back so -promptly that the indignant Diana declared that it couldn't have -been read at all, and vowed she was going to stop her subscription -immediately. Anne took this second rejection with the calmness of -despair. She locked the story away in the garret trunk where the -old Story Club tales reposed; but first she 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 asked her 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 -the hopeless finality of nineteen when a door is shut in its face. - -"I wouldn't give up altogether," said Mr. Harrison reflectively. "I'd -write 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 characters -talk everyday English; and I'd let the sun rise and set in the usual -quiet way without much fuss over the fact. If I had to have villains -at all, I'd give them a chance, Anne -- I'd give them a chance. -There are some terrible bad men in the world, I suppose, but you'd -have to go a long piece to find them -- though Mrs. Lynde believes we're -all bad. But most 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 -Redmond I'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 -through Redmond," said Mr. Harrison. "I don't believe in -putting marrying off too long -- like I did." - -Anne got up and marched home. There were times when Mr. Harrison -was really 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, -which did not often happen, for Mrs. Lynde always attended Sunday School. -But Mrs. Lynde had twisted her ankle and was lame, so she was staying -home this morning. The twins were also to represent the family at church, -for Anne had gone away the evening before to spend Sunday with friends -in Carmody, 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 own preparations. -He had a cent in his pocket for the Sunday School collection, and a five-cent -piece for the church collection; he carried his Bible in one hand and his -Sunday School quarterly in the other; he knew his lesson and his Golden Text -and his catechism question perfectly. Had he not studied them -- perforce --- in Mrs. Lynde's kitchen, all last Sunday afternoon? Davy, therefore, -should have been in a placid frame of mind. As a matter of fact, despite -text and catechism, he was inwardly 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 Davy would likely take to his heels and she could not -pursue him today. - -"Well, be sure you behave yourselves," she warned them. "Don't walk -in the dust. Don't stop in the porch to talk to the other children. -Don't squirm or wriggle in your places. Don't forget the Golden Text. -Don't lose your collection or forget to put it in. Don't whisper at -prayer time, and don't forget to pay attention to the sermon." - -Davy deigned no response. He marched away down the lane, -followed by the meek Dora. But his soul seethed within. -Davy had suffered, or thought he had suffered, many things at the -hands and tongue of Mrs. Rachel Lynde since she had come to Green -Gables, for Mrs. Lynde could not live with anybody, whether they -were nine or ninety, without trying to bring them up properly. -And it was only the preceding afternoon that she had interfered -to influence Marilla against allowing Davy to go fishing with the -Timothy Cottons. Davy was still boiling over this. - -As soon as he was out of the lane Davy stopped and twisted his -countenance into such an unearthly and terrific contortion that Dora, -although she knew his gifts in that respect, was honestly alarmed lest -he 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," pleaded Dora. - -Davy was as yet far from repentance, but in his secret soul he felt that, -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 know a fellow must have some way of 'spressing his feelings?" - -"Davy!!!" said Dora. She expected that Davy would be struck down -dead on the 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, -but SHE 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 -fascination of horror, Davy stepped off the green grass of the -roadside, ankle deep into the fine dust which four weeks of -rainless weather had made on the road, and marched along in it, -shuffling his feet viciously until he was enveloped in a hazy cloud. - -"That's the beginning," he announced triumphantly." And I'm -going to stop in the porch and talk as long as there's anybody -there to talk to. I'm going to squirm and wriggle and whisper, -and I'm going to say I don't know the Golden Text. And I'm going -to throw away both of my collections RIGHT NOW." - -And Davy hurled cent and nickel over Mr. Barry's fence with -fierce delight. - -"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 School or -church at all. I'm going up to play with the Cottons. They told me -yesterday they weren't going to Sunday School today, 'cause their mother -was away and there was nobody to make them. Come along, Dora, we'll have -a 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 -that Frank 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'll tell her THAT, too, if you don't come. We'll take the -short cut up this field." - -"I'm afraid of those cows," protested poor Dora, seeing a -prospect of escape. - -"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 up I ain't going to bother going to church at all. I -believe I can get to heaven by myself." - -"You'll go to the other place if you break the Sabbath day," -said unhappy Dora, following him sorely against her will. - -But Davy was not scared -- yet. Hell was very far off, and the -delights of a fishing expedition with the Cottons were very near. -He wished Dora had more spunk. She kept looking back as if she -were going to cry every minute, and that spoiled a fellow's fun. -Hang girls, anyway. Davy did not say "darn" this time, even in thought. -He was not sorry -- yet -- that he had said it once, but it might be -as well not to tempt the Unknown Powers too far on one day. - -The small Cottons were playing in their back yard, and hailed -Davy's appearance with whoops of delight. Pete, Tommy, Adolphus, -and Mirabel Cotton were all alone. Their mother and older -sisters were away. Dora was thankful Mirabel was there, at least. -She had been afraid she would be alone in a crowd of boys. Mirabel -was almost as bad as a boy -- she was so 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 -and cried. Oh, if only that hateful Frank Bell had never kissed her! -Then she could have defied Davy, and gone to her beloved Sunday School. - -They dared not, of course, go fishing on the pond, where they -would be seen by people going to church. They had to resort to -the brook in the woods behind the Cotton house. But it was full -of trout, and they had a glorious time that morning -- at least -the Cottons certainly had, and Davy seemed to have it. Not being -entirely bereft of prudence, he had discarded boots and stockings -and borrowed Tommy Cotton's overalls. Thus accoutered, bog and -marsh and undergrowth had no terrors for him. Dora was frankly -and manifestly miserable. She followed the others in their -peregrinations from pool to pool, clasping her Bible and -quarterly tightly and thinking with bitterness of soul of her -beloved class where she 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 from rents and stains. Mirabel -had offered the loan of an apron but Dora had scornfully refused. - -The trout bit as they always do on Sundays. In an hour the -transgressors had all the fish they wanted, so they returned to -the house, much to Dora's relief. She sat primly on a hencoop in -the yard while the others played an uproarious game of tag; and -then they all climbed to the top of the pig-house roof and cut -their initials on the saddleboard. The flat-roofed henhouse and -a pile of straw beneath gave Davy another inspiration. They -spent a splendid half hour climbing on the roof and diving off -into the straw with whoops and yells. - -But even unlawful pleasures must come to an end. When the rumble -of wheels over the pond bridge told that people were going home -from church Davy knew they must go. He discarded Tommy's overalls, -resumed his own rightful 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 -went down the hill field. - -"I hadn't," said Dora flatly. "And I don't believe you had -- -really -- either," she added, with a flash of insight that was -not to be expected of her. - -"I had so," cried Davy, but in the voice of one who doth protest too much. -"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 better -times than we have. They do just as they please and say just what they -like 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 -example of the freedom of speech. But one did not have to be -consistent with Dora. - -"Of course not," he admitted sulkily. - -"`Tomcat' isn't a holy word. I wouldn't mention such an animal -before a minister 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 he admitted it to Dora. Now that the exhilaration of -truant delights had died away, his conscience was beginning to -give him salutary twinges. After all, perhaps it would have been -better to have gone to Sunday School and church. Mrs. Lynde -might be bossy; but there was always a box of cookies in her -kitchen cupboard and she was not stingy. At this inconvenient -moment Davy remembered that when he had torn his new school pants -the week before, Mrs. Lynde had mended them beautifully and -never said a word to Marilla about them. - -But Davy's cup of iniquity was not yet full. He was to discover -that one sin demands another to cover it. They had dinner with -Mrs. Lynde that day, 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 the announcements. -What was Mr. Harvey's text?" - -Davy took a frantic gulp of water and swallowed it and the last -protest of conscience together. He glibly recited an old Golden -Text learned several 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 Dora -reproachfully, 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, -Dora Keith." - -Then poor Davy betook himself to a secluded retreat behind the -woodpile to 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. There had been several Avonlea jollifications -the preceding week, involving rather late hours. Anne's head was -hardly on her pillow before she was half asleep; but just then -her door was softly opened and a pleading voice 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 -glad you'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've ever been yet." - -"What did you do?" - -"Oh, I'm afraid to tell you. You'll never like me again, Anne. -I couldn't say my prayers tonight. I couldn't tell God what -I'd done. I was 'shamed to have Him know." - -"But He knew anyway, Davy." - -"That's what Dora said. But I thought p'raps He mightn't have -noticed just 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 -- and I told ever so many whoppers to Mrs. Lynde -- oh! -'most half a dozen -- 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 so shocked 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 -doing wrong and makes you unhappy if you persist in doing it. -Haven't you noticed that?" - -"Yes, but I didn't know what it was. I wish I didn't have it. -I'd have lots more fun. Where is my conscience, Anne? I want to know. -Is it in my stomach?" - -"No, it's in your soul," answered Anne, thankful for the -darkness, since gravity must be preserved in serious matters. - -"I s'pose I can't get clear of it then," said Davy with a sigh. -"Are you going to tell Marilla and Mrs. Lynde on me, Anne?" - -"No, dear, I'm not going to tell any one. You are sorry you were -naughty, 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 falsehoods -to 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 the bed, 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 behaved bad today and -I'll try to be good on Sundays always and please forgive me. --- 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. -Good night." - -"Good night." - -Anne slipped down on her pillows with a sigh of relief. Oh -- -how sleepy -- 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 -impatience out of her voice. - -"Anne, have you ever noticed how Mr. Harrison spits? Do you -s'pose, if I practice 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 -catch you 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 day -had crept lingeringly through it and was gone. It had been a warm, -smoky summer afternoon. The world was in a splendor of out-flowering. -The idle valleys were full of hazes. The woodways were pranked with -shadows and the fields with the purple of the asters. - -Anne had given up a moonlight drive to the White Sands beach that -she might spend the evening with Ruby. She had so spent many -evenings that summer, although she often wondered what good it did -any one, and sometimes went home deciding that she could not go again. - -Ruby grew paler as the summer waned; the White Sands school was -given up -- "her father thought it better that she shouldn't -teach till New Year's" -- and the fancy work she loved oftener -and oftener fell from hands grown too weary for it. But she was -always gay, always hopeful, always chattering and whispering of -her beaux, and their rivalries and despairs. It was this that -made Anne's visits hard for her. What had once been silly or -amusing was gruesome, now; it was death peering through a wilful -mask of life. Yet Ruby seemed to cling to her, and never let her -go until she had promised to come again soon. Mrs. Lynde -grumbled about Anne's frequent visits, and declared she would -catch consumption; even Marilla was dubious. - -"Every time you go to see Ruby you come home looking tired out," -she said. - -"It's so very sad and dreadful," said Anne in a low tone. "Ruby -doesn't seem to realize her condition in the least. And yet I -somehow feel she needs help -- craves it -- and I want to give it -to her and can't. All the time I'm with her I feel as if I were -watching her struggle with an invisible foe -- trying to push it -back with such feeble resistance as she has. 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 a white shawl wrapped about her thin shoulders. -Her long yellow braids of hair -- how Anne had envied those -beautiful braids in old schooldays! -- lay on either side of her. -She had taken the pins out -- they made her head ache, she said. -The hectic flush was gone for the time, leaving her pale and childlike. - -The moon rose in the silvery sky, empearling the clouds -around her. Below, the pond shimmered in its hazy radiance. -Just beyond the Gillis homestead was the church, with the old -graveyard beside it. The moonlight shone on the white stones, -bringing them out in clear-cut relief 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'll be 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 not speak. - -"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 all summer, though I wouldn't give in. And, oh, Anne" --- she reached out and caught Anne's hand pleadingly, impulsively --- "I don't want to die. I'm AFRAID 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 -- and think -- and I get so frightened -- -and -- and -- homesick. Heaven must be very beautiful, of course, -the Bible says so -- but, Anne, IT WON'T BE WHAT I'VE BEEN USED TO." - -Through Anne's mind drifted an intrusive recollection of a funny -story she had heard Philippa Gordon tell -- the story of some old -man who had said very much the same thing about the world to come. -It had sounded funny 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 what Ruby had -been used to. There had been nothing in her gay, frivolous life, -her shallow ideals and aspirations, to fit her for that great change, -or make the life to come seem to her anything but alien and -unreal and undesirable. Anne wondered helplessly what she could -say that would help her. Could she say anything? "I think, Ruby," -she began hesitatingly -- for it was difficult for Anne to speak -to any one of the deepest thoughts of her heart, or the new -ideas that had vaguely begun to shape themselves in her mind, -concerning the great mysteries of life here and hereafter, -superseding her old childish conceptions, and it was 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 what -it holds for us. I don't think it can be so very different from -life here as most people seem to think. I believe we'll just go -on living, a good deal as we live here -- and be OURSELVES just -the same -- only it will be easier to be good and to -- follow -the highest. All the hindrances and perplexities will be taken -away, and we shall see clearly. Don't be afraid, Ruby." - -"I can't help it," said Ruby pitifully. "Even if what you say -about heaven is true -- and you can't be sure -- it may be only -that imagination of yours -- it won't be JUST the same. It CAN'T be. -I want to go on living HERE. I'm so young, Anne. I haven't had -my life. I've fought so hard to live -- and it isn't any use --- I have to die -- and leave EVERYTHING I care for." Anne sat -in a pain that was almost intolerable. She could not tell -comforting falsehoods; and all that Ruby said was so horribly -true. She WAS leaving everything she cared for. She had laid up -her treasures on earth only; she had lived solely for the little -things of life -- the things that pass -- forgetting the great -things that go onward into eternity, bridging the gulf between -the two lives and making of death a mere passing from one -dwelling to the other -- from twilight to unclouded day. God -would take care of her there -- Anne believed -- she would learn --- 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 -blue eyes to the moonlit skies. - -"I want to live," she said, in a trembling voice. "I want to -live like other girls. I -- I want to be married, Anne -- and -- -and -- have little children. You know I always loved babies, Anne. -I couldn't say this to any one but you. I know you understand. -And then poor Herb -- he -- he loves me and I love him, Anne. -The others meant nothing to me, but HE does -- 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 her hand in an agony of sympathy -- silent sympathy, -which perhaps helped Ruby more than broken, imperfect words could -have done; for presently she grew calmer and her sobs ceased. - -"I'm glad I've told you this, Anne," she whispered. "It has -helped me just 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 it would make death so SURE if I -SAID I was going to die, or if any one else said it or hinted it. -I wouldn't say it, or even think it. In the daytime, when people -were around me and everything was cheerful, it wasn't so hard to -keep from thinking of it. But in the night, when I couldn't sleep --- it was so dreadful, Anne. I couldn't get away from it then. -Death just came and stared me in the face, until I got so frightened -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'd rather have you than any one else. I always liked you -best of all the girls I went to school with. You were never -jealous, or mean, like some of them were. Poor Em White was up -to see me yesterday. You remember Em and I were such chums for -three years when we went to school? And then we quarrelled the -time of the school concert. We've never spoken to each other -since. Wasn't it silly? Anything like that seems silly NOW. -But Em and I made up the old quarrel yesterday. She said she'd -have spoken years ago, only she thought I wouldn't. And I never -spoke to her because I was sure she wouldn't speak to me. Isn't -it strange how people misunderstand each other, Anne?" - -"Most of the trouble in life comes from misunderstanding, I think," -said Anne. "I must go now, Ruby. It's getting late -- and you -shouldn't be out in 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 so glad." - -"I know. You HAVE helped me already. Nothing seems quite so -dreadful now. Good night, Anne." - -"Good night, dear." - -Anne walked home very slowly in the moonlight. The evening had -changed something for her. Life held a different meaning, a -deeper purpose. On the surface it would go on just the same; but -the deeps had been stirred. It must not be with her as with poor -butterfly Ruby. When she came to the end of one life it must not -be to face the next with the shrinking terror of something wholly -different -- something for which accustomed thought and ideal and -aspiration had unfitted her. The little things of life, sweet -and excellent in their place, must not be the things lived for; -the highest must be sought and followed; the life of heaven must -be begun here on earth. - -That good night in the garden was for all time. Anne never saw -Ruby in life again. The next night the A.V.I.S. gave a farewell -party to Jane Andrews before her departure for the West. And, -while light feet danced and bright eyes laughed and merry tongues -chattered, there came a summons 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 was dead. She had died in -her sleep, painlessly and calmly, and on her face was a smile -- -as if, after all, death had come as a kindly friend to lead her -over the threshold, instead of the grisly phantom she had dreaded. - -Mrs. Rachel Lynde said emphatically after the funeral that Ruby -Gillis was the handsomest corpse she ever laid eyes on. Her -loveliness, as she lay, white-clad, among the delicate flowers -that Anne had placed about her, was remembered and talked of for -years in Avonlea. Ruby had always been beautiful; but her beauty -had been of the earth, earthy; it had had a certain insolent -quality in it, as if it flaunted itself in the beholder's eye; -spirit had never shone through it, intellect had never refined it. -But death had touched it and consecrated it, bringing out delicate -modelings and purity of outline never seen before -- doing what life -and love and great sorrow and deep womanhood joys might have done -for Ruby. Anne, looking down through a mist of tears, at her old -playfellow, thought she saw the face God had meant Ruby to have, -and remembered it so always. - -Mrs. Gillis called Anne aside into a vacant room before the -funeral procession left the house, and gave her a small packet. - -"I want you to have this," she sobbed. "Ruby would have liked you -to have it. It's the embroidered centerpiece she was working at. -It isn't quite finished -- the needle is sticking in it just where -her poor little fingers put it the last time she laid it down, the -afternoon before she died." - -"There's always a piece of unfinished work left," said Mrs. Lynde, -with tears 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 really be dead," said Anne, as she and Diana walked home. -"Ruby is the first of our schoolmates to go. One by one, sooner -or later, all the rest of us must follow." - -"Yes, I suppose so," said Diana uncomfortably. She did not -want to talk of that. She would have preferred to have discussed -the details of the funeral -- the splendid white velvet casket -Mr. Gillis had insisted on having for Ruby -- "the Gillises must -always make a splurge, even at funerals," quoth Mrs. Rachel Lynde --- Herb Spencer's sad face, the uncontrolled, hysteric grief of -one of Ruby's sisters -- but Anne would not talk of these things. -She seemed wrapped in a reverie in which Diana felt lonesomely -that she had neither lot nor part. - -"Ruby Gillis was a great girl to laugh," said Davy suddenly. -"Will she laugh 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 never laugh 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 to go. Church is awful dull. Anyway, I don't mean to go -for ever so long. I mean to live to be a hundred years old, like -Mr. Thomas Blewett of White Sands. He says he's lived so long -'cause he always smoked tobacco and it killed 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 was happy at the thought of returning to work, classes -and Redmond friends. Pleasing visions were also being woven -around Patty's Place. There was a warm pleasant sense of home -in the thought of it, even though she had never lived there. - -But the summer had been a very happy one, too -- a time of glad living -with summer suns and skies, a time of keen delight in wholesome things; -a time of renewing and deepening of old friendships; a time in which -she had learned to live more nobly, to work more patiently, to play -more heartily. - -"All life lessons are not learned at college," she thought. -"Life teaches 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 upside down. - -"Been writing any more stories lately?" inquired Mr. Harrison genially -one 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 a big envelope addressed to the Rollings Reliable Baking -Powder Company of Montreal had been dropped into the post office -box a month ago, and she suspicioned that somebody was trying for -the prize they'd offered for the best story that introduced the -name of their baking powder. She said it 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 -competing for it. I think it would be perfectly disgraceful to -write a story to advertise a baking powder. It would be almost -as bad as Judson Parker's patent medicine fence." - -So spake Anne loftily, little dreaming of the valley of -humiliation awaiting 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 -thought I'd bring it along. Do open it quick. If it is what I -believe it is I shall just be wild with delight." Anne, puzzled, -opened the letter and glanced over the typewritten contents. - - - Miss Anne Shirley, - Green Gables, - Avonlea, P.E. Island. - -"DEAR MADAM: We have much pleasure in informing you that -your charming story `Averil's Atonement' has won the prize -of twenty-five dollars offered in our recent competition. -We enclose the check herewith. We are arranging for the -publication of the story in several prominent Canadian -newspapers, and we also intend to have it printed in -pamphlet form for distribution among our patrons. -Thanking you for the interest you have shown 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 your story into the competition, Anne." - -"Diana -- Barry!" - -"Yes, I did," said Diana gleefully, perching herself on the bed. -"When I saw the offer I thought of your story in a minute, and at -first I thought I'd ask you to send it in. But then I was afraid -you wouldn't -- you had so little faith left in it. So I just -decided I'd send the copy you gave me, and say nothing about it. -Then, if it didn't win the prize, you'd never know and you wouldn't -feel badly over it, because the stories that failed were not to be -returned, and if it did you'd have such a delightful surprise." - -Diana was not the most discerning of mortals, but just at this -moment it struck her that Anne was not looking exactly overjoyed. -The surprise was there, 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 -wish to give me pleasure," she said slowly. "But you know -- I'm -so amazed -- I can't realize it -- and I don't understand. There -wasn't a word in my story about -- about -- " Anne choked a little -over the word -- "baking powder." - -"Oh, _I_ put that in," said Diana, reassured. "It was as easy as -wink -- and of course my experience in our old Story Club helped me. -You know the scene where Averil makes the cake? Well, I just stated -that she used the Rollings Reliable in it, and that was why it turned -out so well; and then, in the last paragraph, where PERCEVAL clasps -AVERIL in his arms and says, `Sweetheart, the beautiful coming years -will bring us the fulfilment of our home of dreams,' I added, `in which -we will never use 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 -five dollars 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 and made the alterations. I -- I would certainly never -have sent it. So you must take the check." - -"I'd like to see myself," said Diana scornfully. "Why, what I -did wasn't any trouble. The honor of being a friend of the -prizewinner is enough for me. Well, I must go. I should have -gone straight home from the post office 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 -her cheek. - -"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 I appreciate 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 it -were blood-money, cast herself on her bed and wept tears of shame -and outraged sensibility. Oh, she could never live this down -- never! - -Gilbert arrived at dusk, brimming over with congratulations, -for he had called at Orchard Slope and heard the news. But his -congratulations died on his lips at sight of Anne's face. - -"Why, Anne, what is the matter? I expected to find you radiant -over winning Rollings Reliable prize. Good for you!" - -"Oh, Gilbert, not you," implored Anne, in an ET-TU BRUTE tone. -"I thought 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. -What do you think a mother would feel like if she found her -child tattooed over with a baking powder advertisement? -I feel just the same. I loved my 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 powder advertisement. -Don't you remember what Professor Hamilton used to tell us in the -literature class at Queen's? He said we were never to write a -word for a low or unworthy motive, but always to cling to the -very highest ideals. What will he think when he hears I've -written a story to advertise Rollings Reliable? And, oh, when it -gets out at Redmond! Think how I'll be teased and laughed at!" - -"That you won't," said Gilbert, wondering uneasily if it were -that confounded Junior's opinion in particular over which Anne -was worried. "The Reds will think just as I thought -- that you, -being like nine out of ten of us, not overburdened with worldly -wealth, had taken this way of earning an honest penny to help -yourself through the year. I don't see that there's anything low -or unworthy about that, or anything ridiculous either. One would -rather write masterpieces of literature no doubt -- but meanwhile -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 deeper hurt of an outraged ideal remained. - - - - -Chapter XVI - -Adjusted Relationships - - -"It's the homiest spot I ever saw -- it's homier than home," -avowed Philippa Gordon, looking about her with delighted eyes. -They were all assembled at twilight in the big living-room at -Patty's Place -- Anne and Priscilla, 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 like creamy moons. - -It was three weeks since they had considered themselves settled, -and already all believed the experiment would be a success. The -first fortnight after their return had been a pleasantly exciting -one; they had been busy setting up their household goods, organizing -their little establishment, and adjusting different opinions. - -Anne was not over-sorry to leave Avonlea when the time came to -return to college. The last few days of her vacation had not -been pleasant. Her prize story had been published in the Island -papers; and Mr. William Blair had, upon the counter of his -store, a huge pile of pink, green and yellow pamphlets, -containing it, one of which he gave to every customer. He sent a -complimentary bundle to Anne, who promptly dropped them all in -the kitchen stove. Her humiliation was the consequence of her -own ideals only, for Avonlea folks thought it quite splendid -that she should have won the prize. Her many friends regarded -her with honest admiration; her few foes with scornful envy. -Josie Pye said she believed Anne Shirley had just copied the story; -she was sure she remembered reading it in a paper years before. -The Sloanes, who had found out or guessed that Charlie had been -"turned down," said they didn't think it was much to be proud of; -almost any one could have done it, if she tried. Aunt Atossa -told 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 of adopting orphans from goodness knew where, with -goodness knew what kind of parents. Even Mrs. Rachel Lynde was -darkly dubious about the propriety of writing fiction, though she -was almost reconciled to it by that twenty-five dollar check. - -"It is perfectly amazing, the price they pay for such lies, -that's what," she said, half-proudly, half-severely. - -All things considered, it was a relief when going-away time came. -And it was very jolly to be back at Redmond, a wise, experienced -Soph with hosts of friends to greet on the merry opening day. -Pris and Stella and Gilbert were there, Charlie Sloane, looking -more important than ever a Sophomore looked before, Phil, with -the Alec-and-Alonzo question still unsettled, and Moody Spurgeon -MacPherson. Moody Spurgeon had been teaching school ever since -leaving Queen's, but his mother had concluded it was high time -he gave it up and turned his attention to learning how to be a -minister. Poor Moody Spurgeon fell on hard luck at the very -beginning of his college career. Half a dozen ruthless Sophs, -who were among his fellow-boarders, swooped down upon him one -night and shaved half of his head. In this guise the luckless -Moody Spurgeon had to go about until his hair grew again. He -told Anne bitterly that there were times when he had his doubts -as to whether he was really called to be a minister. - -Aunt Jamesina did not come until the girls had Patty's Place -ready for her. Miss Patty had sent the key to Anne, with a -letter in which she said Gog and Magog were packed in a box under -the spare-room bed, but might be taken out when wanted; in a -postscript she added that she hoped the girls would be careful -about putting up pictures. The living room had been newly -papered five years before and she and Miss Maria did not want any -more holes made in that new paper than was absolutely necessary. -For the rest she trusted everything to Anne. - -How those girls enjoyed putting their nest in order! As Phil said, -it was almost as good as getting married. You had the fun of -homemaking without the bother of a husband. All brought something -with them to adorn or make comfortable the little house. Pris and -Phil and Stella had knick-knacks and pictures galore, which latter -they proceeded to hang according 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," -they said to protesting Anne. - -Diana had given Anne a pine needle cushion and Miss Ada had given -both her and Priscilla a fearfully and wonderfully embroidered one. -Marilla had sent a big box of preserves, and darkly hinted at a -hamper for Thanksgiving, and Mrs. Lynde gave Anne a patchwork quilt -and loaned her five more. - -"You take them," she said authoritatively. "They might as well be -in use as packed away in that trunk in the garret for moths to gnaw." - -No moths would ever have ventured near those quilts, for they -reeked of mothballs to such an extent that they had to be hung in -the orchard of Patty'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 to buy the gorgeous red -and yellow "tulip-pattern" one which Mrs. Rachel had given Anne. -He said his mother used to make quilts like that, and by Jove, he -wanted one to remind him of her. Anne would not sell it, much to -his disappointment, but she wrote all about it to Mrs. Lynde. -That highly-gratified lady sent word back that she had one just -like it to spare, so the tobacco king got his quilt after all, -and insisted on having it spread on his bed, to the disgust of -his fashionable wife. - -Mrs. Lynde's quilts served a very useful purpose that winter. -Patty's Place for all its many virtues, had its faults also. -It was really a rather cold house; and when the frosty nights -came the girls were very glad to snuggle down under Mrs. Lynde's -quilts, and hoped that the loan of them might be accounted unto -her for righteousness. Anne had the blue room she had coveted -at sight. Priscilla and Stella had the large one. Phil was -blissfully content with the little one over the kitchen; and -Aunt Jamesina was to have the downstairs one off the living-room. -Rusty at first slept on the doorstep. - -Anne, walking home from Redmond a few days after her return, -became aware that the people that she met surveyed her with a -covert, indulgent smile. Anne wondered uneasily what was the -matter with her. Was her hat crooked? Was her belt loose? -Craning her head to investigate, Anne, for the first time, -saw Rusty. - -Trotting along behind her, close to her heels, was quite the -most forlorn specimen of the cat tribe she had ever beheld. -The animal was well past kitten-hood, lank, thin, disreputable -looking. Pieces of both ears were lacking, one eye was -temporarily out of repair, and one jowl ludicrously swollen. -As for color, if a once black cat had been well and thoroughly -singed the result would have resembled the hue of this waif's -thin, draggled, unsightly fur. - -Anne "shooed," but the cat would not "shoo." As long as she -stood he sat back on his haunches and gazed at her reproachfully -out of his one good eye; when she resumed her walk he followed. -Anne resigned herself to his company until she reached the gate -of Patty's Place, which she coldly shut in his face, fondly -supposing she had seen the last of him. But when, fifteen -minutes later, Phil opened the door, there sat the rusty-brown -cat on the step. More, he promptly darted in and sprang upon -Anne'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 home from somewhere. I couldn't get rid of him. Ugh, get down. -I like decent cats reasonably well; but I don't like beasties of -your complexion." - -Pussy, however, refused to get down. He coolly curled up in -Anne's lap and 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 -bones are almost coming through his skin." - -"Well, I'll give him a square meal and then he must return to -whence he came," said Anne resolutely. - -The cat was fed and put out. In the morning he was still -on the doorstep. On the doorstep he continued to sit, bolting -in whenever the door 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 the girls fed him; but when -a week had passed they decided that something must be done. -The cat's appearance had improved. His eye and cheek had -resumed their normal appearance; he was not quite so thin; -and he had been seen washing his face. - -"But for all that we can't keep him," said Stella. "Aunt Jimsie -is coming next week and she will bring the Sarah-cat with her. - -We can't keep two cats; and if we did this Rusty Coat would -fight all the time with the Sarah-cat. He's a fighter by nature. -He had a pitched battle last evening with the tobacco-king's cat -and routed him, horse, foot and artillery." - -"We must get rid of him," agreed Anne, looking darkly at the -subject of their discussion, who was purring on the hearth rug -with an air of lamb-like meekness. "But the question is -- how? -How can four unprotected females get rid of a cat who won't be -got rid of?" - -We must chloroform him," said Phil briskly. "That is the most -humane way." - -"Who of us knows anything about chloroforming a cat?" demanded -Anne gloomily. - -"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 and -give him a good breakfast. Then you take an old burlap bag -- there's -one in 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 under -the edge of the box. Put a heavy weight on top of the box and leave it -till evening. The cat will be dead, curled up peacefully as if he -were asleep. No pain -- no struggle." - -"It sounds easy," said Anne dubiously. - -"It IS easy. Just leave it to me. I'll see to it," said Phil reassuringly. - -Accordingly the chloroform was procured, and the next morning Rusty was -lured to his doom. He ate his breakfast, licked his chops, and climbed -into Anne's lap. Anne's heart misgave her. This poor creature loved her --- 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, -"and Anne must come with me to lift the box off. That's the part -I always hate." - -The two conspirators tip-toed reluctantly to the back porch. -Phil gingerly lifted the stone she had put on the box. Suddenly, -faint but distinct, sounded an unmistakable mew under the box. - -"He -- he isn't dead," gasped Anne, sitting blankly down on the -kitchen doorstep. - -"He must be," said Phil incredulously. - -Another tiny mew proved that he wasn't. The two girls stared at -each other." - -What will we do?" questioned Anne. - -"Why in the world don't you come?" demanded Stella, appearing in -the doorway. "We've got the grave ready. `What silent still and -silent all?'" she quoted teasingly. - -"`Oh, no, the voices of the dead Sound like the distant torrent's fall,'" -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 his -dying groan. Or perhaps we merely imagined them, under the strain of -our guilty consciences." - -But, when the box was lifted in the morning, Rusty bounded at one gay -leap 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's why 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 be -killed 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," -said Stella, 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 the -scrubbing 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 tolerably -respectable. But, like Kipling's cat, he "walked by himself." -His paw was against every cat, and every cat's paw against him. -One by one he vanquished the aristocratic felines of Spofford Avenue. -As for human beings, he loved Anne and Anne alone. Nobody else even -dared stroke him. An angry spit and something that sounded much like -very improper language 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 pet defiantly. - -"Well, I don't know how he and the Sarah-cat will ever make out -to live together," said Stella pesimistically. "Cat-fights in -the orchard o'nights are bad enough. But cat-fights here in the -livingroom are unthinkable." In due time Aunt Jamesina arrived. -Anne and Priscilla and Phil had awaited her advent rather dubiously; -but when Aunt Jamesina was enthroned in the rocking chair before the -open fire they figuratively bowed down and worshipped her. - -Aunt Jamesina was a tiny old woman with a little, softly-triangular face, -and large, soft blue eyes that were alight with unquenchable youth, and -as full of hopes as a girl's. She had pink cheeks and snow-white hair -which she wore in quaint little puffs over her ears. - -"It's a very old-fashioned way," she said, knitting industriously -at something as dainty and pink as a sunset cloud. "But _I_ am old-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, I daresay they're a good -deal the worse. But they've worn nice and easy. New shoes are smarter than -old ones, but the old ones are more comfortable. I'm old enough to indulge -myself in the matter of shoes and opinions. I mean to take it real easy here. -I know you expect me to look after you and keep you proper, but I'm not going -to do it. - -You're old enough to know how to behave if you're ever going to be. -So, as far as I am concerned," concluded Aunt Jamesina, with a twinkle -in her young eyes, "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 had -gone to live in Vancouver. - -"She couldn't take Joseph with her so she begged me to take him. -I really couldn't refuse. He's a beautiful cat -- that is, his -disposition is beautiful. She called him Joseph because his coat -is of many colors." - -It certainly was. Joseph, as the disgusted Stella said, looked -like a walking rag-bag. It was impossible to say what his ground -color was. His legs were white with black spots on them. -His back was gray with a huge patch of yellow on one side and a -black patch on the other. His tail was yellow with a gray tip. -One ear was black and one yellow. A black patch over one eye gave -him a fearfully rakish look. In reality he was meek and inoffensive, -of a sociable disposition. In one respect, if in no other, Joseph -was like a lily of the field. He toiled not neither did he spin -or catch mice. Yet Solomon in all his glory slept not on softer -cushions, or feasted more fully on fat things. - -Joseph and the Sarah-cat arrived by express in separate boxes. -After they had been released and fed, Joseph selected the cushion -and corner which appealed to him, and the Sarah-cat gravely sat -herself down before 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 all impaired by any consciousness of her plebian -origin. She had been given to 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 remarkable mouser. Don't worry, Stella. The Sarah-cat -NEVER fights and Joseph rarely." - -"They'll have to fight here in self-defense," said Stella. - -At this juncture Rusty arrived on the scene. He bounded -joyously half way 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 his back rose up in a defiant arch; -Rusty lowered his head, uttered a fearful shriek of hatred and -defiance, and launched himself at the Sarah-cat. - -The stately animal had stopped washing her face and was looking -at him curiously. She met his onslaught with one contemptuous -sweep of her capable paw. Rusty went rolling helplessly over on -the rug; he picked himself 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? The Sarah-cat deliberately turned her -back on him and resumed her toilet operations. Rusty decided that -he would not. He never did. From that time on the Sarah-cat ruled -the roost. Rusty never again interfered with her. - -But Joseph rashly sat up and yawned. Rusty, burning to avenge -his disgrace, swooped down upon him. Joseph, pacific by nature, -could fight upon 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 and detested Joseph. Stella was -in despair. But Aunt Jamesina only laughed. - -Let them fight it out," she said tolerantly. "They'll make friends -after a bit. Joseph needs some exercise -- he was getting too fat. -And Rusty has to learn he isn't the only cat in the world." - -Eventually Joseph and Rusty accepted the situation and from sworn -enemies became sworn friends. They slept on the same cushion with -their paws 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 to wash 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 -rather severely. "Kittens HAVE to be drowned, I admit, or the -world would be overrun. But no decent, grown-up cat should be -done to death -- unless he sucks eggs." - -"You wouldn't have thought Rusty very decent if you'd seen him when -he came here," said Stella. "He positively looked like the Old Nick." - -"I don't believe Old Nick can be so very, ugly" said Aunt Jamesina -reflectively. "He wouldn't do so much harm if he was. _I_ always -think of him as a rather handsome gentleman." - - - - -Chapter XVII - -A Letter from Davy - - -"It's beginning to snow, girls," said Phil, coming in one -November evening, "and there are the loveliest little stars and -crosses all over the garden walk. I never noticed before what -exquisite things snowflakes really 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 to feel 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 Aunt Jamesina. - -"And so is laughter," added Anne. "There's no tax on it yet -and that is well, because you're all going to laugh presently. -I'm going to read you Davy's letter. His spelling has improved -immensely this past year, though he is not strong on apostrophes, -and he certainly possesses the gift of writing an interesting letter. -Listen and laugh, before we settle down to the evening's study-grind." - -"Dear Anne," ran Davy's letter, "I take my pen to tell you that -we are all pretty well and hope this will find you the same. -It's snowing some today and Marilla says the old woman in the sky -is shaking her feather beds. 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 the cellar stairs last week. When she fell she grabbed hold -of the shelf with all the milk pails and stewpans on it, and it -gave way and went down with her and made a splendid crash. -Marilla thought it was an earthquake 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't under stand him and took it all inside instead. -The doctor said it was a 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 the stewpan. Marilla had to -throw it out. Thanksgiving was last week. There was no school -and we had a great dinner. I et mince pie and rost turkey and -frut cake and donuts and cheese and jam and choklut cake. -Marilla said I'd die but I dident. Dora had earake after it, -only it wasent in her 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 made all us third-class boys write a composishun on what kind -of a wife we'd like to have and the girls on what kind of a -husband. He laughed fit to kill 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 tell her and always be very polite to me. She must be -fifteen yers old. She must be good to the poor and keep her -house tidy and be good tempered and go to church regularly. -She must be very handsome and have curly hair. If I get a wife -that is just what I like Ill be an awful good husband to her. -I think a woman ought to be awful good to her husband. Some poor -women havent any husbands. - - `THE END.'" - - -"I was at Mrs. Isaac Wrights funeral at White Sands last week. -The husband of the corpse felt real sorry. Mrs. Lynde says -Mrs. Wrights grandfather stole a sheep but Marilla says we mustent -speak ill of the dead. 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 was alive in Noah's time. I dident mean to hurt her feelings. -I just wanted to know. Was she, Anne? - -"Mr. Harrison wanted to get rid of his dog. So he hunged him -once but he come to life and scooted for the barn while Mr. -Harrison was digging the grave, so he hunged him again and he -stayed dead that time. Mr. Harrison has a new man working for him. -He's awful okward. Mr. Harrison says he is 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 thinks it 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 it was hard on the pig. Milty Boulter has been sick. -The doctor gave him medicine and it tasted horrid. I offered to -take it for him for a quarter but the Boulters are so mean. -Milty says he'd rather take it himself and save his money. -I asked Mrs. Boulter how a person would go about 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 having it blue. - -"The new minister was here to tea last night. He took three -pieces of pie. - -If I did that Mrs. Lynde would call me piggy. And he et fast and -took big bites and Marilla is always telling me not to do that. -Why can ministers 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 to -their 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 -those three cats," she said. "And I'm not going to leave the -poor creatures here alone for nearly three weeks. If we had any -decent neighbors who would feed them I might, but there's nothing -except millionaires on this street. So I'll stay here and keep -Patty's Place warm for you." - -Anne went home with the usual joyous anticipations -- which were -not wholly 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 of that ill-starred vacation it stormed -fiercely; and even on fine days it drifted unceasingly. No -sooner were the roads broken than they filled in again. It was -almost impossible to stir out. The A.V.I.S. tried, on three -evenings, to have a party in honor of the college students, and -on each evening the storm was so wild that nobody could go, so -they gave up the attempt in despair. Anne, despite her love of -and loyalty to Green Gables, could not help thinking longingly of -Patty's Place, its cosy open fire, Aunt Jamesina's mirthful eyes, -the three cats, the merry chatter of the girls, the pleasantness -of Friday evenings when college friends dropped in to talk of -grave and gay. - -Anne was lonely; Diana, during the whole of the holidays, was -imprisoned at home with a bad attack of bronchitis. She could -not come to Green Gables and it was rarely Anne could get to -Orchard Slope, for the old way through the Haunted Wood was -impassable with drifts, and the long way over the frozen Lake of -Shining Waters was almost as bad. Ruby Gillis was sleeping in -the white-heaped graveyard; Jane Andrews was teaching a school on -western prairies. Gilbert, to be sure, was still faithful, and -waded up to Green Gables every possible evening. But Gilbert'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 -silence and find Gilbert's hazel eyes fixed upon her with a quite -unmistakable expression in their grave depths; and it was still -more disconcerting to find herself blushing hotly and -uncomfortably under his gaze, just as if -- just as if -- well, -it was very embarrassing. Anne wished herself back at Patty's -Place, where there was always somebody else about to take the -edge off a delicate situation. At Green Gables Marilla went -promptly to Mrs. Lynde's domain when Gilbert came and insisted -on taking the twins with her. The significance of this was -unmistakable and Anne was in a helpless fury over it. - -Davy, however, was perfectly happy. He reveled in getting out in -the morning and shoveling out the paths to the well and henhouse. -He gloried in the Christmas-tide delicacies which Marilla and -Mrs. Lynde vied with each other in preparing for Anne, and he -was reading an enthralling tale, in a school library book, of a -wonderful hero who seemed blessed with a miraculous faculty for -getting into scrapes from which he was usually delivered by an -earthquake or a volcanic explosion, which blew him high and dry -out of his troubles, landed him in a fortune, and closed the -story with proper ECLAT. - -"I tell you it's a bully story, Anne," he said ecstatically. -"I'd ever so 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 I said it to her." - -"No, I'm not shocked, Davy. I think it's quite natural that a -nine-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 a wonderful book the Bible is." - -"Oh, I think some parts of it are fine," conceded Davy. "That -story about Joseph now -- it's bully. But if I'd been Joseph _I_ -wouldn't have forgive 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 said she'd never read me any more of it if -I talked like that. So I don't talk now when she reads it Sunday -afternoons; I just think things and say them to Milty Boulter next -day in school. I told Milty the story about Elisha and the bears -and it scared him so he's never made fun of Mr. 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 -snow against 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 -Marilla said `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 -deciding upon which horn of this dilemma to empale herself. -"It isn't right for anybody to take that name in vain or -speak it lightly, Davy. Don't ever do it again." - -"Not if I say it slow and solemn, like the minister?" queried -Davy gravely. - -"No, not even then." - -"Well, I won't. Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix live in Middle -Grafton and Mrs. Rachel says he has been courting her for a -hundred years. Won't they soon be too old to get married, Anne? -I hope Gilbert won't court YOU that long. When are you going to -be married, Anne? Mrs. Lynde says it'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 a sure thing, Anne? I want to know." - -"You're a very silly little boy, Davy," said Anne, stalking -haughtily out of the room. The kitchen was deserted and she sat -down by the window in the fast falling wintry twilight. The sun -had set and the wind had died down. A pale chilly moon looked -out behind a bank of purple clouds in the west. The sky faded -out, but the strip of yellow along the western horizon grew -brighter and fiercer, as if all the stray gleams of light were -concentrating in one spot; the distant hills, rimmed with -priest-like firs, stood out in dark distinctness against it. -Anne looked across the still, white fields, cold and lifeless -in the harsh light of that grim sunset, and sighed. She was -very lonely; and she was sad at heart; for she was wondering -if she would be able to return to Redmond next year. It did not -seem likely. The only scholarship possible in the Sophomore year -was a very small affair. She would not take Marilla's money; -and there seemed little prospect of being able to earn enough -in the 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 my course. And by that time all my old class will have -graduated and Patty's Place will be out of the question. But there! -I'm not going to be 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 want to see what them pesky Grits are doing. I'm a Conservative, Anne. -And I tell you, you have to keep your eye on them Grits." - -Mr. Harrison had brought the mail, and merry letters from Stella -and Priscilla and Phil soon dissipated Anne's blues. Aunt Jamesina, -too, had written, saying that she was keeping the hearth-fire alight, -and that the cats were all well, and the house plants doing fine. - -"The weather has been real cold," she wrote, "so I let the cats sleep -in the house -- Rusty and Joseph on the sofa in the living-room, and -the Sarah-cat on the foot of my bed. It's real company to hear her -purring when I wake up in the night and think of my poor daughter in -the foreign field. If it was anywhere but in India I wouldn't worry, -but they say the snakes out there are terrible. It takes all the -Sarah-cats's purring to drive away the thought of those snakes. -I have enough faith for everything 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 Harry had a hand in making THEM." - -Anne had left a thin, typewritten communication till the last, -thinking it unimportant. When she had read it she sat very -still, with tears in her 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 for over a year, and the Barrys have been expecting to hear -of her death any time. 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's the 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 with a full heart, leaving Marilla and Mrs. Lynde to talk -over the news to their hearts' content. - -"Do you s'pose Anne will ever get married now?" speculated Davy -anxiously. "When Dorcas Sloane got married last summer she said -if she'd had enough money to live on she'd never have been -bothered with a man, but even a widower with eight children was -better'n living with a sister-in-law." - -"Davy Keith, do hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel severely. -"The way you 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 -my teens behind me forever," said Anne, who was curled up on the -hearth-rug with Rusty in her lap, to Aunt Jamesina who was reading -in her pet chair. They were alone in the living room. Stella and -Priscilla had gone to a committee meeting and Phil was upstairs -adorning herself for a party. - -"I suppose you feel kind of, sorry" said Aunt Jamesina. "The teens are -such 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 me long 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 of flaws." - -"So's everybody's," said Aunt Jamesina cheerfully. "Mine's cracked -in a hundred places. Your Miss Stacy likely meant that when you are -twenty your 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 a good -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 --- creamy yellow 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 -Aunt Jamesina. "The very sound of them makes me feel like -skipping off to a 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 my husband wouldn't hear of it. The -very first thing I'm going to do when I get to heaven is to get a -yellow silk dress." - -Amid Anne's peal of laughter Phil came downstairs, trailing clouds -of glory, 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 honest admiration. - -"Of course I do. What are looking glasses and men for? That wasn't -what I meant. Are all my ends tucked in? Is my skirt straight? -And would this rose look better lower down? I'm afraid it's too high --- it will make me look lop-sided. But I hate things tickling my ears." - -"Everything is just right, and that southwest dimple of yours is lovely." - -"Anne, there's one thing in particular I like about you -- you're -so ungrudging. There isn't a particle of envy in you." - -"Why should she be envious?" demanded Aunt Jamesina. "She's not quite -as goodlooking 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 -that one wee curl, always looking as if it were going to drop, -but never dropping, is delicious. But as for noses, mine is a -dreadful worry to me. I know by the time I'm forty it will be -Byrney. What do you think I'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 go -to a dance all over cat hairs. No, Anne, I WON'T look matronly. But no -doubt 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 from teetering." - -"You ought to be more levelheaded, Philippa." - -"It's best to be levelheaded, of course," agreed Philippa, "but you miss -lots of fun. As for Alec and Alonzo, if you knew them you'd understand -why it's difficult to choose between them. They're equally nice." - -"Then take somebody who is nicer" suggested Aunt Jamesina. -"There's that Senior 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 Phil cruelly. - -"What do you say about George Parker?" - -"There's nothing to say about him except that he always looks as -if he had 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, -Aunt Jamesina. That -- and good looks -- is an indispensable -qualification. I'd marry 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 -Gilbert ourselves, oh, no," mocked Phil. "But don't let's talk -of disagreeable subjects. I'll have to marry sometime, I suppose, -but I shall put off the evil day as long as I can." - -"You mustn't marry anybody you don't love, Phil, when all's said -and done," 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 two old-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 is quite right in her mind, by spells, Anne?" - -"Oh, I don't think there's anything the matter with Phil's mind," -said Anne, 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't understand her -- she beats me. She isn't like any of the -girls I ever knew, 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 idly on the sofa, having previously dispossessed two -exceedingly indignant cats. - -Anne looked up from Pickwick Papers. Now that spring -examinations were over she was treating herself to Dickens. - -"It has been a prosy day for us," she said thoughtfully, "but to -some people it has been a wonderful day. Some one has been -rapturously happy in it. Perhaps a great deed has been done -somewhere today -- or a great poem written -- or a great man born. -And some heart has been broken, Phil." - -"Why did you spoil your pretty thought by tagging that last -sentence on, honey?" grumbled Phil. "I don't like to think of -broken hearts -- or anything 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 and -Alonzo 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 -people like me, Anne, just to amuse it. It would be a terrible -place if EVERYBODY were intellectual and serious and in deep, -deadly earnest. MY mission is, as Josiah Allen says, `to charm -and allure.' Confess now. Hasn't life at Patty's Place been -really much brighter and pleasanter this 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. -So why should I try to be different? Oh, dear, I'm so sleepy. I was -awake until 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 put the light out? No! And if Stella had not fortunately -come in late that lamp would have burned good and bright till morning. -When I heard Stella I called her in, explained my predicament, and got -her to put out the light. If I had got out myself to do it I knew -something would grab me by the feet when I was getting in again. -By the way, Anne, has Aunt Jamesina decided what to do this summer?" - -"Yes, she's going to stay here. I know she's doing it for the -sake of those blessed cats, although she says it's too much -trouble to open her own house, and she hates visiting." - -"What are you reading?" - -"Pickwick." - -"That's a book that always makes me hungry," said Phil. "There's so -much good eating in it. The characters seem always to be reveling -on ham and eggs and milk punch. I generally go on a cupboard rummage -after reading Pickwick. The mere thought reminds me that I'm starving. -Is there any tidbit 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 in company with Rusty. It was a moist, pleasantly- -odorous night in early spring. The snow was not quite all gone -from the park; a little dingy bank of it yet lay under the pines -of the harbor road, screened from the influence of April suns. -It kept the harbor road muddy, and chilled the evening air. -But grass was growing green in sheltered spots and Gilbert -had found some pale, sweet arbutus in a hidden corner. -He came up from the park, his hands full of it. - -Anne was sitting on the big gray boulder in the orchard looking -at the poem of a bare, birchen bough hanging against the pale red -sunset with the very perfection of grace. She was building a -castle in air -- a wondrous mansion whose sunlit courts and -stately halls were steeped in Araby's perfume, and where she -reigned queen and chatelaine. She frowned as she saw Gilbert -coming through the orchard. Of late she had managed not to be -left alone with Gilbert. But he had caught her fairly now; and -even 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 said rapturously. - -"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 Bolingbroke -before 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 been -offered 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 -would be 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 of what she was saying. She wished desperately that Phil -would come out. "You've studied very constantly this winter. -Isn't this a delightful evening? Do you know, I found a cluster -of white violets under that old twisted tree over there today? -I felt as if I had discovered a gold mine." - -"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 is -something 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. -You know I do. I -- I can't tell you how much. Will you promise me -that some day you'll be my wife?" - -"I -- I can't," said Anne miserably. "Oh, Gilbert -- you -- -you've spoiled everything." - -"Don't you care for me at all?" Gilbert asked after a very -dreadful pause, 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 I don'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 -love you -- 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 at last to look up. Gilbert's face was white to the lips. -And his eyes -- but Anne shuddered and looked away. There was -nothing romantic about this. Must proposals be either grotesque -or -- horrible? Could she ever forget Gilbert'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 I LIKE you better than anybody else in the world, -Gilbert. And we must -- we must go on being friends, Gilbert." - -Gilbert gave a bitter little laugh. - -"Friends! Your friendship can't satisfy me, Anne. I want your love --- and you 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, in imagination, 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 thought -you did care. I've deceived myself, that's all. Goodbye, Anne." - -Anne got herself to her room, sat down on her window seat behind -the pines, and cried bitterly. She felt as if something incalculably -precious had gone out of her life. It was Gilbert's friendship, -of course. Oh, why must she lose it after this fashion? - -"What is the matter, honey?" asked Phil, coming in through -the moonlit gloom. - -Anne did not answer. At that moment she wished Phil were a -thousand miles 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?" -said Anne coldly, goaded to reply. - -"You don't know love when you see it. You've tricked something -out with your imagination that you think love, and you expect the -real thing to look like that. There, that's the first sensible -thing I've ever said in my life. I wonder how I managed it?" - -"Phil," pleaded Anne, "please go away and leave me alone for -a little while. 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's fault. He had spoiled their beautiful comradeship. -She must just learn to live without it. - - - - -Chapter XXI - -Roses of Yesterday - - -The fortnight Anne spent in Bolingbroke was a very pleasant one, -with a little under current of vague pain and dissatisfaction -running through it whenever she thought about Gilbert. There was -not, however, much time to think about him. "Mount Holly," the -beautiful old Gordon homestead, was a very gay place, overrun by -Phil's friends of both sexes. There was quite a bewildering -succession of drives, dances, picnics and boating parties, all -expressively lumped together by Phil under the head of "jamborees"; -Alec and Alonzo were so constantly on hand that Anne wondered if -they ever did anything but dance attendance on that will-o'-the-wisp -of a Phil. They were both nice, manly fellows, but Anne would 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 I -should promise to marry," mourned Phil. - -"You must do that for yourself. You are quite expert at making -up your mind as to whom other people should marry," retorted Anne, -rather caustically. - -"Oh, that's a very different thing," said Phil, truly. - -But the sweetest incident of Anne's sojourn in Bolingbroke was the -visit to her birthplace -- the little shabby yellow house in an -out-of-the-way street she had so often dreamed about. She looked -at it with delighted eyes, as she and Phil turned in at the gate. - -"It's almost exactly as I've pictured it," she said. "There is -no honeysuckle 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 it is still painted yellow." - -A very tall, very thin woman opened the door. - -"Yes, the Shirleys lived here twenty years ago," she said, in -answer to Anne's question. "They had it rented. I remember 'em. -They both died of fever at onct. It was turrible sad. They left -a baby. I guess it's dead long ago. It was a sickly thing. Old -Thomas and his wife took it -- as if they 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 she were much surprised that Anne was not still a baby. -"Come to look at you, I see the resemblance. You're complected -like your pa. He had red hair. But you favor your ma in your -eyes and mouth. She was a nice little thing. My darter went to -school to her and was nigh crazy about her. They was buried in -the one grave and the School Board put up a tombstone 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 much of it. I keep at my man to build a new kitchen, but -he ain't one of your hustlers. The parlor's in there and there's -two rooms upstairs. Just prowl about yourselves. I've got to -see to the baby. The east room was the one you were born in. -I remember your ma saying she loved to see the sunrise; and I -mind hearing that you was born just as the sun was rising and -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 a full heart. It was as a shrine to her. Here her mother -had dreamed the exquisite, happy dreams of anticipated motherhood; -here that red sunrise light had fallen over them both in the sacred -hour of birth; here her mother 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 radiantly forever 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. -She held out a dusty little packet tied with faded blue ribbon. - -"Here's a bundle of old letters I found in that closet upstairs -when I came here," she said. "I dunno what they are -- I never -bothered to look in 'em, but the address on the top one is -`Miss Bertha Willis,' and that was 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 furniture -was all sold to pay the doctor bills, and Mrs. Thomas got your ma's -clothes and little things. I reckon they didn't last long among that -drove of Thomas youngsters. They was destructive young animals, -as I mind '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 could just 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 two people more in love with each -other -- Pore creatures, they didn't live much longer; but they -was awful happy while they was alive, and I s'pose that counts -for a good deal." - -Anne longed to get home to read her precious letters; but she -made one little pilgrimage first. She went alone to the green -corner of the "old" Bolingbroke cemetery where her father and -mother were buried, and left on their grave the white flowers -she carried. Then she hastened back to Mount Holly, shut herself -up in her room, and read the letters. Some were written by her -father, some by her mother. There were not many -- only a dozen -in all -- for Walter and Bertha Shirley had not been often -separated during their courtship. The letters were yellow -and faded and dim, blurred with the touch of passing years. -No profound words of wisdom were traced on the stained and -wrinkled pages, but only lines of love and trust. The sweetness -of forgotten things clung to them -- the far-off, fond imaginings -of those long-dead lovers. Bertha Shirley had possessed the gift -of writing letters which embodied the charming personality of -the writer in words and thoughts that retained their beauty and -fragrance after the lapse of time. The letters were tender, -intimate, sacred. To Anne, the sweetest of all was the one -written after her birth to the father on a brief absence. -It was full of a proud young mother's accounts of "baby" -- -her cleverness, her brightness, 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 last -sentence she had ever penned. The end was very near for her. - -"This has been the most beautiful day of my life," Anne said to Phil -that night. "I've FOUND my father and mother. Those letters have -made them REAL to me. I'm not an orphan any longer. I feel as if -I had opened a book and found roses of yesterday, sweet and beloved, -between its leaves." - - - - -Chapter XXII - -Spring and Anne Return to Green Gables - - -The firelight shadows were dancing over the kitchen walls at -Green Gables, for the spring evening was chilly; through the open -east window drifted in the subtly sweet voices of the night. -Marilla was sitting by the fire -- at least, in body. In spirit -she was roaming olden ways, with feet grown young. Of late -Marilla had thus spent many an hour, when she thought 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 grow something thinner, and even more angular; there was a -little more gray in the hair that was still twisted up in the -same hard knot, with two hairpins -- WERE they the same hairpins? --- still stuck through it. But her expression was very different; -the something about the mouth which had hinted at a sense of humor -had developed wonderfully; her eyes were gentler and milder, her -smile more frequent and tender. - -Marilla was thinking of her whole past life, her cramped but not -unhappy childhood, the jealously hidden dreams and the blighted -hopes of her girlhood, the long, gray, narrow, monotonous years -of dull middle life that followed. And the coming of Anne -- -the vivid, imaginative, impetuous child with her heart of love, -and her world of fancy, bringing with her color and warmth and -radiance, until the wilderness of existence had blossomed like -the rose. Marilla felt that out of her sixty years she had -lived only the nine that had followed the advent of Anne. -And Anne would 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 of Mayflowers and violets. - -"Anne Shirley!" exclaimed Marilla. For once in her life she was -surprised out of her reserve; she caught her girl in her arms and -crushed her and her flowers against her heart, kissing the bright -hair and sweet face warmly. "I never looked for you till -tomorrow night. How did you get from Carmody?" - -"Walked, dearest of Marillas. Haven't I done it a score of times -in the Queen's days? The mailman is to bring my trunk tomorrow; -I just got homesick all at once, and came a day earlier. And oh! -I've had such a lovely walk in the May twilight; I stopped by the -barrens and picked these Mayflowers; I came through Violet-Vale; -it's just a big bowlful of violets now -- the dear, sky-tinted -things. Smell them, Marilla -- drink them in." - -Marilla sniffed obligingly, but she was more interested in Anne -than in drinking violets. - -"Sit down, child. You must be real tired. I'm going to get you -some supper." - -"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 the frogs. It seems bound up with all my happiest -recollections of old spring evenings. And it always reminds me -of the night I came here first. Do you remember it, Marilla?" - -"Well, yes," said Marilla with emphasis. "I'm not likely to -forget it ever." - -"They used to sing so madly in the marsh and brook that year. -I would listen to them at my window in the dusk, and wonder how -they could seem so 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 is HOME." - -"Gilbert isn't coming home this summer, I hear," said Marilla. - -"No." Something in Anne's tone made Marilla glance at her -sharply, but Anne 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't it, Marilla? Spring's -pages are written in Mayflowers and violets, summer's in roses, -autumn's in red maple leaves, and winter in holly and evergreen." - -"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 with a joyful yell. - -"Oh, Anne, ain't I glad to see you! Say, Anne, I've grown two inches -since 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 -string to it and the other end to the door, and then shut the door. -I sold it to 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, -climbing upon Anne's lap. "He's got fifteen already, and -everybody's else's promised, 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. -"I could 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 Sunday School? You told me then that being bad wasn't -worth while. What were you and Milty doing today?" - -"Oh, we fished and chased the cat, and hunted for eggs, and -yelled at the 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, -and laughing 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, -and that mocking voice of hers is all we can know of her. You can -hear her calling at night; you can hear her laughing under the stars. -But you can never see her. She flies afar if you follow her, and -laughs at you always 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 -distinguish between a fairytale and a falsehood?" - -"Then what is it that sasses back from the Boulter bush? I want -to know," 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 -for after 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 the prettiest girl you ever saw. If I die before I grow up -you'll keep an eye 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 -my promised wife, and if I was to die she'd be my promised widow, -wouldn't she? And she hasn't got a soul to look after her except -her old grandmother." - -"Come and have your supper, Anne," said Marilla, "and don't -encourage that child in his absurd talk." - - - - -Chapter XXIII - -Paul Cannot Find the Rock People - - -Life was very pleasant in Avonlea that summer, although Anne, -amid all her vacation joys, was haunted by a sense of "something -gone which should 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 home alone from prayer meetings and -A.V.I.S. pow-wows, while Diana and Fred, and many other gay couples, -loitered along the dusky, starlit country roads, there was a queer, -lonely ache in her heart which she could not explain away. Gilbert -did not even write to her, as she thought he might have done. -She knew he wrote to Diana occasionally, but she would not 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 very embarrassing habit of -asking Anne, always in a painfully distinct voice and always in the -presence of a crowd, if she had heard from Gilbert lately. Poor Anne -could only blush horribly and murmur, "not very lately," which was -taken by all, Mrs. Blythe included, to be merely a maidenly evasion. - -Apart from this, Anne enjoyed her summer. Priscilla came for a -merry visit in June; and, when she had gone, Mr. and Mrs. Irving, -Paul and Charlotta the Fourth came "home" for July and August. - -Echo Lodge was the scene of gaieties once more, and the echoes -over the river were kept busy mimicking the laughter that rang in -the old garden behind the spruces. - -"Miss Lavendar" had not changed, except to grow even sweeter and -prettier. Paul adored her, and the companionship between them -was beautiful 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't give it to any one else. You know, teacher. But I -call her `Mother Lavendar' and I love her next best to father. -I -- I even love her a LITTLE 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 -eyes were as beautiful as ever, and his fancy was still like a prism, -separating everything that fell upon it into rainbows. He and Anne -had delightful rambles to wood and field and shore. Never were there -two more thoroughly "kindred spirits." - -Charlotta the Fourth had blossomed out into young ladyhood. She -wore her hair now in an enormous pompador and had discarded the -blue ribbon bows of 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 -likely they just wanted to aggravate me. I don't want no Yankee -accent. Not that 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 with eagerness to get to the shore -- Nora and the Golden -Lady and the Twin Sailors would be there. He could hardly wait -to eat his supper. Could he not see Nora's elfin face peering -around the point, watching for him wistfully? But it was a very -sober Paul who came back from the shore in the 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. -"Nora was there -- but Nora is not the same, teacher. She is changed." - -"Oh, Paul, it is you who are changed," said Anne. "You have -grown too old for the Rock People. They like only children for -playfellows. I am 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 play no more for you on her golden harp. -Even Nora will not meet you much longer. You must pay the penalty -of growing-up, Paul. You must leave fairyland 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 -getting very, very wise, and it is such a pity. We are never -half so interesting when we have learned that language is given -us to enable us to conceal our 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 -not understand epigrams. - -Anne spent a fortnight of halcyon days at Echo Lodge in the -golden prime of August. While there she incidentally contrived -to hurry Ludovic Speed in his leisurely courting of Theodora Dix, -as related duly in another chronicle of her history.[1] Arnold -Sherman, an elderly friend of the Irvings, was there at the same -time, and added not a little to the general pleasantness of life. - -([1] Chronicles of Avonlea.) - -"What a nice play-time this has been," said Anne. "I feel like a -giant refreshed. 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, Miss Lavendar. I feel as if I had two homes --- one at Green Gables and one at Patty's Place. But where has the -summer gone? It doesn't seem a day since I came home that spring -evening with the Mayflowers. When I was little I couldn't see from -one end of the summer to the other. It stretched 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 ask what. Have you quarrelled?" - -"No; it's only that Gilbert wants more than friendship and I can't -give him 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. -You needn'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 eyelids open long enough to write you. I've neglected -you shamefully this summer, 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 loins of 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 were several other -callers there, and as soon as those unfortunate creatures left, -our hostess and her three daughters picked them all to pieces. -I knew they would begin on Cousin Emily and me as soon as the door -shut behind us. When we came home Mrs. Lilly informed us that the -aforesaid neighbor's hired boy was supposed to be down with scarlet -fever. You can always trust Mrs. Lilly to tell you cheerful things -like that. I have a horror of scarlet fever. I couldn't sleep when -I went to bed for thinking of it. I tossed and tumbled about, -dreaming fearful dreams when I 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 got up in a -panic and hunted up Cousin Emily's 'doctor book' to read up -the symptoms. Anne, I had them all. So I went back to bed, -and knowing the worst, slept like a top the rest of the night. -Though why a top should sleep sounder than anything else I -never could understand. But this morning I was quite well, -so it couldn't have been the fever. I suppose if I did catch -it last night it couldn't have developed so soon. I can remember -that in daytime, but at three o'clock at night I never can be logical. - -"I suppose you wonder what I'm doing at Prospect Point. Well, I -always like to spend a month of summer at the shore, and father -insists that I come to his second-cousin Emily's `select -boardinghouse' at Prospect Point. So a fortnight ago I came as -usual. And as usual old `Uncle Mark Miller' brought me from the -station with his ancient buggy and what he calls his `generous -purpose' horse. He is a nice old man and gave me a handful of -pink peppermints. Peppermints always seem to me such a religious -sort of candy -- I suppose because when I was a little girl -Grandmother Gordon always gave them to me in church. Once I -asked, referring to the smell of peppermints, `Is that the odor -of sanctity?' I didn't like to eat Uncle Mark's peppermints -because he just fished them loose out of his pocket, and had to -pick some rusty nails and other things from among them before he -gave them to me. But I wouldn't hurt his dear old feelings for -anything, so I carefully sowed them along the road at intervals. -When the last one was gone, Uncle Mark said, a little rebukingly, -`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 and one young man. My right-hand neighbor is Mrs. Lilly. -She is one of those people who seem to take a gruesome pleasure -in detailing all their many aches and pains and sicknesses. -You cannot mention any ailment but she says, shaking her head, `Ah, -I know too well what that is' -- and then you get all the details. -Jonas declares he once spoke of locomotor ataxia in hearing and -she said she knew too well what that was. She suffered from it -for ten years and was finally cured by a traveling doctor. - -"Who is Jonas? Just wait, Anne Shirley. You'll hear all about -Jonas in the proper time and place. He is not to be mixed up -with estimable old ladies. - -"My left-hand neighbor at the table is Mrs. Phinney. She always -speaks with a wailing, dolorous voice -- you are nervously expecting -her to burst into tears every moment. She gives you the impression -that life to her is 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 than Aunt 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 I remarked to Miss Maria that it looked a little like rain --- and Miss Maria laughed. I said the road from the station was -very pretty -- and Miss Maria laughed. I said there seemed to be -a few mosquitoes left yet -- and Miss Maria laughed. I said that -Prospect Point was as beautiful as ever -- and Miss Maria laughed. -If I were to say to Miss Maria, `My father has hanged himself, -my mother has taken poison, my brother is in the penitentiary, -and I am in the last stages of consumption,' Miss Maria would laugh. -She can't help it -- she was born so; but is very sad and awful. - -"The fifth old lady is Mrs. Grant. She is a sweet old thing; -but she never says anything but good of anybody and so she is a -very uninteresting conversationalist. - -"And now for Jonas, Anne. - -"That first day I came I saw a young man sitting opposite me at -the table, smiling at me as if he had known me from my cradle. -I knew, for Uncle Mark had told me, that his name was Jonas Blake, -that he was a Theological Student from St. Columbia, and that he had -taken charge of the Point Prospect Mission Church for the summer. - -"He is a very ugly young man -- really, the ugliest young man -I've ever seen. He has a big, loose-jointed figure with absurdly -long legs. His hair 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 he certainly 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 we walked on the sands by moonlight. He didn't -look so homely by moonlight and oh, he was nice. Niceness fairly -exhaled from him. The old ladies -- except Mrs. Grant -- don't -approve of Jonas, because he laughs and jokes -- and because he -evidently likes the society of frivolous me better than theirs. - -"Somehow, Anne, I don't want him to think me frivolous. This is -ridiculous. 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 he was a minister -- or going to be one -- persisted -in seeming a huge joke to me. - -"Well, Jonas preached. And, by the time he had preached ten -minutes, I felt so small and insignificant that I thought I must -be invisible to the naked eye. Jonas never said a word about -women and he never looked at me. But I realized then and there -what a pitiful, frivilous, small-souled little butterfly I was, -and how horribly different I must be from Jonas' ideal woman. -SHE would be grand and strong and noble. He was so earnest -and tender and true. He was everything a minister ought to be. -I wondered how I could ever have thought him ugly -- but he -really is! -- with those inspired eyes and that intellectual -brow which the roughly-falling hair hid on week days. - -"It was a splendid sermon and I could have listened to it forever, -and it 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 -as usual. But his grin could never deceive me again. I had seen -the REAL Jonas. I wondered if he could ever see the REAL PHIL -- -whom NOBODY, not even 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 -were born to be a minister. You COULDN'T be anything else.' - -"`No, I couldn't,' he said soberly. `I tried to be something -else for a long time -- I didn't want to be a minister. But I -came to see at last that it was the work given me to do -- and -God helping me, I shall try to do it.' - -"His voice was low and reverent. I thought that he would do his -work and do it well and nobly; and happy the woman fitted by -nature and training to help him do it. SHE would be no feather, -blown about by every fickle wind of fancy. SHE would always know -what hat to put on. Probably she would have only one. Ministers -never have much money. But she wouldn't mind 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've -fallen in love with Mr. Blake. Could I care for a lank, poor, -ugly theologue -- named Jonas? As Uncle Mark says, `It's impossible, -and what's more it's improbable.' - - Good night, - PHIL." - -"P.S. It is impossible -- but I am horribly afraid it's true. -I'm happy and wretched and scared. HE can NEVER care for me, -I know. Do you think I could ever develop into a passable -minister's wife, Anne? And WOULD they 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 -from the window of Patty's Place to the distant pines of the park. - -"I've an afternoon to spend in sweet doing nothing, Aunt Jimsie. -Shall I spend it here where there is a cosy fire, a plateful of -delicious russets, three purring and harmonious cats, and two -impeccable china dogs with green noses? Or shall I go to the park, -where there is the lure 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 -Aunt Jamesina, tickling Joseph's yellow ear with a knitting needle. - -"I thought that you claimed to be as young as any of us, Aunty," -teased Anne. - -"Yes, in my soul. But I'll admit my legs aren't as young as yours. -You go 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 like tame domestic joys today. I want to feel alone and -free and wild. The park 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 -horrid little Dan Ranger. I wouldn't go anywhere with him; -but rather than hurt his poor little tender feelings I said I -wasn't going to the game at all. 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 -your umbrella, 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 people who should have rheumatism in their souls, though. -Thank goodness, I never have. When you get rheumatism in your -soul you might as well go and 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 roamed through the pineland alleys in the park and, as she -said, let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul. -Anne was not wont to be troubled with soul fog. But, somehow, since -her return to Redmond for this third year, life had not mirrored -her spirit back to her with its old, perfect, sparkling clearness. - -Outwardly, existence at Patty's Place was the same pleasant -round of work and study and recreation that it had always been. -On Friday evenings the big, fire-lighted livingroom was crowded by -callers and echoed to endless jest and laughter, while Aunt Jamesina -smiled beamingly on them all. The "Jonas" of Phil's letter came often, -running up from St. Columbia on the early train and departing on the late. -He was a general favorite at Patty's Place, though Aunt Jamesina shook her -head 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 be -graver 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 Aunt Jamesina rebukingly." And you shouldn't flirt so with -Mr. Blake -- you really shouldn't." - -"I'm not flirting with him," protested Phil. - -Nobody believed her, except Anne. The others thought she was amusing -herself as usual, and told her roundly that she was behaving very badly. - -"Mr. Blake isn't of the Alec-and-Alonzo type, Phil," said Stella severely. -"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 idea of 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 -I COULD 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 on deliberately --- 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 good spirits, and held his own in the jests and -repartee that flew about. He neither sought nor avoided Anne. -When circumstances brought them in contact he talked to her -pleasantly and courteously, as to any newly-made acquaintance. -The old camaraderie was gone entirely. Anne felt it keenly; -but she told herself she was very glad and thankful that Gilbert -had got so completely over his disappointment in regard to her. -She had really been afraid, that April evening in the orchard, -that she had hurt him terribly and that the wound would be -long in healing. Now she saw that she need not have worried. -Men have died and the worms have eaten them but not for love. -Gilbert evidently was in no danger of immediate dissolution. -He was enjoying life, and he was full of ambition and zest. -For him there was to be no wasting in despair because a woman -was fair and cold. Anne, as she listened to the ceaseless badinage -that went on between him and Phil, wondered if she had only imagined -that look in his eyes when she had told him she could never care for him. - -There were not lacking those who would gladly have stepped into -Gilbert's vacant place. But Anne snubbed them without fear and -without reproach. If the real Prince Charming was never to come -she would have none of a substitute. So she sternly told herself -that gray day in the windy park. - -Suddenly the rain of Aunt Jamesina's prophecy came with a swish -and rush. Anne put up her umbrella and hurried down the slope. -As she turned out on the harbor road a savage gust of wind tore -along it. Instantly her umbrella turned wrong side out. Anne -clutched at it in despair. And then -- 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 not have 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. It is not likely to rain so heavily very long." - -The words were very commonplace, but oh, the tone! And the smile -which accompanied them! Anne felt her heart beating strangely. - -Together they scurried to the pavilion and sat breathlessly down -under its friendly roof. Anne laughingly held up her false umbrella. - -"It is when my umbrella turns inside out that I am convinced of -the total depravity of inanimate things," she said gaily. - -The raindrops sparkled on her shining hair; its loosened rings -curled around her neck and forehead. Her cheeks were flushed, -her eyes big and starry. Her companion looked down at her -admiringly. She felt herself blushing under his gaze. -Who could he be? Why, there was a bit of the Redmond white and -scarlet pinned to his coat lapel. Yet she had thought she knew, -by sight at least, all the Redmond students except the Freshmen. -And this courtly youth surely was no Freshman. - -"We are schoolmates, I see," he said, smiling at Anne's colors. -"That ought to be sufficient introduction. My name is Royal Gardner. -And you are the Miss Shirley who read the Tennyson paper at the -Philomathic the other evening, aren't you?" - -"Yes; but I cannot place you at all," said Anne, frankly. -"Please, where DO you belong?" - -"I feel as if I didn't belong anywhere yet. I put in my Freshman -and Sophomore years at Redmond two years ago. I've been in -Europe ever since. 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 the loss of the years that the locust has eaten," said her -companion, with a world of meaning in those wonderful eyes of his. - -The rain came steadily down for the best part of an hour. But -the time seemed really very short. When the clouds parted and a -burst of pale November sunshine fell athwart the harbor and the -pines Anne and her companion walked home together. By the time -they had reached the gate of Patty's Place he had asked -permission to call, and had received it. Anne went 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 very -absent welcome. Anne, with her soul full of romantic thrills, -had no attention to spare just then for a crop-eared pussy cat. - -That evening a parcel was left at Patty's Place for Miss Shirley. -It was a box containing a dozen magnificent roses. Phil pounced -impertinently on the card that fell from it, read the name and -the poetical quotation written on the back. - -"Royal Gardner!" she exclaimed. "Why, Anne, I didn't know you -were acquainted with Roy Gardner!" - -"I met him in the park this afternoon in the rain," explained Anne -hurriedly. "My umbrella turned inside out and he came to my rescue -with his." - -"Oh!" Phil peered curiously at Anne." And is that exceedingly -commonplace incident any reason why he should send us longstemmed -roses by the dozen, with a very sentimental rhyme? Or why we -should blush divinest rosy-red when we look at his card? Anne, -thy face betrayeth thee." - -"Don't talk nonsense, Phil. Do you know Mr. Gardner?" - -"I've met his two sisters, and I know of him. So does everybody -worthwhile in Kingsport. The Gardners are among the richest, -bluest, of Bluenoses. Roy is adorably handsome and clever. -Two years ago his mother's health failed and he had to leave -college and go abroad with her -- his father is dead. He must -have been greatly disappointed to have to 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 not quite. -After all, Roy Gardner isn't Jonas." - -"You goose!" said Anne loftily. But she lay long awake that night, -nor did she wish for sleep. Her waking fancies were more alluring -than any vision of dreamland. Had the real Prince come at last? -Recalling those glorious dark eyes which had gazed so deeply into -her own, Anne was very strongly inclined to think he had. - - - - -Chapter XXVI - -Enter Christine - - -The girls at Patty's Place were dressing for the reception which -the Juniors were giving for the Seniors in February. Anne surveyed -herself in the mirror of the blue room with girlish satisfaction. -She had a particularly pretty gown on. Originally it had been -only a simple little slip of cream silk with a chiffon overdress. -But Phil had insisted on taking it home with her in the Christmas -holidays and embroidering tiny rosebuds all over the chiffon. -Phil's fingers were deft, and the result was 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 that rosebud -concoction as Anne trailed up the main staircase at Redmond in it. - -Anne was trying the effect of a white orchid in her hair. -Roy Gardner had sent her white orchids for the reception, -and she knew no other Redmond girl would have them that night --- when Phil came in with admiring gaze. - -"Anne, this is certainly your night for looking handsome. -Nine nights out of ten I can easily outshine you. The tenth -you blossom out suddenly into 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 old blue flannel shirtwaist that Mrs. Lynde made you. -If Roy hadn't already lost head and heart about you he certainly -would tonight. But I don't like orchids on you, Anne. No; it -isn't jealousy. Orchids don't seem to BELONG to you. They're -too exotic -- too tropical -- too insolent. Don't put them in -your hair, anyway." - -"Well, I won't. I admit I'm not fond of orchids myself. I don't -think they're related to me. Roy doesn't often send them -- he -knows I like flowers 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't coming himself. He said he had to lead a prayer-meeting -in the slums! I don't believe he wanted to come. Anne, I'm -horribly afraid Jonas doesn't really care anything about me. And -I'm trying to decide whether I'll pine 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 -better pine 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'll admit. But speak-to-me-only-with-thine-eyes isn't a really -reliable reason for embroidering doilies and hemstitching -tablecloths. I don't want to begin such work until I'm really -engaged. It would be tempting Fate." - -"Mr. Blake is afraid to ask you to marry him, Phil. He is poor -and can't offer you a home such as you've always had. You know -that is the only reason he hasn't spoken long ago." - -"I suppose so," agreed Phil dolefully. "Well" -- brightening up --- "if he WON'T ask me to marry him I'll ask him, that's all. -So it's bound to come right. I won't worry. By the way, -Gilbert Blythe is going about constantly with Christine Stuart. -Did you know?" - -Anne was trying to fasten a little gold chain about her throat. -She suddenly found the clasp difficult to manage. WHAT was the -matter with it -- 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 is quite 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 were right, after all." - -Anne did not blush, as she usually did when the girls assumed -that her eventual marriage to Roy Gardner was a settled thing. -All at once she felt rather dull. Phil's chatter seemed trivial -and the reception a bore. She boxed poor Rusty's ears. - -"Get off that cushion instantly, you cat, you! Why don't you -stay down where you belong?" - -Anne picked up her orchids and went downstairs, where Aunt Jamesina -was presiding over a row of coats hung before the fire to warm. -Roy Gardner was waiting for Anne and teasing the Sarah-cat while -he waited. The Sarah-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 pleading tones of his delightful voice, -declared he was the nicest young man she ever knew, and that Anne -was a very fortunate girl. Such remarks made Anne restive. Roy's -wooing had certainly been as romantic as girlish heart could desire, -but -- she wished Aunt Jamesina and the girls would not take things -so for granted. When Roy murmured a poetical compliment as he helped -her on with her coat, she did not blush and thrill as usual; 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 and sparkle suddenly -returned to her. She turned to Roy with her gayest expression. -He smiled back at her with what Phil called "his deep, black, -velvety smile." Yet she really did not see Roy at all. She was -acutely conscious that Gilbert was standing under the palms just -across the room talking to a girl who must be Christine Stuart. - -She was very handsome, in the stately style destined to become -rather massive in middle life. A tall girl, with large dark-blue -eyes, ivory outlines, 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 them all. 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 nose certainly 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 -followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in -an elfland of moonshine. - -Over the girls at Patty's Place was falling the shadow of April -examinations. They were studying hard; even Phil had settled down -to text and notebooks with a doggedness not to be expected of her. - -"I'm going to take the Johnson Scholarship in Mathematics," she -announced calmly. "I could take the one in Greek easily, but I'd -rather take the mathematical one because I want to prove to Jonas -that I'm really enormously clever." - -"Jonas likes you better for your big brown eyes and your crooked -smile than 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 -about Mathematics," said Aunt Jamesina. "But times have changed. -I don't know that it's all for the better. Can you cook, Phil?" - -"No, I never cooked anything in my life except a gingerbread and -it was a failure -- flat in the middle and hilly round the edges. -You know the kind. But, Aunty, when I begin in good earnest to -learn to cook don't you think the brains that enable me to win a -mathematical scholarship will also enable me to learn cooking -just as well?" - -"Maybe," said Aunt Jamesina cautiously. "I am not decrying the -higher education of women. My daughter is an M.A. She can cook, -too. But I taught her to cook BEFORE I let a college professor -teach her Mathematics." - -In mid-March came a letter from Miss Patty Spofford, saying that -she and Miss Maria had decided to remain abroad for another year. - -"So you may have Patty's Place next winter, too," she wrote. -"Maria and I are going to run over Egypt. I want to see the -Sphinx once before I die." - -"Fancy those two dames `running over Egypt'! I wonder if they'll -look up at 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 here would be broken up -- and we poor callow -nestlings thrown out on the cruel world of boardinghouses again." - -"I'm off for a tramp in the park," announced Phil, tossing her -book aside. "I think when I am eighty I'll be glad I went for a -walk in the park 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 -March evening. Very still and mild it was, wrapped in a great, -white, brooding silence -- a silence which was yet threaded -through with many little silvery sounds which you could hear if -you hearkened as much with your soul as your ears. The girls -wandered down a long pineland aisle that seemed to lead right out -into the heart of a deep-red, overflowing winter 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 staining -the 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't help feeling reverent and adoring in such a place. -I always feel so near Him 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 that horrid? But I said `yes' almost before he finished --- I was so afraid he might change his mind and stop. I'm besottedly -happy. I couldn't really believe before that Jonas would ever care -for frivolous me." - -"Phil, you're not really frivolous," said Anne gravely. "'Way -down underneath 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 it off. As Mrs. Poyser says, I'd have to be hatched -over again and hatched different before I could change it. But -Jonas knows the real me and loves me, frivolity and all. And I -love him. I never was so surprised in my life as I was when I -found out I loved him. I'd never thought it possible to fall in -love with an ugly man. Fancy me coming down to one solitary -beau. And one named Jonas! But I mean to call him Jo. That's -such 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 I might. They felt so badly I just cried over both -of them -- howled. But I knew there was only one man in the -world I could ever marry. I had made up my own mind for once and -it was real easy, too. It's very delightful to feel so sure, and -know it's your own sureness and not somebody else'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 -a splendid rule. He says, when I'm perplexed, just to do what I -would wish I had done when I shall be eighty. Anyhow, Jo can -make up his mind quickly enough, and it would be uncomfortable -to have too much mind in the same house." - -"What will your father and mother say?" - -"Father won't say much. He thinks everything I do right. -But mother WILL talk. Oh, her tongue will be as Byrney as -her nose. But in the end it will be all right." - -"You'll have to give up a good many things you've always had, -when you marry Mr. Blake, Phil." - -"But I'll have HIM. I won't miss the other things. We're to be -married a year from next June. Jo graduates from St. Columbia -this spring, you know. Then he's going to take a little mission -church down on Patterson Street in the slums. Fancy me in the -slums! But I'd go there or to Greenland'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 as gaily as I've been rich. You'll see. I'm going to learn -how to cook and make over dresses. I've learned how to market -since I've lived at Patty's Place; and once I taught a Sunday -School class for a whole summer. Aunt Jamesina says I'll ruin -Jo's career if I marry him. But I won't. I know I haven't much -sense or sobriety, but I've got what is ever so much better -- -the knack of making people like me. There is a man in -Bolingbroke who lisps and always testifies in prayer-meeting. -He says, 'If you can't thine like an electric thtar thine like -a candlethtick.' I'll be Jo's little candlestick." - -"Phil, you're incorrigible. Well, I love you so much that -I can't make nice, light, congratulatory little speeches. -But I'm heart-glad of your happiness." - -"I know. Those big gray eyes of yours are brimming over with -real friendship, Anne. Some day I'll look the same way at you. -You're going to 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 that celebrated 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 be blushing while making such a confession; but she was not; -on the other hand, she always blushed hotly when any one said -anything about Gilbert Blythe or Christine Stuart in her hearing. -Gilbert Blythe and Christine Stuart were nothing to her -- -absolutely nothing. But Anne had given up trying to analyze -the reason of her blushes. As for Roy, of course she was in -love with him -- madly so. How could she help it? Was he not -her ideal? Who could resist those glorious dark eyes, and that -pleading voice? Were not half the Redmond girls wildly envious? -And what a charming 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 Anne was not so deeply in love as to think that. -But it was very tolerable magazine verse. And it was addressed to HER -- -not to Laura or Beatrice or the Maid of Athens, but to her, Anne Shirley. -To be told in rhythmical cadences that her eyes were stars of the morning --- that her cheek had the flush it stole from the sunrise -- that her -lips were redder than the roses of Paradise, was thrillingly romantic. -Gilbert would never have dreamed of writing a sonnet to her eyebrows. -But then, Gilbert could see a joke. She had once told Roy a funny story --- and he had not seen the point of it. She recalled the chummy laugh -she and Gilbert had had together over it, and wondered uneasily if life -with a man who had no sense of humor might not be somewhat uninteresting -in the long run. But who could expect a melancholy, inscrutable hero to -see the humorous side of 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 -always June," said Anne, as she came through the spice and bloom -of the twilit orchard to the front door steps, where Marilla and -Mrs. Rachel were sitting, talking over Mrs. Samson Coates' funeral, -which they had attended that day. Dora sat between them, diligently -studying her lessons; but Davy was sitting tailor-fashion on the grass, -looking as gloomy 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 get tired 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'm dis -- 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 ten sums to do for Monday. It'll take me all day tomorrow to -do them. It isn't fair to have to work Saturdays. Milty Boulter -said he wouldn't do them, 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. Rachel severely. "Miss Carson is a very fine girl. -There is no nonsense about her." - -"That doesn't sound very attractive," laughed Anne. "I like -people to have a little nonsense about them. But I'm inclined -to have a better opinion of Miss Carson than you have. I saw her -in prayer-meeting last night, 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' and I'll help you with the sums -as far as in me lies. Don't waste this lovely hour `twixt light -and dark worrying over arithmetic." - -"Well, I won't," said Davy, brightening up. "If you help me -with the sums I'll have 'em done in time to go fishing with Milty. -I wish old Aunt Atossa's funeral was tomorrow instead of today. -I wanted to go to it 'cause Milty said his mother said Aunt Atossa -would be sure to rise up in her coffin and say sarcastic things to -the folks that come to see her buried. But Marilla said she didn't." - -"Poor Atossa laid in her coffin peaceful enough," said Mrs. Lynde -solemnly. "I never saw her look so pleasant before, that's what. -Well, there weren't many tears shed over her, poor old soul. -The Elisha Wrights are thankful to be rid of her, and I can't -say I blame them a mite." - -"It seems to me a most dreadful thing to go out of the world and not -leave one person behind you who is sorry you are gone," said Anne, shuddering. - -"Nobody except her parents ever loved poor Atossa, that's certain, not even -her husband," averred Mrs. Lynde. "She was his fourth wife. He'd sort of got -into the habit of marrying. He only lived a few years after he married her. -The doctor said he died of dyspepsia, but I shall always maintain that he died -of Atossa's tongue, that's what. Poor soul, she always knew everything about -her neighbors, but she never was very well acquainted with herself. Well, -she's gone anyhow; and I suppose the next excitement will be Diana's wedding." - -"It seems funny and horrible to think of Diana's being married," -sighed Anne, hugging her knees and looking through the gap in the -Haunted Wood to the light that was shining in Diana's room. - -"I don't see what's horrible about it, when she's doing so well," -said Mrs. Lynde emphatically. "Fred Wright has a fine farm and -he is a model young man." - -"He certainly isn't the wild, dashing, wicked, young man Diana -once wanted to marry," smiled Anne. "Fred is extremely good." - -"That's just what he ought to be. Would you want Diana to marry -a wicked man? Or marry one yourself?" - -"Oh, no. I wouldn't want to marry anybody who was wicked, -but I think I'd like it if he COULD be wicked and WOULDN'T. -Now, Fred is HOPELESSLY good." - -"You'll have more sense some day, I hope," said Marilla. - -Marilla spoke rather bitterly. She was grievously disappointed. -She knew Anne had refused Gilbert Blythe. Avonlea gossip buzzed -over the fact, which had leaked out, nobody knew how. Perhaps -Charlie Sloane had guessed and told his guesses for truth. -Perhaps Diana had betrayed it to 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 heard lately from Gilbert, but -passed her by with a frosty bow. Anne, who had always liked Gilbert's -merry, young-hearted mother, was grieved in secret over this. -Marilla said nothing; but Mrs. Lynde gave Anne many exasperated -digs about it, until fresh gossip reached that worthy lady, -through the medium of Moody Spurgeon MacPherson's mother, -that Anne had another "beau" at college, who was rich and -handsome and good all in one. After that Mrs. Rachel held -her tongue, though she still wished in her inmost heart that -Anne had accepted Gilbert. Riches were all very well; -but even Mrs. Rachel, practical soul though she was, did not -consider them the one essential. If Anne "liked" the Handsome -Unknown better than Gilbert there was nothing more to be said; -but Mrs. Rachel was dreadfully afraid that Anne was going to -make the mistake of marrying for money. Marilla knew Anne too -well to fear this; but she felt that something in the universal -scheme of things had gone sadly awry. - -"What is to be, will be," said Mrs. Rachel gloomily, "and what isn't -to be happens sometimes. I can't help believing it's going to happen -in Anne's case, if Providence doesn't interfere, that's what." -Mrs. Rachel sighed. She was afraid Providence wouldn't interfere; -and she didn't dare to. - -Anne had wandered down to the Dryad's Bubble and was curled up -among the ferns at the root of the big white birch where she and -Gilbert had so often sat in summers gone by. He had gone into -the newspaper office again when college closed, and Avonlea -seemed very dull without him. He never wrote to her, and Anne -missed the letters that never came. To be sure, Roy wrote twice -a week; his letters were exquisite compositions which would have -read beautifully in a memoir or biography. Anne felt herself -more deeply in love with him than ever when she read them; but -her heart never gave the queer, quick, painful bound at sight of -his letters which it had given one day when Mrs. Hiram Sloane -had handed her out an envelope addressed in Gilbert's black, -upright handwriting. Anne had hurried home to the east gable and -opened it eagerly -- to find a typewritten copy of some college -society report -- "only that and nothing more." Anne flung the -harmless screed across her room and sat down to write an -especially nice epistle to Roy. - -Diana was to be married in five more days. The gray house at -Orchard Slope 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 to be bridesmaid, as had been arranged when they -were twelve years old, and Gilbert was coming from Kingsport to -be best man. Anne was enjoying the excitement of the various -preparations, but under it all she carried a little heartache. -She was, in a sense, losing her dear old chum; Diana's new home -would be two miles from Green Gables, and the old constant -companionship could never be theirs again. Anne looked up at -Diana's light and thought how it had beaconed to her for many years; -but soon it would shine through the summer twilights no more. -Two big, painful tears welled up in her gray eyes. - -"Oh," she thought, "how horrible it is that people have to grow -up -- and marry -- and CHANGE!" - - - - -Chapter XXIX - -Diana's Wedding - - -"After all, the only real roses are the pink ones," said Anne, as -she tied white ribbon around Diana's bouquet in the westwardlooking -gable at Orchard Slope. "They are the flowers of love and faith." - -Diana was standing nervously in the middle of the room, arrayed -in her bridal white, her black curls frosted over with the film -of her wedding veil. Anne had draped that veil, in accordance -with the sentimental compact of years before. - -"It's all pretty much as I used to imagine it long ago, when I -wept over your inevitable marriage and our consequent parting," -she laughed. "You are the bride of my dreams, Diana, with -the `lovely misty veil'; and I am YOUR bridesmaid. But, alas! -I haven't the puffed sleeves -- though these short lace ones are -even prettier. Neither is my heart wholly breaking nor do I -exactly hate Fred." - -"We are not really parting, Anne," protested Diana. "I'm not -going far away. 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; and I hope it will always be so. -But things can't be quite the same after this. 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 of -her beloved knitted quilts of the `tobacco stripe' pattern, -and she says when I am married she'll give me one, too." - -"The mean thing about your getting married is that I won't be -able to be your bridesmaid," lamented Diana. - -"I'm to be Phil's bridesmaid next June, when she marries -Mr. Blake, and then I must stop, for you know the proverb -`three times a bridesmaid, never a bride,' " said Anne, -peeping through the window over the pink and snow of the -blossoming orchard beneath. "Here comes the minister, Diana." - -"Oh, Anne," gasped Diana, suddenly turning very pale and -beginning to tremble. "Oh, Anne -- I'm so nervous -- I can't -go through with it -- Anne, I know 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't be so very terrible when so many -people survive the ceremony. See how cool and composed -I am, and take courage." - -"Wait till your turn comes, Miss Anne. Oh, Anne, I hear father -coming upstairs. 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 to the parlor on Gilbert's arm. They met at the top of the -stairs for the first time since they had left Kingsport, for -Gilbert had arrived only that day. Gilbert shook hands courteously. -He was looking very well, though, as Anne instantly noted, rather thin. -He was not pale; there was a flush on his cheek that had burned into it -as Anne came along the hall towards him, in her soft, white dress with -lilies-of-the-valley in the shining masses of her hair. As they entered -the crowded parlor together a little murmur of admiration ran around the -room. "What a fine-looking pair they are," whispered the impressible -Mrs. Rachel to Marilla. - -Fred ambled in alone, with a very red face, and then Diana swept -in on her father's arm. She did not faint, and nothing untoward -occurred to interrupt the ceremony. Feasting and merry-making -followed; then, as the evening waned, Fred and Diana drove away -through the moonlight to their new home, and Gilbert walked with -Anne to Green Gables. - -Something of their old comradeship had returned during the -informal mirth of the evening. Oh, it was nice to be walking -over that well-known road with Gilbert again! - -The night was so very still that one should have been able to hear -the whisper of roses in blossom -- the laughter of daisies -- the -piping of grasses -- many sweet sounds, all tangled up together. -The beauty of moonlight on familiar fields irradiated the world. - -"Can't we take a ramble up Lovers' Lane before you go in?" asked -Gilbert as they crossed the bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters, -in which the moon lay like a great, drowned blossom of gold. - -Anne assented readily. Lovers' Lane was a veritable path in a -fairyland that night -- a shimmering, mysterious place, full of -wizardry in the white-woven enchantment of moonlight. There had -been a time when such a walk with Gilbert through Lovers' Lane -would have been far too dangerous. But Roy and Christine had -made it very safe now. Anne found herself thinking a good deal -about Christine as she chatted lightly to Gilbert. She had met -her several times before leaving Kingsport, and had been charmingly -sweet to her. Christine had also been charmingly sweet. Indeed, -they were a most cordial pair. But for all that, their acquaintance -had not ripened into friendship. Evidently Christine was not 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 -Haythorne wants me to teach for her through July and August. -They have a summer term in that school, and Esther isn't feeling well. -So I'm going to substitute for her. In one way I don't mind. -Do you know, I'm beginning to feel a little bit like a stranger -in Avonlea now? It makes me sorry -- but it's true. It's quite -appalling to see the number of children who have shot up into big -boys and girls -- really young men and women -- these past two years. -Half of my pupils are grown up. It makes me feel awfully old to see -them in the places you and I and our mates used to fill." - -Anne laughed and sighed. She felt very old and mature and wise --- which showed how young she was. She told herself that she -longed greatly to go back to those dear merry days when life was -seen through a rosy mist of hope and illusion, and possessed an -indefinable something that had passed away forever. Where was it -now -- the glory and the dream? - -"`So wags the world away,' " quoted Gilbert practically, and a -trifle absently. Anne wondered if he were thinking of Christine. -Oh, Avonlea was 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 to see if any one had come to meet her. She was to board -with a certain Miss Janet Sweet, but she saw no one who answered -in the least to her preconception of that lady, as formed from -Esther's letter. The only person in sight was an elderly woman, -sitting in a wagon with mail bags piled around her. Two hundred -would have been a charitable guess at her weight; her face was -as round and red as a harvest-moon and almost as featureless. -She wore a tight, black, cashmere dress, made in the fashion of -ten years ago, a little dusty black straw hat trimmed with bows -of yellow ribbon, and faded black lace mits. - -"Here, you," she called, waving her whip at Anne. "Are you the -new Valley Road schoolma'am?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, I thought so. Valley Road is noted for its good-looking -schoolma'ams, just as Millersville is noted for its humly ones. -Janet Sweet asked me this morning if I could bring you out. I -said, `Sartin I kin, if she don't mind being scrunched up some. -This rig of mine's kinder small for the mail bags and I'm some -heftier than Thomas!' Just wait, 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 is coming for your trunk tonight. -My name is Skinner -- Amelia Skinner." - -Anne was eventually tucked in, exchanging amused smiles with herself -during the process. - -"Jog along, black mare," commanded Mrs. Skinner, gathering up the -reins in her pudgy hands. "This is my first trip on the mail rowte. -Thomas wanted to hoe his turnips today so he asked me to come. -So I jest sot down 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 the rest 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 been married very long." - -"Oh!" said Anne politely. - -"Just a month. Thomas courted me for quite a spell, though. It -was real romantic." Anne tried to picture Mrs. Skinner on -speaking terms with romance and failed. - -"Oh?" she said again. - -"Yes. Y'see, there was another man after me. Jog along, black mare. -I'd been 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 -teach I felt real lonesome and wasn't nowise sot against the idea. -Bime-by Thomas began to come up and so did the other feller -- -William Obadiah Seaman, his name was. For a long time I couldn't -make up my mind which of 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 considerable style. 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 was -not a glint of humor on that lady's face. Evidently Mrs. Skinner saw -nothing amusing in her own case. - -"He'd been a widder-man for three yers, and his sister kept house for him. -Then she got married and he just wanted some one to look after his house. -It was worth looking after, too, mind you that. It's a handsome house. -Jog along, black mare. As for Thomas, he was poor, and if his house -didn't leak in dry weather it was about all that could be said for it, -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 man if you like but you won't be happy. Folks can't -get along together in this world without a little bit of love. -You'd just better tie up to Thomas, for he loves you and you love -him and nothing else ain't going to do you.' Jog along, black mare. -So I told Thomas I'd take him. All the time I was getting ready -I never dared drive past W.O.'s place for fear the sight of that -fine house of his would put me in the swithers again. But now I -never think of it at all, and I'm just that comfortable and 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 -in Millersville now, and I guess she'll take him fast enough. -She'll make him 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, never dreaming but that she'd say `no.' -But mind you, she said 'yes.' There was a predicament for you. -Jog along, black mare. She was a great housekeeper, but most -awful mean. She wore the same bonnet for eighteen years. Then she -got a new one and W.O. met her on the road and didn't know her. -Jog along, black mare. I feel that I'd a narrer escape. I might -have married him and been most awful miserable, like my poor -cousin, Jane Ann. Jane Ann married a rich man she didn't care -anything about, and she hasn't the life of a dog. She come to -see me last week and says, says she, `Sarah Skinner, I envy you. -I'd rather live in a little hut on the side of the road with a -man I was fond of than in my big 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 the thermometer's -at ninety. The only way to git him to do anything is to coax -him to do the opposite. But there ain't any love to smooth -things down and it's a poor way of living. Jog along, black mare. -There's Janet's place in the hollow -- `Wayside,' she calls it. -Quite pictureaskew, ain't it? I guess you'll be glad to git -out of this, with all them mail bags jamming round you." - -"Yes, but I have enjoyed my drive with you very much," said -Anne sincerely. - -"Git away now!" said Mrs. Skinner, highly flattered. "Wait till -I tell Thomas 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 in the school, miss. There's a short cut to -it through the ma'sh back of Janet's. If you take that way be -awful keerful. If you once got stuck in that black mud you'd be -sucked right down and never seen or heard tell of 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, -installed once more as a country `schoolma'am' at Valley Road, -boarding at `Wayside,' the home of Miss Janet Sweet. Janet is a -dear soul and very nicelooking; tall, but not over-tall; stoutish, -yet with a certain restraint of outline suggestive of a thrifty -soul who is not going to be 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 rosy cheeks, and big, -kind eyes as blue as forget-me-nots. Moreover, she is one of those -delightful, old-fashioned cooks who don't care a bit if they ruin -your digestion as long as they can give you feasts of fat things. - -"I like her; and she likes me -- principally, it seems, because -she had a sister named Anne who died young. - -"`I'm real glad to see you,' she said briskly, when I landed in her yard. -`My, you don't look a mite like I expected. I was sure you'd be dark -- -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 I had expected at first sight. Then I reminded myself that I -really must be more sensible than to be prejudiced against any -one simply because she called my hair red. Probably the word -`auburn' was not in Janet's vocabulary 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 mixed up together. The front door walk is -bordered with quahog clam-shells -- `cow-hawks,' Janet calls them; -there is Virginia Creeper over the porch and moss on the roof. -My room is a neat little spot `off the parlor' -- just big -enough for the bed and me. Over the head of my bed there is a -picture of Robby Burns standing at Highland Mary's grave, -shadowed by an enormous weeping willow tree. Robby's face is -so lugubrious that it is no wonder I have bad dreams. Why, the -first night I was here I dreamed I COULDN'T LAUGH. - -"The parlor is tiny and neat. Its one window is so shaded by a -huge willow that the room has a grotto-like effect of emerald gloom. -There are wonderful tidies on the chairs, and gay mats on the floor, -and books and cards carefully arranged on a round table, and vases -of dried grass on the mantel-piece. Between the vases is a cheerful -decoration of preserved coffin plates -- five in all, pertaining -respectively to Janet's father and mother, a brother, her sister Anne, -and a hired man who died here once! If I go suddenly insane some of -these days `know all men by these presents' that those coffin-plates -have caused it. - -"But it's all delightful and I said so. Janet loved me for it, -just as she detested poor Esther because Esther had said so much -shade was unhygienic and had objected to sleeping on a feather bed. -Now, I glory in feather-beds, and the more unhygienic and feathery -they are the more I glory. Janet says it is such a comfort to see -me eat; she had been so afraid I would be like Miss Haythorne, who -wouldn't eat anything but fruit and hot water for breakfast and tried -to make Janet give up frying things. 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 to indigestion. - -"Janet told me I could have the use of the parlor when any young -men called! I don't think there are many to call. I haven't -seen a young man in Valley Road yet, except the next-door -hired boy -- Sam Toliver, a very tall, lank, tow-haired youth. -He came over one evening recently and sat for an hour on the -garden fence, near the front porch where Janet and I were doing -fancy-work. The only remarks he volunteered in all that time -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 to be mixed up, more or less actively, with elderly love -affairs. Mr. and Mrs. Irving always say that I brought about -their marriage. Mrs. Stephen Clark of Carmody persists in being -most grateful to me for a suggestion which somebody else would -probably have made if I hadn't. I do really think, though, that -Ludovic Speed would never have got any further along than 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 -once to help things along and made an awful mess of it. So I -shall not meddle again. 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 asked her to go to prayer-meeting. Janet blossomed out -like a rose to attend that prayer-meeting. She wore a pale-blue, -pansy-sprinkled muslin dress with more ruffles than one would ever -have supposed economical Janet could be guilty of, and a white -leghorn hat with pink roses and three ostrich feathers on it. -Anne felt quite amazed. Later on, she found out Janet's motive -in so arraying herself -- a motive as old as Eden. - -Valley Road prayer-meetings seemed to be essentially feminine. -There were thirty-two women present, two half-grown boys, and one -solitary man, beside the minister. Anne found herself studying -this man. He was not handsome or young or graceful; he had -remarkably long legs -- so long that he had to keep them coiled -up under his chair to dispose of them -- and he was stoopshouldered. -His hands were big, his hair wanted barbering, and his moustache -was unkempt. But Anne thought she liked his face; 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 that this man had -suffered and been strong, and it had been made manifest in his face. -There was a sort of patient, humorous endurance in his expression -which indicated that he would go to the stake if need be, but would -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 -than sixteen, having her first escort home," Anne told the girls -at Patty's Place 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 have -annoyed Anne bitterly; but the way in which Mr. Douglas said it made -her feel that she had received a very real and pleasing compliment. -She smiled appreciatively at him and dropped obligingly behind on -the moonlit road. - -So Janet had a beau! Anne was delighted. Janet would make a paragon -of a wife -- cheery, economical, tolerant, and a very queen of cooks. -It would be 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 -Janet the next day. "She's bed-rid a lot of the time and never -goes out of the house. But she's powerful fond of company and -always wants to see my boarders. Can you go up this evening?" - -Anne assented; but later in the day Mr. Douglas called on his -mother's behalf to invite them up to tea on Saturday evening. - -"Oh, why didn't you put on your pretty pansy dress?" asked Anne, -when they left home. It was a hot day, and poor Janet, between -her excitement and her heavy black cashmere dress, looked as if -she were being broiled alive. - -"Old Mrs. Douglas would think it terrible frivolous and unsuitable, -I'm afraid. John likes that dress, though," she added wistfully. - -The old Douglas homestead was half a mile from "Wayside" cresting -a windy hill. The house itself was large and comfortable, old -enough to be dignified, and girdled with maple groves and orchards. -There were big, trim barns behind it, and everything bespoke prosperity. -Whatever the patient endurance in Mr. Douglas' face had meant it hadn't, -so Anne reflected, 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 -soft pink cheeks, mild blue eyes, and a mouth like a baby's. -Dressed in a beautiful, fashionably-made black silk dress, -with a fluffy white shawl over 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 you again, dear." She put up her pretty old face to be kissed. -"And this is our new teacher. I'm delighted to meet you. My son -has been singing your praises until I'm half jealous, and I'm sure -Janet ought to be wholly so." - -Poor Janet blushed, Anne said something polite and conventional, -and then 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 not find any difficulty in talking. She made -Janet sit by her and stroked her hand occasionally. Janet sat -and smiled, looking horribly uncomfortable in her hideous dress, -and John Douglas sat without smiling. - -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 of that meal to Stella. - -"We had cold tongue and chicken and strawberry preserves, lemon -pie and tarts and chocolate cake and raisin cookies and pound cake -and fruit cake -- and a few other things, including more pie --- caramel pie, I think it was. After I had eaten twice as much -as was good for me, Mrs. Douglas sighed and said she feared she -had nothing to tempt my appetite. - -"`I'm afraid dear Janet's cooking has spoiled you for any other,' -she said sweetly. `Of course nobody in Valley Road aspires to -rival HER. WON'T you have another piece of pie, Miss Shirley? -You haven't eaten ANYTHING.' - -"Stella, I had eaten a helping of tongue and one of chicken, -three biscuits, a generous allowance of preserves, a piece of -pie, a tart, and a square of chocolate cake!" - -After tea Mrs. Douglas smiled benevolently and told John to -take "dear Janet" out into the garden and get her some roses. -"Miss Shirley will keep me company while you are out -- -won't you?" she said plaintively. She settled down in her -armchair with a sigh. - -"I am a very frail old woman, Miss Shirley. For over twenty -years I've been a great sufferer. For twenty long, weary years -I've been dying by inches." - -"How painful!" said Anne, trying to be sympathetic and succeeding -only in feeling idiotic. - -"There have been scores of nights when they've thought I could -never live to see the dawn," went on Mrs. Douglas solemnly. -"Nobody knows what I've gone through -- nobody can know but -myself. Well, it can't last very much 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 look after -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 -perfect housekeeper -- something I never was. My health would -not permit it, Miss Shirley. I am indeed thankful that John has -made such a wise choice. I hope 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 was stupid. Yet she could not imagine why. She seemed to -have absolutely nothing to say to this sweet, smiling, angelic -old lady who was patting her 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 suppose John 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 a positive start of dismay. -He looked as a tortured man might look when his tormentors gave -the rack the last turn of possible endurance. She felt sure he -must be ill and hurried poor blushing Janet away. - -"Isn't old Mrs. Douglas a sweet woman?" asked Janet, as they -went down the road. - -"M -- m," answered Anne absently. She was wondering why John -Douglas had looked so. - -"She's been a terrible sufferer," said Janet feelingly. -"She takes terrible spells. It keeps John all worried up. -He's scared to leave home for fear his mother will take a -spell and nobody there but the hired girl." - - - - -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," -comforted Anne, trying not to smile. - -"But -- but," went on Janet with a big gulp, "John Douglas won't -ask me to marry 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 -twenty years?" - -"He has. And he has never so much as mentioned marriage to me. -And I don't believe he ever will now. I've never said a word to -a mortal about it, but it seems to me I've just got to talk it -out with some one at last 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 I begun making quilts and -things; but he never said anything about getting married, only -just kept coming and coming. There wasn't anything I could do. -Mother died when we'd been going together for eight years. -I thought he 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, but he 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 is so sickly and I -don't want the bother of waiting on her. Why, I'd LOVE to wait on -John's mother! But I let them think so. I'd rather they'd blame -me than pity me! It's so dreadful humiliating that John won't -ask me. And WHY won't he? Seems to me if I only knew his reason -I wouldn't mind 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 -John settled before her time comes. She's always giving him hints -- -you heard her 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's type. - -"You should show more spirit, Janet," she went on resolutely. -"Why didn't you send him about his business long ago?" - -"I couldn't," said poor Janet pathetically. "You see, Anne, I've -always been awful fond of John. He might just as well keep coming -as not, for there 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 I meant it and just go. I suppose I'm a poor-spirited -creature, but that is 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 any longer. I'LL back you up." - -"I dunno," said Janet hopelessly. "I dunno if I could ever get up -enough spunk. Things have drifted so long. But I'll think it over." - -Anne felt that she was disappointed in John Douglas. She had -liked him so well, and she had not thought him the sort of man who -would play fast and loose with a woman's feelings for twenty years. -He certainly should be taught a lesson, and Anne felt vindictively -that she would enjoy seeing the process. Therefore she was delighted -when Janet told her, as they were going to prayer-meeting the next night, -that she meant to show some "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 usual request. -Janet looked frightened but resolute. - -"No, thank you," she said icily. "I know the road home pretty well alone. -I ought to, seeing I've been traveling it for forty years. So you needn'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 -and strode down the road. - -"Stop! Stop!" Anne called wildly after him, not caring in the least -for the 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's all right now, isn't it, Janet?" - -Without a word Janet took his arm and walked away. Anne followed -them meekly 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 I had 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 down that road I just felt as if every little bit of joy and -happiness that was 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 after all. But nothing did. John Douglas came and took Janet -driving, and walked home from prayer-meeting with her, as he had -been doing for twenty years, and as he seemed likely to do for -twenty years more. The summer waned. Anne taught her school and -wrote letters and studied a little. Her walks to and from school -were pleasant. She always went by way of the swamp; it was a -lovely place -- a boggy soil, green with the greenest of mossy -hillocks; a silvery brook meandered through it and spruces 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 be sure, there was one diverting incident. - -She had not seen the lank, tow-headed Samuel of the peppermints -since the evening of his call, save for chance meetings on the road. -But one warm August night he appeared, and solemnly seated himself -on the rustic bench by the porch. He wore his usual working -habiliments, consisting of varipatched trousers, a blue jean shirt, -out at the elbows, and a ragged straw hat. He was chewing a straw -and he kept on chewing it while he looked solemnly at Anne. Anne -laid her book aside with a sigh and took up 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 -the direction 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's one that'd suit me over at Millersville. But ef I rents -it I'll want a woman." - -"I suppose so," said Anne vaguely. - -"Yep." - -There was another long silence. Finally Sam removed his straw -again and said, - -"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 -and I've got some money in the bank." - -"Don't speak of this to me again. Whatever put such an idea into -your head?" said Anne, her sense of humor getting the better of -her wrath. It was 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 -my mind yit awhile. Wall, I must be gitting. Gotter milk the cows." - -Anne's illusions concerning proposals had suffered so much of -late years that there were few of them left. So she could laugh -wholeheartedly over this one, not feeling any secret sting. She -mimicked poor Sam to Janet that night, and both of them laughed -immoderately over his plunge into sentiment. - -One afternoon, when Anne's sojourn in Valley Road was drawing to a -close, Alec Ward came driving down to "Wayside" in hot haste for Janet. - -"They want you at the Douglas place quick," he said. "I really -believe old Mrs. Douglas is going to die at last, after pretending -to do it for twenty years." - -Janet ran to get her hat. Anne asked if Mrs. Douglas was worse than usual. - -"She's not half as bad," said Alec solemnly, "and that's what -makes me think it's serious. Other times she'd be screaming and -throwing herself all 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's -cryptic reply. - -Janet came home in the twilight. - -"Mrs. Douglas is dead," she said wearily. "She died soon after -I got there. She just spoke to me once -- `I suppose you'll -marry John now?' she said. It cut me to the heart, Anne. -To think John's own mother thought I wouldn't marry him -because of her! I couldn't say a word either -- there were -other women there. I was thankful John had gone out." - -Janet began to cry drearily. But Anne brewed her a hot drink of -ginger tea to her comforting. To be sure, Anne discovered later -on that she had used white pepper instead of ginger; but Janet -never knew the difference. - -The evening after the funeral Janet and Anne were sitting on the -front porch steps at sunset. The wind had fallen asleep in the -pinelands and lurid sheets of heat-lightning flickered across the -northern skies. Janet wore her ugly black dress and looked her -very worst, her eyes and nose red from crying. They talked -little, for Janet seemed faintly to resent Anne's efforts to -cheer her up. She plainly preferred to be miserable. - -Suddenly the gate-latch clicked and John Douglas strode into the -garden. He walked towards them straight over the geranium bed. -Janet stood up. So did Anne. Anne was a tall girl and wore a -white dress; but John Douglas 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 twenty years and MUST be uttered now, before anything else. - -Janet's face was so red from crying that it couldn't turn any redder, -so it 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't live through it. She implored me to -promise not to ask you to marry me while she was alive. I didn't -want to promise such a thing, even though we all thought she -couldn't live very long -- the doctor only gave her six months. -But she begged it on her knees, sick and suffering. I had to promise." - -"What had your mother against me?" cried Janet. - -"Nothing -- nothing. She just didn't want another woman --- ANY woman -- there while she was living. She said if I -didn't promise she'd die right there and I'd have killed her. -So I promised. And she's held me to that promise ever since, -though I've gone on my knees to her in my turn to beg her -to let me ff." - -"Why didn't you tell me this?" asked Janet chokingly. -"If I'd only KNOWN! 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'd dreamed it was to be for so long. Janet, you'll never -know what I've suffered these nineteen years. I know I've made -you suffer, too, but you'll marry me for all, won't you, Janet? -Oh, Janet, won't you? I've come as soon as I could to ask you." - -At this moment the stupefied Anne came to her senses and realized -that she had no business to be there. She slipped away and did not -see Janet until 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 I -wouldn'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 talk terrible. They'll say I made enough haste to snap John -up as soon as his poor mother was out of the way. John wanted to -let them know the truth but I said, `No, John; after all she was -your mother, and we'll keep the secret between us, and not cast -any shadow on her memory. I don't mind what people say, now that -I know the truth myself. It don't matter a mite. Let it all be -buried with the dead' says I to him. So I coaxed him round to -agree with me." - -"You're much more forgiving than I could ever be," Anne said, -rather crossly. - -"You'll feel differently about a good many things when you get to -be my age," said Janet tolerantly. "That's one of the things we -learn as we grow older -- how to forgive. It comes easier at -forty than it did at twenty." - - - - -Chapter XXXV - -The Last Redmond Year Opens - - -"Here we are, all back again, nicely sunburned and rejoicing as a -strong man to run a race," said Phil, sitting down on a suitcase -with a sigh of pleasure. "Isn't it jolly to see this dear old -Patty's Place again -- and Aunty -- 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 lap -in 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 four -laughing, chattering girls were surrounded. "You can talk just as well -later on. Work first and then play used to be my motto when I was a girl." - -"Oh, we've just reversed that in this generation, Aunty. -OUR motto is play your play and then dig in. You can do your -work so much better if you've had a good bout of play first." - -"If you are going to marry a minister," said Aunt Jamesina, -picking up Joseph and her knitting and resigning herself to the -inevitable with the charming grace that made her the queen of -housemothers, "you will have to give up such expressions as `dig in.'" - -"Why?" moaned Phil. "Oh, why must a minister's wife be supposed -to utter only prunes and prisms? I shan't. Everybody on -Patterson Street uses slang -- that is to say, metaphorical -language -- and if I didn't they would think me insufferably -proud and stuck up." - -"Have you broken the news to your family?" asked Priscilla, -feeding the Sarah-cat bits from her lunchbasket. - -Phil nodded. - -"How did they take it?" - -"Oh, mother rampaged. But I stood rockfirm -- even I, Philippa Gordon, -who never before could hold fast to anything. Father was calmer. -Father's own daddy was a minister, so you see he has a soft spot -in his heart for the cloth. I had Jo up to Mount Holly, after mother -grew calm, and they both loved him. But mother gave him some frightful -hints in every conversation regarding what she had hoped for me. Oh, -my vacation pathway hasn't been exactly strewn with roses, girls dear. -But -- I've won out 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 of gold in ME." - -"It's well we know how to take your speeches," said Aunt Jamesina -patiently. "I hope you don't talk like that before strangers. -What would they think?" - -"Oh, I don't want to know what they think. I don't want to -see myself as others see me. I'm sure it would be horribly -uncomfortable most of the time. 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, if we were only honest enough to look into our hearts," -owned Aunt Jamesina candidly. "I've a notion that such prayers -don't rise very far. _I_ used to pray that I might be enabled to -forgive a certain person, but I know now I really didn't want to -forgive her. When I finally got that I DID want 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 you get 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 in one of your letters," demanded Phil. - -Anne acted out Samuel's proposal with great spirit. The girls -shrieked with 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, "en treated Phil. "You must -have had any number of them." - -"They're not in the past tense," retorted Aunt Jamesina. -"I've got them yet. There are three old widowers at home -who have been casting sheep's eyes at me for some time. -You children needn't think you own all the romance 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 my beaux 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 seemed to 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 wife fell out of -the sleigh one night when they were driving home from church and -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. -He could give you an answer to any question, even if you asked him -when the Judgment Day was to be. Milton Edwards was real nice and -I liked him but I didn't marry him. For one thing, he took a week -to get a joke through his head, and for another he never asked me. -Horatio Reeve was the most interesting beau I ever had. But when he -told a story he dressed it up so that you couldn't see it for frills. -I never could decide whether he was 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 by -mistake for a needle. "The others were too nice to make fun of. -I shall respect their memory. There's a box of flowers in -your room, Anne. They came about an hour ago." - -After the first week the girls of Patty's Place settled down to a -steady grind of study; for this was their last year at Redmond -and graduation honors 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, sometimes nothing seemed worth -the struggle for it. In one such mood Stella wandered up to the -blue room one rainy November evening. Anne sat on the floor in a -little circle of light cast by the lamp beside her, amid a -surrounding snow of crumpled manuscript. - -"What in the world are you doing?" - -"Just looking over some old Story Club yarns. I wanted something -to cheer AND inebriate. I'd studied until the world seemed azure. -So I came up here and dug these out of my trunk. They are so drenched -in tears and tragedy that they are excruciatingly funny." - -"I'm blue and discouraged myself," said Stella, throwing herself -on the couch. "Nothing seems worthwhile. My very thoughts are -old. I've thought them all before. What is the use of living -after all, Anne?" - -"Honey, it's just brain fag that makes us feel that way, and the weather. -A pouring rainy night like this, coming after a hard day's grind, would -squelch any one but a Mark Tapley. You know it IS worthwhile 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 -worked in the world," said Anne dreamily. "Isn't it worthwhile -to come after them and inherit what they won and taught? Isn't -it worthwhile to think we can share their inspiration? And then, -all the great souls that will come in the future? Isn't it -worthwhile to work a little and prepare the way for them -- -make just one step in their path easier?" - -"Oh, my mind agrees with you, Anne. But my soul remains doleful -and uninspired. I'm always grubby and dingy on rainy nights." - -"Some nights I like the rain -- I like to lie in bed and hear it -pattering on 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. The roof leaked and the rain came pattering down on -my bed. There was no poetry in THAT. I had to get up in the -`mirk midnight' and chivy round to 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 that drip-drop, drip-drop -kept up all night until my nerves just went to pieces. You've no -idea what an eerie noise a great drop of rain falling with a -mushy thud on a bare floor makes in the night. It sounds like -ghostly footsteps and all that sort of thing. What are you -laughing over, Anne?" - -"These stories. As Phil would say they are killing -- in more senses -than one, for everybody died in them. What dazzlingly lovely heroines -we 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 sleeping in a beautiful white satin -nightdress trimmed with seed pearls." - -"Go on," said Stella. "I begin to feel that life is worth living -as long as 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 to the grave.' They must either be murdered or die -of a broken heart. There was no escape for them." - -"Let me read some of your stories." - -"Well, here's my masterpiece. Note its cheerful title -- `My Graves.' -I shed quarts of tears while writing it, and the other girls shed gallons -while I read it. Jane Andrews' mother scolded her frightfully because -she had so many handkerchiefs in the wash that week. It's a harrowing -tale of the wanderings of a Methodist minister's wife. I made her a -Methodist because it was necessary that she should wander. She buried -a child every place she lived in. There were nine of them and their -graves were severed far apart, ranging from Newfoundland to Vancouver. -I described the children, pictured their several death beds, and -detailed their tombstones and epitaphs. I had intended to bury the -whole nine but when I had disposed of eight my invention of horrors -gave out and I permitted the ninth to live as a hopeless cripple." - -While Stella read My Graves, punctuating its tragic paragraphs -with chuckles, and Rusty slept the sleep of a just cat who has -been out all night curled up on a Jane Andrews tale of a beautiful -maiden of fifteen who went to nurse in a leper colony -- of course -dying of the loathsome disease finally -- Anne glanced over the other -manuscripts and recalled the 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, had written them. What fun they had had! -How the sunshine and mirth of those olden summers returned as she read. -Not all the glory that was Greece or the grandeur that was Rome could -weave such wizardry as those funny, tearful tales of the Story Club. -Among the manuscripts Anne found one written on sheets of wrapping paper. -A wave of laughter filled her gray eyes as she recalled the time and -place of its genesis. It was the sketch she had written the day she -fell through the roof of the Cobb duckhouse on the Tory Road. - -Anne glanced over it, then fell to reading it intently. It was a -little dialogue between asters and sweet-peas, wild canaries in the -lilac bush, and the guardian spirit of the garden. After she had -read it, she sat, staring into space; and when Stella had gone she -smoothed out the crumpled 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 for me from Jo. There's nothing for you, Anne, -except a circular." - -Nobody noticed Anne's flush as she took the thin letter Phil tossed -her carelessly. But a few minutes later Phil looked up to see a -transfigured Anne. - -"Honey, what good thing has happened?" - -"The Youth's Friend has accepted a little sketch I sent them a -fortnight ago," said Anne, trying hard to speak as if she were -accustomed to having 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 -that he would like to see more of my work. Dear man, he shall. -It was an old sketch I found in my box. I re-wrote it and sent -it in -- but I never really 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 up town 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 the check I got for that horrible Reliable Baking Powder story. -I spent IT usefully 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 -kittle cattle. You never know when or how they will break out. -Anne may make copy of us." - -"I meant that the ability to write for the Press was a great -responsibility," said Aunt Jamesina severely. "and I hope Anne -realizes, it. My daughter used to write stories before she went -to the foreign field, but now she has turned her attention to -higher things. She used to say her motto was `Never write a line -you would be ashamed to read at your own funeral.' You'd better -take that for yours, Anne, if you are going to embark in literature. -Though, to be sure," added Aunt Jamesina perplexedly, "Elizabeth -always used to laugh when she said it. She always laughed so much -that I don't know how she ever came to decide on being a missionary. -I'm thankful she did -- I prayed that she might -- 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 -budded in her brain; their exhilaration accompanied her to Jennie -Cooper's walking party, and not even the sight of Gilbert and -Christine, walking just ahead of her and Roy, could quite subdue -the sparkle of her starry hopes. Nevertheless, she was not so -rapt from things of earth as to be unable to notice that -Christine's walk was decidedly ungraceful. - -"But I suppose Gilbert looks only at her face. So like a man," -thought Anne 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 -it was hardly a pleasant one. She had never met any of Roy's family; -she realized the significance of his statement; and it had, somehow, -an irrevocableness about it that chilled her. - -"I shall be glad to see them," she said flatly; and then wondered -if she really would be glad. She ought to be, of course. But -would it not be something of an ordeal? Gossip had filtered to -Anne regarding the light in which the Gardners viewed the -"infatuation" of son and brother. Roy must have brought pressure -to bear in the matter of this call. Anne knew she would be -weighed in the balance. From the fact that they had consented to -call she understood that, willingly or unwillingly, they regarded -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 -better wear Saturday afternoon, and if the new style of high -hair-dressing would suit her better than the old; and the walking -party was rather spoiled for her. By night she had decided that she -would wear her brown chiffon on Saturday, but would do her hair low. - -Friday afternoon none of the girls had classes at Redmond. -Stella took the opportunity to write a paper for the Philomathic -Society, and was sitting at the table in the corner of the -living-room with an untidy litter of notes and manuscript on the -floor around her. Stella always vowed she never could write -anything unless she threw each sheet down as she completed it. -Anne, in her flannel blouse and serge skirt, with her hair rather -blown from her windy walk home, was sitting squarely in the -middle of the floor, teasing the Sarah-cat with a wishbone. -Joseph and Rusty were both curled up in her lap. A warm plummy -odor filled the whole house, for Priscilla was cooking in the -kitchen. Presently she came in, enshrouded in a huge work-apron, -with a smudge of flour on her nose, to show Aunt Jamesina the -chocolate cake she had just iced. - -At this auspicious moment the knocker sounded. Nobody paid any -attention to it save Phil, who sprang up and opened it, expecting -a boy with the hat she had bought that morning. On the doorstep -stood Mrs. Gardner and her daughters. - -Anne scrambled to her feet somehow, emptying two indignant cats -out of her lap as she did so, and mechanically shifting her -wishbone from her right hand to her left. Priscilla, who would -have had to cross the room to reach the kitchen door, lost her -head, wildly plunged the chocolate cake under a cushion on the -inglenook sofa, and dashed upstairs. Stella began feverishly -gathering up her manuscript. Only Aunt Jamesina and Phil -remained normal. Thanks to them, everybody was soon sitting at -ease, even Anne. Priscilla came down, apronless and smudgeless, -Stella reduced her corner to decency, and Phil saved the -situation by a stream of ready small talk. - -Mrs. Gardner was tall and thin and handsome, exquisitely -gowned, cordial with a cordiality that seemed a trifle forced. -Aline Gardner was a younger edition of her mother, lacking the -cordiality. She endeavored to be nice, but succeeded only in -being haughty and patronizing. Dorothy Gardner was slim and -jolly and rather tomboyish. Anne knew she was Roy's favorite -sister and warmed to her. She would have looked very much like -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 for a slight sense of strain in the atmosphere -and two rather untoward incidents. 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 their wild career. -Mrs. Gardner lifted her lorgnette and gazed after their flying -forms as if she had never seen cats before, and Anne, choking -back slightly nervous laughter, apologized as best she could. - -"You are fond of cats?" said Mrs. Gardner, with a slight -intonation of tolerant wonder. - -Anne, despite her affection for Rusty, was not especially fond of -cats, but Mrs. Gardner's tone annoyed her. Inconsequently she -remembered that Mrs. John Blythe was so fond of cats that she -kept as many as her husband 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 are TOO good and unselfish. They make me feel uncomfortable. -But cats are gloriously human." - -"You have two delightful old china dogs there. May I look at -them closely?" said Aline, crossing the room towards the fireplace -and thereby becoming the unconscious cause of the other accident. -Picking up Magog, she sat down on the cushion under which was -secreted Priscilla's chocolate cake. Priscilla and Anne exchanged -agonized glances but could do nothing. The stately Aline continued to -sit on the cushion and discuss china dogs until the time of departure. - -Dorothy lingered behind a moment to squeeze Anne's hand and -whisper impulsively. - -"I KNOW you and I are going to be chums. Oh, Roy has told me all -about you. I'm the only one of the family he tells things to, -poor boy -- nobody COULD confide in mamma and Aline, you know. -What glorious times you girls must have here! Won't you let me -come often and have a share in them?" - -"Come as often as you like," Anne responded heartily, thankful -that one of Roy's sisters was likable. She would never like -Aline, so much was certain; and Aline would never like her, -though Mrs. Gardner might be won. 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 what you might call a flat failure. And the cushion is -likewise ruined. Never tell me that Friday isn't unlucky." - -"People who send word they are coming on Saturday shouldn't come -on Friday," said Aunt Jamesina. - -"I fancy it was Roy's mistake," said Phil. "That boy isn't really -responsible for what he says when he talks to Anne. Where IS Anne?" - -Anne had gone upstairs. She felt oddly like crying. But she -made herself laugh instead. Rusty and Joseph had been TOO awful! -And Dorothy WAS a dear. - - - - -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'm not -- and when I think of that horrible paper tomorrow I quail. -If I should 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 enough to make Homer turn over in his grave. I've studied -and mulled over notebooks until I'm incapable of forming an -opinion of anything. How thankful 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 -no examination breakers loom. Girls, do you -- can you realize -that our Redmond Life is almost over?" - -"I can't," said Anne, sorrowfully. "It seems just yesterday -that Pris and I were alone in that crowd of Freshmen at Redmond. -And now we are Seniors in our final examinations." - -"`Potent, wise, and reverend Seniors,'" quoted Phil. "Do you -suppose we really 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 -and large, these three winters you've mothered us?" pleaded Phil. - -"You've been four of the dearest, sweetest, goodest girls that -ever went together through college," averred Aunt Jamesina, who -never spoiled a compliment by misplaced economy. - -"But I mistrust you haven't any too much sense yet. It's not to -be expected, of course. Experience teaches sense. You can't -learn it in a college course. You've been to college four years -and I never was, but I know 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 -geometry and 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 -last Philomathic," said Phil. "He said, `Humor is the spiciest -condiment in the feast of existence. Laugh at your mistakes -but learn from them, joke over your troubles but gather strength -from them, make a jest of your difficulties but overcome them.' -Isn't that worth learning, Aunt Jimsie?" - -"Yes, it is, dearie. When you've learned to laugh at the things -that should be laughed at, and not to laugh at those that shouldn't, -you've got wisdom and understanding." - -"What have you got out of your Redmond course, Anne?" murmured -Priscilla aside. - -"I think," said Anne slowly, "that I really have learned to look -upon each little hindrance as a jest and each great one as the -foreshadowing of victory. Summing up, I think that is what -Redmond has given me." - -"I shall have to fall back on another Professor Woodleigh -quotation to express what it has done for me," said Priscilla. -"You remember that he said in his address, `There is so much -in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, and -the heart to love it, and the hand to gather it to ourselves -- -so much in men and women, so much in art and literature, so much -everywhere in which to delight, and for which to be thankful.' -I think Redmond has taught me that in some measure, Anne." - -"Judging from what you all, say" remarked Aunt Jamesina, -"the sum and substance is that you can learn -- if you've got -natural gumption enough -- in four years at college what it -would take about twenty years of living to teach you. Well, -that justifies higher education in my opinion. 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 -Aunt Jamesina, "neither in college nor life. If they live to -be a hundred they really don't know anything more than when they -were born. It's their misfortune not their fault, poor souls. -But those of us who have some 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 of defining it." - -The busy days flew by and examinations were over. Anne took -High Honors in 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," -said Anne, as she took Roy's violets out of their box and gazed -at them thoughtfully. She meant to carry them, of course, but -her eyes wandered to another box on her table. It was filled -with lilies-of-the-valley, as fresh and fragrant as those which -bloomed in the Green Gables yard when June 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 to -Patty's Place only one Friday evening since the Christmas holidays, -and they rarely met elsewhere. She knew he was studying very hard, -aiming at High Honors and the Cooper Prize, and he took little part -in the social doings of Redmond. Anne's own winter had been quite -gay socially. She had seen a good deal of the Gardners; she and -Dorothy were very intimate; college circles expected the announcement -of her engagement to Roy any day. Anne expected it herself. Yet -just before she left Patty's Place for Convocation she flung Roy's -violets aside and put Gilbert's lilies-of-the-valley in their place. -She could not have told why she did it. Somehow, old Avonlea days -and dreams and friendships seemed very close to her in this attainment -of her long-cherished ambitions. She and Gilbert had once picturedout -merrily the day on which they should be capped and gowned graduates in -Arts. The wonderful day had come and Roy's violets had no place in it. -Only her old friend's flowers seemed to belong to this fruition of -old-blossoming hopes which he had once shared. - -For years this day had beckoned and allured to her; but when it -came the one single, keen, abiding memory it left with her was -not that of the breathless moment when the stately president of -Redmond gave her cap and diploma and hailed her B.A.; it was not -of the flash in Gilbert's eyes when he saw her lilies, nor the -puzzled pained glance Roy gave her as he passed her on the platform. -It was not of Aline Gardner's condescending congratulations, or -Dorothy's ardent, impulsive good wishes. It was of one strange, -unaccountable pang that spoiled this long-expected day for her -and left in it a certain faint but enduring flavor of bitterness. - -The Arts graduates gave a graduation dance that night. When Anne -dressed for it she tossed aside the pearl beads she usually wore -and took from her 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 a pendant. On the accompanying card was written, -"With all good wishes from your old chum, Gilbert." Anne, laughing -over the memory the enamel heart conjured up the fatal day when -Gilbert had called her "Carrots" and vainly tried to make his peace -with a pink candy heart, had written him 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; -Phil chattered of many things. Suddenly she said, - -"I heard today that Gilbert Blythe's engagement to Christine -Stuart was to be announced as soon as Convocation was over. -Did you hear anything of it?" - -"No," said Anne. - -"I think it's true," said Phil lightly. - -Anne did not speak. In the darkness she felt her face burning. -She slipped her hand inside her collar and caught at the gold -chain. One energetic twist and it gave way. Anne thrust the -broken trinket into her pocket. Her hands were trembling and -her eyes were smarting. - -But she was the gayest of all the gay revellers that night, and -told Gilbert unregretfully that her card was full when he came to -ask her for a dance. Afterwards, when she sat with the girls -before the dying embers at 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," -said Aunt Jamesina, who had sat up to keep the fire on. "He didn't -know about the graduation dance. That boy ought to sleep with a -rubber band around his head to train his ears not to stick out. -I had a beau once who did that and it improved him immensely. -It was I who suggested it to him and he took my advice, but he -never forgave me for it." - -"Moody Spurgeon is a very serious young man," yawned Priscilla. -"He is concerned with graver matters than his ears. He is going -to be a minister, you know." - -"Well, I suppose the Lord doesn't regard the ears of a man," -said Aunt Jamesina gravely, dropping all further criticism of -Moody Spurgeon. Aunt Jamesina had a proper respect for the -cloth even in the case of an unfledged 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. Rachel Lynde's -quilts. "But just imagine -- this night week I'll be gone forever from -Patty's Place -- horrible thought!" - -"I wonder if the ghost of all our laughter will echo through the maiden -dreams of Miss Patty and Miss Maria," speculated Phil. - -Miss Patty and Miss Maria were coming home, after having trotted over -most of the habitable globe. - -"We'll be back the second week in May" wrote Miss Patty. "I expect -Patty's Place will seem rather small after the Hall of the Kings at -Karnak, but I never did like big places to live in. And I'll be glad -enough to be home again. When you start traveling late in life you're -apt 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 be -contented again." - -"I shall leave here my fancies and dreams to bless the next comer," -said Anne, looking around the blue room wistfully -- her pretty blue -room where she had spent three such happy years. She had knelt at -its window to pray and had bent from it to watch the sunset behind -the pines. She had heard the autumn raindrops beating against it -and had welcomed the spring robins at its sill. She wondered if -old dreams could haunt rooms -- if, when one left forever the room -where she had joyed and suffered and laughed and wept, something -of her, intangible and invisible, yet nonetheless real, did not -remain behind like a voiceful memory. - -"I think," said Phil, "that a room where one dreams and grieves -and rejoices and lives becomes inseparably connected with those -processes and acquires a personality of its own. I am sure if I -came into this room fifty years from now it would say 'Anne, Anne' -to me. What nice times we've had here, honey! What chats and -jokes and good chummy jamborees! Oh, dear me! I'm to marry Jo -in June and I know I will be rapturously happy. But just now -I feel as if I wanted this lovely Redmond life to go on forever." - -"I'm unreasonable enough just now to wish that, too," admitted Anne. -"No matter what deeper joys may come to us later on we'll never again -have just the same delightful, irresponsible existence we've had here. -It's over forever, Phil." - -"What are you going to do with Rusty?" asked Phil, as that -privileged pussy 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 -to separate those cats now that they have learned to live together. -It's a hard lesson for cats and humans to learn." - -"I'm sorry to part with Rusty," said Anne regretfully, "but it -would be no use to take him to Green Gables. Marilla detests -cats, and Davy would tease 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 -settled until Roy had spoken. He would soon -- there was no doubt -of that. And there was no doubt that Anne would say "yes" when he -said "Will you please?" Anne herself regarded the state of affairs -with a seldom-ruffled complacency. She was deeply in love with Roy. -True, it was 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 old diamond disillusion of childhood repeated -- -the same disappointment she had felt when she had first seen the -chill sparkle instead of the purple splendor she had anticipated. -"That's not my idea of a diamond," she had said. 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 came down that -evening and asked Anne to walk in the park every one at Patty's -Place knew what he had come to say; and every one knew, or thought -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 -nice fellow and all that. But there's really nothing in him." - -"That sounds very like a jealous remark, Stella Maynard," said -Aunt Jamesina rebukingly. - -"It does -- but I am not jealous," said Stella calmly. "I love -Anne and I like 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 in heaven, 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 -shore where they had talked on the rainy day of their first meeting. -Anne thought it very romantic that he should have chosen that spot. -And his proposal was as beautifully worded as if he had copied it, -as one of Ruby Gillis' lovers had done, out of a Deportment of -Courtship and Marriage. 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 note to jar the symphony. -Anne felt that she ought to be thrilling from head to foot. -But she wasn't; she was horribly cool. When Roy paused -for his answer she opened her lips to say her fateful yes. -And then -- she found herself trembling as if she were reeling -back from a precipice. To her came one of those moments when we -realize, as by a blinding flash of illumination, more than all -our previous years have taught us. She pulled 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 to him -- felt very sure. - -"What do you mean?" he stammered. - -"I mean that I can't marry you," repeated Anne desperately. -"I thought I could -- 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? -She COULDN'T explain. There are some things that cannot be explained. -"I did think 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 he came 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 believe you are not the woman I've believed you to be. -But reproaches are idle between us. You are the only woman -I can ever love. I thank you for your friendship, at least. -Good-bye, Anne." - -"Good-bye," faltered Anne. When Roy had gone she sat for a long -time in the pavilion, watching a white mist creeping subtly and -remorselessly landward up the harbor. It was her hour of humiliation -and self-contempt and shame. Their waves went over her. And yet, -underneath it all, was a queer sense of recovered freedom. - -She slipped into Patty's Place in the dusk and escaped to her room. -But Phil was there on the window seat. - -"Wait," said Anne, flushing to anticipate the scene. "Wait til -you hear what 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't understand." - -"I certainly don't understand. You've encouraged Roy Gardner in -every way for two years -- and now you tell me you've refused him. -Then you've just been flirting scandalously with him. Anne, I -couldn't have believed it of YOU." - -"I WASN'T flirting with him -- I honestly thought I cared up to the -last minute -- and then -- well, I just knew I NEVER could marry him." - -"I suppose," said Phil cruelly, "that you intended to marry him -for his money, 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 to you any more than I could to him." - -"Well, I certainly think you have treated Roy shamefully," said Phil -in exasperation. "He's handsome and clever and rich and good. -What more do you want?" - -"I want some one who BELONGS in my life. He doesn't. I was -swept off my feet at first by his good looks and knack of paying -romantic compliments; and later on I thought I MUST be in love -because he was my dark-eyed ideal." - -"I am bad enough for not knowing my own mind, but you are worse," -said Phil. - -"_I_ DO know my own mind," protested Anne. "The trouble is, my mind -changes 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 -everything backwards. I can never think of Redmond days without -recalling the humiliation of this evening. Roy despises me -- -and you despise me -- and I despise myself." - -"You poor darling," said Phil, melting. "Just come here and let -me comfort you. I've no right to scold you. I'd have married -Alec or Alonzo if I hadn't met Jo. Oh, Anne, things are so -mixed-up in real life. They aren'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 -I live," 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 -the first few weeks after her return to Green Gables. She missed -the merry comradeship of Patty's Place. She had dreamed some -brilliant dreams during the past winter and now they lay in the -dust around her. In her present mood of self-disgust, she could -not immediately begin dreaming again. 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 -park pavilion; 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 a sister. 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. He looks as if he ought to be, but he isn't." - -"This won't spoil OUR friendship, will it, Dorothy?" Anne had -asked wistfully. - -"No, indeed. You're too good to lose. If I can't have you for a -sister I mean to keep you as a chum anyway. And don't fret over -Roy. He is feeling terribly just now -- I have to listen to his -outpourings every day -- but he'll get over it. He always does." - -"Oh -- ALWAYS?" said Anne with a slight change of voice. -"So he has `got over it' before?" - -"Dear me, yes," said Dorothy frankly. "Twice before. And he -raved to me just the same both times. Not that the others -actually refused him -- they simply announced their engagements -to some one else. Of course, when he met you he vowed to me that -he had never really loved before -- that the previous affairs had -been merely boyish fancies. But I don't think you need worry." - -Anne decided not to worry. Her feelings were a mixture of relief -and resentment. Roy had certainly told her she was the only one -he had ever loved. No doubt he believed it. But it was a comfort -to feel that she had 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 Anne began to think -drearily that it seemed rather bare. - -She came down from the porch gable on the evening of her return -with a sorrowful 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 the -big 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 same room without it. I'll never look from its window again -without a sense of loss. And oh, I never came home to Green Gables -before that Diana wasn't here to welcome me." - -"Diana has something else to think of just now," said Mrs. Lynde -significantly. - -"Well, tell me all the Avonlea news," said Anne, sitting down on -the porch steps, where the evening sunshine fell over her hair -in a fine golden rain. - -"There isn't much news except what we've wrote you," said Mrs. Lynde. -"I suppose 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 done -that 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-meeting and 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, -"Jane Andrews is home from the West -- came last week -- and she's -going to be married to a Winnipeg millionaire. You may be sure -Mrs. Harmon lost no time in telling it far and wide." - -"Dear old Jane -- I'm so glad," said Anne heartily. "She deserves -the good things of life." - -"Oh, I ain't saying anything against Jane. She's a nice enough girl. -But she isn't in the millionaire class, and you'll find there's not -much to recommend that man but his money, that's what. Mrs. Harmon -says he's an Englishman who has made money in mines but _I_ believe -he'll turn out to be a Yankee. He certainly must have money, for -he has just showered Jane with jewelry. Her engagement ring is a -diamond cluster so big that it looks like a plaster on Jane's fat paw." - -Mrs. Lynde could not keep some bitterness out of her tone. -Here was Jane Andrews, that plain little plodder, engaged -to a millionaire, while Anne, 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. -"I saw him when he came home last week, and he is so pale and thin -I hardly knew him." - -"He studied very hard last winter," said Anne. "You know he -took High Honors in Classics and the Cooper Prize. It hasn't -been taken for five years! 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," -said Mrs. Lynde, with gloomy satisfaction. - -A few evenings later Anne went down to see Jane, but the latter -was away in Charlottetown -- "getting sewing done," Mrs. Harmon -informed Anne proudly. "Of course an Avonlea dressmaker wouldn't -do for Jane under the circumstances." - -"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 back they'll live in a perfect mansion of marble -in Winnipeg. Jane has only one trouble -- she can cook so well -and her husband won't let her cook. He is so rich he hires -his cooking done. They're going to keep a cook and two other -maids and a coachman and a man-of-all-work. But what about YOU, -Anne? I don't hear anything of your being married, after all -your college-going." - -"Oh," laughed Anne, "I am going to be an old maid. I really -can't find any one to suit me." It was rather wicked of her. -She deliberately meant to remind Mrs. Andrews that if she became -an old maid it was not because she had not had at least one -chance of marriage. But Mrs. Harmon took swift revenge. - -"Well, the over-particular girls generally get left, I notice. -And what'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," -replied Anne, with Spartan composure, "but it is certainly true -that she is very lovely." - -"I once thought you and Gilbert would have made a match of it," -said Mrs. Harmon. "If you don't take care, Anne, all of your -beaux will slip through your fingers." - -Anne decided not to continue her duel with Mrs. Harmon. -You could not fence 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 can stay longer this morning. I'll come down when she comes home." - -"Do," said Mrs. Harmon effusively. "Jane isn't a bit proud. -She just means to associate with her old friends the same as ever. -She'll be real glad to see you." - -Jane's millionaire arrived the last of May and carried her off in -a blaze of splendor. Mrs. Lynde was spitefully gratified to -find that Mr. 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 may be sure. - -"It will take all his gold to gild a pill like him, that's what," -said Mrs. Rachel solemnly. - -"He looks kind and good-hearted," said Anne loyally, "and I'm -sure he thinks the world of Jane." - -"Humph!" said Mrs. Rachel. - -Phil Gordon was married the next week and Anne went over to -Bolingbroke to 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," -said Phil, "and then we'll settle down on Patterson Street. -Mother thinks it is terrible -- she thinks Jo might at least -take a church in a decent place. But the wilderness of the -Patterson slums will blossom like the rose for me if Jo is there. -Oh, Anne, I'm so happy my heart aches with it." - -Anne was always glad in the happiness of her friends; but it -is sometimes a little lonely to be surrounded everywhere by a -happiness that is not your own. And it was just the same when -she went back to Avonlea. This time it was Diana who was bathed -in the wonderful glory that comes to a woman when her first-born -is laid beside her. Anne looked at the white young mother with a -certain awe that had never entered into her feelings for Diana -before. Could this pale woman with the rapture in her eyes be -the little black-curled, rosy-cheeked Diana she had played with -in vanished schooldays? It gave her a queer desolate feeling -that she herself somehow belonged only in those past years and -had 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 as red. Anne really could not say conscientiously that she -thought him beautiful, but she vowed sincerely that he was sweet -and kissable and altogether delightful. - -"Before he came I wanted a girl, so that I could call her ANNE," -said Diana. "But now that little Fred is here I wouldn't exchange -him for a million girls. He just COULDN'T have been anything but -his own precious self." - -"`Every little baby is the sweetest and the best,' " quoted -Mrs. Allan gaily. "If little Anne HAD come you'd have felt -just the same about her." - -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 friends had welcomed her back rapturously. -The reigning minister's wife was an estimable lady, but she -was not exactly a kindred spirit. - -"I can hardly wait till he gets old enough to talk," sighed Diana. -"I just long to hear him say `mother.' And oh, I'm determined that -his first memory of me shall be a nice one. The first memory I -have of my mother is of her slapping me for something I had done. -I am sure I deserved 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 -all my memories," said Mrs. Allan. "I was five years old, and I -had been allowed to go to school one day with my two older sisters. -When school came out my sisters went home in different groups, each -supposing I was with the other. Instead I had run off with a little -girl I had played with at recess. We went to her home, which was -near the school, and began making mud pies. We were having a -glorious time when my older sister arrived, breathless and angry. - -"`You naughty girl" she cried, snatching my reluctant hand and -dragging me 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. I had not meant to be naughty. Phemy Cameron -had asked me to go home with her and I had not known it was wrong -to go. And now I was to be whipped for it. When we got home my -sister dragged me into the kitchen where mother was sitting by -the fire in the twilight. My poor wee legs were trembling so -that I could hardly stand. And mother -- mother just took me up -in her arms, without one word of rebuke or harshness, kissed me -and 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 as she looked down on me. She never scolded or -reproached me for what I had done -- 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 -the Birch Path and Willowmere. She had not walked that way for -many moons. It was a darkly-purple bloomy night. The air was -heavy with blossom fragrance -- almost too heavy. The cloyed -senses recoiled from it as from an overfull cup. The birches of -the path had grown from the fairy saplings of old to big trees. -Everything had changed. Anne felt that she would 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 the idea 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 spent -a happy three weeks there in July. Miss Lavendar had not changed; -Charlotta the Fourth was a very grown-up young lady now, but still -adored Anne sincerely. - -"When all's said and done, Miss Shirley, ma'am, I haven't seen -any one in Boston that's equal to you," she said frankly. - -Paul was almost grown up, too. He was sixteen, his chestnut -curls had given place to close-cropped brown locks, and he was -more interested in football than fairies. But the bond between -him and his old teacher still held. Kindred spirits alone do not -change with changing years. - -It was a wet, bleak, cruel evening in July when Anne came back to -Green Gables. One of the fierce summer storms which sometimes -sweep over the gulf was ravaging the sea. As Anne came in the -first raindrops dashed against the panes. - -"Was that Paul who brought you home?" asked Marilla. "Why didn't -you make 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 as tall as Milty Boulter now. Ain't I glad. He'll have to -stop crowing about being bigger. Say, Anne, did you know that -Gilbert Blythe is dying?" Anne stood quite silent and motionless, -looking at Davy. Her face had gone so white that Marilla thought -she was going to faint. - -"Davy, hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel angrily. "Anne, -don't look like that -- DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT! We didn't mean -to tell you so suddenly." - -"Is -- it -- true?" asked Anne in a voice that was not hers. - -"Gilbert is very ill," said Mrs. Lynde gravely. "He took down -with typhoid fever just after you left for Echo Lodge. Did you -never hear of it?" - -"No," said that unknown voice. - -"It was a very bad case from the start. The doctor said he'd -been terribly 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 of him," -reiterated Davy. - -Marilla, looking old and worn and tired, got up and marched Davy grimly -out of the kitchen. - -"Oh, DON'T look so, dear," said Mrs. Rachel, putting her kind old arms -about the pallid girl. "I haven't given up hope, indeed I haven't. -He's got the Blythe constitution in his favor, that's what." - -Anne gently put Mrs. Lynde's arms away from her, walked blindly -across the kitchen, through the hall, up the stairs to her old room. -At its window she knelt down, staring out unseeingly. It was very dark. -The rain was beating down over the shivering fields. The Haunted Woods -was full of the groans of mighty trees wrung in the tempest, and the -air throbbed with the thunderous crash of billows on the distant shore. -And Gilbert was dying! - -There is a book of Revelation in every one's life, as there is in the Bible. -Anne read hers that bitter night, as she kept her agonized vigil through -the hours of storm and darkness. She loved Gilbert -- had always loved him! -She knew that now. She knew that she could no more cast him out of her life -without agony than she could have cut off her right hand and cast it from her. -And the knowledge had come too late -- too late even for the bitter solace -of being with him at the last. If she had not been so blind -- so foolish --- she would have had the right to go to him now. But he would never know -that she loved him -- he would go away from this life thinking that she -did not care. Oh, the black years of emptiness stretching before her! -She could not live through them -- she could not! She cowered down by -her window and wished, for the first time in her gay 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 of any value without him. -She belonged to him and he to her. In her hour of supreme agony she had -no doubt of that. He did not love Christine Stuart -- never had loved -Christine Stuart. Oh, what a fool she had been not to realize what the -bond was that had held her to Gilbert -- to think that the flattered -fancy she had felt for Roy Gardner had been love. And now she must pay -for her folly as for a crime. - -Mrs. Lynde and Marilla crept to her door before they went to bed, -shook their heads doubtfully at each other over the silence, -and went away. The storm raged all night, but when the dawn came -it was spent. Anne saw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of -darkness. Soon the eastern hilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim. -The clouds rolled themselves away into great, soft, white masses -on the horizon; the sky gleamed blue and silvery. A hush fell -over the world. - -Anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs. The freshness of -the rain-wind blew against her white face as she went out into -the yard, and cooled her dry, burning eyes. A merry rollicking -whistle was lilting up the lane. A moment later Pacifique Buote -came in sight. - -Anne's physical strength suddenly failed her. If she had not -clutched at a low willow bough she would have fallen. Pacifique -was George Fletcher's hired man, and George Fletcher lived -next door to the Blythes. Mrs. Fletcher was Gilbert's aunt. -Pacifique would know if -- if -- Pacifique would know what there -was to be known. - -Pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling. He -did not see Anne. She made three futile attempts to call him. -He was almost past before 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's this 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 vair early dis mornin'. I'm goin' troo de woods for short cut." - -"Did you hear how Gilbert Blythe was this morning?" Anne's -desperation drove her to the question. Even the worst would be -more endurable than this hideous suspense. - -"He's better," said Pacifique. "He got de turn las' night. -De doctor say he'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'll be in hurry to see me." - -Pacifique resumed his walk and his whistle. Anne gazed after him -with eyes where joy was driving out the strained anguish of the night. -He was a very lank, very ragged, very homely youth. But in her sight -he was as beautiful as those who bring good tidings on the mountains. -Never, as long as she lived, would Anne see Pacifique's brown, round, -black-eyed face without a warm remembrance of the moment when he had -given to her the oil of joy for mourning. - -Long after Pacifique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom of -music and then into silence far up under the maples of Lover's -Lane Anne stood under the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness -of life when some great dread has been removed from it. The -morning was a cup filled with mist and glamor. In the corner -near her was a rich surprise of new-blown, crystal-dewed roses. -The trills and trickles of song from the birds 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 her lips, - -"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 -through September woods and `over hills where spices grow,' this -afternoon," said Gilbert, coming suddenly around the porch corner. -"Suppose we visit Hester 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'm going to Alice Penhallow's wedding this evening, -you know. I've got to do something to this dress, and by -the time it's finished I'll have to get ready. I'm so sorry. -I'd love to go." - -"Well, can you go tomorrow afternoon, then?" asked Gilbert, -apparently not much disappointed. - -"Yes, I think so." - -"In that case I shall hie me home at once to do something I -should otherwise have to do tomorrow. So Alice Penhallow is -to be married tonight. 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 -Andrews connection 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's part. I think Mrs. Harmon's motive -for inviting me was to let me see Jane's surpassing gorgeousness." - -"Is it true that she wore so many diamonds that you couldn't tell -where the diamonds left off and Jane began?" - -Anne laughed. - -"She certainly wore a good many. What with all the diamonds and -white satin and tulle and lace and roses and orange blossoms, -prim little Jane 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, -looking down at the fluffs and frills. - -"Yes. Isn't it pretty? And I shall wear starflowers in my hair. -The Haunted 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, -and white stars shining against the coils of her ruddy hair. -The vision made him 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 was -friendly -- very friendly -- far too friendly. He had come quite -often to Green Gables after his recovery, and something of their -old comradeship had returned. But Anne no longer found it satisfying. -The rose of love made the blossom of friendship pale and scentless -by contrast. And Anne had again begun to doubt if Gilbert now felt -anything for her but friendship. In the common light of common -day her radiant certainty of that rapt morning had faded. She was -haunted by a miserable fear that her mistake could never be rectified. -It was quite likely that it was Christine whom Gilbert loved after all. -Perhaps he was even engaged to her. Anne tried to put all unsettling -hopes out of her heart, and reconcile herself to a future where work -and ambition must take the place of love. She could do good, if not -noble, work as a teacher; and the success her little sketches were -beginning to meet with in certain editorial 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 the -preceding night. She wore a green dress -- not the one she had -worn to the wedding, but an old one which Gilbert had told her -at a Redmond reception he liked especially. It was just the shade -of green that brought out the rich tints of her hair, and the starry -gray of her eyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin. Gilbert, -glancing at her sideways as they walked along a shadowy woodpath, -thought she had never looked so lovely. Anne, glancing sideways -at Gilbert, now and then, thought how much older he looked since -his illness. It was as if he had put boyhood behind him forever. - -The day was beautiful and the way was beautiful. Anne was almost -sorry when 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 the faraway day of the Golden Picnic, when Diana and -Jane and Priscilla and she had found it. Then it had been lovely -with narcissus and violets; now golden rod had kindled its fairy -torches in the corners and asters dotted it bluely. The call of -the brook came up through the woods from the valley of birches -with all its old allurement; the mellow air was full of the purr -of the sea; beyond were fields rimmed by fences bleached silvery -gray in the suns of many summers, and long hills scarfed with the -shadows of autumnal clouds; with the blowing of the west wind old -dreams returned. - -"I think," said Anne softly, "that `the land where dreams come true' -is in 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 -miserable evening 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 dreams fulfilled. We would be as good as dead if we had -nothing left to dream about. What a delicious aroma that -low-descending sun is extracting from the asters and ferns. -I wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them. 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 it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. -I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the -footsteps of friends -- and YOU!" - -Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was -breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her. - -"I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it -again today will you give me a different answer?" - -Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining -with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked -into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer. - -They lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in -Eden must have been, crept over it. There was so much to talk -over and recall -- things said and done and heard and thought and -felt and misunderstood. - -"I thought you loved Christine Stuart," Anne told him, as -reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to -suppose that she loved Roy Gardner. - -Gilbert laughed boyishly. - -"Christine was engaged to somebody in her home town. I knew it -and she knew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me -his sister was coming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, -and asked me if I would 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 of the nicest girls I've ever -known. I knew college gossip credited us with being in love with -each other. I didn't care. Nothing mattered much to me 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 in school." - -"I don't see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a -little fool," said Anne. - -"Well, I tried to stop," said Gilbert frankly, "not because I -thought you what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there -was no chance for me after Gardner came on the scene. But I -couldn't -- and I can't tell you, either, what it's meant to me -these two years to believe you were going to marry him, and be -told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on the -point of being announced. I believed it until one blessed day -when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter from Phil -Gordon -- Phil Blake, rather -- in which she told me there was -really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to `try again.' -Well, the doctor 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, I knew -- 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 all our lives for the gift it has given us." - -"It's the birthday of our happiness," said Anne softly. -"I've always loved this old garden of Hester Gray's, -and now it will be dearer than ever." - -"But I'll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne," -said Gilbert sadly. "It will be three years before -I'll finish my medical course. And even 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'm quite as shameless as Phil about it. Sunbursts and -marble halls may be all 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 be very sweet now." - -Gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her. Then they walked -home together in the dusk, crowned king and queen in the bridal -realm of love, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest -flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds -of hope and memory blew. - - - End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Anne of the Island. - - |