LM.Montgomery

AnneofGreenGables

TothememoryofmyFatherandMother

Thegoodstarsmetinyourhoroscope,

Madeyouofspiritandfireanddew.

—BROWNING

Contents

Epigraph

1. Mrs. Rachel Lynde IsSurprised

2. Matthew Cuthbert IsSurprised

3. Marilla Cuthbert IsSurprised

4.MorningatGreenGables5.Anne’sHistory6. Marilla Makes Up Her

Mind7.AnneSaysHerPrayers8. Anne’s Bringing-up Is

Begun

9. Mrs. Rachel Lynde IsProperlyHorrified

10.Anne’sApology11. Anne’s Impressions of

Sunday-School12. A Solemn Vow and

Promise13. The Delights of

Anticipation14.Anne’sConfession15.ATempest in theSchool

Teapot16. Diana Is Invited to Tea

withTragicResults17.ANewInterestinLife18.AnnetotheRescue19.AConcert,aCatastrophe,

andaConfession20. A Good Imagination

GoneWrong21. A New Departure in

Flavorings

22. Anne Is Invited Out toTea

23. Anne Comes to Grief inanAffairofHonor

24. Miss Stacy and HerPupilsGetUpaConcert

25.MatthewInsistsonPuffedSleeves

26.TheStoryClubIsFormed27. Vanity and Vexation of

Spirit

28.AnUnfortunateLilyMaid29.AnEpochinAnne’sLife30. The Queen’s Class Is

Organized31. Where the Brook and

RiverMeet32.ThePassListIsOut33.TheHotelConcert34.AQueen’sGirl35.TheWinteratQueen’s36.TheGloryandtheDream

37.TheReaperWhoseNameIsDeath

38.TheBendintheRoad

AbouttheAuthorCopyrightAboutthePublisher

1

Mrs.Rachel Lynde IsSurprised

MRS. RACHEL LYNDE livedjustwhere theAvonleamainroaddippeddownintoalittlehollow, fringed with alders

and ladies’ eardrops andtraversedbyabrookthathadits source away back in thewoods of the old Cuthbertplace;itwasreputedtobeanintricate, headlong brook inits earlier course throughthose woods, with darksecrets of pool and cascade;but by the time it reachedLynde’s Hollow it was aquiet, well-conducted littlestream, for not even a brookcould run past Mrs. Rachel

Lynde’s door without dueregard for decency anddecorum; it probably wasconscious that Mrs. Rachelwas sitting at her window,keeping a sharp eye oneverything that passed, frombrooks and children up, andthat if she noticed anythingoddoroutofplaceshewouldnever rest until she hadferreted out the whys andwhereforesthereof.

There are plenty of

people,inAvonleaandoutofit, who can attend closely totheir neighbor’s business bydint of neglecting their own;but Mrs. Rachel Lynde wasoneofthosecapablecreatureswho can manage their ownconcerns and those of otherfolks into the bargain. Shewasanotablehousewife;herwork was always done andwell done; she “ran” theSewingCircle,helpedruntheSunday-school, and was the

strongest prop of the ChurchAid Society and ForeignMissionsAuxiliary.Yetwithall this Mrs. Rachel foundabundanttimetositforhoursat her kitchen window,knitting “cotton warp” quilts—she had knitted sixteen ofthem, as Avonleahousekeepers were wont totell in awed voices—andkeeping a sharp eye on themain road that crossed thehollow and wound up the

steep red hill beyond. SinceAvonlea occupied a littletriangular peninsula juttingout into the Gulf of St.Lawrence,withwateron twosidesofit,anybodywhowentoutofitorintoithadtopassover thathill roadandsorunthe unseen gauntlet of Mrs.Rachel’sall-seeingeye.

Shewassittingthereoneafternoon in early June. Thesun was coming in at thewindowwarmandbright;the

orchard on the slope belowthe house was in a bridalflush of pinky-white bloom,hummedoverbyamyriadofbees. Thomas Lynde—ameek little man whomAvonlea people called“Rachel Lynde’s husband”—was sowing his late turnipseed on the hill field beyondthe barn; and MatthewCuthbert ought to have beensowing his on the big redbrook field away over by

Green Gables. Mrs. Rachelknew that he ought becauseshe had heard him tell PeterMorrison the evening beforein William J. Blair’s storeover at Carmody that hemeant to sowhis turnip seedthe next afternoon. Peter hadasked him, of course, forMatthew Cuthbert had neverbeen known to volunteerinformationaboutanythinginhiswholelife.

And yet here was

Matthew Cuthbert, at half-pastthreeontheafternoonofa busy day, placidly drivingover the hollow and up thehill; moreover, he wore awhite collar and his best suitof clothes, which was plainproofthathewasgoingoutofAvonlea; and he had thebuggy and the sorrel mare,which betokened that hewasgoingaconsiderabledistance.Now, where was MatthewCuthbert going andwhywas

hegoingthere?Had it been any other

maninAvonleaMrs.Rachel,deftly putting this and thattogether, might have given apretty good guess as to bothquestions. But Matthew sorarelywentfromhomethatitmust be something pressingandunusualwhichwastakinghim; he was the shyest manaliveandhated tohave togoamong strangers or to anyplacewherehemighthaveto

talk. Matthew, dressed upwith a white collar anddriving in a buggy, wassomething that didn’t happenoften.Mrs.Rachel,ponderasshe might, could makenothing of it and herafternoon’s enjoyment wasspoiled.

“I’ll just step over toGreen Gables after tea andfind out from Marilla wherehe’s gone and why,” theworthy woman finally

concluded. “He doesn’tgenerallygototownthistimeofyearandhenevervisits;ifhe’drunoutofturnipseedhewouldn’t dress up and takethebuggy togo formore;hewasn’tdrivingfastenoughtobe going for the doctor. Yetsomething must havehappened since last night tostart him off. I’m cleanpuzzled, that’s what, and Iwon’tknowaminute’speaceofmindorconscienceuntil I

know what has takenMatthew Cuthbert out ofAvonleatoday.”

Accordingly after teaMrs. Rachel set out; she hadnot far to go; the big,rambling, orchard-embowered house where theCuthberts lived was a scantquarterof amileup the roadfromLynde’sHollow.To besure, the long lanemade it agood deal further. MatthewCuthbert’s father, as shy and

silent as his son after him,had got as far away as hepossibly could from hisfellow men without actuallyretreating into the woodswhen he founded hishomestead.GreenGableswasbuilt at the furthest edge ofhis cleared land and there itwastothisday,barelyvisiblefrom the main road alongwhich all the other Avonleahouses were so sociablysituated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde

did not call living in such aplacelivingatall.

“It’s just staying, that’swhat,”shesaidasshesteppedalong the deep-rutted, grassylane bordered with wild rosebushes. “It’s no wonderMatthewandMarillaarebothalittleodd, livingawaybackhere by themselves. Treesaren’tmuchcompany,thoughdear knows if they werethere’d be enough of them.I’d ruther look at people. To

be sure, they seem contentedenough; but then, I suppose,they’reusedtoit.Abodycangetused to anything, even tobeinghanged,astheIrishmansaid.”

With this Mrs. Rachelstepped out of the lane intothe backyard of GreenGables. Very green and neatandprecisewasthatyard,setabout on one side with greatpatriarchal willows and onthe other with prim

Lombardies.Notastraysticknor stonewas tobeseen, forMrs.Rachelwouldhaveseenit if therehadbeen.Privatelyshe was of the opinion thatMarilla Cuthbert swept thatyard over as often as sheswept her house. One couldhave eaten a meal off theground withoutoverbrimming the proverbialpeckofdirt.

Mrs. Rachel rappedsmartly at the kitchen door

and stepped in when biddentodoso.ThekitchenatGreenGables was a cheerfulapartment—or would havebeen cheerful if it had notbeen so painfully clean as togive it something of theappearance of an unusedparlor. Its windows lookedeast and west; through thewest one, looking out on theback yard, came a flood ofmellowJunesunlight;buttheeast one, whence you got a

glimpse of the bloom whitecherrytreesintheleftorchardand nodding, slender birchesdown in the hollow by thebrook,wasgreenedoverbyatangle of vines. Here satMarilla Cuthbert, when shesat at all, always slightlydistrustfulofsunshine,whichseemed to her too dancingandirresponsibleathingforaworldwhichwasmeanttobetaken seriously; and here shesat now, knitting, and the

table behind herwas laid forsupper.

Mrs. Rachel, before shehad fairly closed the door,had taken mental note ofeverything that was on thattable.Therewerethreeplateslaid, so thatMarilla must beexpecting some one homewithMatthew to tea; but thedishes were everyday dishesandtherewasonlycrabapplepreserves and one kind ofcake, so that the expected

company could not be anyparticularcompany.YetwhatofMatthew’swhitecollarandthe sorrelmare?Mrs.Rachelwas getting fairly dizzy withthis unusual mystery aboutquiet, unmysterious GreenGables.

“Goodevening,Rachel,”Marilla said briskly. “This isa real fine evening, isn’t it?Won’tyousitdown?Howareallyourfolks?”

Something that for lack

of any other name might becalled friendship existed andalways had existed betweenMarilla Cuthbert and Mrs.Rachel, in spite of—orperhaps because of—theirdissimilarity.

Marilla was a tall, thinwoman, with angles andwithout curves; her dark hairshowed some gray streaksandwasalwaystwistedupinahard littleknotbehindwithtwo wire hairpins stuck

aggressively through it. Shelooked like a woman ofnarrow experience and rigidconscience, which she was;but there was a savingsomething about her mouthwhich, if it had been ever soslightly developed, mighthave been consideredindicative of a sense ofhumor.

“We’re all pretty well,”saidMrs.Rachel.“Iwaskindofafraidyouweren’t,though,

when I sawMatthewstartingofftoday.Ithoughtmaybehewasgoingtothedoctor’s.”

Marilla’s lips twitchedunderstandingly. She hadexpectedMrs.Rachelup;shehad known that the sight ofMatthew jaunting off sounaccountably would be toomuch for her neighbor’scuriosity.

“Oh, no, I’m quite wellalthough I had a badheadache yesterday,” she

said. “Matthew went toBrightRiver.We’regettingalittle boy from an orphanasylum in Nova Scotia andhe’s coming on the traintonight.”

If Marilla had said thatMatthew had gone to BrightRiver to meet a kangaroofrom Australia Mrs. Rachelcould not have been moreastonished. She was actuallystricken dumb for fiveseconds. Itwasunsupposable

that Marilla was making funof her, but Mrs. Rachel wasalmostforcedtosupposeit.

“Are you in earnest,Marilla?” she demandedwhenvoicereturnedtoher.

“Yes, of course,” saidMarilla, as if getting boysfromorphanasylumsinNovaScotiawere part of the usualspring work on any well-regulated Avonlea farminstead of being an unheardofinnovation.

Mrs.Rachelfeltthatshehad received a severementaljolt. She thought inexclamation points. A boy!Marilla and MatthewCuthbert of all peopleadopting a boy! From anorphan asylum! Well, theworld was certainly turningupside down! She would besurprisedatnothingafterthis!Nothing!

“Whatonearthputsuchanotionintoyourhead?”she

demandeddisapprovingly.This had been done

without her advice beingasked, and must perforce bedisapproved.

“Well, we’ve beenthinking about it for sometime—all winter in fact,”returned Marilla. “Mrs.Alexander Spencer was uphere one day beforeChristmas and she said shewas going to get a little girlfrom the asylum over in

Hopetown in the spring. Hercousin lives there and Mrs.Spencer has visited her andknows all about it. SoMatthewand Ihave talked itover off and on ever since.We thought we’d get a boy.Matthew is getting up inyears, you know—he’s sixty—and he isn’t so spry as heonce was. His heart troubleshim a good deal. And youknowhowdesperatehardit’sgot to be to get hired help.

There’s never anybody to behad but those stupid, half-grownlittleFrenchboys;andas soon as you do get onebroke into your ways andtaughtsomethinghe’supandofftothelobstercanneriesorthe States. At first Matthewsuggested getting a Barnadoboy. But I said ‘no’ flat tothat.‘Theymaybeallright—I’m not saying they’re not—but no London street Arabsfor me,’ I said. ‘Give me a

native born at least. There’llbe a risk, nomatter who weget.ButI’ll feeleasier inmymind and sleep sounder atnights if we get a bornCanadian.’ So in the endwedecided to ask Mrs. Spencerto pick us out onewhen shewentovertogetherlittlegirl.We heard last week she wasgoing,sowesentherwordbyRichard Spencer’s folks atCarmodytobringusasmart,likely boy of about ten or

eleven. We decided thatwould be the best age—oldenough to be of some use indoing chores right off andyoung enough to be trainedup proper.We mean to givehim a good home andschooling.WehadatelegramfromMrs.AlexanderSpencertoday—themailmanbroughtit from the station—sayingtheywerecomingonthefive-thirty train tonight. SoMatthewwenttoBrightRiver

to meet him. Mrs. Spencerwill drop him off there. Ofcourse she goes on toWhiteSandsstationherself.”

Mrs. Rachel pridedherself on always speakingher mind; she proceeded tospeakitnow,havingadjustedher mental attitude to thisamazingpieceofnews.

“Well, Marilla, I’ll justtell you plain that I thinkyou’redoingamightyfoolishthing—a risky thing, that’s

what. You don’t know whatyou’re getting. You’rebringing a strange child intoyourhouseandhomeandyoudon’t know a single thingabout him nor what hisdisposition is like nor whatsort of parents he had norhow he’s likely to turn out.Why, itwasonly lastweek Iread in thepaper howamanand his wife up west of theIsland took a boy out of anorphanasylumandhesetfire

to the house at night—set iton purpose, Marilla—andnearlyburntthemtoacrispintheir beds. And I knowanother case where anadoptedboyused tosuck theeggs—they couldn’t breakhim of it. If you had askedmy advise in the matter—which you didn’t do.Marilla—I’d have said for mercy’ssake not to think of such athing,that’swhat.”

This Job’s comforting

seemed neither to offend noralarm Marilla. She knittedsteadilyon.

“I don’t deny there’ssomething in what you say,Rachel.I’vehadsomequalmsmyself. But Matthew wasterrible set on it. I could seethat, so I gave in. It’s soseldom Matthew sets hismind on anything that whenhedoes Ialways feel it’smydutytogivein.Andasfortherisk, there’s risks in pretty

near everything a body doesinthisworld.There’srisksinpeople’s having children oftheirownifitcomestothat—they don’t always turn outwell.AndthenNovaScotiaisright close to the Island. Itisn’t as if we were gettinghim from England or theStates. He can’t be muchdifferentfromourselves.”

“Well,Ihopeitwillturnout all right,” said Mrs.Rachel in a tone that plainly

indicated her painful doubts.“Onlydon’tsayIdidn’twarnyouifheburnsGreenGablesdown or puts strychnine inthe well—I heard of a caseover in New Brunswickwhereanorphanasylumchilddidthatandthewholefamilydiedinfearfulagonies.Only,itwasagirlinthatinstance.”

“Well,we’renotgettinga girl,” said Marilla, as ifpoisoningwellswereapurelyfeminineaccomplishmentand

not tobedreaded in thecaseofaboy.“I’dneverdreamoftaking a girl to bring up. Iwonder at Mrs. AlexanderSpencer for doing it. Butthere, she wouldn’t shrinkfrom adopting a wholeorphan asylum if she took itintoherhead.”

Mrs.Rachelwouldhaveliked to stay until Matthewcamehomewithhisimportedorphan. But reflecting that itwouldbeagoodtwohoursat

least before his arrival sheconcluded to go up the roadtoRobertBell’sandtellthemthe news. It would certainlymake a sensation second tonone,andMrs.Racheldearlylovedtomakeasensation.Soshe took herself away,somewhat toMarilla’s relief,for the latter felt her doubtsand fears reviving under theinfluence of Mrs. Rachel’spessimism.

“Well, of all things that

ever were or will be!”ejaculatedMrs. Rachelwhenshewassafelyoutinthelane.“It does really seem as if Imust be dreaming.Well, I’msorryforthatpooryoungoneandnomistake.MatthewandMarilla don’t know anythingabout children and they’llexpect him to be wiser andsteadier than his owngrandfather,ifsobe’sheeverhad a grandfather, which isdoubtful.Itseemsuncannyto

think of a child at GreenGables somehow; there’snever been one there, forMatthew and Marilla weregrown up when the newhousewasbuilt—iftheyeverwere children, which is hardto believewhenone looks atthem. I wouldn’t be in thatorphan’s shoes for anything.My, but I pity him, that’swhat.”

So said Mrs. Rachel tothe wild rose bushes out of

thefulnessofherheart;butifshecouldhaveseenthechildwhowaswaiting patiently atthe Bright River station atthat very moment her pitywould have been still deeperandmoreprofound.

2

Matthew Cuthbert IsSurprised

MATTHEWCUTHBERTAND thesorrel mare joggedcomfortably over the eightmilestoBrightRiver.Itwasa

pretty road, running alongbetween snug farmsteads,with now and again a bit ofbalsamy fir wood to drivethrough or a hollow wherewild plums hung out theirfilmy bloom. The air wassweetwiththebreathofmanyapple orchards and themeadows sloped away in thedistance to horizon mists ofpearlandpurple;while

“The littlebirds sang asifitwereTheonedayofsummer in alltheyear.”

Matthew enjoyed thedrive after his own fashion,except during the momentswhenhemetwomenandhadtonodtothem—forinPrinceEdward Island you are

supposed to nod to all andsundry youmeet on the roadwhether you know them ornot.

Matthew dreaded allwomen except Marilla andMrs. Rachel: he had anuncomfortablefeelingthatthemysterious creatures weresecretly laughing at him. Hemayhave been quite right inthinking so, for he was anodd-looking personage, withan ungainly figure and long

iron-gray hair that touchedhis stooping shoulders, and afull, soft brown beard whichhe had worn ever since hewas twenty. In fact, he hadlooked at twenty very muchashelookedatsixty, lackingalittleofthegrayness.

Whenhe reachedBrightRiver there was no sign ofany train; he thought he wastooearly,sohetiedhishorseintheyardofthesmallBrightRiver hotel andwent over to

the station house. The longplatformwasalmostdeserted;the only living creature insight being a girl who wassittingonapileofshinglesatthe extreme end. Matthew,barely noting that it was agirl,sidledpastherasquicklyaspossiblewithoutlookingather. Had he looked he couldhardly have failed to noticethe tense rigidity andexpectation of her attitudeand expression. She was

sitting there waiting forsomething or somebody and,since sitting andwaitingwastheonlythingtodojustthen,she sat and waited with allhermightandmain.

Matthew encounteredthe stationmaster locking upthe ticket office preparatorytogoinghomeforsupper,andasked him if the five-thirtytrainwouldsoonbealong.

“Thefive-thirtytrainhasbeeninandgonehalfanhour

ago,” answered that briskofficial. “But there was apassengerdroppedoffforyou—a little girl. She’s sittingout there on the shingles. Iasked her to go into theladies’waiting room,but sheinformedmegravelythatshepreferred to stay outside.‘There was more scope forimagination,’ she said. She’sacase,Ishouldsay.”

“I’m not expecting agirl,” said Matthew blankly.

“It’saboyI’vecomefor.Heshould be here. Mrs.Alexander Spencer was tobring him over from NovaScotiaforme.”

The stationmasterwhistled.

“Guess there’s somemistake,” he said. “Mrs.Spencer came off the trainwith that girl and gave herintomycharge.Saidyouandyoursisterwereadoptingherfrom an orphan asylum and

that you would be along forher presently. That’s all Iknowaboutit—andIhaven’tgot any more orphansconcealedhereabouts.”

“I don’t understand,”said Matthew helplessly,wishing that Marilla was athand to cope with thesituation.

“Well, you’d betterquestion the girl,” said thestationmaster carelessly. “Idare say she’ll be able to

explain—she’s got a tongueof her own, that’s certain.Maybetheywereoutofboysofthebrandyouwanted.”

He walked jauntilyaway, being hungry, and theunfortunateMatthewwas leftto do that which was harderfor him than bearding a lionin its den—walk up to a girl—a strange girl—an orphangirl—anddemandofherwhyshe wasn’t a boy. Matthewgroanedinspiritasheturned

about and shuffled gentlydown the platform towardsher.

She had been watchinghimeversincehehadpassedher and she had her eyes onhim now. Matthew was notlookingatherandwouldnothaveseenwhatshewasreallylike if he had been, but anordinaryobserverwouldhaveseenthis:

Achildofabouteleven,garbed in a very short, very

tight, very ugly dress ofyellowish gray wincey. Sheworeafadedbrownsailorhatand beneath the hat,extending down her back,weretwobraidsofverythick,decidedly red hair. Her facewas small, white and thin,also much freckled; hermouthwaslargeandsowerehereyes,thatlookedgreeninsome lights and moods andgrayinothers.

So far, the ordinary

observer; an extraordinaryobservermighthaveseenthatthechinwasverypointedandpronounced;thatthebigeyeswere full of spirit andvivacity; that the mouth wassweet-lipped and expressive;that the forehead was broadand full; in short, ourdiscerning extraordinaryobserver might haveconcluded that nocommonplace soul inhabitedthebodyofthisstraywoman-

child of whom shy MatthewCuthbert was so ludicrouslyafraid.

Matthew, however, wassparedtheordealofspeakingfirst, for as soon as sheconcluded that he wascoming to her she stood up,graspingwithonethinbrownhand the handle of a shabby,old-fashioned carpetbag; theothersheheldouttohim.

“I suppose you are Mr.Matthew Cuthbert of Green

Gables?” she said in apeculiarly clear, sweet voice.“I’m very glad to see you. Iwas beginning to be afraidyou weren’t coming for meand I was imagining all thethings that might havehappened to prevent you. Ihadmadeupmymindthat ifyou didn’t come for metonightI’dgodownthetracktothatbigwildcherrytreeatthebend,andclimbupintoittostayallnight.Iwouldn’tbe

a bit afraid, and it would belovely to sleep in a wildcherry tree all white withbloom in the moonshine,don’t you think? You couldimagineyouweredwellinginmarble halls, couldn’t you?And I was quite sure youwould come for me in themorning, if you didn’ttonight.”

Matthew had taken thescrawny little handawkwardly in his; then and

there he decidedwhat to do.He could not tell this childwith the glowing eyes thatthere had been amistake; hewould take her home and letMarilla do that. She couldn’tbe left at Bright Riveranyhow, no matter whatmistakehadbeenmade,soallquestions and explanationsmight as well be deferreduntil he was safely back atGreenGables.

“I’m sorry I was late,”

he said shyly. “Come along.Thehorseisoverintheyard.Givemeyourbag.”

“Oh, I can carry it,” thechild responded cheerfully.“It isn’t heavy. I’ve got allmyworldlygoodsinit,butitisn’t heavy. And if it isn’tcarried in just a certain waythe handle pulls out—so I’dbetterkeepitbecauseIknowthe exact knack of it. It’s anextremely old carpetbag.Oh,I’m very glad you’ve come,

even if it would have beennicetosleepinawildcherrytree. We’ve got to drive alongpiece,haven’twe?Mrs.Spencer said it was eightmiles.I’mgladbecauseIlovedriving. Oh, it seems sowonderful that I’m going tolive with you and belong toyou. I’ve never belonged toanybody—not really.But theasylum was the worst. I’veonlybeeninfourmonths,butthat was enough. I don’t

suppose you ever were anorphan in an asylum, so youcan’t possibly understandwhatitislike.It’sworsethananything you could imagine.Mrs. Spencer said it waswickedofmetotalklikethat,but I didn’t mean to bewicked. It’s so easy to bewicked without knowing it,isn’tit?Theyweregood,youknow—the asylum people.Butthereissolittlescopeforthe imagination inanasylum

—only just in the otherorphans. It was prettyinteresting to imagine thingsabout them—to imagine thatperhaps thegirlwhosatnexttoyouwasreallythedaughterofabeltedearl,whohadbeenstolenaway fromherparentsin her infancy by a cruelnurse who died before shecould confess. I used to lieawake at nights and imaginethings like that, because Ididn’thavetimeintheday.I

guess that’swhy I’m so thin—Iam dreadful thin, ain’t I?There isn’t a pick on mybones. I do love to imagineI’m nice and plump, withdimplesinmyelbows.”

With this Matthew’scompanion stopped talking,partlybecauseshewasoutofbreath and partly becausethey had reached the buggy.Notanotherworddidshesayuntil theyhad left thevillageand were driving down a

steep little hill, the road partof which had been cut sodeeply into the soft soil thatthe banks, fringed withblooming wild cherry-treesand slimwhite birches,wereseveralfeetabovetheirheads.

The child put out herhand and broke off a branchof wild plum that brushedagainstthesideofthebuggy.

“Isn’t that beautiful?What did that tree, leaningout from the bank, all white

andlacy,makeyouthinkof?”sheasked.

“Well now, I dunno,”saidMatthew.

“Why,abride,ofcourse—a bride all inwhitewith alovely misty veil. I’ve neverseen one, but I can imaginewhat she would look like. Idon’t ever expect to be abride myself. I’m so homelynobody will ever want tomarryme—unlessitmightbea foreign missionary. I

suppose a foreignmissionarymightn’t be very particular.ButIdohopethatsomedayIshallhaveawhitedress.Thatismyhighest idealofearthlybliss. I just love prettyclothes.AndI’veneverhadapretty dress inmy life that Icanremember—butofcourseit’s all the more to lookforwardto,isn’tit?AndthenI can imagine that I’mdressed gorgeously. Thismorning when I left the

asylum I felt so ashamedbecause I had to wear thishorrid old wincey dress. Alltheorphanshadtowearthem,you know. A merchant inHopeton last winter donatedthree hundred yards ofwincey to the asylum. Somepeoplesaiditwasbecausehecouldn’t sell it,but I’d ratherbelieve that itwasout of thekindness of his heart,wouldn’t you?When we goton the train I felt as if

everybodymustbelookingatmeandpityingme.ButIjustwent to work and imaginedthat I had on the mostbeautiful pale blue silk dress—because when you areimagining youmight as wellimagine something worthwhile—and a big hat allflowers and nodding plumes,and a gold watch, and kidgloves and boots. I feltcheered up right away and Ienjoyedmy trip to the Island

withallmymight.Iwasn’tabit sick coming over in theboat. Neither was Mrs.Spencer, although shegenerally is. She said shehadn’t time to get sick,watching to see that I didn’tfall overboard. She said shenever saw thebeatofme forprowlingabout.Butifitkepther from being seasick it’s amercy I did prowl, isn’t it?And I wanted to seeeverythingthatwastobeseen

onthatboat,becauseIdidn’tknow whether I’d ever haveanother opportunity. Oh,there are a lot more cherrytreesallinbloom!ThisIslandis the bloomiest place. I justlove it already, and I’m soglad I’m going to live here.I’vealwaysheard thatPrinceEdward Island was theprettiest place in the world,and I used to imagine I waslivinghere,butIneverreallyexpected I would. It’s

delightful when yourimaginations come true, isn’tit?Butthoseredroadsaresofunny.Whenwegot into thetrainatCharlottetownandtheredroadsbegantoflashpastIasked Mrs. Spencer whatmade them red and she saidshedidn’tknowandforpity’ssakenot toaskheranymorequestions. She said I musthave asked her a thousandalready. I suppose Ihad, too,buthowareyougoingtofind

out about things if you don’taskquestions?Andwhatdoesmaketheroadsred?”

“Well now, I dunno,”saidMatthew.

“Well, that isoneof thethings to find out sometime.Isn’titsplendidtothinkofallthethingstherearetofindoutabout? It just makes me feelgladtobealive—it’ssuchaninterestingworld. Itwouldn’tbe half so interesting if weknew all about everything,

would it? There’d be noscope for imagination then,wouldthere?ButamItalkingtoomuch?Peoplearealwaystelling me I do. Would youratherIdidn’ttalk?IfyousaysoI’llstop.IcanstopwhenImake up my mind to it,althoughit’sdifficult.”

Matthew, much to hisown surprise, was enjoyinghimself.Likemostquietfolkshe liked talkative peoplewhentheywerewillingtodo

the talking themselves anddidnotexpecthimtokeepuphisendofit.Buthehadneverexpected toenjoy the societyof a little girl. Women werebadenoughinallconscience,butlittlegirlswereworse.Hedetested theway they had ofsidlingpasthimtimidly,withsidewise glances, as if theyexpectedhim togobble themup at a mouthful if theyventured to say aword. ThiswastheAvonleatypeofwell-

bred little girl. But thisfreckled witch was verydifferent, and although hefounditratherdifficultforhisslowerintelligencetokeepupwith her brisk mentalprocesses he thought that he“kindoflikedherchatter.”Sohesaidasshylyasusual:

“Oh, you can talk asmuch as you like. I don’tmind.”

“Oh,I’msoglad.Iknowyou and I are going to get

along together fine. It’s sucha relief to talk when onewants to andnot be told thatchildren should be seen andnot heard. I’ve had that saidtomeamilliontimesifIhaveonce.Andpeoplelaughatmebecause I usebigwords.Butif you have big ideas youhave to use big words toexpressthem,haven’tyou?”

“Well now, that seemsreasonable,”saidMatthew.

“Mrs. Spencer said that

my tongue must be hung inthe middle. But it isn’t—it’sfirmly fastened at one end.Mrs.Spencer saidyourplacewas named Green Gables. Iasked her all about it. Andshe said there were trees allaround it. Iwas gladder thanever. I just love trees. Andthereweren’tanyatallaboutthe asylum, only a few poorweeny-teeny things out infrontwithlittlewhitewashedcagey things about them.

Theyjustlookedlikeorphansthemselves,thosetreesdid.Itused tomakemewant tocrytolookatthem.Iusedtosayto them, ‘Oh, youpoor littlethings! If you were out in agreat big woods with othertreesallaroundyouandlittlemosses and Junebellsgrowingoveryourrootsandabrooknot farawayandbirdssinginginyourbranches,youcould grow, couldn’t you?Butyoucan’twhereyouare.

I know just exactly how youfeel,littletrees.’Ifeltsorrytoleave them behind thismorning. You do get soattached to things like that,don’t you? Is there a brookanywherenearGreenGables?I forgot to askMrs. Spencerthat.”

“Well now, yes, there’sonerightbelowthehouse.”

“Fancy!It’salwaysbeenoneofmydreamstoliveneara brook. I never expected I

would, though.Dreamsdon’toften come true, do they?Wouldn’t it be nice if theydid?ButjustnowIfeelprettynearlyperfectlyhappy.Ican’tfeel exactly perfectly happybecause—well, what colorwouldyoucallthis?”

She twitched one of herlong glossy braids over herthin shoulder and held it upbefore Matthew’s eyes.Matthew was not used todeciding on the tints of

ladies’tresses,butinthiscasetherecouldn’tbemuchdoubt.

“It’s red, ain’t it?” hesaid.

The girl let the braiddrop back with a sigh thatseemed to come from hervery toes and to exhale forthallthesorrowsoftheages.

“Yes, it’s red,” she saidresignedly. “Now you seewhy I can’t be perfectlyhappy. Nobody could whohadredhair.Idon’tmindthe

other things so much—thefreckles and the green eyesand my skinniness. I canimagine them away. I canimagine that I have abeautiful rose leafcomplexion and lovely starryviolet eyes. But I cannotimagine that redhair away. Idomybest.Ithinktomyself,‘Now my hair is a gloriousblack, black as the raven’swing.’ButallthetimeIknowit is just plain red, and it

breaksmyheart.Itwillbemylifelong sorrow. I read of agirlonceinanovelwhohadalifelongsorrow,but itwasn’tred hair. Her hair was puregold rippling back from heralabaster brow. What is analabasterbrow?Inevercouldfindout.Canyoutellme?”

“Well now, I’m afraid Ican’t,” said Matthew, whowas getting a little dizzy.Hefeltashehadoncefelt inhisrashyouthwhenanotherboy

hadenticedhimonthemerry-go-roundatapicnic.

“Well,whateveritwasitmust have been somethingnicebecauseshewasdivinelybeautiful. Have you everimagined what it must feelliketobedivinelybeautiful?”

“Well now, no, Ihaven’t,” confessed Matthewingenuously.

“I have, often. Whichwould you rather be if youhad the choice—divinely

beautifulordazzlinglycleverorangelicallygood?”

“Well now, I—I don’tknowexactly.”

“Neither do I. I cannever decide. But it doesn’tmakemuchrealdifferenceforit isn’t likely I’ll ever beeither. It’s certain I’ll neverbe angelically good. Mrs.Spencer says—oh, Mr.Cuthbert!Oh,Mr.Cuthbert!!Oh,Mr.Cuthbert!!!”

Thatwas notwhatMrs.

Spencerhadsaid;neitherhadthe child tumbled out of thebuggynorhadMatthewdoneanything astonishing. Theyhad simply rounded a curvein the road and foundthemselvesinthe“Avenue.”

The“Avenue,”socalledby the Newbridge people,was a stretch of road four orfive hundred yards long,completely arched over withhuge, wide-spreading apple-trees,plantedyearsagobyan

eccentric old farmer.Overhead was one longcanopy of snowy fragrantbloom.Belowtheboughstheair was full of a purpletwilight and far ahead aglimpseofpaintedsunsetskyshone like a great rosewindow at the end of acathedralaisle.

Its beauty seemed tostrike the child dumb. Sheleanedbackinthebuggy,herthinhandsclaspedbeforeher,

her face lifted rapturously tothe white splendor above.Even when they had passedout and were driving downthe long slope to Newbridgeshe never moved or spoke.Stillwith rapt faceshegazedafarintothesunsetwest,witheyesthatsawvisionstroopingsplendidly across thatglowing background.Through Newbridge, abustling little village wheredogs barked at them and

small boys hooted andcuriousfacespeeredfromthewindows, they drove, still insilence. When three moremiles had dropped awaybehindthemthechildhadnotspoken. She could keepsilence, it was evident, asenergetically as she couldtalk.

“I guess you’re feelingpretty tired and hungry,”Matthew ventured at last,accounting for her long

visitation of dumbness withtheonlyreasonhecouldthinkof. “But we haven’t very farto go now—only anothermile.”

She came out of herreverie with a deep sigh andlooked at him with thedreamy gaze of a soul thathad been wondering afar,star-led.

“Oh,Mr.Cuthbert,” shewhispered, “that place wecame through—that white

place—whatwasit?”“Well now, you must

mean the Avenue,” saidMatthew after a fewmoments’ profoundreflection. “It is a kind ofprettyplace.”

“Pretty? Oh, prettydoesn’t seem the right wordto use. Nor beautiful, either.They don’t go far enough.Oh, it was wonderful—wonderful. It’s the first thingI ever saw that couldn’t be

improved upon byimagination. It just satisfiedme here”—she put one handon her breast—“it made aqueer funny ache and yet itwasapleasantache.Didyouever have an ache like that,Mr.Cuthbert?”

“Well now, I just can’trecollectthatIeverhad.”

“Ihaveitlotsoftimes—whenever I see anythingroyally beautiful. But theyshouldn’t call that lovely

placetheAvenue.Thereisnomeaning in a name like that.They should call it—let mesee—the White Way ofDelight. Isn’t that a niceimaginative name? When Idon’tlikethenameofaplaceoraperson Ialways imaginea new one and always thinkof them so. Therewas a girlat the asylum whose namewas Hepzibah Jenkins, but Ialways imagined her asRosalia De Vere. Other

peoplemaycallthatplacetheAvenue, but I shall alwayscall it the White Way ofDelight.Havewe really onlyanothermile togobeforeweget home? I’m glad and I’msorry. I’m sorry because thisdrive has been so pleasantand I’m always sorry whenpleasant things end.Something still pleasantermay come after, but you cannever be sure. And it’s sooften the case that it isn’t

pleasanter.Thathasbeenmyexperience anyhow. But I’mgladtothinkofgettinghome.Yousee,I’veneverhadarealhome since I can remember.Itgivesmethatpleasantacheagain just to thinkofcomingto a really truly home. Oh,isn’tthatpretty!”

Theyhaddrivenoverthecrest of a hill. Below themwas a pond, looking almostlike a river so long andwinding was it. A bridge

spanned it midway and fromthere to its lower end,wherean amber-hued belt of sandhills shut it in from the darkblue gulf beyond, the waterwas agloryofmany shiftinghues—the most spiritualshadings of crocus and roseandetherealgreen,withotherelusive tintings for which noname has ever been found.Above the bridge the pondranupintofringinggrovesoffir and maple and lay all

darkly translucent in theirwavering shadows. Here andthere awild plum leaned outfrom the bank like a white-cladgirl tiptoeingtoherownreflection.From themarshattheheadofthepondcametheclear, mournfully-sweetchorus of the frogs. Therewas a little gray housepeeringaroundawhiteappleorchard on a slope beyondand, although it was not yetquitedark,alightwasshining

fromoneofitswindows.“That’s Barry’s pond,”

saidMatthew.“Oh, I don’t like that

name, either. I shall call it—let me see—the Lake ofShining Waters. Yes, that isthe right name for it. I knowbecause of the thrill.When Ihit on a name that suitsexactly it gives me a thrill.Do things ever give you athrill?”

Matthewruminated.

“Well now, yes. Italways kind of gives me athrill to see them ugly whitegrubs that spade up in thecucumber beds. I hate thelookofthem.”

“Oh, I don’t think thatcanbeexactly the samekindof a thrill. Do you think itcan? There doesn’t seem tobemuch connection betweengrubs and lakes of shiningwaters, does there? But whydootherpeoplecallitBarry’s

pond?”“I reckon because Mr.

Barry lives up there in thathouse. Orchard Slope’s thenameofhisplace.Ifitwasn’tfor that big bush behind ityou could see Green Gablesfromhere.Butwehavetogoover thebridgeandroundbythe road, so it’s near half amilefurther.”

“HasMr.Barryanylittlegirls?Well, not so very littleeither—aboutmysize.”

“He’s got one abouteleven.HernameisDiana.”

“Oh!” with a longindrawingofbreath.“Whataperfectlylovelyname!”

“Well now, I dunno.There’s something dreadfulheathenish about it, seems tome. I’d ruther Jane or Maryor some sensible name likethat. But when Diana wasborn there was aschoolmaster boarding thereandtheygavehimthenaming

of her and he called herDiana.”

“Iwishtherehadbeenaschoolmaster like thataroundwhen I was born, then. Oh,hereweareatthebridge.I’mgoing to shut my eyes tight.I’malwaysafraidgoingoverbridges. I can’t helpimagining that perhaps, justas we get to the middle,they’ll crumple up like ajackknife and nip us. So Ishut my eyes. But I always

have to open them for allwhen I think we’re gettingnearthemiddle.Because,yousee,ifthebridgedidcrumpleupI’dwanttoseeitcrumple.Whatajollyrumbleitmakes!I always like the rumblepartof it. Isn’t it splendid thereare somany things to like inthis world? There, we’reover. Now I’ll look back.Good night, dear Lake ofShiningWaters. I always saygood night to the things I

love, just as I would topeople. I think they like it.Thatwater looks as if itwassmilingatme.”

When they had drivenupthefurtherhillandaroundacornerMatthewsaid:

“We’reprettynearhomenow. That’s Green Gablesover—”

“Oh, don’t tellme,” sheinterrupted breathlessly,catchingathispartiallyraisedarmandshuttinghereyesthat

shemightnotseehisgesture.“Let me guess. I’m sure I’llguessright.”

Sheopenedhereyesandlooked about her. Theywereonthecrestofahill.Thesunhad set some time since, butthe landscape was still clearin the mellow afterlight. Tothe west a dark church spirerose up against a marigoldsky.Belowwasalittlevalleyand beyond a long, gently-rising slope with snug

farmsteads scattered along it.From one to another thechild’seyesdarted,eagerandwistful. At last they lingeredon one away to the left, farback from the road, dimlywhite with blossoming treesin the twilight of thesurrounding woods. Over it,inthestainlesssouthwestsky,agreatcrystal-whitestarwasshining like a lamp ofguidanceandpromise.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” she

said,pointing.Matthew slapped the

reins on the sorrel’s backdelightedly.

“Well now, you’veguessedit!ButIreckonMrs.Spencerdescribeditso’syoucouldtell.”

“No, she didn’t—reallyshedidn’t.Allshesaidmightjust as well have been aboutmost of those other places. Ihadn’t any real idea what itlooked like. But just as soon

asIsawitIfeltitwashome.Oh,itseemsasifImustbeina dream. Do you know, myarm must be black and bluefrom the elbow up, for I’vepinched myself so manytimestoday.Everylittlewhilea horrible sickening feelingwouldcomeovermeand I’dbe so afraid it was all adream.ThenI’dpinchmyselfto see if it was real—untilsuddenly I remembered thatevensupposing itwasonlya

dream I’d better go ondreaming as long as I could;so I stopped pinching. But itis real and we’re nearlyhome.”

With a sigh of raptureshe relapsed into silence.Matthew stirred uneasily.Hefelt glad that it would beMarillaandnothewhowouldhave to tell this waif of theworld that the home shelongedforwasnottobehersafter all. They drove over

Lynde’sHollow,whereitwasalreadyquitedark,butnotsodark that Mrs. Rachel couldnot see them from herwindow vantage, and up thehill and into the long laneofGreen Gables. By the timethey arrived at the houseMatthewwas shrinking fromthe approaching revelationwith an energy he did notunderstand. It was not ofMarilla or himself he wasthinkingorofthetroublethis

mistake was probably goingtomake for them, but of thechild’sdisappointment.Whenhe thought of that rapt lightbeingquenchedinhereyeshehadanuncomfortable feelingthathewasgoing toassistatmurdering something—muchthe same feeling that cameoverhimwhenhehad tokilla lamb or calf or any otherinnocentlittlecreature.

Theyardwasquitedarkas they turned into it and the

poplar leaves were rustlingsilkilyallroundit.

“Listen to the treestalking in their sleep,” shewhispered,ashe liftedher tothe ground. “What nicedreamstheymusthave!”

Then, holding tightly tothe carpetbag whichcontained “all her worldlygoods,”shefollowedhimintothehouse.

3

Marilla Cuthbert IsSurprised

MARILLA CAME BRISKLYforward as Matthew openedthe door. But when her eyesfellontheoddlittlefigurein

the stiff, ugly dress,with thelongbraidsofredhairandtheeager, luminous eyes, shestoppedshortinamazement.

“Matthew Cuthbert,who’s that?” she ejaculated.“Whereistheboy?”

“Therewasn’tanyboy,”said Matthew wretchedly.“Therewasonlyher.”

He nodded at the child,remembering that he hadneverevenaskedhername.

“Noboy!Buttheremust

have been a boy,” insistedMarilla. “We sent word toMrs.Spencertobringaboy.”

“Well, she didn’t. Shebrought her. I asked thestationmaster. And I had tobringherhome.Shecouldn’tbeleftthere,nomatterwherethemistakehadcomein.”

“Well, this is a prettypieceofbusiness!”ejaculatedMarilla.

During this dialogue thechildhadremainedsilent,her

eyes roving from one to theother,alltheanimationfadingoutofherface.Suddenlysheseemed to grasp the fullmeaning of what had beensaid. Dropping her preciouscarpetbagshesprangforwardastepandclaspedherhands.

“You don’t want me!”she cried. “You don’t wantme because I’m not a boy! Imight have expected it.Nobody ever did want me. Imight have known it was all

too beautiful to last. I mighthave known nobody reallydidwantme.Oh,whatshallIdo? I’m going to burst intotears!”

Burst into tears she did.Sittingdownonachairbythetable, flinging her arms outupon it, andburyingher faceinthem,sheproceededtocrystormily. Marilla andMatthewlookedateachotherdeprecatingly across thestove. Neither of them knew

what to say or do. FinallyMarilla stepped lamely intothebreach.

“Well, well, there’s noneedtocrysoaboutit.”

“Yes, there is need!”The child raised her headquickly, revealing a tear-stained face and tremblinglips. “You would cry, too, ifyouwere an orphan and hadcome to a place you thoughtwas going to be home andfound that they didn’t want

you because you weren’t aboy. Oh, this is the mosttragical thing that everhappenedtome!”

Something like areluctant smile, rather rustyfrom long disuse, mellowedMarilla’sgrimexpression.

“Well, don’t cry anymore.We’renotgoingtoturnyou out-of-doors tonight.You’llhavetostayhereuntilwe investigate this affair.What’syourname?”

Thechildhesitatedforamoment.

“WillyoupleasecallmeCordelia?”shesaideagerly.

“Call you Cordelia! Isthatyourname?”

“No-o-o, it’snotexactlymyname,butIwouldlovetobecalledCordelia.It’ssuchaperfectlyelegantname.”

“I don’t know what onearth you mean. If Cordeliaisn’tyourname,whatis?”

“Anne Shirley,”

reluctantly faltered forth theownerof thatname, “butoh,pleasedocallmeCordelia.Itcan’t matter much to youwhatyoucallme if I’monlygoingtobeherealittlewhile,can it?AndAnne is such anunromanticname.”

“Unromanticfiddlesticks!” said theunsympathetic Marilla.“Anne is a real good plainsensible name. You’ve noneedtobeashamedofit.”

“Oh,I’mnotashamedofit,” explained Anne, “only Ilike Cordelia better. I’vealways imagined that mynamewasCordelia—at least,I always have of late years.When Iwas young I used toimagineitwasGeraldine,butI like Cordelia better now.But if you call me Anneplease call me Anne spelledwithane.”

“Whatdifferencedoes itmake how it’s spelled?”

asked Marilla with anotherrusty smile as she picked uptheteapot.

“Oh, it makes such adifference. It looks so muchnicer.Whenyouhearanamepronouncedcan’tyoualwayssee it inyourmind, justas ifitwasprintedout?Ican;andA-n-n looks dreadful, butA-n-n-e looks so much moredistinguished. If you’ll onlycallmeAnnespelledwithane I shall try to reconcile

myself to not being calledCordelia.”

“Very well, then, Annespelledwithane,canyoutellus how thismistake came tobe made? We sent word toMrs. Spencer to bring us aboy. Were there no boys attheasylum?”

“Oh, yes, there was anabundanceof them.ButMrs.Spencer said distinctly thatyou wanted a girl abouteleven years old. And the

matron said she thought Iwould do. You don’t knowhow delighted I was. Icouldn’t sleep all last nightfor joy. Oh,” she addedreproachfully, turning toMatthew, “why didn’t youtellmeatthestationthatyoudidn’twantmeand leavemethere? If I hadn’t seen theWhiteWayofDelightandtheLake of Shining Waters itwouldn’tbesohard.”

“Whatonearthdoesshe

mean?” demanded Marilla,staringatMatthew.

“She—she’s justreferring to someconversation we had on theroad,” said Matthew hastily.“I’m going out to put themare in, Marilla. Have teareadywhenIcomeback.”

“DidMrs.Spencerbringanybody over besides you?”continued Marilla whenMatthewhadgoneout.

“She broughtLily Jones

for herself. Lily is only fiveyears old and she is verybeautiful. She has nut-brownhair. If I was very beautifuland had nut-brown hairwouldyoukeepme?”

“No.We want a boy tohelpMatthewonthefarm.Agirlwouldbeofnousetous.Take off your hat. I’ll lay itand your bag on the halltable.”

Anne took off her hatmeekly. Matthew came back

presently and they sat downtosupper.ButAnnecouldnoteat.Invainshenibbledatthebread and butter and peckedatthecrabapplepreserveoutof the little scalloped glassdishbyherplate.Shedidnotreally make any headway atall.

“You’re not eatinganything,” said Marillasharply, eying her as if itwereaseriousshortcoming.

Annesighed.

“I can’t. I’m in thedepths of despair. Can youeat when you are in thedepthsofdespair?”

“I’ve never been in thedepths of despair, so I can’tsay,”respondedMarilla.

“Weren’tyou?Well,didyou ever try to imagine youwere in the depths ofdespair?”

“No,Ididn’t.”“Then I don’t think you

canunderstandwhatit’s like.

It’s a very uncomfortablefeeling indeed.Whenyou trytoeat a lumpcomes rightupin your throat and you can’tswallowanything,notevenifitwas a chocolate caramel. Ihad one chocolate carameloncetwoyearsagoanditwassimply delicious. I’ve oftendreamedsincethenthatIhada lot of chocolate caramels,but I always wake up justwhenI’mgoingtoeatthem.Ido hope you won’t be

offended because I can’t eat.Everything isextremelynice,butstillIcannoteat.”

“I guess she’s tired,”said Matthew, who hadn’tspoken since his return fromthebarn.“Bestputhertobed,Marilla.”

Marilla had beenwondering where Anneshouldbeputtobed.Shehadprepared a couch in thekitchen chamber for thedesired and expected boy.

But,althoughitwasneatandclean, it did not seem quitethe thing to put a girl theresomehow.Butthespareroomwas out of the question forsuch a stray waif, so thereremained only the east gableroom. Marilla lighted acandle and told Anne tofollow her, which Annespiritlesslydid,takingherhatand carpetbag from the halltable as she passed. The hallwas fearsomely clean; the

littlegablechamber inwhichshe presently found herselfseemedstillcleaner.

Marillasetthecandleonathree-legged,three-corneredtable and turned down thebedclothes.

“I suppose you have anightgown?”shequestioned.

Annenodded.“Yes, I have two. The

matron of the asylum madethem for me. They’refearfully skimpy. There is

neverenoughtogoaroundinan asylum, so things arealways skimpy—at least in apoor asylum like ours. I hateskimpynightdresses.Butonecan dream just as well inthem as in lovely trailingones, with frills around theneck,that’soneconsolation.”

“Well, undress as quickasyoucanandgotobed.I’llcome back in a few minutesfor the candle. I daren’t trustyou to put it out yourself.

You’d likely set theplaceonfire.”

When Marilla had goneAnne looked around herwistfully. The whitewashedwalls were so painfully bareand staring that she thoughttheymustacheovertheirownbareness.Thefloorwasbare,too, except for a roundbraided mat in the middlesuchasAnnehadnever seenbefore.Inonecornerwasthebed, a high, old-fashioned

one, with four dark, low-turned posts. In the othercorner was the aforesaidthree-cornered table adornedwith a fat, red velvetpincushion hard enough toturn the point of the mostadventurous pin. Above ithung a little six by eightmirror. Midway betweentable and bed was thewindow, with an icy whitemuslin frill over it, andopposite it was the

washstand. The wholeapartment was of a rigiditynot tobedescribed inwords,butwhichsentashivertothevery marrow of Anne’sbones.Withasobshehastilydiscarded her garments, putontheskimpynightgownandsprang into bed where sheburrowedfacedownwardintothe pillow and pulled theclothes over her head.WhenMarillacameup for the lightvarious skimpy articles of

raiment scattered mostuntidily over the floor and acertain tempestuousappearance of the bed werethe only indications of anypresencesaveherown.

She deliberately pickedup Anne’s clothes, placedthemneatlyonaprimyellowchair,andthen, takingupthecandle,wentovertothebed.

“Goodnight,”shesaid,alittle awkwardly, but notunkindly.

Anne’s white face andbig eyes appeared over thebedclothes with a startlingsuddenness.

“How can you call it agoodnightwhenyouknowitmust be the veryworst nightI’ve ever had?” she saidreproachfully.

Then she dived downintoinvisibilityagain.

Marilla went slowlydown to the kitchen andproceededtowashthesupper

dishes.Matthewwassmoking—a sure sign of perturbationofmind.He seldom smoked,for Marilla set her faceagainstitasafilthyhabit;butat certain times and seasonshe felt driven to it and thenMarilla winked at thepractice,realizingthatameremanmusthavesomeventforhisemotions.

“Well, this is a prettykettle of fish,” she saidwrathfully. “This is what

comes of sending wordinstead of going ourselves.Robert Spencer’s folks havetwisted that messagesomehow. One of us willhave to drive over and seeMrs. Spencer tomorrow,that’s certain. This girl willhave to be sent back to theasylum.”

“Yes,Isupposeso,”saidMatthewreluctantly.

“Yousuppose so!Don’tyouknowit?”

“Well now, she’s a realnice little thing, Marilla. It’skind of a pity to send herback when she’s so set onstayinghere.”

“Matthew Cuthbert, youdon’t mean to say you thinkweoughttokeepher!”

Marilla’s astonishmentcouldnothavebeengreaterifMatthew had expressed apredilection for standing onhishead.

“Well now, no, I

suppose not—not exactly,”stammered Matthew,uncomfortably driven into acorner for his precisemeaning. “I suppose—wecould hardly be expected tokeepher.”

“I should say not.Whatgoodwouldshebetous?”

“We might be somegood to her,” said Matthewsuddenlyandunexpectedly.

“Matthew Cuthbert, Ibelieve that child has

bewitched you! I can see asplainasplainthatyouwanttokeepher.”

“Well now, she’s a realinteresting little thing,”persisted Matthew. “Youshould have heard her talkcomingfromthestation.”

“Oh, she can talk fastenough. I saw that at once.It’s nothing in her favor,either. I don’t like childrenwho have so much to say. Idon’twantanorphangirland

if Ididshe isn’t thestyle I’dpickout.There’ssomethingIdon’t understand about her.No,she’sgottobedispatchedstraightway back to whereshecamefrom.”

“I could hire a Frenchboy to help me,” saidMatthew, “and she’d becompanyforyou.”

“I’m not suffering forcompany,” said Marillashortly. “And I’m not goingtokeepher.”

“Well now, it’s just asyou say, of course.Marilla,”said Matthew rising andputting his pipe away. “I’mgoingtobed.”

To bed went Matthew.Andtobed,whenshehadputher dishes away, wentMarilla, frowning mostresolutely. And upstairs, intheeastgable,alonely,heart-hungry, friendless child criedherselftosleep.

4

Morning at GreenGables

IT WAS BROAD daylight whenAnne awoke and sat up inbed,staringconfusedlyat thewindow through which a

floodofcheerysunshinewaspouringandoutsideofwhichsomethingwhiteandfeatherywaved across glimpses ofbluesky.

Foramomentshecouldnotrememberwhereshewas.First came a delightful thrill,as of something verypleasant; then a horribleremembrance. This wasGreenGablesandtheydidn’twantherbecauseshewasn’taboy!

But itwasmorningand,yes, it was a cherry-tree infull bloom outside of herwindow. With a bound shewasoutofbedandacrossthefloor.Shepushedupthesash—it went up stiffly andcreakily, as if it hadn’t beenopenedforalongtime,whichwas the case; and it stuck sotightthatnothingwasneededtoholditup.

Anne dropped on herknees and gazed out into the

June morning, her eyesglistening with delight. Oh,wasn’t itbeautiful?Wasn’t ita lovely place? Suppose shewasn’t really going to stayhere!Shewould imagine shewas. There was scope forimaginationhere.

Ahugecherry-treegrewoutside, so close that itsboughs tapped against thehouse,anditwassothick-setwith blossoms that hardly aleafwas to be seen.On both

sides of the housewas a bigorchard, one of apple treesand one of cherry trees, alsoshowered over withblossoms;andtheirgrasswasallsprinkledwithdandelions.In the garden below werelilac trees purple withflowers, and their dizzilysweet fragrance drifted up tothe window on the morningwind.

Below the garden agreen field lush with clover

sloped down to the hollowwhere the brook ran andwherescoresofwhitebirchesgrew, upspringing airily outofanundergrowthsuggestiveof delightful possibilities infernsandmossesandwoodsythings generally. Beyond itwasahill,greenandfeatherywithspruceandfir;therewasa gap in it where the graygable end of the little houseshe had seen from the otherside of the Lake of Shining

Waterswasvisible.Off to the left were the

big barns and beyond them,away down over green, low-sloping fields, was asparklingblueglimpseofsea.

Anne’s beauty-lovingeyeslingeredonitall, takingeverything greedily in; shehad looked on so manyunlovely places in her life,poor child; but this was aslovely as anything she hadeverdreamed.

She knelt there, lost toeverything but the lovelinessaround her, until she wasstartled by a hand on hershoulder.Marillahadcomeinunheard by the smalldreamer.

“It’s time you weredressed,”shesaidcurtly.

Marilla really did notknowhowtotalktothechild,and her uncomfortableignorancemadehercrispandcurtwhenshedidnotmeanto

be.Annestoodupanddrew

alongbreath.“Oh,isn’titwonderful?”

she said, waving her handcomprehensively at the goodworldoutside.

“It’s a big tree,” saidMarilla,“anditbloomsgreat,but the fruit don’t amount tomuch never—small andwormy.”

“Oh, I don’t mean justthe tree; of course it’s lovely

—yes, it’sradiantly lovely—it blooms as if it meant it—but I meant everything, thegarden and the orchard andthebrookand thewoods, thewhole big dear world. Don’tyou feel as if you just lovedthe world on a morning likethis? And I can hear thebrooklaughingallthewayuphere. Have you ever noticedwhat cheerful things brooksare? They’re alwayslaughing.Even inwintertime

I’veheardthemundertheice.I’m so glad there’s a brooknear Green Gables. Perhapsyouthinkitdoesn’tmakeanydifferencetomewhenyou’renot going to keep me, but itdoes. I shall always like toremember that there is abrookatGreenGablesevenifI never see it again. If therewasn’tabrookI’dbehauntedby the uncomfortable feelingthat there ought to be one.I’m not in the depths of

despair thismorning. I nevercanbeinthemorning.Isn’titasplendidthingthattherearemornings? But I feel verysad. I’ve just been imaginingthat it was really me youwantedafterallandthatIwastostayhereforeverandever.Itwasagreatcomfortwhileitlasted. But the worst ofimagining things is that thetimecomeswhenyouhavetostopandthathurts.”

“You’d better get

dressed and come downstairsand never mind yourimaginings,” said Marilla assoonasshecouldgetaworldin edgewise. “Breakfast iswaiting.Wash your face andcomb your hair. Leave thewindow up and turn yourbedclothesbackoverthefootofthebed.Beassmartasyoucan.”

Annecouldevidentlybesmarttosomepurposeforshewas downstairs in ten

minutes’ time, with herclothes neatly on, her hairbrushedandbraided,herfacewashed, and a comfortableconsciousness pervading hersoul that she had fulfilled allMarilla’s requirements. As amatter of fact, however, shehadforgottentoturnbackthebedclothes.

“I’m pretty hungry thismorning,” she announced, asshe slipped into the chairMarilla placed for her. “The

world doesn’t seem such ahowling wilderness as it didlast night. I’m so glad it’s asunshinymorning. But I likerainymorningsrealwell,too.All sorts of mornings areinteresting, don’t you think?Youdon’tknowwhat’sgoingto happen through the day,andthere’ssomuchscopeforimagination.ButI’mgladit’snot rainy today because it’seasiertobecheerfulandbearup under affliction on a

sunshiny day. I feel that Ihave a good deal to bear upunder. It’s all very well toread about sorrows andimagine yourself livingthrough them heroically, butit’s not so nice when youreally come to have them, isit?”

“For pity’s sake holdyour tongue,” said Marilla.“You talk entirely too muchforalittlegirl.”

Thereupon Anne held

her tongue so obediently andthoroughlythathercontinuedsilence made Marilla rathernervous,as if in thepresenceof something not exactlynatural.Matthewalsoheldhistongue—but this at leastwasnatural—sothatthemealwasaverysilentone.

As it progressed Annebecame more and moreabstracted, eatingmechanically, with her bigeyes fixed unswervingly and

unseeinglyontheskyoutsidethe window. This madeMarilla more nervous thanever; she had anuncomfortable feeling thatwhile this odd child’s bodymightbethereatthetableherspirit was far away in someremote airy cloudland, bornealoft on the wings ofimagination. Who wouldwant such a child about theplace?

Yet Matthew wished to

keepher,ofallunaccountablethings! Marilla felt that hewanted it just as much thismorning as he had the nightbefore, and that hewould goon wanting it. That wasMatthew’sway—takeawhiminto his head and cling to itwith themost amazing silentpersistency—a persistencyten times more potent andeffectual in its very silencethanifhehadtalkeditout.

When the meal was

endedAnne came out of herreverie and offered to washthedishes.

“Can you wash dishesright?” asked Marilladistrustfully.

“Pretty well. I’m betterat looking after children,though. I’ve had so muchexperienceatthat.It’ssuchapityyouhaven’tanyhereformetolookafter.”

“I don’t feel as if Iwanted anymore children to

look after than I’ve got atpresent. You’re problemenough in all conscience.What’stobedonewithyouIdon’t know. Matthew is amostridiculousman.”

“I think he’s lovely,”saidAnnereproachfully.“Heis so very sympathetic. Hedidn’t mind how much Italked—heseemedtolikeit.Ifelt that he was a kindredspirit as soon as ever I sawhim.”

“You’re both queerenough, if that’s what youmeanbykindredspirits,”saidMarilla with a sniff. “Yes,you may wash the dishes.Takeplentyofhotwater,andbe sure you dry them well.I’ve got enough to attend tothis morning for I’ll have todriveover toWhiteSands inthe afternoon and see Mrs.Spencer. You’ll come withmeandwe’ll settlewhat’s tobe done with you. After

you’vefinishedthedishesgoupstairsandmakeyourbed.”

Annewashed the dishesdeftly enough, as Marilla,who kept a sharp eye on theprocess, discerned. Later onshe made her bed lesssuccessfully, for she hadnever learned the art ofwrestlingwith a feather tick.Butitwasdonesomehowandsmoothed down; and thenMarilla,togetridofher,toldhershemightgoout-of-doors

and amuse herself untildinnertime.

Anne flew to the door,facealight,eyesglowing.Onthe very threshold shestoppedshort,wheeledabout,came back and sat down bythe table, light and glow aseffectually blotted out as ifsome one had clapped anextinguisheronher.

“What’s the matternow?”demandedMarilla.

“I don’t dare go out,”

said Anne, in the tone of amartyr relinquishing allearthly joys. “If I can’t stayhere there is no use in mylovingGreenGables.AndifIgo out there and getacquainted with all thosetrees and flowers and theorchardandthebrookI’llnotbe able to help loving it. It’shard enoughnow, so Iwon’tmakeitanyharder.Iwant togo out so much—everythingseems to be calling to me,

‘Anne,Anne,comeouttous.Anne, Anne, we want aplaymate’—but it’s betternot.Thereisnouseinlovingthings if you have to be tornfrom them, is there?And it’sso hard to keep from lovingthings,isn’tit?ThatwaswhyIwassogladwhenIthoughtI was going to live here. Ithought I’d have so manythings to love andnothing tohinder me. But that briefdream is over. I am resigned

to my fate now, so I don’tthink I’ll go out for fear I’llgetunresignedagain.Whatisthenameofthatgeraniumonthewindowsill,please?”

“That’s the apple-scentedgeranium.”

“Oh, I don’t mean thatsortofaname. Imean justaname you gave it yourself.Didn’t you give it a name?MayIgiveitonethen?MayIcall it—let me see—Bonnywould do—may I call it

Bonny while I’m here? Oh,doletme!”

“Goodness, Idon’t care.But where on earth is thesense of naming ageranium?”

“Oh, I like things tohavehandlesevenif theyareonly geraniums. It makesthem seemmore like people.Howdoyouknowbut that ithurts a geranium’s feelingsjust to be called a geraniumand nothing else? You

wouldn’t like to be callednothing but a woman all thetime. Yes, I shall call itBonny. I named that cherrytree outside my bedroomwindowthismorning.IcalleditSnowQueenbecauseitwassowhite.Of course, itwon’talwaysbeinblossom,butonecan imagine that it is, can’tone?”

“I never in all my lifesaw or heard anything toequal her,”mutteredMarilla,

beating a retreat down cellarafterpotatoes.“Sheiskindofinteresting, asMatthew says.I can feel already that I’mwondering what on earthshe’ll say next. She’ll becasting a spell over me, too.She’s cast it over Matthew.That look he gave me whenhe went out said everythinghe said or hinted last nightoveragain.Iwishhewaslikeother men and would talkthings out. A body could

answer back then and arguehim into reason. But what’sto be done with a man whojustlooks?”

Anne had relapsed intoreverie, with her chin in herhands and her eyes on thesky, when Marilla returnedfrom her cellar pilgrimage.There Marilla left her untilthe early dinner was on thetable.

“IsupposeIcanhavethemare and buggy this

afternoon, Matthew?” saidMarilla.

Matthew nodded andlooked wistfully at Anne.Marilla intercepted the lookandsaidgrimly:

“I’mgoingtodriveovertoWhiteSandsandsettlethisthing.I’ll takeAnnewithmeand Mrs. Spencer willprobably make arrangementsto send her back to NovaScotia at once. I’ll set yourtea out for you and I’ll be

home in time to milk thecows.”

Still Matthew saidnothing and Marilla had asenseofhavingwastedwordsand breath. There is nothingmoreaggravating thanamanwhowon’t talk back—unlessitisawomanwhowon’t.

Matthew hitched thesorrel into the buggy in duetime and Marilla and Anneset off. Matthew opened theyard gate for them, and as

theydroveslowlythrough,hesaid, to nobody in particularasitseemed:

“Little JerryBuote fromthe Creek was here thismorning, and I told him Iguessed I’d hire him for thesummer.”

Marilla made no reply,butshehit theunluckysorrelsuch a vicious clip with thewhip that the fat mare,unused to such treatment,whizzedindignantlydownthe

lane at an alarming pace.Marilla looked back once asthebuggybouncedalongandsawthataggravatingMatthewleaningoverthegate,lookingwistfullyafterthem.

5

Anne’sHistory

“DO YOU KNOW,” said Anneconfidentially,“I’vemadeupmymind to enjoy this drive.It’s been my experience thatyou can nearly always enjoythings if you make up your

mindfirmlythatyouwill.Ofcourse, youmustmake it upfirmly.Iamnotgoingtothinkabout going back to theasylum while we’re havingour drive. I’m just going tothink about the drive. Oh,look, there’s one little earlywildroseout!Isn’t it lovely?Don’t you think it must begladtobearose?Wouldn’titbe nice if roses could talk?I’m sure they could tell ussuch lovely things.And isn’t

pink the most bewitchingcolor in theworld? I love it,butIcan’twearit.Redheadedpeople can’t wear pink, noteven in imagination.Didyoueverknowofanybodywhosehair was red when she wasyoung, but got to be anothercolorwhenshegrewup?”

“No, I don’t know as Iever did,” said Marillamercilessly, “and I shouldn’tthink it likely to happen inyourcase,either.”

Annesighed.“Well, that is another

hope gone. My life is aperfect graveyard of buriedhopes. That’s a sentence Ireadinabookonce,andIsayit over to comfort myselfwheneverI’mdisappointedinanything.”

“I don’t see where thecomfortingcomesinmyself,”saidMarilla.

“Why,becauseitsoundsso nice and romantic, just as

ifIwereaheroineinabook,you know. I am so fond ofromantic things, and agraveyard full of buriedhopes is about as romantic athing as one can imagine,isn’tit?I’mrathergladIhaveone.Arewegoingacross theLake of Shining Waterstoday?”

“We’re not going overBarry’s pond, if that’s whatyou mean by your Lake ofShiningWaters.We’regoing

bytheshoreroad.”“Shore road sounds

nice,” said Anne dreamily.“Is it as nice as it sounds?Just when you said ‘shoreroad’ I saw it in a picture inmy mind, as quick as that!AndWhite Sands is a prettyname, too; but I don’t like itas well as Avonlea. Avonleais a lovely name. It justsoundslikemusic.HowfarisittoWhiteSands?”

“It’s five miles; and as

you’re evidently bent ontalkingyoumightaswelltalktosomepurposebytellingmewhat you know aboutyourself.”

“Oh,what I know aboutmyself isn’t really worthtelling,” said Anne eagerly.“Ifyou’llonlyletmetellyouwhat I imagine about myselfyou’ll think it ever so muchmoreinteresting.”

“No,Idon’twantanyofyour imaginings. Just you

stick to bald facts. Begin atthe beginning. Where wereyou born and how old areyou?”

“I was eleven lastMarch,”saidAnne, resigningherself to bald facts with alittlesigh.“AndIwasborninBolingbroke, Nova Scotia.Myfather’snamewasWalterShirley,andhewasateacherin the Bolingbroke HighSchool. My mother’s namewas Bertha Shirley. Aren’t

Walter and Bertha lovelynames? I’m so glad myparents had nice names. Itwould be a real disgrace tohave a father named—well,sayJedediah,wouldn’tit?”

“Iguessitdoesn’tmatterwhat a person’s name is aslong as he behaves himself,”said Marilla, feeling herselfcalled upon to inculcate agoodandusefulmoral.

“Well, I don’t know.”Anne looked thoughtful. “I

read in a book once that arosebyanyothernamewouldsmellassweet,butI’veneverbeenabletobelieveit.Idon’tbelieve a rose would be asnice if it was called a thistleoraskunkcabbage.Isupposemy father could have been agoodmanevenifhehadbeencalled Jedediah; but I’m sureit would have been a cross.Well, my mother was ateacher in the High School,too, but when she married

father she gave up teaching,of course. A husband wasenough responsibility. Mrs.Thomassaidthattheywereapairofbabies andaspoor aschurch mice. They went tolive in a weeny-teeny littleyellowhouseinBolingbroke.I’ve never seen that house,but I’ve imagined itthousands of times. I think itmust have had honeysuckleover the parlor window andlilacs in the front yard and

liliesof thevalley just insidethe gate. Yes, and muslincurtains in all the windows.Muslin curtains give a housesuchanair.Iwasborninthathouse. Mrs. Thomas said Iwas the homeliest baby sheever saw, I was so scrawnyandtinyandnothingbuteyes,butthatmotherthoughtIwasperfectly beautiful. I shouldthink a mother would be abetter judge than a poorwomanwhocameintoscrub,

wouldn’t you? I’m glad shewas satisfied with meanyhow; I would feel so sadif I thought I was adisappointment to her—because she didn’t live verylong after that, you see. ShediedoffeverwhenIwasjustthree months old. I do wishshe’d lived long enough forme to remember calling hermother.Ithinkitwouldbesosweet to say ‘mother,’ don’tyou? And father died four

days afterwards from fever,too. That left me an orphanand folks were at their wits’end, so Mrs. Thomas said,whattodowithme.Yousee,nobodywantedmeeventhen.Itseemstobemyfate.Fatherand mother had both comefrom places far away and itwas well known they hadn’tany relatives living. FinallyMrs. Thomas said she’d takeme,thoughshewaspoorandhad a drunken husband. She

brought me up by hand. Doyouknowifthereisanythingin being brought up by handthat ought to make peoplewhoarebroughtup thatwaybetter than other people?Because whenever I wasnaughtyMrs. Thomas wouldaskmehowIcouldbesuchabad girl when she hadbrought me up by hand—reproachful-like.

“Mr. and Mrs. Thomasmoved away from

Bolingbroke to Marysville,and I livedwith them until Iwas eight years old. I helpedlook after the Thomaschildren—there were four ofthemyoungerthanme—andIcantellyoutheytookalotoflooking after. Then Mr.Thomas was killed fallingunder a train and his motheroffered to takeMrs. Thomasand the children, but shedidn’twantme.Mrs.Thomaswas at her wits’ end, so she

said, what to do with me.ThenMrs.Hammondfromuptherivercamedownandsaidshe’d take me, seeing I washandy with children, and Iwentuptherivertolivewithher ina littleclearingamongthe stumps. It was a verylonesome place. I’m sure Icould never have lived thereif I hadn’t had animagination. Mr. Hammondworked a little sawmill upthere, and Mrs. Hammond

had eight children. She hadtwins three times. I likebabies in moderation, buttwins three times insuccessionistoomuch.ItoldMrs. Hammond so firmly,when the last pair came. Iusedtogetsodreadfullytiredcarryingthemabout.

“I lived up river withMrs. Hammond over twoyears, and then Mr.Hammond died and Mrs.Hammond broke up

housekeeping. She dividedher children among herrelatives and went to theStates. I had to go to theasylum at Hopeton, becausenobodywould takeme.Theydidn’twantmeattheasylum,either; they said they wereovercrowded as it was. ButtheyhadtotakemeandIwasthere four months until Mrs.Spencercame.”

Anne finished up withanother sigh, of relief this

time. Evidently she did notlike talking about herexperiences in a world thathadnotwantedher.

“Did you ever go toschool?” demanded Marilla,turning the sorrelmaredowntheshoreroad.

“Notagreatdeal.Iwenta little the last year I stayedwith Mrs. Thomas. When Iwentup riverwewereso farfroma school that I couldn’twalk it in winter and there

wasvacationinsummer,soIcould only go in the springandfall.ButofcourseIwentwhile I was at the asylum. Ican read pretty well and Iknoweversomanypiecesofpoetry off by heart—‘TheBattle of Hohenlinden’ and‘Edinburgh after Flodden,’and ‘Bingen on the Rhine,’and lots of the ‘Lady of theLake’ and most of ‘TheSeasons,’ by JamesThompson. Don’t you just

love poetry that gives you acrinkly feeling up and downyourback?Thereisapieceinthe Fifth Reader—‘TheDownfall of Poland’—that isjustfullofthrills.Ofcourse,Iwasn’tintheFifthReader—Iwas only in the Fourth—butthebiggirls used to lendmetheirstoread.”

“Were those women—Mrs. Thomas and Mrs.Hammond—good to you?”asked Marilla, looking at

Anneoutofthecornerofhereye.

“O-o-o-h,” falteredAnne.Hersensitivelittlefacesuddenly flushed scarlet andembarrassment sat on herbrow. “Oh, theymeant to be—I know they meant to bejust as good and kind aspossible. And when peoplemean tobegood toyou,youdon’t mind very much whenthey’re not quite—always.They had a good deal to

worry them, you know. It’sverytryingtohaveadrunkenhusband,yousee;anditmustbe very trying to have twinsthree times in succession,don’t you think? But I feelsuretheymeanttobegoodtome.”

Marilla asked no morequestions. Anne gave herselfuptoasilentraptureovertheshoreroadandMarillaguidedthe sorrel abstractedly whileshe pondered deeply. Pity

was suddenly stirring in herheart for the child. What astarved, unloved life she hadhad—a life of drudgery andpoverty and neglect; forMarilla was shrewd enoughto read between the lines ofAnne’shistoryanddivinethetruth. No wonder she hadbeen so delighted at theprospect of a real home. Itwasapityshehadtobesentback. What if she, Marilla,should indulge Matthew’s

unaccountable whim and lether stay? He was set on it;and the child seemed a nice,teachablelittlething.

“She’s got too much tosay,” thought Marilla, “butshe might be trained out ofthat.Andthere’snothingrudeor slangy in what she doessay.She’sladylike.It’slikelyherpeoplewerenicefolks.”

The shore road was“woodsy and wild andlonesome.”Ontherighthand,

scrub firs, their spirits quiteunbroken by long years oftussle with the gulf winds,grewthickly.Ontheleftwerethesteepredsandstonecliffs,so near the track in placesthatamareof lesssteadinessthan the sorrel might havetriedthenervesof thepeoplebehindher.Downatthebaseof the cliffs were heaps ofsurf-worn rocks or littlesandy coves inlaid withpebblesaswithoceanjewels;

beyond lay the sea,shimmering and blue, andover it soared the gulls, theirpinionsflashingsilveryinthesunlight.

“Isn’t the seawonderful?” said Anne,rousing from a long, wide-eyed silence. “Once, when Ilived in Marysville, Mr.Thomas hired an expresswagon and took us all tospendthedayattheshoretenmiles away. I enjoyed every

momentofthatday,evenifIhad to lookafter thechildrenall the time.I liveditover inhappy dreams for years. Butthis shore is nicer than theMarysville shore. Aren’tthose gulls splendid? Wouldyouliketobeagull?IthinkIwould—that is, if I couldn’tbe a human girl. Don’t youthink it would be nice towakeupatsunriseandswoopdown over the water andaway out over that lovely

blueallday;andthenatnighttoflybacktoone’snest?Oh,I can just imagine myselfdoing it. What big house isthatjustahead,please?”

“That’s theWhiteSandsHotel.Mr. Kirke runs it, butthe season hasn’t begun yet.ThereareheapsofAmericanscome there for the summer.They think this shore is justaboutright.”

“IwasafraiditmightbeMrs. Spencer’s place,” said

Anne mournfully. “I don’twant to get there. Somehow,it will seem like the end ofeverything.”

6

Marilla Makes UpHerMind

GET THERE THEY did,however, indueseason.Mrs.Spencerlivedinabigyellowhouse at White Sands Cove,

andshecametothedoorwithsurprise and welcomemingled on her benevolentface.

“Dear, dear,” sheexclaimed, “you’re the lastfolksIwaslookingfortoday,but I’m real glad to see you.You’llputyourhorsein?Andhowareyou,Anne?”

“I’m as well as can beexpected, thank you,” saidAnne smilelessly. A blightseemedtohavedescendedon

her.“I suppose we’ll stay a

littlewhile to rest themare,”saidMarilla, “but I promisedMatthew I’d be home early.The fact is, Mrs. Spencer,there’s been a queer mistakesomewhere, and I’ve comeover to see where it is. Wesentword,MatthewandI,foryou to bring us a boy fromthe asylum. We told yourbrotherRobert to tellyouwewanted a boy ten or eleven

yearsold.”“Marilla Cuthbert, you

don’t say so!” said Mrs.Spencer in distress. “Why,Robertsenttheworddownbyhis daughter Nancy and shesaid you wanted a girl—didn’t she, Flora Jane?”appealing to her daughterwho had come out to thesteps.

“She certainly did,MissCuthbert,”corroboratedFloraJaneearnestly.

“I’m dreadful sorry,”saidMrs. Spencer. “It is toobad; but it certainly wasn’tmy fault, you see, MissCuthbert. I did the best Icould and I thought I wasfollowing your instructions.Nancy is a terrible flightything. I’veoftenhad to scoldher well for herheedlessness.”

“It was our own fault,”saidMarilla resignedly. “Weshould have come to you

ourselves and not left animportant message to bepassed along by word ofmouth in that fashion.Anyhow, the mistake hasbeenmadeandtheonlythingto do now is to set it right.Canwesendthechildbacktotheasylum?Isupposethey’lltakeherback,won’tthey?”

“Isupposeso,”saidMrs.Spencer thoughtfully, “but Idon’t think it will benecessary to send her back.

Mrs. Peter Blewett was uphere yesterday, and she wassaying to me how much shewishedshe’dsentbymeforalittle girl to help her. Mrs.Peter has a large family, youknow,andshefindsithardtoget help. Anne will be thevery girl for her. I call itpositivelyprovidential.”

Marilladidnotlookasifshe thought Providence hadmuch to do with the matter.Here was an unexpectedly

good chance to get thisunwelcome orphan off herhands, and she did not evenfeelgratefulforit.

She knew Mrs. PeterBlewett only by sight as asmall,shrewish-facedwomanwithout an ounce ofsuperfluous flesh on herbones. But she had heard ofher. “A terrible worker anddriver,” Mrs. Peter was saidtobe;anddischargedservantgirls told fearsome tales of

her temper and stinginess,and her family of pert,quarrelsomechildren.Marillafelt aqualmof conscience atthe thought of handingAnneovertohertendermercies.

“Well, I’ll go in andwe’ll talk the matter over,”shesaid.

“And if there isn’tMrs.Petercomingupthelanethisblessed minute!” exclaimedMrs. Spencer, bustling herguests through the hall into

the parlor, where a deadlychill struckon themas if theair hadbeen strained so longthrough dark green, closelydrawn blinds that it had lostevery particle of warmth ithad ever possessed. “That isreal lucky, for we can settlethe matter right away. Takethe armchair, Miss Cuthbert.Anne, you sit here on theottoman and don’t wriggle.Letme take your hats. FloraJane,gooutandputthekettle

on. Good afternoon, Mrs.Blewett.Wewerejustsayinghow fortunate it was youhappened along. Let meintroduce you two ladies.Mrs.Blewett,MissCuthbert.Please excuse me for just amoment.IforgottotellFloraJane to take the buns out oftheoven.”

Mrs. Spencer whiskedaway, after pulling up theblinds. Anne, sitting mutelyon the ottoman, with her

hands clasped tightly in herlap,staredatMrs.Blewettasonefascinated.Wasshetobegivenintothekeepingofthissharp-faced, sharp-eyedwoman? She felt a lumpcoming up in her throat andher eyes smarted painfully.She was beginning to beafraid she couldn’t keep thetearsbackwhenMrs.Spencerreturned, flushed andbeaming, quite capable oftaking any and every

difficulty,physical,mentalorspiritual, into considerationandsettlingitoutofhand.

“It seems there’s been amistake about this little girl,Mrs. Blewett,” she said. “IwasundertheimpressionthatMr. and Miss Cuthbertwantedalittlegirltoadopt.Iwas certainly told so. But itseems it was a boy theywanted. So if you’re still ofthe same mind you wereyesterday, I think she’ll be

justthethingforyou.”Mrs. Blewett darted her

eyesoverAnnefromhead tofoot.

“How old are you andwhat’s your name?” shedemanded.

“Anne Shirley,” falteredtheshrinkingchild,notdaringto make any stipulationsregardingthespellingthereof,“andI’melevenyearsold.”

“Humph! You don’tlook as if therewasmuch to

you.Butyou’rewiry. Idon’tknow but the wiry ones arethe best after all. Well, if Itake you you’ll have to be agood girl, you know—goodand smart and respectful. I’llexpectyoutoearnyourkeep,and no mistake about that.Yes,IsupposeImightaswelltakeheroffyourhands,MissCuthbert. The baby’s awfulfractious,andI’mcleanwornout attending to him. If youlikeIcantakeherrighthome

now.”Marilla looked at Anne

and softened at sight of thechild’spalefacewithitslookof mute misery—the miseryof a helpless little creaturewho finds itself once morecaughtinthetrapfromwhichithadescaped.Marillafeltanuncomfortable convictionthat, if she denied the appealof that look, it would haunther to her dying day.Moreover, she did not fancy

Mrs. Blewett. To hand asensitive, “highstrung” childover to such a woman! No,she could not take theresponsibilityofdoingthat!

“Well, I don’t know,”shesaidslowly.“Ididn’tsaythat Matthew and I hadabsolutely decided that wewouldn’t keep her. In fact, Imay say that Matthew isdisposed to keep her. I justcameovertofindouthowthemistakehadoccurred. I think

I’dbettertakeherhomeagainand talk it over withMatthew. I feel that Ioughtn’t to decide onanything without consultinghim.Ifwemakeupourmindnottokeepherwe’llbringorsend her over to youtomorrow night. If we don’tyou may know that she isgoing to stay with us. Willthatsuityou,Mrs.Blewett?”

“Isupposeit’llhaveto,”said Mrs. Blewett

ungraciously.DuringMarilla’s speech

a sunrise had been dawningonAnne’sface.Firstthelookof despair faded out; thencame a faint flush of hope;hereyesgrewdeepandbrightas morning stars. The childwasquitetransfigured;and,amoment later, when Mrs.Spencer and Mrs. Blewettwent out in quest of a recipethelatterhadcometoborrowshesprangupandflewacross

theroomtoMarilla.“Oh,Miss Cuthbert, did

you really say that perhapsyou would let me stay atGreenGables?”shesaid,inabreathless whisper, as ifspeaking aloud might shatterthe glorious possibility. “Didyou really say it? Or did Ionlyimaginethatyoudid?”

“I think you’d betterlearn to control thatimagination of yours, Anne,if you can’t distinguish

betweenwhatisrealandwhatisn’t,” said Marilla crossly.“Yes, you did hear me sayjustthatandnomore.It isn’tdecided yet and perhaps wewill conclude to let Mrs.Blewett take you after all.ShecertainlyneedsyoumuchmorethanIdo.”

“I’drathergobacktotheasylum than go to live withher,” saidAnne passionately.“She looks exactly like a—likeagimlet.”

Marilla smothered asmile under the convictionthat Anne must be reprovedforsuchaspeech.

“A little girl like youshouldbeashamedoftalkingso about a lady and astranger,” she said severely.“Go back and sit downquietly andholdyour tongueand behave as a good girlshould.”

“I’ll try to do and beanything you want me, if

you’ll only keep me,” saidAnne,returningmeeklytoherottoman.

When they arrived backatGreenGables that eveningMatthew met them in thelane. Marilla from afar hadnoted him prowling along itand guessed his motive. Shewas prepared for the reliefshe read in his facewhen hesaw that she had at leastbroughtAnne backwith her.But she said nothing to him,

relative to the affair, untiltheywerebothoutintheyardbehind the barn milking thecows. Then she briefly toldhim Anne’s history and theresult of the interview withMrs.Spencer.

“Iwouldn’tgiveadogIlikedtothatBlewettwoman,”said Matthew with unusualvim.

“I don’t fancy her stylemyself,” admitted Marilla,“but it’s that or keeping her

ourselves, Matthew. And,sinceyouseemtowanther,IsupposeI’mwilling—orhavetobe.I’vebeenthinkingovertheideauntilI’vegotkindofused to it. It seems a sort ofduty.I’veneverbroughtupachild, especially a girl, and Idare say I’ll make a terriblemess of it. But I’ll do mybest.SofarasI’mconcerned,Matthew,shemaystay.”

Matthew’s shy facewasaglowofdelight.

“Well now, I reckonedyou’d come to see it in thatlight, Marilla,” he said.“She’s such an interestinglittlething.”

“It’d be more to thepoint if you could say shewas a useful little thing,”retorted Marilla, “but I’llmake it my business to seeshe’s trained to be that. Andmind,Matthew,you’renottogo interfering with mymethods.Perhapsanoldmaid

doesn’t know much aboutbringing up a child, but Iguess she knows more thanan old bachelor. So you justleave me to manage her.When I fail it’ll be timeenoughtoputyouroarin.”

“There, there, Marilla,youcanhaveyourownway,”said Matthew reassuringly.“Onlybeasgoodandkindtoher as you can be withoutspoiling her. I kind of thinkshe’soneof thesortyoucan

do anythingwith if you onlygethertoloveyou.”

Marilla sniffed, toexpress her contempt forMatthew’s opinionsconcerning anythingfeminine, and walked off tothedairywiththepails.

“Iwon’t tell her tonightthat she can stay,” shereflected, as she strained themilk into the creamers.“She’dbesoexcited thatshewouldn’t sleep a wink.

Marilla Cuthbert, you’refairly in for it. Did you eversuppose you’d see the daywhen you’d be adopting anorphan girl? It’s surprisingenough;butnotsosurprisingas thatMatthewshouldbe atthe bottom of it, him thatalwaysseemedtohavesuchamortal dread of little girls.Anyhow, we’ve decided onthe experiment and goodnessonly knows what will comeofit.”

7

Anne Says HerPrayers

WHEN MARILLA TOOK Anneup to bed that night she saidstiffly:

“Now, Anne, I noticed

lastnightthatyouthrewyourclothes all about the floorwhenyoutookthemoff.Thatis a very untidy habit, and Ican’t allow it at all.As soonasyou takeoffanyarticleofclothing fold it neatly andplaceitonthechair.Ihaven’tany use at all for little girlswhoaren’tneat.”

“Iwassoharrowedupinmy mind last night that Ididn’tthinkaboutmyclothesat all,” said Anne. “I’ll fold

them nicely tonight. Theyalwaysmadeusdothatattheasylum. Half the time,though, I’d forget, I’d be insuch a hurry to get into bednice and quiet and imaginethings.”

“You’ll have torememberalittlebetterifyoustay here,” admonishedMarilla. “There, that lookssomething like. Say yourprayers now and get intobed.”

“I never say anyprayers,”announcedAnne.

Marilla looked horrifiedastonishment.

“Why, Anne, what doyou mean? Were you nevertaught to say your prayers?God always wants little girlsto say their prayers. Don’tyou know who God is,Anne?”

“‘Godisaspirit,infinite,eternal and unchangeable, inHis being, wisdom, power,

holiness, justice, goodness,and truth,”’ responded Annepromptlyandglibly.

Marilla looked ratherrelieved.

“So you do knowsomething then, thankgoodness!You’renotquiteaheathen.Wheredidyoulearnthat?”

“Oh, at the asylumSunday-school.Theymadeuslearn the whole catechism. Iliked it pretty well. There’s

something splendid aboutsome of the words. ‘Infinite,eternal and unchangeable.’Isn’tthatgrand?Ithassucharoll to it—just like a bigorgan playing. You couldn’tquitecallitpoetry,Isuppose,but it sounds a lot like it,doesn’tit?”

“We’renottalkingaboutpoetry,Anne—wearetalkingabout saying your prayers.Don’tyouknowit’saterriblewicked thing not to say your

prayers every night? I’mafraidyouareaverybadlittlegirl.”

“You’d find it easier tobe bad than good if you hadred hair,” said Annereproachfully. “People whohaven’t red hair don’t knowwhattroubleis.Mrs.Thomastold me that God made myhairredonpurpose,andI’venevercaredaboutHimsince.And anyhow I’d always betoo tired at night to bother

saying prayers. People whohavetolookaftertwinscan’tbe expected to say theirprayers. Now, do youhonestlythinktheycan?”

Marilla decided thatAnne’s religious trainingmust be begun at once.Plainly there was no time tobelost.

“You must say yourprayers while you are undermyroof,Anne.”

“Why, of course, if you

want me to,” assented Annecheerfully. “I’d do anythingtoobligeyou.Butyou’llhavetotellmewhattosayforthisonce.AfterIget intobedI’llimagineoutarealniceprayertosayalways.Ibelievethatitwillbequite interesting,nowthatIcometothinkofit.”

“Youmustkneeldown,”said Marilla inembarrassment.

Anne knelt at Marilla’skneeandlookedupgravely.

“Whymustpeoplekneeldown to pray? If I reallywanted to pray I’ll tell youwhatI’ddo.I’dgooutintoagreat big field all alone orinto the deep, deep woods,andI’dlookupintothesky—up—up—up—intothatlovelyblueskythatlooksasiftherewas no end to its blueness.And then I’d just feel aprayer.Well,I’mready.WhatamItosay?”

Marilla felt more

embarrassed than ever. Shehad intended to teach Annethe childish classic, “Now Ilay me down to sleep.” Butshe had, as I have told you,theglimmeringsofasenseofhumor—which is simplyanother name for a sense ofthe fitness of things; and itsuddenlyoccurred toher thatthat simple little prayer,sacred to white-robedchildhood lispingatmotherlyknees, was entirely unsuited

tothisfreckledwitchofagirlwho knew and cared nothingabout God’s love, since shehadneverhad it translated toher through the medium ofhumanlove.

“You’re old enough toprayforyourself,Anne,”shesaid finally. “Just thankGodfor your blessings and askHim humbly for the thingsyouwant.”

“Well, I’ll domy best,”promised Anne, burying her

face in Marilla’s lap.“Gracious heavenly Father—that’s the way the ministerssayit inchurch,soIsupposeit’s all right in a privateprayer, isn’t it?” sheinterjected, lifting her headforamoment.

“Gracious heavenlyFather, I thankThee for theWhiteWayofDelightand

theLakeofShiningWaters and Bonnyand the SnowQueen. I’m reallyextremely gratefulfor them. Andthat’s all theblessings I canthinkofjustnowtothank Thee for. Asfor the things Iwant, they’re sonumerous that itwould take a great

deal of time toname themall, so Iwill only mentionthe two mostimportant. PleaseletmestayatGreenGables; and pleaselet me be good-looking when Igrowup.Iremain,

“Yoursrespectfully,

“AnneShirley.

“There, did I do it allright?” she asked eagerly,getting up. “I could havemadeitmuchmorefloweryifI’d had a little more time tothinkitover.”

Poor Marilla was onlypreserved from completecollapsebyrememberingthatit was not irreverence, butsimply spiritual ignorance onthe part of Anne that wasresponsible for thisextraordinary petition. She

tucked the child up in bed,mentally vowing that sheshouldbe taughtaprayer thevery next day, and wasleaving the room with thelight when Anne called herback.

“I’ve just thought of itnow. I should have said‘Amen’ in place of ‘yoursrespectfully,’ shouldn’t I?—theway theministers do. I’dforgottenit,butIfeltaprayershould be finished off in

some way, so I put in theother.Doyousupposeitwillmakeanydifference?”

“I—I don’t suppose itwill,” said Marilla. “Go tosleep now like a good child.Goodnight.”

“I can say good nighttonight with a clearconscience,” said Anne,cuddling luxuriously downamongherpillows.

Marilla retreated to thekitchen, set thecandle firmly

on the table, and glared atMatthew.

“Matthew Cuthbert, it’sabouttimesomebodyadoptedthat child and taught hersomething.She’snextdoortoa perfect heathen. Will youbelieve that she never said aprayer inher life till tonight?I’ll send to the mansetomorrow and borrow thePeep of Day series, that’swhatI’lldo.AndsheshallgotoSunday-schooljustassoon

as I can get some suitableclothes made for her. Iforesee that I shall have myhands full. Well, well, wecan’t get through this worldwithout our share of trouble.I’vehadaprettyeasylifeofitsofar,butmytimehascomeat last and I suppose I’ll justhavetomakethebestofit.”

8

Anne’s Bringing-upIsBegun

FOR REASONS BEST known toherself, Marilla did not tellAnne that shewas to stay atGreen Gables until the next

afternoon. During theforenoon she kept the childbusy with various tasks andwatchedoverherwithakeeneye while she did them. Bynoon she had concluded thatAnnewassmartandobedient,willing towork and quick tolearn; her most seriousshortcoming seemed to be atendency to fall intodaydreamsinthemiddleofatask and forget all about ituntil such time as she was

sharplyrecalled toearthbyareprimandoracatastrophe.

WhenAnnehadfinishedwashingthedinnerdishesshesuddenly confronted Marillawiththeairandexpressionofonedesperatelydeterminedtolearntheworst.Herthinlittlebody trembled from head tofoot;herfaceflushedandhereyes dilated until they werealmostblack;sheclaspedherhands tightly and said in animploringvoice:

“Oh, please, MissCuthbert,won’tyoutellmeifyou are going to send meawayor not? I’ve tried to bepatient all themorning, but Ireally feel that I cannot bearnotknowinganylonger.It’sadreadful feeling. Please tellme.”

“You haven’t scaldedthe dishcloth in clean hotwater as I told you to do,”said Marilla immovably.“Justgoanddoitbeforeyou

ask any more questions,Anne.”

Annewent and attendedto the dishcloth. Then shereturned to Marilla andfastened imploring eyes onthelatter’sface.

“Well,” said Marilla,unabletofindanyexcusefordeferring her explanationlonger,“I suppose Imightaswell tell you.Matthew and Ihave decided to keep you—thatis, ifyouwill trytobea

good little girl and showyourselfgrateful.Why,child,whateveristhematter?”

“I’m crying,” saidAnneina toneofbewilderment.“Ican’t thinkwhy. I’m glad asgladcanbe.Oh,gladdoesn’tseem the right word at all. Iwas glad about the WhiteWayandthecherryblossoms—butthis!Oh,it’ssomethingmorethanglad.I’msohappy.I’ll try to be so good. Itwillbe uphill work, I expect, for

Mrs.Thomasoften toldme Iwas desperately wicked.However, I’ll do my verybest.ButcanyoutellmewhyI’mcrying?”

“I suppose it’s becauseyou’reallexcitedandworkedup,” said Marilladisapprovingly.“Sitdownonthat chair and try to calmyourself. I’mafraidyoubothcry and laugh far too easily.Yes, you can stay here andwewilltrytodorightbyyou.

You must go to school; butit’s only a fortnight tillvacation so it isn’t worthwhileforyoutostartbeforeitopensagaininSeptember.”

“WhatamItocallyou?”asked Anne. “Shall I alwayssayMissCuthbert?CanIcallyouAuntMarilla?”

“No; you’ll call me justplainMarilla.I’mnotusedtobeing called Miss Cuthbertand it would make menervous.”

“It sounds awfullydisrespectful to say justMarilla,”protestedAnne.

“I guess there’ll benothing disrespectful in it ifyou’re careful to speakrespectfully. Everybody,young and old, in Avonleacalls me Marilla except theminister. He says MissCuthbert—when he thinks ofit.”

“I’d love to call youAunt Marilla,” said Anne

wistfully. “I’ve never had anaunt or any relation at all—not even a grandmother. Itwould make me feel as if Ireallybelonged toyou.Can’tIcallyouAuntMarilla?”

“No. I’m not your auntand Idon’tbelieve incallingpeople names that don’tbelongtothem.”

“But we could imagineyouweremyaunt.”

“I couldn’t,” saidMarillagrimly.

“Do you never imaginethings different from whatthey really are?” askedAnnewide-eyed.

“No.”“Oh!”Annedrewalong

breath. “Oh, Miss—Marilla,howmuchyoumiss!”

“I don’t believe inimagining things differentfrom what they really are,”retorted Marilla. “When theLord puts us in certaincircumstances He doesn’t

mean forus to imagine themaway. And that reminds me.Go into the sitting room,Anne—be sure your feet areclean and don’t let any fliesin—and bring me out theillustrated card that’s on themantelpiece. The Lord’sPrayer is on it and you’lldevote your spare time thisafternoontolearningitoffbyheart. There’s to be nomoreofsuchprayingasIheardlastnight.”

“I suppose I was veryawkward,” said Anneapologetically,“butthen,yousee, I’d never had anypractice. You couldn’t reallyexpect a person to pray verywell the first time she tried,could you? I thought out asplendidprayerafterIwenttobed, just as Ipromisedyou Iwould. It was nearly as longas a minister’s and sopoetical. But would youbelieve it? I couldn’t

remember one word when Iwoke up this morning. AndI’mafraidI’llneverbeabletothink out another one asgood.Somehow,thingsneverare so good when they’rethought out a second time.Haveyouevernoticedthat?”

“Here is something foryou to notice,Anne.When Itell you to do a thing Iwantyou to obey me at once andnot stand stock-still anddiscourse about it. Just you

goanddoasIbidyou.”Anne promptly departed

forthesitting-roomacrossthehall;shefailedtoreturn;afterwaiting ten minutes Marillalaid down her knitting andmarchedafterherwithagrimexpression. She found Annestanding motionless before apicture hanging on the wallbetween the two windows,with her hands claspedbehind her, her face uplifted,and her eyes astar with

dreams.Thewhite andgreenlight strained through appletrees and clustering vinesoutsidefellovertheraptlittlefigure with a half-unearthlyradiance.

“Anne,whateverareyouthinking of?” demandedMarillasharply.

Annecamebacktoearthwithastart.

“That,”shesaidpointingto thepicture—a rathervividchromo entitled “Christ

Blessing LittleChildren”—“and I was justimagining Iwasoneof them—that I was the little girl inthebluedressstandingoffbyherself in thecorneras ifshedidn’tbelongtoanybodylikeme.Shelookslonelyandsad,don’t you think? I guess shehadn’tanyfatherormotherofher own. But she wanted tobe blessed, too, so she justcrept shylyupon theoutsideof the crowd, hopingnobody

would notice her—exceptHim. I’m sure I know justhow she felt. Her heartmusthavebeatandherhandsmusthave got cold like mine didwhen I asked you if I couldstay. She was afraid Hemightn’t notice her. But it’slikely He did, don’t youthink? I’ve been trying toimagineitallout—heredgingalittlenearerallthetimeuntilshe was quite close to Him;and then He would look at

her and put His hand on herhair and oh, such a thrill ofjoy as would run over her!But I wish the artist hadn’tpainted Him so sorrowfullooking. All His pictures arelike that, if you’ve noticed.But I don’t believeHe couldreally have looked so sad orthechildrenwouldhavebeenafraidofHim.”

“Anne,” said Marilla,wondering why she had notbroken into this speech long

before, “you shouldn’t talkthat way. It’s irreverent—positivelyirreverent.”

Anne’seyesmarveled.“Why, I felt just as

reverentascouldbe.I’msureI didn’t mean to beirreverent.”

“Well, I don’t supposeyoudid—butitdoesn’tsoundright to talk so familiarlyabout such things. Andanother thing, Anne, when Isend you after something

you’retobringitatonceandnot fall into mooning andimagining before pictures.Remember that. Take thatcard and come right to thekitchen.Now,sitdowninthecorner and learn that prayeroffbyheart.”

Anne set the card upagainst the jugful of appleblossoms she had brought intodecoratethedinnertable—Marilla had eyed thatdecoration askance, but had

said nothing—propped herchinonherhands,andfelltostudyingitintentlyforseveralsilentminutes.

“I like this,” sheannounced at length. “It’sbeautiful.I’vehearditbefore—I heard the superintendentof the asylum Sunday-schoolsay itoveronce.But Ididn’tlike it then. He had such acracked voice and he prayedit somournfully. I really feltsurehethoughtprayingwasa

disagreeable duty. This isn’tpoetry, but it makes me feeljust the same way poetrydoes. ‘Our Fatherwho art inheaven, hallowed be Thyname.’Thatisjustlikealineofmusic.Oh,I’msogladyouthought of making me learnthis,Miss—Marilla.”

“Well, learn it and holdyour tongue,” said Marillashortly.

Anne tipped the vase ofapple blossoms near enough

to bestow a soft kiss on apink-cupped bud, and thenstudied diligently for somemomentslonger.

“Marilla,”shedemandedpresently,“doyouthinkthatIshall ever have a bosomfriendinAvonlea?”

“A—a what kind of afriend?”

“A bosom friend—anintimatefriend,youknow—areallykindredspirit towhomIcanconfidemyinmostsoul.

I’ve dreamed of meeting herall my life. I never reallysupposed I would, but somanyofmy loveliestdreamshave come true all at oncethatperhapsthisonewill,too.Doyouthinkit’spossible?”

“Diana Barry lives overat Orchard Slope and she’sabout your age. She’s a verynice little girl, and perhapsshe will be a playmate foryou when she comes home.She’svisitingherauntoverat

Carmody just now. You’llhave to be careful how youbehaveyourself,though.Mrs.Barry is a very particularwoman. She won’t let Dianaplay with any little girl whoisn’tniceandgood.”

Anne looked at Marillathrough the apple blossoms,hereyesaglowwithinterest.

“What is Diana like?Herhairisn’tred,isit?Oh,Ihope not. It’s bad enough tohave red hair myself, but I

positively couldn’t endure itinabosomfriend.”

“Diana is a very prettylittlegirl.Shehasblack eyesand hair and rosy cheeks.And she is good and smart,which is better than beingpretty.”

Marilla was as fond ofmorals as the Duchess inWonderland, and was firmlyconvinced thatoneshouldbetacked on to every remarkmade to a child who was

beingbroughtup.But Anne waved the

moral inconsequently asideand seized only on thedelightful possibilities beforeit.

“Oh, I’m so glad she’spretty.Nexttobeingbeautifuloneself—and that’simpossible in my case—itwould be best to have abeautifulbosomfriend.WhenIlivedwithMrs.Thomasshehad a bookcase in her sitting

roomwithglassdoors.Thereweren’tanybooksinit;Mrs.Thomas kept her best chinaand her preserves there—when she had any preservestokeep.Oneofthedoorswasbroken.Mr.Thomassmashedit one night when he wasslightly intoxicated. But theotherwaswholeandIusedtopretend that my reflection init was another little girl wholived in it. I called herKatieMaurice, and we were very

intimate.Iusedto talktoherby the hour, especially onSunday, and tell hereverything. Katie was thecomfort and consolation ofmy life. We used to pretendthat the bookcase wasenchanted and that if I onlyknew the spell I could openthe door and step right intothe room where KatieMauricelived,insteadofintoMrs. Thomas’ shelves ofpreservesandchina.Andthen

Katie Maurice would havetakenmebythehandandledme out into a wonderfulplace, all flowers andsunshine and fairies, and wewouldhavelivedtherehappyforeverafter.WhenIwenttolive with Mrs. Hammond itjust broke my heart to leaveKatie Maurice. She felt itdreadfully, too, I know shedid, for shewascryingwhenshe kissed me good-byethrough the bookcase door.

There was no bookcase atMrs.Hammond’s.Butjustuptheriveralittlewayfromthehouse therewasa longgreenlittle valley, and the loveliestecho lived there. It echoedback every word you said,even if you didn’t talk a bitloud. So I imagined that itwasalittlegirlcalledViolettaandweweregreatfriendsandIlovedheralmostaswellasIloved Katie Maurice—notquite, but almost, you know.

ThenightbeforeIwenttotheasylum I said good-bye toVioletta, and oh, her good-byecamebacktomeinsuchsad, sad tones. I had becomeso attached to her that Ihadn’t theheart to imagine abosom friend at the asylum,even if there had been anyscopeforimaginationthere.”

“I think it’s just aswellthere wasn’t,” said Marilladrily. “I don’t approve ofsuchgoings-on.Youseem to

half believe your ownimaginations. It will be wellfor you to have a real livefriend to put such nonsenseout of your head. But don’tlet Mrs. Barry hear youtalking about your KatieMaurices and your Violettasor she’ll think you tellstories.”

“Oh, Iwon’t. I couldn’ttalk of them to everybody—theirmemoriesaretoosacredforthat.ButIthoughtI’dlike

to have you know aboutthem. Oh, look, here’s a bigbee just tumbled out of anapple blossom. Just thinkwhata lovelyplace to live—in an apple blossom! Fancygoing to sleep in itwhen thewind was rocking it. If Iwasn’t a human girl I thinkI’d like to be a bee and liveamongtheflowers.”

“Yesterday you wantedto be a sea gull,” sniffedMarilla.“Ithinkyouarevery

fickle minded. I told you tolearnthatprayerandnottalk.But it seems impossible foryou to stop talking if you’vegotanybodythatwilllistentoyou. So go up to your roomandlearnit.”

“Oh, I know it prettynearly all now—all but justthelastline.”

“Well,nevermind,doasI tell you. Go to your roomand finish learning it well,andstaythereuntilIcallyou

downtohelpmegettea.”“Can I take the apple

blossoms with me forcompany?”pleadedAnne.

“No; you don’t wantyour room cluttered up withflowers.Youshouldhaveleftthem on the tree in the firstplace.”

“I did feel a little thatway,too,”saidAnne.“Ikindof felt I shouldn’t shortentheir lovely lives by pickingthem—Iwouldn’twant tobe

picked if I were an appleblossom. But the temptationwasirresistible.Whatdoyoudo when you meet with anirresistibletemptation?”

“Anne, didyouhearmetellyoutogotoyourroom?”

Annesighed,retreatedtothe east gable, and sat downinachairbythewindow.

“There—I know thisprayer. I learned that lastsentence coming upstairs.Now I’m going to imagine

things into this room so thatthey’ll always stay imagined.The floor is covered with awhitevelvetcarpetwithpinkrosesallover itandtherearepink silk curtains at thewindows.Thewallsarehungwith gold and silver brocadetapestry. The furniture ismahogany. I never saw anymahogany, but it does soundso luxurious.This is a couchall heaped with gorgeoussilkencushions,pinkandblue

and crimson and gold, and Iamreclininggracefullyon it.Icanseemyreflectioninthatsplendid big mirror hangingon the wall. I am tall andregal, clad in a gown oftrailing white lace, with apearl cross onmybreast andpearls inmyhair.Myhair isofmidnightdarknessandmyskin is a clear ivory pallor.My name is the LadyCordelia Fitzgerald. No, itisn’t—Ican’tmakethatseem

real.”She danced up to the

littlelooking-glassandpeeredinto it. Her pointed freckledface and solemn gray eyespeeredbackather.

“You’re only Anne ofGreen Gables,” she saidearnestly,“andIseeyou,justas you are looking now,wheneverItrytoimagineI’mtheLadyCordelia.But it’s amillion times nicer to beAnne of Green Gables than

Anne of nowhere inparticular,isn’tit?”

Shebentforward,kissedher reflection affectionately,andbetookherselftotheopenwindow.

“Dear Snow Queen,good afternoon. And goodafternoon, dear birches downin the hollow. And goodafternoon,deargrayhouseuponthehill.IwonderifDianais to be my bosom friend. Ihopeshewill,andIshalllove

her very much. But I mustnever quite forget KatieMaurice and Violetta. TheywouldfeelsohurtifIdidandI’d hate to hurt anybody’sfeelings, even a littlebookcasegirl’soralittleechogirl’s. I must be careful toremember them and sendthemakisseveryday.”

Anne blew a couple ofairykissesfromherfingertipspast the cherry blossoms andthen, with her chin in her

hands,driftedluxuriouslyoutonaseaofdaydreams.

9

Mrs.Rachel Lynde IsProperlyHorrified

ANNEHADBEENa fortnightatGreen Gables before Mrs.Lynde arrived to inspect her.Mrs.Rachel,todoherjustice,

was not to blame for this. Asevere and unseasonableattackofgrippehadconfinedthat good lady to her houseeversincetheoccasionofherlast visit to Green Gables.Mrs. Rachel was not oftensick and had a well-definedcontempt for people whowere; but grippe, sheasserted, was like no otherillness on earth and couldonly be interpreted as one ofthe special visitations of

Providence. As soon as herdoctorallowedher toputherfoot out-of-doors she hurriedup toGreenGables, burstingwith curiosity to seeMatthew’s and Marilla’sorphan, concerningwhomallsorts of stories andsuppositionshadgoneabroadinAvonlea.

Anne had made gooduseofeverywakingmomentof that fortnight.Alreadyshewas acquainted with every

tree and shrub about theplace. She had discoveredthat a laneopenedoutbelowthe apple orchard and ran upthrough a belt of woodland;andshehadexplored it to itsfurthestendinallitsdeliciousvagariesofbrookandbridge,fir coppice and wild cherryarch, corners thickwith fern,and branching byways ofmapleandmountainash.

She had made friendswith the spring down in the

hollow—thatwonderfuldeep,clear icy-cold spring; it wasset about with smooth redsandstonesandrimmed inbygreat palm-like clumps ofwaterfern;andbeyonditwasalogbridgeoverthebrook.

That bridge led Anne’sdancing feet up over awooded hill beyond, whereperpetual twilight reignedunder the straight, thick-growing firs and spruces; theonly flowers there were

myriads of delicate “Junebells,” those shyest andsweetest of woodlandblooms,andafewpale,aerialstarflowers, like thespiritsoflast year’s blossoms.Gossamers glimmered likethreads of silver among thetrees and the fir boughs andtassels seemed to utterfriendlyspeech.

All these rapturedvoyages of exploration weremade in the odd half hours

which she was allowed forplay, and Anne talkedMatthew and Marilla half-deafoverherdiscoveries.Notthat Matthew complained, tobe sure; he listened to it allwith a wordless smile ofenjoyment on his face;Marilla permitted the“chatter” until she foundherself becoming toointerested in it, whereuponshe always promptlyquenched Anne by a curt

commandtoholdhertongue.Anne was out in the

orchard when Mrs. Rachelcame, wandering at her ownsweet will through the lush,tremulous grasses splashedwithruddyeveningsunshine;so that good lady had anexcellent chance to talk herillness fully over, describingevery ache and pulse beatwith such evident enjoymentthat Marilla thought evengrippe must bring its

compensations. When detailswere exhausted Mrs. Rachelintroduced the real reason ofhercall.

“I’vebeenhearingsomesurprising things about youandMatthew.”

“Idon’tsupposeyouareanymoresurprisedthanIammyself,” said Marilla. “I’mgetting over my surprisenow.”

“It was too bad therewas such a mistake,” said

Mrs. Rachel sympathetically.“Couldn’t you have sent herback?”

“Isupposewecould,butwe decided not to. Matthewtook a fancy to her. And Imust say I like hermyself—although I admit she has herfaults. The house seems adifferentplacealready.She’sarealbrightlittlething.”

Marilla said more thanshehadintendedtosaywhenshe began, for she read

disapproval in Mrs. Rachel’sexpression.

“It’s a greatresponsibility you’ve takenon yourself,” said that ladygloomily, “especially whenyou’ve never had anyexperience with children.You don’t knowmuch abouther or her real disposition, Isuppose, and there’s noguessinghowachildlikethatwillturnout.ButIdon’twantto discourage you I’m sure,

Marilla.”“I’m not feeling

discouraged,” was Marilla’sdry response. “When I makeupmymind to do a thing itstays made up. I supposeyou’d like to see Anne. I’llcallherin.”

Anne came running inpresently, her face sparklingwith the delight of herorchardrovings;but,abashedat finding herself in theunexpected presence of a

stranger, she haltedconfusedly inside the door.She certainly was an odd-looking little creature in theshort tight wincey dress shehad worn from the asylum,below which her thin legsseemed ungracefully long.Her freckles were morenumerous and obtrusive thanever;thewindhadruffledherhatlesshairintoover-brilliantdisorder; it had never lookedredderthanatthatmoment.

“Well, they didn’t pickyouforyourlooks,that’ssureandcertain,”wasMrs.RachelLynde’s emphatic comment.Mrs.Rachelwasoneofthosedelightfulandpopularpeoplewho pride themselves onspeaking their mind withoutfear or favor. “She’s terribleskinny and homely, Marilla.Comehere,child,and letmehave a look at you. Lawfulheart, did any one ever seesuchfreckles?Andhairasred

ascarrots!Comehere,child,Isay.”

Anne “came there,” butnot exactly as Mrs. Rachelexpected.Withoneboundshecrossed the kitchen floor andstoodbeforeMrs.Rachel,herface scarlet with anger, herlipsquivering,andherwholeslender form trembling fromheadtofoot.

“Ihateyou,”shecriedinachokedvoice,stampingherfooton thefloor.“Ihateyou

—I hate you—I hate you—”a louder stamp with eachassertion of hatred. “Howdare you call me skinny andugly?Howdare you say I’mfreckledand redheaded?Youarearude,impolite,unfeelingwoman!”

“Anne!” exclaimedMarillainconsternation.

But Anne continued toface Mrs. Rachelundauntedly, head up, eyesblazing, hands clenched,

passionate indignationexhaling from her like anatmosphere.

“Howdareyousaysuchthings about me?” sherepeated vehemently. “Howwould you like to have suchthings said about you? Howwouldyouliketobetoldthatyou are fat and clumsy andprobably hadn’t a spark ofimagination in you? I don’tcareifIdohurtyourfeelingsby saying so! I hope I hurt

them. You have hurt mineworse than they were everhurt before even by Mrs.Thomas’intoxicatedhusband.AndI’llneverforgiveyouforit,never,never!”

Stamp!Stamp!“Did anybody ever see

such a temper!” exclaimedthehorrifiedMrs.Rachel.

“Anne, go to your roomand stay there until I comeup,” saidMarilla, recoveringher powers of speech with

difficulty.Anne, bursting into

tears,rushedtothehalldoor,slammed it until the tins ontheporchwalloutsiderattledinsympathy,andfledthroughthehallandup thestairs likeawhirlwind.Asubduedslamabovetoldthatthedooroftheeastgablehadbeenshutwithequalvehemence.

“Well, I don’t envy youyour job bringing that up,Marilla,” said Mrs. Rachel

withunspeakablesolemnity.Marilla opened her lips

to say she knew notwhat ofapologyordeprecation.Whatshedid saywasa surprise toherself then and everafterwards.

“You shouldn’t havetwitted her about her looks,Rachel.”

“Marilla Cuthbert, youdon’t mean to say that youare upholding her in such aterrible display of temper as

we’ve just seen?” demandedMrs.Rachelindignantly.

“No,” said Marillaslowly, “I’m not trying toexcuse her. She’s been verynaughtyand I’llhave togiveher a talking to about it. Butwemustmakeallowancesforher. She’s never been taughtwhat is right. And youweretoohardonher,Rachel.”

Marilla could not helptacking on that last sentence,although she was again

surprised at herself for doingit.Mrs.Rachelgotupwithanairofoffendeddignity.

“Well, I see that I’llhavetobeverycarefulwhatIsay after this, Marilla, sincethe fine feelings of orphans,brought from goodnessknows where, have to beconsidered before anythingelse.Oh,no,I’mnotvexed—don’tworryyourself.I’mtoosorry for you to leave anyroom for anger in my mind.

You’ll have your owntroubleswiththatchild.Butifyou’ll take my advice—which I suppose you won’tdo, although I’ve brought uptenchildrenandburiedtwo—you’lldothat‘talkingto’youmention with a fair-sizedbirch switch. I should thinkthat would be the mosteffective language for thatkind of a child. Her tempermatches her hair I guess.Well, good evening, Marilla.

I hope you’ll come down tosee me often as usual. Butyou can’t expect me to visithere again in a hurry, if I’mliable to be flown at andinsultedinsuchafashion.It’ssomething new in myexperience.”

Whereat Mrs. Rachelsweptoutandaway—ifa fatwoman who always waddledcould be said to sweep away—and Marilla with a verysolemnfacebetookherselfto

theeastgable.On thewayupstairs she

pondereduneasilyas towhatshe ought to do. She felt nolittle dismay over the scenethat had just been enacted.How unfortunate that Anneshould have displayed suchtemper before Mrs. RachelLynde, of all people! ThenMarilla suddenly becameaware of an uncomfortableand rebuking consciousnessthatshefeltmorehumiliation

overthisthansorrowoverthediscovery of such a seriousdefect in Anne’s disposition.And how was she to punishher? The amiable suggestionof the birch switch—to theefficiency of which all ofMrs. Rachel’s own childrencould have borne smartingtestimony—did not appeal toMarilla. She did not believeshe could whip a child. No,some other method ofpunishmentmustbefound to

bring Anne to a properrealizationoftheenormityofheroffense.

MarillafoundAnnefacedownwardonherbed,cryingbitterly, quite oblivious ofmuddy boots on a cleancounterpane.

“Anne,” she said, notungently.

Noanswer.“Anne,” with greater

severity,“getoffthatbedthisminute and listen to what I

havetosaytoyou.”Anne squirmed off the

bedandsatrigidlyonachairbeside it, her face swollenand tear-stainedandhereyesfixedstubbornlyonthefloor.

“This is a nice way foryou to behave,Anne!Aren’tyouashamedofyourself?”

“Shehadn’t any right tocallmeuglyandredheaded,”retorted Anne, evasive anddefiant.

“Youhadn’tanyrightto

fly into such a fury and talkthewayyoudidtoher,Anne.I was ashamed of you—thoroughlyashamedofyou.Iwanted you to behave nicelytoMrs.Lyndeand insteadofthat you have disgraced me.I’m sure I don’t know whyyou should lose your temperlike that just because Mrs.Lynde said you wereredhaired and homely. Yousayityourselfoftenenough.”

“Oh, but there’s such a

difference between saying athing yourself and hearingother people say it,” wailedAnne. “You may know athingisso,butyoucan’thelphoping other people don’tquitethinkitis.IsupposeyouthinkIhaveanawfultemper,but I couldn’t help it. Whenshe said those thingssomething just rose right upinme and chokedme. I hadtoflyoutather.”

“Well, you made a fine

exhibition of yourself I mustsay. Mrs. Lynde will have anice story to tell about youeverywhere—and she’ll tellit,too.Itwasadreadfulthingfor you to lose your temperlikethat,Anne.”

“Just imagine how youwould feel if somebody toldyou to your face that youwere skinny and ugly,”pleadedAnnetearfully.

An old remembrancesuddenly rose up before

Marilla.Shehadbeenaverysmall child when she hadheard one aunt say of her toanother. “What a pity she issuch a dark, homely littlething.”Marillawaseverydayof fifty before the sting hadgoneoutofthatmemory.

“I don’t say that I thinkMrs.Lyndewasexactlyrightinsayingwhatshedidtoyou,Anne,” she admitted in asofter tone. “Rachel is toooutspoken. But that is no

excuse for such behavior onyourpart.Shewasastrangerandanelderlypersonandmyvisitor—all three very goodreasonswhyyoushouldhavebeen respectful to her. Youwere rude and saucy and”—Marilla had a savinginspiration of punishment—“you must go to her andtellheryouareverysorryforyour bad temper and ask hertoforgiveyou.”

“I can never do that,”

said Anne determinedly anddarkly. “You can punish meinanywayyou like,Marilla.Youcanshutmeupinadark,damp dungeon inhabited bysnakesandtoadsandfeedmeonlyonbreadandwaterandIshall not complain. But Icannot ask Mrs. Lynde toforgiveme.”

“We’re not in the habitofshuttingpeopleupindark,dampdungeons,”saidMarilladrily, “especially as they’re

ratherscarce inAvonlea.Butapologize toMrs.Lyndeyoumustandshallandyou’llstayhere in your room until youcan tellme you’rewilling todoit.”

“Ishallhavetostayherefor ever then,” said Annemournfully, “because I can’ttell Mrs. Lynde I’m sorry Isaidthosethingstoher.Howcan I? I’m not sorry. I’msorryI’vevexedyou;butI’mgladItoldherjustwhatIdid.

It was a great satisfaction. Ican’tsayI’msorrywhenI’mnot, can I? I can’t evenimagineI’msorry.”

“Perhaps yourimagination will be in betterworking order by themorning,”saidMarilla,risingto depart. “You’ll have thenight to think over yourconduct in and come to abetter frame of mind. Yousaid you would try to be averygoodgirlifwekeptyou

at Green Gables, but I mustsay it hasn’t seemed verymuchlikeitthisevening.”

Leaving this Parthianshaft to rankle in Anne’sstormy bosom, Marilladescended to the kitchen,grievously troubled in mindandvexedinsoul.Shewasasangry with herself as withAnne,because,wheneversherecalled Mrs. Rachel’sdumfounded countenanceherlipstwitchedwithamusement

and she felt a mostreprehensibledesiretolaugh.

10

Anne’sApology

MARILLA SAID NOTHING toMatthewabout theaffair thatevening; but when Anneproved still refractory thenext morning an explanationhadtobemadetoaccountfor

her absence from thebreakfast table. Marilla toldMatthew the whole story,taking pains to impress himwith a due sense of theenormityofAnne’sbehavior.

“It’sagoodthingRachelLynde got a calling down;she’s a meddlesome oldgossip,” was Matthew’sconsolatoryrejoinder.

“Matthew Cuthbert, I’mastonishedatyou.Youknowthat Anne’s behavior was

dreadful,andyetyoutakeherpart! I suppose you’ll besaying next thing that sheoughtn’t to be punished atall.”

“Well now—no—notexactly,” said Matthewuneasily.“I reckonsheoughtto be punished a little. Butdon’t be too hard on her,Marilla. Recollect she hasn’teverhadanyonetoteachherright. You’re—you’re goingto give her something to eat,

aren’tyou?”“Whendidyoueverhear

of me starving people intogood behavior?” demandedMarilla indignantly. “She’llhave her meals regular, andI’ll carry them up to hermyself. But she’ll stay upthere until she’s willing toapologizetoMrs.Lynde,andthat’sfinal,Matthew.”

Breakfast, dinner, andsupperwereverysilentmeals—for Anne still remained

obdurate. After each mealMarilla carried a well-filledtray to the east gable andbrought it down later on notnoticeablydepleted.Mattheweyed its last descent with atroubledeye.HadAnneeatenanythingatall?

When Marilla went outthateveningtobringthecowsfrom the back pasture.Matthew, who had beenhanging about the barns andwatching, slipped into the

housewiththeairofaburglarand crept upstairs. As ageneral thing Matthewgravitated between thekitchenandthelittlebedroomoff the hall where he slept;once in a while he ventureduncomfortably into theparloror sitting room when theminister came to tea. But hehadneverbeenupstairsinhisownhousesincethespringhehelped Marilla paper thespare bedroom, and that was

fouryearsago.Hetiptoedalongthehall

andstoodforseveralminutesoutside the door of the eastgable before he summonedcourage to tap on it with hisfingers and then open thedoortopeepin.

Annewas sitting on theyellow chair by the window,gazing mournfully out intothe garden. Very small andunhappy she looked, andMatthew’s heart smote him.

Hesoftlyclosedthedoorandtiptoedovertoher.

“Anne,” he whispered,as if afraid of beingoverheard, “how are youmakingit,Anne?”

Annesmiledwanly.“Prettywell.Iimaginea

good deal, and that helps topass the time.Of course, it’srather lonesome. But then, Imayaswellgetusedtothat.”

Anne smiled again,bravely facing the longyears

of solitary imprisonmentbeforeher.

Matthewrecollectedthathe must say what he hadcome to say without loss oftime, lest Marilla returnprematurely.

“Well now,Anne, don’tyou think you’d better do itand have it over with?” hewhispered. “It’ll have to bedone sooner or later, youknow,forMarilla’sadreadfuldeterminedwoman—dreadful

determined,Anne.Doitrightoff,Isay,andhaveitover.”

“DoyoumeanapologizetoMrs.Lynde?”

“Yes—apologize—that’s the very word,” saidMatthew eagerly. “Justsmooth it over so to speak.That’s what I was trying togetat.”

“I suppose I could do itto oblige you,” said Annethoughtfully. “It would betrueenoughtosayIamsorry,

because I am sorry now. Iwasn’tabitsorrylastnight.Iwasmadclear through,andIstayedmadallnight.IknowIdid because I woke up threetimes and I was just furiousevery time.But thismorningitwas all over. Iwasn’t in atemperanymore—and it lefta dreadful sort of goneness,too. I felt so ashamed ofmyself. But I just couldn’tthink of going and tellingMrs.Lyndeso.Itwouldbeso

humiliating. I made up mymindI’dstayshutuphereforever rather than do that. Butstill—I’ddoanythingforyou—ifyoureallywantmeto—”

“Well now, of course Ido. It’s terrible lonesomedownstairs without you. Justgoandsmoothitover—that’sagoodgirl.”

“Very well,” said Anneresignedly. “I’ll tell Marillaas soon as she comes in thatI’verepented.”

“That’s right—that’sright, Anne. But don’t tellMarilla I saidanythingaboutit. She might think I wasputting my oar in and Ipromisednottodothat.”

“Wildhorseswon’tdragthe secret from me,”promised Anne solemnly.“Howwouldwildhorsesdraga secret from a personanyhow?”

But Matthew was gone,scaredathisownsuccess.He

fled hastily to the remotestcorner of the horse pasturelest Marilla should suspectwhat he had been up to.Marilla herself, upon herreturn to the house, wasagreeably surprised to hear aplaintive voice calling,“Marilla,”overthebanisters.

“Well?” she said, goingintothehall.

“I’m sorry I lost mytemper and said rude things,andI’mwillingtogoandtell

Mrs.Lyndeso.”“Very well.” Marilla’s

crispnessgavenosignofherrelief. She had beenwondering what under thecanopysheshoulddoifAnnedidnotgivein.“I’lltakeyoudownaftermilking.”

Accordingly, aftermilking, behold Marilla andAnnewalkingdownthelane,the former erect andtriumphant, the latterdrooping and dejected. But

halfway down Anne’sdejection vanished as if byenchantment. She lifted herhead and stepped lightlyalong, her eyes fixed on thesunset sky and an air ofsubdued exhilaration abouther. Marilla beheld thechange disapprovingly. Thiswasnomeekpenitentsuchasit behooved her to take intothe presence of the offendedMrs.Lynde.

“What are you thinking

of,Anne?”sheaskedsharply.“I’mimaginingoutwhat

I must say to Mrs. Lynde,”answeredAnnedreamily.

This was satisfactory—or should have been so. ButMarilla could not rid herselfof the notion that somethingin her scheme of punishmentwas going askew. Anne hadno business to look so raptandradiant.

Rapt and radiant Annecontinued until they were in

the very presence of Mrs.Lynde, who was sittingknitting by her kitchenwindow. Then the radiancevanished.Mournfulpenitenceappeared on every feature.Before a word was spokenAnnesuddenlywentdownonher knees before theastonished Mrs. Rachel andheld out her handsbeseechingly.

“Oh, Mrs. Lynde, I amso extremely sorry,” she said

withaquiver inhervoice.“Icould never express all mysorrow,no,notifIusedupawhole dictionary. You mustjust imagine it. I behavedterribly to you—and I’vedisgraced the dear friends,Matthew and Marilla, whohave let me stay at GreenGables although I’m not aboy. I’madreadfullywickedand ungrateful girl, and Ideserve to be punished andcastoutbyrespectablepeople

for ever. It was very wickedof me to fly into a temperbecauseyoutoldmethetruth.Itwas the truth; every wordyousaidwastrue.Myhairisred and I’m freckled andskinnyandugly.What I saidto you was true, too, but Ishouldn’t have said it. Oh,Mrs. Lynde, please, please,forgive me. If you refuse itwill be a lifelong sorrow tome. You wouldn’t like toinflict a lifelong sorrowon a

poor little orphangirl,wouldyou, even if she had adreadful temper? Oh, I amsureyouwouldn’t.Pleasesayyouforgiveme,Mrs.Lynde.”

Anne clasped her handstogether,bowedherhead,andwaited for the word ofjudgment.

There was nomistakingher sincerity—it breathed ineverytoneofhervoice.BothMarilla and Mrs. Lynderecognized its unmistakable

ring. But the formerunderstood in dismay thatAnne was actually enjoyingher valley of humiliation—was reveling in thethoroughness of herabasement. Where was thewholesome punishment uponwhich she, Marilla, hadplumed herself? Anne hadturned it into a species ofpositivepleasure.

Good Mrs. Lynde, notbeing overburdened with

perception, did not see this.SheonlyperceivedthatAnnehad made a very thoroughapology and all resentmentvanished from her kindly, ifsomewhatofficious,heart.

“There, there, get up,child,” she said heartily. “OfcourseIforgiveyou.IguessIwas a little too hard on you,anyway. But I’m such anoutspoken person. You justmustn’tmindme,that’swhat.Itcan’tbedeniedyourhairis

terriblered;butIknewagirlonce—went to school withher, in fact—whose hairwasevery mite as red as yourswhen she was young, butwhenshegrewupitdarkenedto a real handsome auburn. Iwouldn’t be amite surprisedifyoursdid,too—notamite.”

“Oh,Mrs.Lynde!”Annedrewalongbreathassheroseto her feet. “You have givenmeahope.Ishallalwaysfeelthatyouareabenefactor.Oh,

I could endure anything if Ionly thought my hair wouldbeahandsomeauburnwhenIgrewup.Itwouldbesomucheasiertobegoodifone’shairwas a handsome auburn,don’t you think? And nowmayIgooutintoyourgardenand sit on that bench undertheapple-treeswhileyouandMarilla are talking? There isso much more scope forimaginationoutthere.”

“Laws, yes, run along,

child. And you can pick abouquet of them white Juneliliesoverinthecornerifyoulike.”

As the door closedbehindAnneMrs.Lyndegotbrisklyuptolightalamp.

“She’s a real odd littlething. Take this chair,Marilla; it’s easier than theone you’ve got; I just keepthat for the hired boy to siton. Yes, she certainly is anodd child, but there is

something kind of takingaboutherafterall.Idon’tfeelso surprised at you andMatthewkeepingherasIdid—norsosorryforyou,either.Shemayturnoutallright.Ofcourse, she has a queer wayofexpressingherself—alittletoo—well, too kind offorcible,youknow;butshe’lllikely get over that now thatshe’s come to live amongcivilizedfolks.And then,hertemper’s pretty quick, I

guess; but there’s onecomfort, a child that has aquick temper, just blaze upand cool down, ain’t neverlikely to be sly or deceitful.Preservemefromaslychild,that’s what. On the whole,Marilla,Ikindoflikeher.”

When Marilla wenthome Anne came out of thefragrant twilight of theorchardwithasheafofwhitenarcissiinherhands.

“I apologized pretty

well, didn’t I?” she saidproudly as they went downthe lane. “I thought since IhadtodoitImightaswelldoitthoroughly.”

“You did it thoroughly,all right enough,” wasMarilla’s comment. Marillawas dismayed at findingherself inclinedtolaughovertherecollection.Shehadalsoan uneasy feeling that sheought to scold Anne forapologizingsowell;butthen,

that was ridiculous! Shecompromised with herconscience by sayingseverely:

“I hope youwon’t haveoccasiontomakemanymoresuch apologies. I hopeyou’lltry to control your tempernow,Anne.”

“That wouldn’t be sohard if people wouldn’t twitme about my looks,” saidAnnewithasigh.“Idon’tgetcross about other things; but

I’m so tired of being twittedabout my hair and it justmakesmeboilrightover.Doyou suppose my hair willreally be a handsome auburnwhenIgrowup?”

“You shouldn’t think somuch about your looks,Anne. I’m afraid you are averyvainlittlegirl.”

“How can I be vainwhen I know I’m homely?”protestedAnne.“Iloveprettythings, and I hate to look in

the glass and see somethingthat isn’t pretty. Itmakesmefeel so sorrowful—just as Ifeelwhen I look at any uglything.Ipityitbecauseitisn’tbeautiful.”

“Handsome is ashandsome does,” quotedMarilla.

“I’vehadthatsaidtomebefore, but I havemydoubtsabout it,” remarked skepticalAnne,sniffingathernarcissi.“Oh, aren’t these flowers

sweet! It was lovely ofMrs.Lynde to give them tome. IhavenohardfeelingsagainstMrs.Lyndenow.Itgivesyoua lovely, comfortable feelingtoapologizeandbeforgiven,doesn’t it? Aren’t the starsbright tonight? If you couldlive in a star, which onewouldyoupick?I’d like thatlovely clear big one awayover there above that darkhill.”

“Anne, do hold your

tongue,” said Marilla,thoroughlywornouttryingtofollow the gyrations ofAnne’sthoughts.

Annesaidnomoreuntilthey turned into their ownlane. A little gypsy windcame down it to meet them,ladenwith the spicyperfumeof young dew-wet ferns. Farup in the shadows a cheerfullightgleamedoutthroughthetrees from the kitchen atGreenGables.Annesuddenly

came close to Marilla andslipped her hand into theolderwoman’shardpalm.

“It’s lovely to be goinghome and know it’s home,”she said. “I love GreenGables already, and I neverloved any place before. Noplaceeverseemedlikehome.Oh,Marilla, I’m so happy. Icouldprayrightnowandnotfinditabithard.”

Something warm andpleasant welled up in

Marilla’s heart at touch ofthat thin little hand in herown—a throb of thematernity she had missed,perhaps. Its veryunaccustomedness andsweetness disturbed her. Shehastened to restore hersensations to their normalcalmbyinculcatingamoral.

“Ifyou’llbeagoodgirlyou’ll always be happy,Anne.And you should neverfind it hard to say your

prayers.”“Saying one’s prayers

isn’texactlythesamethingaspraying,” said Annemeditatively. “But I’m goingto imagine that I’m thewindthat is blowing up there inthose tree tops. When I gettiredof the trees I’ll imagineI’mgentlywavingdownhereintheferns—andthenI’llflyover toMrs. Lynde’s gardenandsettheflowersdancing—and then I’ll go with one

great swoop over the cloverfield—andthenI’llblowoverthe Lake of Shining Watersand ripple it all up into littlesparkling waves. Oh, there’sso much scope forimaginationinawind!SoI’llnot talk any more just now,Marilla.”

“Thanks be to goodnessfor that,” breathedMarilla indevoutrelief.

11

Anne’sImpressionsofSunday-School

“WELL, HOW DO you likethem?”saidMarilla.

Anne was standing inthe gable room, looking

solemnlyatthreenewdressesspread out on the bed. Onewas of snuffy coloredgingham which Marilla hadbeen tempted to buy from apeddler the precedingsummer because it looked soserviceable; one was ofblack-and-white checkedsateen which she had pickedupatabargaincounterinthewinter; and one was a stiffprint of an ugly blue shadewhichshehadpurchasedthat

weekataCarmodystore.She had made them up

herself, and they were allmade alike—plain skirtsfulled tightly to plainwaists,withsleevesasplainaswaistand skirt and tight as sleevescouldbe.

“I’ll imagine that I likethem,”saidAnnesoberly.

“I don’t want you toimagine it,” said Marilla,offended. “Oh, I can seeyoudon’t like the dresses! What

is the matter with them?Aren’t they neat and cleanandnew?”

“Yes.”“Then why don’t you

likethem?”“They’re—they’renot—

pretty,”saidAnnereluctantly.“Pretty!”Marillasniffed.

“I didn’t trouble my headabout getting pretty dressesfor you. I don’t believe inpampering vanity, Anne, I’lltell you that right off. Those

dresses are good, sensible,serviceable dresses, withoutany frills or furbelows aboutthem, and they’re all you’llget this summer. The browngingham and the blue printwill do you for school whenyoubegintogo.Thesateenisfor church and Sunday-school. I’ll expect you tokeepthemneatandcleanandnot to tear them. I shouldthinkyou’dbegratefultogetmost anything after those

skimpywinceythingsyou’vebeenwearing.”

“Oh, I am grateful,”protested Anne. “But I’d beever somuchgratefuller if—if you’d made just one ofthem with puffed sleeves.Puffed sleeves are sofashionable now. It wouldgivemesuchathrill,Marilla,just to wear a dress withpuffedsleeves.”

“Well,you’llhave todowithout your thrill. I hadn’t

any material to waste onpuffed sleeves. I think theyare ridiculous-looking thingsanyhow. I prefer the plain,sensibleones.”

“But I’d rather lookridiculous when everybodyelse does than plain andsensible all by myself,”persistedAnnemournfully.

“Trust you for that!Well, hang those dressescarefully up in your closet,and then sit down and learn

the Sunday-school lesson. IgotaquarterlyfromMr.Bellfor you and you’ll go toSunday-school tomorrow,”said Marilla, disappearingdownstairsinhighdudgeon.

Anne clasped her handsandlookedatthedresses.

“I did hope therewouldbe a white one with puffedsleeves,” she whispereddisconsolately. “I prayed forone,butIdidn’tmuchexpectit on that account. I didn’t

suppose God would havetime to bother about a littleorphan girl’s dress. I knewI’d just have to depend onMarilla for it. Well,fortunatelyIcanimaginethatoneofthemisofsnow-whitemuslinwith lovely lace frillsandthree-puffedsleeves.”

The next morningwarnings of a sick headachepreventedMarillafromgoingtoSunday-schoolwithAnne.

“You’llhavetogodown

and call for Mrs. Lynde,Anne,” she said. “She’ll seethat you get into the rightclass.Now,mindyoubehaveyourself properly. Stay topreaching afterwards and askMrs. Lynde to show you ourpew. Here’s a cent forcollection. Don’t stare atpeople and don’t fidget. Ishallexpectyoutotellmethetextwhenyoucomehome.”

Anne started offirreproachably,arrayedinthe

stiff black-and-white sateen,which, while decent asregards length and certainlynot open to the charge ofskimpiness, contrived toemphasize every corner andangle of her thin figure. Herhat was a little, flat, glossy,new sailor, the extremeplainness of which hadlikewise much disappointedAnne, who had permittedherself secret visions ofribbon and flowers. The

latter,however,weresuppliedbeforeAnnereachedthemainroad, for being confrontedhalfwaydownthelanewithagolden frenzyofwind-stirredbuttercupsandagloryofwildroses, Anne promptly andliberally garlanded her hatwithaheavywreathofthem.Whatever other peoplemighthave thought of the result itsatisfied Anne, and shetripped gaily down the road,holding her ruddy head with

its decoration of pink andyellowveryproudly.

When she reached Mrs.Lynde’shouseshefoundthatlady gone. Nothing dauntedAnne proceeded onward tothechurchalone.Intheporchshe found a crowd of littlegirls, all more or less gailyattired in whites and bluesandpinks,andallstaringwithcurious eyes at this strangerin their midst, with herextraordinary head

adornment. Avonlea littlegirlshadalreadyheardqueerstories about Anne; Mrs.Lynde said she had an awfultemper;JerryBuote,thehiredboyatGreenGables,saidshetalked all the time to herselfor to the trees and flowerslikeacrazygirl.Theylookedat her andwhispered to eachotherbehindtheirquarterlies.Nobody made any friendlyadvances, then or later onwhen the opening exercises

were over and Anne foundherself in Miss Rogerson’sclass.

Miss Rogerson was amiddle-aged lady who hadtaught a Sunday-school classfortwentyyears.Hermethodof teaching was to ask theprinted questions from thequarterly and look sternlyoveritsedgeat theparticularlittlegirlshethoughtoughttoanswer the question. Shelooked very often at Anne,

andAnne,thankstoMarilla’sdrilling, answered promptly;but it may be questioned ifshe understood very muchabout either question oranswer.

She did not think shelikedMissRogerson,andshefelt very miserable; everyother little girl in the classhadpuffedsleeves.Annefeltthat lifewas reallynotworthlivingwithoutpuffedsleeves.

“Well,howdidyou like

Sunday-school?” Marillawanted to know when Annecame home. Her wreathhaving faded, Anne haddiscarded it in the lane, soMarilla was spared theknowledgeofthatforatime.

“I didn’t like it a bit. Itwashorrid.”

“Anne Shirley!” saidMarillarebukingly.

Anne sat down on therocker with a long sigh,kissedoneofBonny’sleaves,

and waved her hand to ablossomingfuchsia.

“They might have beenlonesomewhileIwasaway,”she explained. “And nowabout the Sunday-school. Ibehavedwell,justasyoutoldme. Mrs. Lynde was gone,but Iwent right onmyself. Iwent into the church, with alot of other little girls, and Isat in thecornerofapewbythe window while theopening exercises went on.

Mr. Bell made an awfullylong prayer. I would havebeen dreadfully tired beforehe got through if I hadn’tbeen sitting by that window.ButitlookedrightoutontheLakeofShiningWaters, so Ijust gazed at that andimaginedallsortsofsplendidthings.”

“You shouldn’t havedone anything of the sort.You should have listened toMr.Bell.”

“Buthewasn’ttalkingtome,” protested Anne. “Hewas talking to God and hedidn’t seem to be verymuchinterestedinit,either.I thinkhe thought God was too faroff tomake itworthwhile. Isaid a little prayer myself,though.Therewasalongrowofwhitebircheshangingoverthelakeandthesunshinefelldown through them, ’way’way down, deep into thewater.Oh,Marilla,itwaslike

abeautifuldream!ItgavemeathrillandIjustsaid,‘Thankyouforit,God,’twoorthreetimes.”

“Not out loud, I hope,”saidMarillaanxiously.

“Oh, no, just under mybreath.Well,Mr.Belldidgetthrough at last and they toldme to go into the classroomwith Miss Rogerson’s class.Therewerenineothergirlsinit. They all had puffedsleeves. I tried to imagine

mine were puffed, too, but Icouldn’t. Why couldn’t I? Itwas as easy as could be toimagine they were puffedwhen Iwas alone in the eastgable,butitwasawfullyhardthere among the others whohadreallytrulypuffs.”

“You shouldn’t havebeen thinking about yoursleeves in Sunday-school.You should have beenattendingtothelesson.Ihopeyouknewit.”

“Oh,yes;andIanswereda lot of questions. MissRogerson asked ever somany.Idon’tthinkitwasfairfor her to do all the asking.There were lots I wanted toask her, but I didn’t like tobecauseIdidn’tthinkshewasa kindred spirit. Then all theother little girls recited aparaphrase.SheaskedmeifIknewany. I toldher Ididn’t,but I could recite. ‘The DogatHisMaster’sGrave’ ifshe

liked. That’s in the ThirdRoyalReader.Itisn’tareallytruly religious piece ofpoetry, but it’s so sad andmelancholy that it might aswell be. She said itwouldn’tdo and she told me to learnthe nineteenth paraphrase fornextSunday.Ireaditoverinchurch afterwards and it’ssplendid.There are two linesin particular that just thrillme.

“‘Quickas theslaughteredsquadronsfellIn Midian’sevilday.’

“I don’t know what‘squadrons’ means nor‘Midian,’either,butitsoundsso tragical. I can hardlywaituntilnextSundaytorecite it.I’ll practice it all the week.After Sunday-school I asked

Miss Rogerson—becauseMrs.Lyndewastoofaraway—toshowmeyourpew.IsatjustasstillasIcouldandthetext was Revelations, thirdchapter, second and thirdverses. It was a very longtext. If I was a minister I’dpick the short, snappy ones.The sermon was awfullylong, too. I suppose theministerhadtomatchittothetext. I didn’t think he was abit interesting. The trouble

withhimseems tobe thathehasn’t enough imagination. Ididn’t listen to him verymuch. I just let my thoughtsrunandIthoughtofthemostsurprisingthings.”

Marilla felt helplesslythatall this shouldbe sternlyreproved, but she washampered by the undeniablefact that some of the thingsAnne had said, especiallyabout the minister’s sermonsandMr. Bell’s prayers, were

what she herself had reallythought deep down in herheartforyears,buthadnevergivenexpressionto.Italmostseemed to her that thosesecret, unuttered, criticalthoughts had suddenly takenvisible and accusing shapeandforminthepersonofthisoutspoken morsel ofneglectedhumanity.

12

A Solemn Vow andPromise

IT WAS NOT until the nextFriday thatMarilla heard thestory of the flower-wreathedhat. She came home from

Mrs. Lynde’s and calledAnnetoaccount.

“Anne,Mrs.Rachelsaysyou went to church lastSunday with your hat riggedout ridiculouswith roses andbuttercups.Whatonearthputyou up to such a caper? Apretty-looking object youmusthavebeen!”

“Oh. I know pink andyellow aren’t becoming tome,”beganAnne.

“Becoming fiddlesticks!

Itwasputtingflowersonyourhat at all, no matter whatcolor they were, that wasridiculous. You are the mostaggravatingchild!”

“Idon’tseewhyit’sanymore ridiculous to wearflowers on your hat than onyour dress,” protested Anne.“Lots of little girls there hadbouquets pinned on theirdresses. What was thedifference?”

Marilla was not to be

drawnfromthesafeconcreteinto dubious paths of theabstract.

“Don’t answer me backlike that, Anne. It was verysilly of you to do such athing.Neverletmecatchyouat such a trick again. Mrs.Rachel says she thought shewould sink through the floorwhenshesawyoucomeinallrigged out like that. Shecouldn’t get near enough totellyoutotakethemofftillit

wastoolate.Shesayspeopletalked about it somethingdreadful. Of course theywould think I had no bettersense than to let you godeckedoutlikethat.”

“Oh, I’mso sorry,” saidAnne, tears welling into hereyes. “I never thought you’dmind. The roses andbuttercupsweresosweetandpretty I thought they’d looklovelyonmyhat.Lotsofthelittle girls had artificial

flowers on their hats. I’mafraid I’m going to be adreadful trial to you. Maybeyou’dbettersendmeback tothe asylum. That would beterrible; I don’t think I couldendureit;mostlikelyIwouldgo into consumption; I’m sothinasitis,yousee.Butthatwould be better than being atrialtoyou.”

“Nonsense,” saidMarilla, vexed at herself forhavingmadethechildcry.“I

don’twant to send you backtotheasylum,I’msure.AllIwant is that you shouldbehave like other little girlsand not make yourselfridiculous. Don’t cry anymore.I’vegotsomenewsforyou.DianaBarrycamehomethis afternoon. I’m going upto see if I canborrowa skirtpattern fromMrs.Barry, andifyoulikeyoucancomewithme and get acquainted withDiana.”

Anne rose to her feet,with clasped hands, the tearsstillglisteningonhercheeks;the dish towel she had beenhemmingslippedunheededtothefloor.

“Oh, Marilla, I’mfrightened—now that it hascomeI’mactuallyfrightened.What if she shouldn’t likeme! It would be the mosttragicaldisappointmentofmylife.”

“Now, don’t get into a

fluster. And I do wish youwouldn’t use such longwords.Itsoundssofunnyinalittlegirl.IguessDiana’lllikeyou well enough. It’s hermother you’ve got to reckonwith.Ifshedoesn’tlikeyouitwon’t matter how muchDiana does. If she has heardabout your outburst to Mrs.Lynde and going to churchwith buttercups round yourhat I don’t knowwhat she’llthink of you. You must be

polite andwell behaved, anddon’t make any of yourstartling speeches. For pity’ssake,ifthechildisn’tactuallytrembling!”

Anne was trembling.Herfacewaspaleandtense.

“Oh, Marilla, you’d beexcited, too, if you weregoingtomeetalittlegirlyouhoped to be your bosomfriend and whose mothermightn’t like you,” she saidasshehastenedtogetherhat.

They went over toOrchard Slope by the shortcut across the brook and upthe firry hill grove. Mrs.Barry came to the kitchen-door in answer to Marilla’sknock.Shewas a tall, black-eyed, black-haired woman,with a very resolute mouth.She had the reputation ofbeing very strict with herchildren.

“How do you do,Marilla?” she said cordially.

“Come in. And this is thelittlegirlyouhaveadopted,Isuppose?”

“Yes, this is AnneShirley,”saidMarilla.

“Spelled with an e,”gaspedAnne,who,tremulousand excited as she was, wasdetermined there should beno misunderstanding on thatimportantpoint.

Mrs. Barry, not hearingor not comprehending,merely shookhands and said

kindly:“Howareyou?”“I am well in body

although considerablyrumpled up in spirit, thankyou, ma’am,” said Anne,gravely.ThenasidetoMarillainanaudiblewhisper,“Therewasn’t anything startling inthat,wasthere,Marilla?”

Dianawassittingon thesofa, reading a book whichshedroppedwhen thecallersentered.Shewasaverypretty

little girl, with her mother’sblackeyesandhair,androsycheeks, and the merryexpression which was herinheritancefromherfather.

“This is my little girl,Diana,” said Mrs. Barry.“Diana,youmighttakeAnneout into thegardenandshowher your flowers. It will bebetter for you than strainingyoureyesoverthatbook.Shereads entirely too much”—this to Marilla as the little

girls went out—“and I can’tprevent her, for her fatheraids and abets her. She’salways poring over a book.I’mgladshehastheprospectof a playmate—perhaps itwill take her more out-of-doors.”

Outside in the garden,which was full of mellowsunset light streamingthrough the dark old firs tothewestofit,stoodAnneandDiana, gazing bashfully at

one another over a clump ofgorgeoustigerlilies.

TheBarry gardenwas abowerywildernessofflowerswhich would have delightedAnne’sheartatany time lessfraught with destiny. It wasencircledbyhugeoldwillowsand tall firs, beneath whichflourished flowers that lovedthe shade. Prim, right-angledpaths, neatly bordered withclamshells, intersected it likemoist red ribbons and in the

beds between old-fashionedflowers ran riot. There wererosybleedingheartsandgreatsplendid crimson peonies;white, fragrant narcissi andthorny, sweet Scotch roses;pink and blue and whitecolumbines and lilac-tintedBouncing Bets; clumps ofsouthernwood and ribbongrassandmint;purpleAdam-and-Eve, daffodils, andmassesofsweetcloverwhitewith its delicate, fragrant,

feathery sprays; scarletlightning that shot its fierylancesoverprimwhitemusk-flowers; a garden it waswhere sunshine lingered andbees hummed, and winds,beguiledintoloitering,purredandrustled.

“Oh, Diana,” said Anneatlast,claspingherhandsandspeakingalmostinawhisper,“do you think—oh, do youthinkyoucan likemea little—enough to be my bosom

friend?”Diana laughed. Diana

always laughed before shespoke.

“Why, I guess so,” shesaid frankly. “I’m awfullyglad you’ve come to live atGreenGables.Itwillbejollyto have somebody to playwith. There isn’t any othergirlwholivesnearenoughtoplaywith,and I’venosistersbigenough.”

“Will you swear to be

myfriendforeverandever?”demandedAnneeagerly.

Dianalookedshocked.“Why, it’s dreadfully

wicked to swear,” she saidrebukingly.

“Oh no, notmy kind ofswearing. There are twokinds,youknow.”

“Ineverheardofbutonekind,”saidDianadoubtfully.

“There really is another.Oh, it isn’t wicked at all. Itjust means vowing and

promisingsolemnly.”“Well, I don’t mind

doing that,” agreed Diana,relieved.“Howdoyoudoit?”

“We must join hands—so,” said Anne gravely. “Itought to be over runningwater.We’lljustimaginethispath is running water. I’llrepeat the oath first. Isolemnlyswear tobefaithfulto my bosom friend, DianaBarry,as longas thesunandmoon shall endure.Nowyou

sayitandputmynamein.”Diana repeated the

“oath”with a laugh fore andaft.Thenshesaid:

“You’re a queer girl,Anne.Iheardbeforethatyouwerequeer.ButIbelieveI’mgoingtolikeyourealwell.”

WhenMarilla andAnnewent home Diana went withthemasfarasthelogbridge.The two little girls walkedwith their arms about eachother. At the brook they

partedwithmanypromisestospend the next afternoontogether.

“Well, did you findDiana a kindred spirit?”askedMarillaastheywentupthrough the garden of GreenGables.

“Oh,yes,” sighedAnne,blissfully unconscious of anysarcasm on Marilla’s part.“Oh, Marilla, I’m thehappiest girl on PrinceEdward Island this very

moment.IassureyouI’llsaymyprayerswitharightgood-will tonight. Diana and I aregoingtobuildaplayhouseinMr. William Bell’s birchgrove tomorrow. Can I havethose broker pieces of chinathatareoutinthewoodshed?Diana’s birthday is inFebruary and mine is inMarch. Don’t you think thatisaverystrangecoincidence?Diana is going to lend me abook to read. She says it’s

perfectly splendid andtremenjusly exciting. She’sgoing to show me a placebackinthewoodswherericelilies grow. Don’t you thinkDiana has got very soulfuleyes? I wish I had soulfuleyes.Diana isgoing to teachme to sing a song called‘Nelly in the Hazel Dell.’She’s going to give me apicturetoputupinmyroom;it’s a perfectly beautifulpicture, she says—a lovely

ladyinapalebluesilkdress.Asewingmachineagentgaveit to her. I wish I hadsomethingtogiveDiana.I’maninchtaller thanDiana,butsheiseversomuchfatter;shesays she’d like to be thinbecause it’s so much moregraceful, but I’m afraid sheonly said it to soothe myfeelings. We’re going to theshore some day to gathershells.Wehaveagreedtocallthe spring down by the log

bridge the Dryad’s Bubble.Isn’t that a perfectly elegantname? I read a story onceabout a spring called that. Adryad is a sort of grown-upfairy,Ithink.”

“Well, all I hope is youwon’t talk Diana to death,”said Marilla. “But rememberthis in all your planning,Anne. You’re not going toplay all the timenormost ofit. You’ll have your work todo and it’ll have to be done

first.”Anne’scupofhappiness

wasfull,andMatthewcausedittooverflow.Hehadjustgothomefroma trip to thestoreat Carmody, and hesheepishly produced a smallparcel from his pocket andhanded it to Anne, with adeprecatorylookatMarilla.

“I heard you say youlikedchocolatesweeties,soIgotyousome,”hesaid.

“Humph,” sniffed

Marilla. “It’ll ruin her teethand stomach. There, there,child, don’t look so dismal.You can eat those, sinceMatthew has gone and gotthem. He’d better havebrought you peppermints.They’re wholesomer. Don’tsicken yourself eating themallatoncenow.”

“Oh, no, indeed, Iwon’t,” said Anne eagerly.“I’ll just eat one tonight,Marilla.AndIcangiveDiana

half of them, can’t I? Theother half will taste twice assweettomeifIgivesometoher. It’s delightful to think Ihavesomethingtogiveher.”

“I will say it for thechild,” said Marilla whenAnne had gone to her gable,“sheisn’tstingy.I’mglad,forofallfaultsIdeteststinginessinachild.Dearme, it’sonlythree weeks since she came,and it seemsas if she’dbeenhere always. I can’t imagine

the place without her. Now,don’t be looking I-told-you-so, Matthew. That’s badenough in a woman, but itisn’t tobeendured inaman.I’m perfectly willing to ownup that I’m glad I consentedtokeepthechildandthatI’mgettingfondofher,butdon’tyou rub it in, MatthewCuthbert.”

13

The Delights ofAnticipation

“IT’STIMEANNEwas in todoher sewing,” said Marilla,glancingattheclockandthenout into the yellow August

afternoon where everythingdrowsed in the heat. “Shestayed playing with Dianamore than half an hourmore’n I gave her leave to;and now she’s perched outthereonthewoodpiletalkingto Matthew, nineteen to thedozen, when she knowsperfectly well that she oughtto be at her work. And ofcourse he’s listening to herlike a perfect ninny. I neversaw such an infatuated man.

The more she talks and theodderthethingsshesays,themore he’s delightedevidently. Anne Shirley, youcome right in here thisminute,doyouhearme!”

Aseriesofstaccato tapson the west window broughtAnneflyinginfromtheyard,eyes shining, cheeks faintlyflushed with pink, unbraidedhairstreamingbehindherinatorrentofbrightness.

“Oh, Marilla,” she

exclaimed breathlessly,“there’s going to be aSunday-school picnic nextweek—in Mr. HarmonAndrews’field,rightneartheLakeofShiningWaters.AndMrs.SuperintendentBellandMrs.RachelLyndearegoingtomake ice cream—think ofit, Marilla—ice cream! Andoh,Marilla,canIgotoit?”

“Justlookattheclock,ifyouplease,Anne.What timedidItellyoutocomein?”

“Twoo’clock—but isn’tit splendid about the picnic,Marilla?PleasecanIgo?Oh,I’veneverbeentoapicnic—I’ve dreamed of picnics, butI’venever—”

“Yes,Itoldyoutocomeat two o’clock. And it’s aquarter to three. I’d like toknow why you didn’t obeyme,Anne.”

“Why, I meant to,Marilla,asmuchascouldbe.But you have no idea how

fascinating Idlewild is. Andthen, of course, I had to tellMatthew about the picnic.Matthew is such asympathetic listener. PleasecanIgo?”

“You’ll have to learn toresist the fascination of Idle-whatever-you-call-it. When Itell you to come in at acertain time Imean that timeand not half an hour later.And you needn’t stop todiscourse with sympathetic

listenersonyourway,either.As for the picnic, of courseyoucango.You’reaSunday-school scholar, and it’s notlikelyI’drefusetoletyougowhen all the other little girlsaregoing.”

“But—but,” falteredAnne, “Diana says thateverybodymusttakeabasketof things toeat. Ican’tcook,as you know,Marilla, and—and—Idon’tmindgoingtoapicnicwithoutpuffed sleeves

somuch,but I’d feel terriblyhumiliated if I had to gowithout a basket. It’s beenpreying on my mind eversinceDianatoldme.”

“Well, it needn’t preyany longer. I’ll bake you abasket.”

“Oh, you dear goodMarilla. Oh, you are so kindto me. Oh, I’m so muchobligedtoyou.”

Gettingthroughwithher“ohs” Anne cast herself into

Marilla’s arms andrapturously kissed her sallowcheek.Itwasthefirsttimeinher whole life that childishlips had voluntarily touchedMarilla’s face. Again thatsudden sensation of startlingsweetness thrilled her. ShewassecretlyvastlypleasedatAnne’s impulsive caress,which was probably thereason why she saidbrusquely:

“There, there, never

mind your kissing nonsense.I’d sooner see you doingstrictlyasyou’re told.As forcooking, I mean to begingiving you lessons in thatsome of these days. Butyou’re so feather-brained,Anne, I’ve been waiting tosee if you’d sober down alittle and learn to be steadybeforeIbegin.You’vegottokeep your wits about you incooking and not stop in themiddle of things to let your

thoughts rove over allcreation. Now, get out yourpatchwork and have yoursquaredonebeforeteatime.”

“I do not likepatchwork,” said Annedolefully, hunting out herworkbasket and sitting downbeforealittleheapofredandwhite diamonds with a sigh.“Ithinksomekindsofsewingwouldbenice;but there’snoscope for imagination inpatchwork. It’s just one little

seam after another and younever seem to be gettinganywhere. But of course I’drather be Anne of GreenGables sewing patchworkthanAnneofanyotherplacewithnothingtodobutplay.Iwish time went as quicksewing patches as it doeswhenI’mplayingwithDiana,though.Oh,wedohavesucheleganttimes,Marilla.Ihaveto furnish most of theimagination, but I’m well

able to do that. Diana issimply perfect in every otherway. You know that littlepieceoflandacrossthebrookthatrunsupbetweenourfarmandMr.Barry’s.ItbelongstoMr.WilliamBell,andrightinthecornerthereisalittleringof white birch trees—themost romantic spot, Marilla.Diana and I have ourplayhouse there. We call itIdlewild. Isn’t that a poeticalname?Iassureyouittookme

some time to think it out. Istayed awake nearly awholenight before I invented it.Then, just as Iwas droppingoff to sleep, it came like aninspiration. Diana wasenrapturedwhensheheardit.Wehavegotourhouse fixedupelegantly.Youmustcomeand see it, Marilla—won’tyou? We have great bigstones,allcoveredwithmoss,for seats, and boards fromtree to tree for shelves. And

we have all our dishes onthem. Of course, they’re allbroken but it’s the easiestthingintheworldtoimaginethattheyarewhole.There’sapiece of a platewith a sprayof red and yellow ivy on itthat is especially beautiful.We keep it in the parlor andwehavethefairyglassthere,too. The fairy glass is aslovely as a dream. Dianafound it out in the woodsbehind their chicken house.

It’sall fullof rainbows—justlittle young rainbows thathaven’t grown big yet—andDiana’s mother told her itwas broken off a hanginglamp they once had. But it’snicer to imagine the fairieslost it one night when theyhad a ball, so we call it thefairyglass.Matthew isgoingto make us a table. Oh, wehave named that little roundpooloverinMr.Barry’sfieldWillowmere. I got that name

out of the book Diana lentme.Thatwasathrillingbook,Marilla.Theheroinehadfivelovers. I’d be satisfied withone, wouldn’t you? She wasvery handsome and shewentthrough great tribulations.She could faint as easy asanything. I’d love to be ableto faint, wouldn’t you,Marilla?It’ssoromantic.ButI’mreallyveryhealthyforallI’m so thin. I believe I’mgetting fatter, though. Don’t

youthinkIam?I lookatmyelbowseverymorningwhenIget up to see if any dimplesarecoming.Dianaishavinganew dress made with elbowsleeves.She isgoing towearittothepicnic.Oh,Idohopeit will be fine nextWednesday.Idon’tfeelthatIcould endure thedisappointment if anythinghappenedtopreventmefromgetting to the picnic. Isuppose I’d live through it,

but I’mcertain itwouldbealifelong sorrow. It wouldn’tmatter if I got to a hundredpicnics in after years; theywouldn’tmakeupformissingthis one. They’re going tohave boats on the Lake ofShining Waters—and icecream as I told you. I havenevertastedicecream.Dianatried to explain what it waslike,but Iguess ice cream isone of those things that arebeyondimagination.”

“Anne, you have talkedeven on for ten minutes bythe clock,” said Marilla.“Now, just for curiosity’ssake,seeifyoucanholdyourtongueforthesamelengthoftime.”

Anneheldhertongueasdesired.Butfortherestoftheweek she talked picnic andthought picnic and dreamedpicnic.OnSaturday it rainedand she worked herself upintosuchafranticstatelestit

should keep on raining untiland over Wednesday, thatMarilla made her sew anextra patchwork square bywayofsteadyinghernerves.

On Sunday Anneconfided to Marilla on theway home from church thatshe grew actually cold allover with excitement whenthe minister announced thepicnicfromthepulpit.

“Suchathrillaswentupanddownmyback,Marilla!I

don’t think I’d ever reallybelieved until then that therewas honestly going to be apicnic.Icouldn’thelpfearingI’d only imagined it. Butwhen aminister says a thingin thepulpityou justhave tobelieveit.”

“You set your heart toomuch on things, Anne,” saidMarilla with a sigh. “I’mafraidthere’llbeagreatmanydisappointments in store foryouthroughlife.”

“Oh, Marilla, lookingforward to things is half thepleasureof them,”exclaimedAnne. “You mayn’t get thethings themselves; butnothingcanpreventyoufromhaving the fun of lookingforward to them.Mrs.Lyndesays, ‘Blessed are they whoexpect nothing for they shallnot be disappointed.’ But Ithink it would be worse toexpect nothing than to bedisappointed.”

Marilla wore heramethyst brooch to churchthat day as usual. Marillaalways wore her amethystbrooch to church. Shewouldhave thought it rathersacrilegious to leave it off—asbadasforgettingherBibleor her collection dime. Thatamethyst brooch wasMarilla’s most treasuredpossession.Aseafaringunclehad given it to her motherwhointurnhadbequeathedit

to Marilla. It was an old-fashioned oval, containing abraid of her mother’s hair,surrounded by a border ofvery fine amethysts. Marillaknewtoolittleaboutpreciousstonestorealizehowfinetheamethysts actually were; butshe thought them verybeautiful and was alwayspleasantly conscious of theirviolet shimmer at her throat,above her good brown satindress, even although she

couldnotseeit.Anne had been smitten

with delighted admirationwhen she first saw thatbrooch.

“Oh, Marilla, it’s aperfectly elegant brooch. Idon’tknowhowyoucanpayattentiontothesermonortheprayerswhenyouhave iton.I couldn’t, I know. I thinkamethysts are just sweet.TheyarewhatIusedtothinkdiamonds were like. Long

ago,before Ihadeverseenadiamond, I read about themand I tried to imagine whattheywouldbe like. I thoughtthey would be lovelyglimmering purple stones.WhenIsawarealdiamondinalady’sringonedayIwassodisappointed I cried. Ofcourse,itwasverylovelybutit wasn’t my idea of adiamond. Will you let mehold the brooch for oneminute, Marilla? Do you

think amethysts can be thesoulsofgoodviolets?”

14

Anne’sConfession

ON THE MONDAY eveningbefore the picnic Marillacame down from her roomwithatroubledface.

“Anne.” she said to thatsmall personage, who was

shelling peas by the spotlesstable and singing “Nelly ofthe Hazel Dell” with a vigorandexpressionthatdidcredittoDiana’steaching,“didyousee anything ofmy amethystbrooch?IthoughtIstuckitinmy pincushion when I camehome from church yesterdayevening, but I can’t find itanywhere.”

“I—I saw it thisafternoon when you wereaway at the Aid Society,”

said Anne, a little slowly. “IwaspassingyourdoorwhenIsaw it on the cushion, so Iwentintolookatit.”

“Didyoutouchit?”saidMarillasternly.

“Y-e-e-s,” admittedAnne, “I took it up and Ipinneditonmybreastjusttoseehowitwouldlook.”

“Youhadnobusinesstodo anything of the sort. It’svery wrong in a little girl tomeddle. You shouldn’t have

goneintomyroominthefirstplaceandyoushouldn’thavetouched a brooch that didn’tbelong to you in the second.Wheredidyouputit?”

“Oh,Iputitbackonthebureau. I hadn’t it on aminute. Truly, I didn’t meanto meddle, Marilla. I didn’tthinkaboutitsbeingwrongtogo in and try on the brooch;butIseenowthat itwasandI’ll never do it again. That’sone good thing about me. I

never do the same naughtythingtwice.”

“Youdidn’tputitback,”said Marilla. “That broochisn’tanywhereonthebureau.You’ve taken it out orsomething,Anne.”

“Idid put it back,” saidAnne quickly—pertly,Marilla thought. “I don’t justremember whether I stuck itonthepincushionorlaiditinthe china tray. But I’mperfectly certain I put it

back.”“I’llgoandhaveanother

look,” said Marilla,determining to be just. “Ifyouput thatbroochback it’stherestill.Ifitisn’tI’llknowyoudidn’t,that’sall!”

Marillawenttoherroomandmade a thorough search,not only over the bureau butin every other place shethought the brooch mightpossibly be. It was not to befoundandshereturnedtothe

kitchen.“Anne, the brooch is

gone.Byyourownadmissionyou were the last person tohandle it. Now, what haveyoudonewithit?Tellmethetruthatonce.Didyou take itoutandloseit?”

“No, I didn’t,” saidAnne solemnly, meetingMarilla’s angry gazesquarely. “I never took thebroochoutofyour roomandthatisthetruth,ifIwastobe

led to the block for it—althoughI’mnotverycertainwhat a block is. So there,Marilla.”

Anne’s “so there” wasonly intended to emphasizeherassertion,butMarillatookitasadisplayofdefiance.

“Ibelieveyouaretellingme a falsehood, Anne,” shesaidsharply.“Iknowyouare.There now, don’t sayanythingmoreunlessyouareprepared to tell the whole

truth. Go to your room andstaythereuntilyouarereadytoconfess.”

“Will I take the peaswithme?”saidAnnemeekly.

“No, I’ll finish shellingthem myself. Do as I bidyou.”

When Anne had goneMarilla went about herevening tasks in a verydisturbed state of mind. Shewas worried about hervaluable brooch. What if

Anne had lost it? And howwicked of the child to denyhaving taken it, whenanybody could see she musthave!With such an innocentface,too!

“I don’t know what Iwouldn’t sooner have hadhappen,” thought Marilla, asshe nervously shelled thepeas. “Of course, I don’tsuppose shemeant to steal itor anything like that. She’sjust taken it to play with or

helpalongthatimaginationofhers.Shemusthave taken it,that’s clear, for there hasn’tbeenasoulinthatroomsinceshe was in it, by her ownstory,untilIwentuptonight.And the brooch is gone,there’s nothing surer. Isupposeshehas lost itand isafraid to own up for fearshe’ll be punished. It’s adreadful thing to think shetells falsehoods. It’s a farworse thing than her fit of

temper. It’s a fearfulresponsibility to have a childinyourhouseyoucan’ttrust.Slyness and untruthfulness—that’swhatshehasdisplayed.I declare I feel worse aboutthat thanabout thebrooch.Ifshe’donlyhavetoldthetruthabout it I wouldn’t mind somuch.”

Marillawenttoherroomat intervals all through theevening and searched for thebrooch,without finding it. A

bedtimevisittotheeastgableproduced no result. Annepersisted in denying that sheknew anything about thebrooch but Marilla was onlythe more firmly convincedthatshedid.

She told Matthew thestory the next morning.Matthewwasconfoundedandpuzzled; he could not soquicklylosefaithinAnnebuthe had to admit thatcircumstances were against

her.“You’re sure it hasn’t

fell down behind thebureau?” was the onlysuggestionhecouldoffer.

“I’ve moved the bureauand I’ve taken out thedrawers and I’ve looked ineverycrackandcranny,”wasMarilla’s positive answer.“Thebrooch isgoneand thatchild has taken it and liedaboutit.That’stheplain,uglytruth,MatthewCuthbert, and

we might as well look it intheface.”

“Wellnow,whatareyougoing to do about it?”Matthew asked forlornly,feeling secretly thankful thatMarillaandnothehadtodealwith the situation.He felt nodesire to put his oar in thistime.

“She’ll stay inher roomuntil she confesses,” saidMarilla grimly, rememberingthesuccessof thismethod in

the former case. “Thenwe’llsee. Perhapswe’ll be able tofind thebrooch if she’ll onlytellwhere she took it; but inany case she’ll have to beseverelypunished,Matthew.”

“Well now, you’ll havetopunishher,”saidMatthew,reaching for his hat. “I’venothing to do with it,remember. You warned meoffyourself.”

Marilla felt deserted byeveryone.Shecouldnoteven

go toMrs.Lynde for advice.Shewentuptotheeastgablewith a very serious face andleft it with a face moreseriousstill.Annesteadfastlyrefused to confess. Shepersistedinassertingthatshehadnottakenthebrooch.Thechild had evidently beencryingandMarillafeltapangof pity which she sternlyrepressed. By night she was,as she expressed it, “beatout.”

“You’llstayinthisroomuntilyouconfess,Anne.Youcan make up your mind tothat,”shesaidfirmly.

“But the picnic istomorrow, Marilla,” criedAnne. “You won’t keep mefromgoing to that,will you?You’ll just letmeout for theafternoon, won’t you? ThenI’ll stay here as long as youlike afterwards cheerfully.ButImustgotothepicnic.”

“You’llnotgotopicnics

nor anywhere else untilyou’veconfessed,Anne.”

“Oh, Marilla,” gaspedAnne.

ButMarillahadgoneoutandshutthedoor.

Wednesday morningdawned as bright and fair asifexpresslymadetoorderforthepicnic.BirdssangaroundGreen Gables; the Madonnalilies in the garden sent outwhiffs of perfume thatentered in on viewlesswinds

at every door and window,and wandered through hallsand rooms like spirits ofbenediction. The birches inthe hollow waved joyfulhands as if watching forAnne’s usual morninggreeting from the east gable.But Anne was not at herwindow. When Marilla tookher breakfast up to her shefoundthechildsittingprimlyonherbed,paleandresolute,with tight shut lips and

gleamingeyes.“Marilla, I’m ready to

confess.”“Ah!”Marillalaiddown

her tray. Once again hermethod had succeeded; buthersuccesswasverybittertoher. “Let me hear what youhavetosaythen,Anne.”

“I took the amethystbrooch,” said Anne, as ifrepeating a lesson she hadlearned.“Itookitjustasyousaid. I didn’tmean to take it

when I went in. But it didlook so beautiful, Marilla,whenIpinneditonmybreastthat I was overcome by anirresistible temptation. Iimagined how perfectlythrillingitwouldbetotakeittoIdlewildandplayIwastheLady Cordelia Fitzgerald. Itwould be so much easier toimagine I was the LadyCordelia if I had a realamethyst brooch on. Dianaand I made necklaces of

roseberries but what areroseberries compared toamethysts? So I took thebrooch. I thought I couldputit back before you camehome. I went all the wayaround by the road tolengthenoutthetime.WhenIwas going over the bridgeacross the Lake of ShiningWaters I took the brooch offtohaveanotherlookatit.Oh,how it did shine in thesunlight! And then, when I

was learningover thebridge,it just slipped through myfingers—so—andwent down—down—down, all purply-sparkling, and sankforevermorebeneaththeLakeofShiningWaters.Andthat’sthe best I can do atconfessing,Marilla.”

Marilla felt hot angersurgeupintoherheartagain.Thischildhad takenand losthertreasuredamethystbroochand now sat there calmly

reciting the details there ofwithout the least apparentcompunctionorrepentance.

“Anne, this is terrible,”she said, trying to speakcalmly. “You are the verywickedest girl I ever heardof.”

“Yes, I suppose I am,”agreedAnnetranquilly.“AndI know I’ll have to bepunished.It’llbeyourdutytopunish me, Marilla. Won’tyou please get it over right

off because I’d like to go tothepicnicwithnothingonmymind.”

“Picnic, indeed! You’llgo to no picnic today, AnneShirley. That shall be yourpunishment.And it isn’t halfsevereenougheitherforwhatyou’vedone!”

“Not go to the picnic!”Anne sprang to her feet andclutchedMarilla’shand.“Butyou promised me I might!Oh,Marilla, Imustgo to the

picnic. That was why Iconfessed. Punish me anyway you like but that. Oh,Marilla,please,please,letmegotothepicnic.Thinkoftheice cream! For anything youknow I may never have achance to taste ice creamagain.”

Marilla disengagedAnne’sclinginghandstonily.

“You needn’t plead,Anne. You are not going tothe picnic and that’s final.

No,notaword.”Anne realized that

Marillawasnottobemoved.She clasped her handstogether, gave a piercingshriek,and thenflungherselfface downwards on the bed,crying and writhing in anutter abandonment ofdisappointmentanddespair.

“For the land’s sake!”gasped Marilla, hasteningfromtheroom.“Ibelievethechildiscrazy.Nochildinher

senses would behave as shedoes.Ifsheisn’tshe’sutterlybad. Oh dear, I’m afraidRachel was right from thefirst.ButI’veputmyhandtothe plough and I won’t lookback.”

That was a dismalmorning. Marilla workedfiercely and scrubbed theporch floor and the dairyshelves when she could findnothing else to do. Neitherthe shelves nor the porch

needed it—but Marilla did.Thenshewentoutand rakedtheyard.

When dinner was readyshe went to the stairs andcalled Anne. A tear-stainedface appeared, lookingtragicallyoverthebanisters.

“Come down to yourdinner,Anne.”

“Idon’twantanydinner,Marilla,” said Annesobbingly. “I couldn’t eatanything.Myheartisbroken.

You’ll feel remorse ofconscience some day, Iexpect, for breaking it,Marilla, but I forgive you.Remember when the timecomesthatIforgiveyou.Butplease don’t ask me to eatanything, especially boiledporkandgreens.Boiledporkandgreensaresounromanticwhenoneisinaffliction.”

Exasperated Marillareturned to the kitchen andpouredouther taleofwoeto

Matthew, who, between hissense of justice and hisunlawful sympathy withAnne,wasamiserableman.

“Well now, sheshouldn’t have taken thebrooch, Marilla, or toldstoriesaboutit,”headmitted,mournfully surveying hisplateful of unromantic porkand greens as if he, likeAnne, thought it a foodunsuited to crises of feeling,“but she’s such a little thing

—such an interesting littlething. Don’t you think it’spretty roughnot to lethergoto the picnic when she’s sosetonit?”

“Matthew Cuthbert, I’mamazedatyou.IthinkI’veletheroffentirelytooeasy.Andshe doesn’t appear to realizehowwickedshe’sbeenatall—that’s what worries memost.Ifshe’dreallyfeltsorryit wouldn’t be so bad. Andyou don’t seem to realize it,

neither; you’re makingexcusesforherallthetimetoyourself—Icanseethat.”

“Wellnow,she’ssuchalittle thing,” feebly reiteratedMatthew. “And there shouldbeallowancesmade,Marilla.You know she’s never hadanybringingup.”

“Well, she’s having itnow,”retortedMarilla.

The retort silencedMatthew if it did notconvince him. That dinner

was a very dismalmeal.Theonly cheerful thing about itwas Jerry Buote, the hiredboy,andMarilla resentedhischeerfulness as a personalinsult.

When her dishes werewashedandherbreadspongeset and her hens fed Marillaremembered that she hadnoticed a small rent in herbest black lace shawl whenshe had taken it off onMonday afternoon on

returning from the Ladies’Aid.Shewouldgoandmendit.

The shawlwas in a boxinhertrunk.AsMarillaliftedit out, the sunlight, fallingthrough the vines thatclustered thickly about thewindow, struck uponsomething caught in theshawl—something thatglittered and sparkled infacets of violet light.Marillasnatched at it with a gasp. It

was the amethyst brooch,hanging to a thread of thelacebyitscatch!

“Dear life and heart,”said Marilla blankly, “whatdoes that mean? Here’s mybrooch safe and sound that Ithoughtwas at thebottomofBarry’s pond. Whatever didthat girl mean by saying shetookitandlostit?IdeclareIbelieve Green Gables isbewitched. I remember nowthatwhenItookoffmyshawl

MondayafternoonIlaiditonthe bureau for a minute. Isuppose the brooch gotcaughtinitsomehow.Well!”

Marillabetookherselftothe east gable, brooch inhand.Anne had cried herselfoutandwassittingdejectedlybythewindow.

“Anne Shirley,” saidMarilla solemnly, “I’ve justfound my brooch hanging tomy black lace shawl. Now Iwant to know what that

rigmarole you told me thismorningmeant.”

“Why, you said you’dkeep me here until Iconfessed,” returned Annewearily, “and so I decided toconfess because Iwas boundtogettothepicnic.Ithoughtout a confession last nightafter Iwent tobedandmadeit as interesting as I could.AndIsaiditoverandoversothat Iwouldn’t forget it. Butyouwouldn’tletmegotothe

picnic after all, so all mytroublewaswasted.”

Marilla had to laugh inspite of herself. But herconscienceprickedher.

“Anne, you do beat all!But I was wrong—I see thatnow. I shouldn’t havedoubted your word when I’dnever known you to tell astory. Of course, it wasn’tright for you to confess to athing you hadn’t done—itwasverywrongtodoso.But

Idroveyoutoit.Soifyou’llforgiveme,Anne,I’llforgiveyou and we’ll start squareagain. And now get yourselfreadyforthepicnic.”

Anne flew up like arocket.

“Oh,Marilla, isn’t it toolate?”

“No, it’s only twoo’clock.Theywon’tbemorethan well gathered yet andit’ll be an hour before theyhavetea.Washyourfaceand

comb your hair and put onyour gingham. I’ll fill abasketforyou.There’splentyof stuff baked in the house.And I’llget Jerry tohitchupthesorrelanddriveyoudowntothepicnicground.”

“Oh, Marilla,”exclaimedAnne,flyingtothewashstand.“FiveminutesagoI was so miserable I waswishing I’d never been bornand now I wouldn’t changeplaceswithanangel!”

That night a thoroughlyhappy, completely tired outAnne returned to GreenGables in a state ofbeatification impossible todescribe.

“Oh,Marilla, I’vehadaperfectly scrumptious time.Scrumptious is anewword Ilearned today. I heard MaryAliceBelluseit.Isn’titveryexpressive? Everything waslovely.Wehadasplendidteaand then Mr. Harmon

Andrewstookusallforarowon the Lake of ShiningWaters—six of us at a time.AndJaneAndrewsnearlyfelloverboard. She was leaningout topickwater liliesand ifMr. Andrews hadn’t caughther by her sash just in thenickoftimeshe’dhavefalleninandprob’lybeendrowned.I wish it had been me. Itwould have been such aromantic experience to havebeen nearly drowned. It

wouldbesuchathrillingtaleto tell. And we had the icecream. Words fail me todescribe that ice cream.Marilla, I assure you it wassublime.”

That evening Marillatold the whole story toMatthew over her stockingbasket.

“I’m willing to own upthat I made a mistake,” sheconcludedcandidly,“butI’velearned a lesson. I have to

laughwhenIthinkofAnne’s‘confession,’ although Isuppose I shouldn’t for itreallywasafalsehood.Butitdoesn’t seem as bad as theother would have been,somehow, and anyhow I’mresponsible for it. That childishardtounderstandinsomerespects. But I believe she’llturn out all right yet. Andthere’s one thing certain, nohouse will ever be dull thatshe’sin.”

15

A Tempest in theSchoolTeapot

“WHATASPLENDIDday!”saidAnne,drawinga longbreath.“Isn’t itgood just tobealiveon a day like this? I pity the

people who aren’t born yetformissingit.Theymayhavegooddays,ofcourse,buttheycanneverhavethisone.Andit’s splendider still to havesuch a lovely way to go toschoolby,isn’tit?”

“It’s a lot nicer thangoingroundbytheroad; thatis so dusty and hot,” saidDiana practically, peepinginto her dinner basket andmentally calculating if thethree juicy, toothsome,

raspberry tarts reposing thereweredividedamong tengirlshow many bites each girlwouldhave.

The little girls ofAvonlea school alwayspooled their lunches, and toeat three raspberry tarts allalone or even to share themonly with one’s best chumwould have forever and everbrandedas“awfulmean” thegirlwhodidit.Andyet,whenthe tartsweredividedamong

ten girls you just got enoughtotantalizeyou.

The way Anne andDiana went to school was apretty one. Anne thoughtthose walks to and fromschoolwithDianacouldn’tbeimproved upon even byimagination.Goingaroundbythe main road would havebeensounromantic;buttogoby Lover’s Lane andWillowmere and Violet Valeand the Birch Path was

romantic, if ever anythingwas.

Lover’sLaneopenedoutbelow the orchard at GreenGables and stretched far upinto thewoods to the end oftheCuthbert farm. Itwas thewaybywhich thecowsweretakentothebackpastureandthe wood hauled home inwinter. Anne had named itLover’s Lane before she hadbeen a month at GreenGables.

“Not that lovers everreally walk there,” sheexplained to Marilla, “butDiana and I are reading aperfectly magnificent bookandthere’saLover’sLaneinit. So we want to have one,too. And it’s a very prettyname, don’t you think? Soromantic! We can imaginetheloversintoit,youknow.Ilikethatlanebecauseyoucanthink out loud there withoutpeoplecallingyoucrazy.”

Anne, starting out alonein the morning, went downLover’s Lane as far as thebrook. Here Diana met her,and the two little girls wentonupthelaneundertheleafyarch ofmaples—“maples aresuch sociable trees,” saidAnne; “they’re alwaysrustling and whispering toyou,”—until they came to arustic bridge. Then they leftthe lane and walked throughMr. Barry’s back field and

past Willowmere. BeyondWillowmere came VioletVale—alittlegreendimpleinthe shadow of Mr. AndrewBell’sbigwoods. “Ofcoursethere are no violets therenow,”AnnetoldMarilla,“butDiana says therearemillionsof them in spring. Oh,Marilla, can’t you justimagine you see them? Itactually takes away mybreath. I named it VioletVale. Diana says she never

sawthebeatofmeforhittingon fancy names for places.It’s nice to be clever atsomething,isn’tit?ButDiananamed the Birch Path. Shewanted to, so I let her; butI’m sure I could have foundsomethingmorepoeticalthanplain Birch Path. Anybodycanthinkofanamelikethat.But the Birch Path is one ofthe prettiest places in theworld,Marilla.”

It was. Other people

besides Anne thought sowhen they stumbled on it. Itwas a little narrow, twistingpath, winding down over alonghill straight throughMr.Bell’swoods,wherethelightcame down sifted through somany emerald screens that itwasasflawlessastheheartofa diamond. It was fringed inallitslengthwithslimyoungbirches, white-stemmed andlissom boughed; ferns andstarflowersandwildlilies-of-

the-valleyandscarlet tuftsofpigeon berries grew thicklyalongit;andalwaystherewasa delightful spiciness in theair and music of bird callsandthemurmurandlaughofwood winds in the treesoverhead.Now and then youmight see a rabbit skippingacross the road if you werequiet—which,withAnneandDiana, happened about onceinabluemoon.Down in thevalley the path came out to

themainroadandthenitwasjust up the spruce hill to theschool.

TheAvonleaschoolwasa whitewashed building lowin the eaves andwide in thewindows, furnished insidewith comfortable substantialold-fashioned desks thatopened and shut, and werecarvedallovertheirlidswiththe initials and hieroglyphicsof three generations ofschoolchildren. The

schoolhouse was set backfrom the road and behind itwas a dusky fir wood and abrook where all the childrenputtheirbottlesofmilkinthemorning to keep cool andsweetuntildinnerhour.

Marilla had seen Annestartofftoschoolonthefirstday of Septemberwithmanysecret misgivings. Anne wassuchanoddgirl.Howwouldshe get on with the otherchildren? And how on earth

would she ever manage toholdhertongueduringschoolhours?

Things went better thanMarilla feared, however.Anne came home thateveninginhighspirits.

“IthinkI’mgoingtolikeschool here,” she announced.“I don’t think much of themaster, though. He’s all thetime curling his moustacheand making eyes at PrissyAndrews.Prissyisgrown-up,

you know. She’s sixteen andshe’s studying for theentrance examination intoQueen’s Academy atCharlottetown next year.TillieBoultersaysthemasterisdeadgoneonher.She’sgota beautiful complexion andcurlybrownhairandshedoesitupsoelegantly.Shesits inthe long seat at theback andhesits there, too,mostof thetime—to explain her lessons,hesays.ButRubyGillissays

she saw him writingsomething on her slate andwhen Prissy read it sheblushed as red as a beet andgiggled;andRubyGillissaysshe doesn’t believe it hadanything to do with thelesson.”

“Anne Shirley, don’t letme hear you talking aboutyour teacher in that wayagain,” said Marilla sharply.“You don’t go to school tocriticize the master. I guess

he can teach you somethingand it’s your business tolearn. And I want you tounderstand right off that youarenot to comehome tellingtales about him. That issomethingIwon’tencourage.Ihopeyouwereagoodgirl.”

“Indeed I was,” saidAnnecomfortably.“Itwasn’tsohardasyoumightimagine,either. I sit with Diana. Ourseat is right by the windowandwecan lookdownto the

Lake of Shining Waters.Therearealotofnicegirlsinschool and we hadscrumptious fun playing atdinner time. It’s so nice tohavealotoflittlegirlstoplaywith. But of course I likeDianabestandalwayswill. Iadore Diana. I’m dreadfullyfarbehindtheothers.They’reall in the fifth book and I’monly in the fourth. I feel thatit’s kind of a disgrace. Butthere’s not one of them has

suchanimaginationasIhaveandIsoonfoundthatout.Wehad reading and geographyand Canadian History anddictation today. Mr. Phillipssaid my spelling wasdisgracefulandheheldupmyslateso thateverybodycouldsee it, allmarked over. I feltso mortified. Marilla; hemight have been politer to astranger, I think. RubyGillisgavemeanappleandSophiaSloane lentme a lovely pink

card with ‘May I see youhome?’ on it. I’m to give itback to her tomorrow. AndTillieBoulterletmewearherbead ring all the afternoon.Can I have some of thosepearl beads off the oldpincushion in the garret tomakemyself a ring?And ohMarilla, Jane Andrews toldme that Minnie MacPhersontoldher thatsheheardPrissyAndrewstellSaraGillisthatIhad a very pretty nose.

Marilla, that is the firstcompliment I have ever hadin my life and you can’timagine what a strangefeeling it gave me. Marilla,have I really aprettynose? Iknow you’ll tell me thetruth.”

“Your nose is wellenough,”saidMarillashortly.Secretly she thought Anne’snosewasaremarkablyprettyone;butshehadno intentionoftellingherso.

That was three weeksago and all had gonesmoothly so far. And now,thiscrispSeptembermorning,Anne and Diana weretripping blithely down theBirch Path, two of thehappiest little girls inAvonlea.

“I guess Gilbert Blythewillbeinschooltoday,”saidDiana.“He’sbeenvisitinghiscousins over in NewBrunswickallsummerandhe

only came home Saturdaynight.He’saw’fly handsome,Anne.Andheteasesthegirlssomething terrible. He justtormentsourlivesout.”

Diana’s voice indicatedthat she rather liked havingher life tormented out thannot.

“Gilbert Blythe?” saidAnne.“Isn’tithisnamethat’swritten up on the porchwallwith Julia Bell’s and a big‘TakeNotice’overthem?”

“Yes,” said Diana,tossing her head, “but I’msurehedoesn’tlikeJuliaBellsoverymuch.I’veheardhimsay he studied themultiplication table by herfreckles.”

“Oh, don’t speak aboutfreckles to me,” imploredAnne. “It isn’t delicatewhenI’ve got so many. But I dothinkthatwritingtake-noticesuponthewallabouttheboysandgirls is thesilliestever.I

should just like to seeanybody dare to write mynameupwithaboy’s.Not,ofcourse,” shehastened toadd,“thatanybodywould.”

Anne sighed. She didn’twant her name written up.Butitwasalittlehumiliatingto know that there was nodangerofit.

“Nonsense,” saidDiana,whose black eyes and glossytresseshadplayedsuchhavocwith the hearts of Avonlea

schoolboys that her namefiguredon theporchwalls inhalf a dozen take-notices.“It’s only meant as a joke.And don’t you be too sureyour name won’t ever bewritten up. Charlie Sloane isdeadgoneonyou.Hetoldhismother—his mother, mindyou—that you were thesmartestgirlinschool.That’sbetter than being good-looking.”

“No,itisn’t,”saidAnne,

feminine to the core. “I’drather be pretty than clever.And I hate Charlie Sloane. Ican’t bear a boywith goggleeyes. If any one wrote myname up with his I’d neverget over it,DianaBarry.Butitisnicetokeepheadofyourclass.”

“You’ll have Gilbert inyour class after this,” saidDiana, “and he’s used tobeingheadofhisclass,Icantell you. He’s only in the

fourth book although he’snearly fourteen. Four yearsago his father was sick andhad to go out to Alberta forhis health and Gilbert wentwith him. They were therethreeyears andGil didn’t goto school hardly any untilthey came back. You won’tfind it so easy to keep headafterthis,Anne.”

“I’m glad,” said Annequickly. “I couldn’t reallyfeelproudofkeepingheadof

little boys and girls of justnineorten.Igotupyesterdayspelling ‘ebullition.’ JosiePyewasheadand,mindyou,she peeped in her book. Mr.Phillips didn’t see her—hewas looking at PrissyAndrews—but I did. I justswept her a look of freezingscornandshegotas redasabeet and spelled it wrongafterall.”

“Those Pye girls arecheats all round,” saidDiana

indignantly, as they climbedthe fence of the main road.“GertiePyeactuallywentandput her milk bottle in myplace in the brook yesterday.Did you ever? I don’t speaktohernow.”

When Mr. Phillips wasin the back of the roomhearing Prissy Andrews’Latin Diana whispered toAnne.

“That’s Gilbert Blythesitting right across the aisle

fromyou,Anne. Just look athimandseeifyoudon’tthinkhe’shandsome.”

Anne lookedaccordingly. She had a goodchance to do so, for the saidGilbert Blythe was absorbedin stealthily pinning the longyellow braid of Ruby Gillis,whosatinfrontofhim,tothebackofherseat.Hewasatallboy, with curly brown hair,roguish hazel eyes and amouth twisted into a teasing

smile. Presently Ruby Gillisstarteduptotakeasumtothemaster;shefellback intoherseat with a little shriek,believing that her hair waspulled out by the roots.Everybody looked at her andMr.Phillipsglared so sternlythat Ruby began to cry.Gilbert had whisked the pinoutofsightandwasstudyinghis history with the soberestface in the world; but whenthe commotion subsided he

looked at Anne and winkedwithinexpressibledrollery.

“I think your GilbertBlythe is handsome,”confidedAnnetoDiana,“butIthinkhe’sverybold.Itisn’tgood manners to wink at astrangegirl.”

But it was not until theafternoon that things reallybegantohappen.

Mr.Phillipswasbackinthe corner explaining aproblem in algebra to Prissy

Andrews and the rest of thescholars were doing prettymuch as they pleased, eatinggreen apples, whispering,drawing pictures on theirslates, and driving crickets,harnessed to strings, up anddowntheaisle.GilbertBlythewas trying to make AnneShirley look at him andfailing utterly, because Annewas at that moment totallyoblivious, not only of thevery existence of Gilbert

Blythe, but of every otherscholar in Avonlea schooland ofAvonlea school itself.Withherchinproppedonherhands and her eyes fixed onthe blue glimpse of theLakeof Shining Waters that thewest window afforded, shewas far away in a gorgeousdreamland, hearing andseeing nothing save her ownwonderfulvisions.

Gilbert Blythe wasn’tusedtoputtinghimselfoutto

make a girl look at him andmeeting with failure. Sheshould look at him, thatredhairedShirleygirlwiththelittlepointedchinandthebigeyesthatweren’tliketheeyesof any other girl in Avonleaschool.

Gilbert reached acrosstheaisle,pickeduptheendofAnne’slongredbraid,helditout at arm’s length and saidinapiercingwhisper,

“Carrots!Carrots!”

Then Anne looked athimwithavengeance!

Shedidmore than look.She sprang to her feet, herbright fancies fallen intocurelessruin.Sheflashedoneindignant glance at Gilbertfrom eyes whose angrysparklewasswiftlyquenchedinequallyangrytears.

“You mean, hatefulboy!” she exclaimedpassionately. “How dareyou!”

And then—Thwack!Anne had brought her slatedown on Gilbert’s head andcracked it—slate, not head—clearacross.

Avonlea school alwaysenjoyedascene.Thiswasanespecially enjoyable one.Everybody said, “Oh” inhorrified delight. Dianagasped.RubyGillis,whowasinclined to be hysterical,began to cry.TommySloanelethisteamofcricketsescape

him altogether while hestared openmouthed at thetableau.

Mr. Phillips stalkeddown the aisle and laid hishand heavily on Anne’sshoulder.

“Anne Shirley, whatdoes this mean?” he saidangrily.

Anne returned noanswer. It was asking toomuch of flesh and blood toexpect her to tell before the

whole school that she hadbeencalled“carrots.”Gilbertitwaswhospokeupstoutly.

“It was my fault, Mr.Phillips.Iteasedher.”

Mr. Phillips paid noheedtoGilbert.

“I am sorry to see apupilofminedisplayingsucha temper and such avindictivespirit,”hesaidinasolemn tone, as if the merefact of being a pupil of hisought to root out all evil

passions from the hearts ofsmall imperfect mortals.“Anne, go and stand on theplatform in front of theblackboardfor therestof theafternoon.”

Anne would haveinfinitely preferred awhipping to this punishment,under which her sensitivespirit quivered as from awhiplash. With a white, setfacesheobeyed.Mr.Phillipstookachalkcrayonandwrote

on the blackboard above herhead.

“AnnShirleyhasaverybadtemper.AnnShirleymustlearn to control her temper,”and then read it out loud sothat even the primer class,who couldn’t read writing,shouldunderstandit.

Annestoodtheretherestof the afternoon with thatlegendaboveher.Shedidnotcry or hang her head. Angerwas still too hot in her heart

for that and it sustained heramid all her agony ofhumiliation. With resentfuleyes and passion-red cheeksshe confronted alike Diana’ssympatheticgazeandCharlieSloane’s indignant nods andJosie Pye’smalicious smiles.As for Gilbert Blythe, shewould not even look at him.Shewouldnever lookathimagain!Shewouldneverspeaktohim!!

When school was

dismissed Annemarched outwith her red head held high.Gilbert Blythe tried tointercept her at the porchdoor.

“I’mawfulsorryImadefun of your hair, Anne,” hewhisperedcontritely.“HonestIam.Don’tbemadforkeeps,now.”

Anne swept bydisdainfully, without look orsign of hearing. “Oh, howcould you, Anne?” breathed

Dianaas theywentdowntheroad, half reproachfully, halfadmiringly. Diana felt thatshecouldneverhaveresistedGilbert’splea.

“I shall never forgiveGilbert Blythe,” said Annefirmly. “And Mr. Phillipsspelled my name without ane, too. The iron has enteredintomysoul,Diana.”

Diana hadn’t the leastideawhatAnnemeantbutsheunderstood it was something

terrible.“You mustn’t mind

Gilbert making fun of yourhair.” she said soothingly.“Why,hemakesfunofallthegirls. He laughs at minebecause it’s so black. He’scalled me a crow a dozentimes; and Ineverheardhimapologize for anythingbefore,either.”

“There’s a great deal ofdifference between beingcalled a crow and being

called carrots,” said Annewith dignity. “Gilbert Blythehas hurt my feelingsexcruciatingly,Diana.”

It is possible the mattermight have blown overwithout more excruciation ifnothing else had happened.But when things begin tohappen they are apt to keepon.

Avonlea scholars oftenspentnoonhourpickinggumin Mr. Bell’s spruce grove

over the hill and across hisbig pasture field. From therethey could keep an eye onEben Wright’s house, wherethe master boarded. Whenthey saw Mr. Phillipsemerging therefrom they ranfor the schoolhouse; but thedistance being about threetimes longer than Mr.Wright’s lane theywereveryapt to arrive there, breathlessand gasping, some threeminutestoolate.

On the following dayMr. Phillips was seized withone of his spasmodic fits ofreformandannounced,beforegoinghometodinner,thatheshould expect to find all thescholars in their seats whenhe returned. Any one whocame in late would bepunished.

Alltheboysandsomeofthe girls went to Mr. Bell’sspruce grove as usual, fullyintending to stay only long

enoughto“pickachew.”Butspruce groves are seductiveand yellow nuts of gumbeguiling; they picked andloitered and strayed; and asusual the first thing thatrecalled them to a sense ofthe flightof timewasJimmyGlovershoutingfromthe topof a patriarchal old spruce,“Master’scoming.”

The girls, who were onthe ground, started first andmanaged to reach the

schoolhouse in time butwithout a second to spare.Theboys,whohadtowrigglehastily down from the trees,were later; and Anne, whohad not been picking gum atallbutwaswanderinghappilyin the far end of the grove,waist deep among thebracken, singing softly toherself,with awreathof ricelilies on her hair as if shewere some wild divinity ofthe shadowy places, was

latest of all. Anne could runlikeadeer,however; runshedidwiththeimpishresultthatshe overtook the boys at thedoor and was swept into theschoolhouseamongthemjustasMr.Phillipswasintheactofhanginguphishat.

Mr. Phillips’ briefreforming energy was over;he didn’t want the bother ofpunishingadozenpupils;butit was necessary to dosomething to save his word,

so he looked about for ascapegoat and found it inAnne, who had dropped intoher seat, gasping for breath,withherforgottenlilywreathhanging askew over one earand giving her a particularlyrakish and dishevelledappearance.

“AnneShirley,sinceyouseem to be so fond of theboys’ company we shallindulge your taste for it thisafternoon,” he said

sarcastically. “Take thoseflowers out of your hair andsitwithGilbertBlythe.”

The other boyssnickered.Diana,turningpalewithpity,plucked thewreathfrom Anne’s hair andsqueezed her hand. Annestared at the master as ifturnedtostone.

“Did you hear what Isaid, Anne?” queried Mr.Phillipssternly.

“Yes, sir,” said Anne

slowly, “but I didn’t supposeyoureallymeantit.”

“I assure you I did,”—still the sarcastic inflectionwhich all the children, andAnne especially, hated. Itflickedontheraw.“Obeymeatonce.”

For a moment Annelooked as if she meant todisobey. Then, realizing thatthere was no help for it, sherosehaughtily,steppedacrossthe aisle, sat down beside

GilbertBlythe,andburiedherface inherarmson thedesk.Ruby Gillis, who got aglimpseofitasitwentdown,told the others going homefrom school that she’d“acksually never seenanything like it—it was sowhite, with awful little redspotsinit.”

ToAnne,thiswasastheend of all things. It was badenough to be singled out forpunishment from among a

dozen equally guilty ones; itwas worse still to be sent tosit with a boy; but that thatboy shouldbeGilbertBlythewas heaping insult on injuryto a degree utterlyunbearable.Annefeltthatshecouldnotbearitanditwouldbeofnousetotry.Herwholebeingseethedwithshameandangerandhumiliation.

At first the otherscholars looked andwhispered and giggled and

nudged. But as Anne neverliftedherheadandasGilbertworked fractions as if hiswhole soul was absorbed inthem and them only, theysoon returned to their owntasksandAnnewasforgotten.WhenMr. Phillips called thehistoryclassoutAnneshouldhave gone; butAnne did notmove, andMr. Phillips, whohadbeenwritingsomeverses“To Priscilla” before hecalled theclass,was thinking

aboutanobstinaterhymestilland never missed her. Once,when nobody was looking,Gilbert took from his desk alittlepink candyheartwith agold motto on it, “You aresweet,” and slipped it underthe curve of Anne’s arm.WhereuponAnnearose, tookthe pink heart gingerlybetween the tips of herfingers, dropped it on thefloor, ground it to powderbeneath her heel, and

resumed her positionwithoutdeigning to bestow a glanceonGilbert.

When school went outAnne marched to her desk,ostentatiously took outeverythingtherein,booksandwriting tablet, pen and ink,testamentandarithmetic,andpiled them neatly on hercrackedslate.

“Whatareyoutakingallthose things home for,Anne?” Diana wanted to

know, as soon as they wereout on the road. She had notdared to ask the questionbefore.

“I am not coming backto school any more,” saidAnne.

Dianagaspedand staredatAnnetoseeifshemeantit.

“Will Marilla let youstayhome?”sheasked.

“She’ll have to,” saidAnne.“I’llnevergotoschooltothatmanagain.”

“Oh, Anne!” Dianalookedasifshewerereadytocry.“Idothinkyou’remean.WhatshallIdo?Mr.Phillipswill make me sit with thathorridGertiePye—Iknowhewill because she is sittingalone.Docomeback,Anne.”

“I’d do almost anythingin theworld foryou,Diana,”said Anne sadly. “I’d letmyself be torn limb fromlimb if it would do you anygood. But I can’t do this, so

please don’t ask it. Youharrowupmyverysoul.”

“Justthinkofallthefunyou will miss,” mournedDiana.“Wearegoingtobuildtheloveliestnewhousedownby the brook; and we’ll beplaying ball next week andyou’ve never played ball,Anne. It’s tremenjuslyexciting.Andwe’re going tolearn a new song—JaneAndrews is practising it upnow; and Alice Andrews is

going to bring a new Pansybooknextweekandwe’reallgoing to read it out loud,chapter about, down by thebrook.Andyouknowyouareso fond of reading out loud,Anne.”

NothingmovedAnne intheleast.Hermindwasmadeup. She would not go toschool toMr. Phillips again;she toldMarilla sowhen shegothome.

“Nonsense,” said

Marilla.“Itisn’tnonsenseatall,”

said Anne, gazing atMarillawith solemn, reproachfuleyes. “Don’t you understand,Marilla?I’vebeeninsulted.”

“Insulted fiddlesticks!You’llgotoschooltomorrowasusual.”

“Oh, no.” Anne shookher head gently. “I’m notgoingback,Marilla.I’lllearnmy lessons at home and I’llbe as good as I can be and

holdmytongueallthetimeifit’spossible at all.But IwillnotgobacktoschoolIassureyou.”

Marilla saw somethingremarkably like unyieldingstubbornness looking out ofAnne’s small face. Sheunderstood that she wouldhave trouble in overcomingit; but she resolvedwisely tosaynothingmorejustthen.

“I’ll run down and seeRachelaboutitthisevening,”

she thought. “There’s no usereasoning with Anne now.She’stooworkedupandI’vean idea she can be awfulstubborn if she takes thenotion.FarasIcanmakeoutfrom her story, Mr. Phillipshas been carrying matterswitharatherhighhand.Butitwould never do to say so toher. I’ll just talk it overwithRachel. She’s sent tenchildren to school and sheought to know something

aboutit.She’llhaveheardthewhole story, too, by thistime.”

Marilla found Mrs.Lynde knitting quilts asindustriously and cheerfullyasusual.

“I suppose you knowwhat I’ve come about,” shesaid,alittleshamefacedly.

Mrs.Rachelnodded.“About Anne’s fuss in

school, I reckon,” she said.“TillieBoulterwas inonher

way home from school andtoldmeaboutit.”

“Idon’tknowwhattodowith her,” saidMarilla. “Shedeclaresshewon’tgobacktoschool.Ineversawachildsoworked up. I’ve beenexpecting trouble ever sinceshe started to school. I knewthingsweregoingtoosmoothto last. She’s so highstrung.What would you advise,Rachel?”

“Well, since you’ve

asked my advice, Marilla,”said Mrs. Lynde amiably—Mrs. Lynde dearly loved tobeaskedforadvice—“I’djusthumor her a little at first,that’s what I’d do. It’s mybeliefthatMr.Phillipswasinthe wrong. Of course, itdoesn’t do to say so to thechildren, you know. And ofcourse he did right to punishher yesterday for givingwayto temper. But today it wasdifferent. The others who

were late should have beenpunished as well as Anne,that’s what. And I don’tbelieveinmakingthegirlssitwiththeboysforpunishment.It isn’tmodest.TillieBoulterwas real indignant. She tookAnne’spartrightthroughandsaid all the scholars did, too.Anne seems real popularamong them, somehow. Ineverthoughtshe’dtakewiththemsowell.”

“Then you really think

I’dbetter let her stayhome,”saidMarillainamazement.

“Yes.Thatis,Iwouldn’tsay school to her again untilshe said it herself. Dependupon it, Marilla, she’ll cooloff in a week or so and beready enough to go back ofher own accord, that’s what,while, if you were to makeher go back right off, dearknowswhat freak or tantrumshe’d take next and makemore trouble than ever. The

less fuss made the better, inmy opinion. She won’t missmuchbynotgoingtoschool,as far as that goes. Mr.Phillips isn’t any good at allas a teacher. The order hekeeps is scandalous, that’swhat, and he neglects theyoung fry and puts all histime on those big scholarshe’s getting ready forQueen’s.He’dneverhavegottheschool foranotheryear ifhis uncle hadn’t been a

trustee—the trustee, for hejust leads the other twoaround by the nose, that’swhat. Ideclare, Idon’tknowwhat education in this Islandiscomingto.”

Mrs. Lynde shook herhead,asmuchastosayifshewere only at the head of theeducational system of theProvince things would bemuchbettermanaged.

Marilla took Rachel’sadvice and not another word

wassaidtoAnneaboutgoingback to school. She learnedher lessons at home, did herchores, and played withDiana in the chilly purpleautumn twilights; but whenshemetGilbertBlytheontheroad or encountered him inSunday-school she passedhimbywith an icy contemptthat was no whit thawed byhis evident desire to appeaseher.EvenDiana’seffortsasapeacemakerwereofnoavail.

Anne had evidentlymade upher mind to hate GilbertBlythetotheendoflife.

As much as she hatedGilbert, however, did sheloveDiana,with all the loveof her passionate little heart,equallyintenseinitslikesanddislikes.OneeveningMarilla,coming in from the orchardwithabasketofapples,foundAnnesittingalonebytheeastwindow in the twilight,cryingbitterly.

“Whatever’s the matternow,Anne?”sheasked.

“It’s about Diana,”sobbed Anne luxuriously. “Ilove Diana so, Marilla. Icannot ever livewithout her.But I know very well whenwe grow up that Diana willgetmarriedandgoawayandleaveme.Andoh,whatshallI do? I hate her husband—Ijust hate him furiously. I’vebeenimaginingitallout—thewedding and everything—

Diana dressed in snowygarments, with a veil, andlookingasbeautifulandregalas a queen; and me thebridesmaid, with a lovelydress,too,andpuffedsleeves,butwithabreakinghearthidbeneathmysmilingface.AndthenbiddingDianagood-bye-e-e—” Here Anne brokedown entirely andwept withincreasingbitterness.

Marilla turned quicklyaway to hide her twitching

face, but it was no use; shecollapsedonthenearestchairand burst into such a heartyand unusual peal of laughterthat Matthew, crossing theyard outside, halted inamazement. When had heheardMarilla laugh like thatbefore?

“Well, Anne Shirley,”said Marilla as soon as shecould speak, “if you mustborrow trouble, for pity’ssakeborrowithandierhome.

I should think you had animagination,sureenough.”

16

Diana Is Invited toTea with TragicResults

OCTOBER WAS A beautifulmonthatGreenGables,whenthe birches in the hollow

turned as golden as sunshineand the maples behind theorchard were royal crimsonand the wild cherry treesalong the lane put on theloveliest shades of dark redand bronzy green, while thefields sunned themselves inaftermaths.

Anne revelled in theworldofcolorabouther.

“Oh, Marilla,” sheexclaimed one Saturdaymorning, coming dancing in

with her arms full ofgorgeous boughs, “I’m soglad I live in a world wherethere are Octobers. It wouldbe terrible ifwe just skippedfrom September toNovember,wouldn’tit?Lookat these maple branches.Don’ttheygiveyouathrill—several thrills? I’m going todecorate my room withthem.”

“Messy things,” saidMarilla, whose aesthetic

sense was not noticeablydeveloped. “You clutter upyour room entirely toomuchwithout-of-doorsstuff,Anne.Bedroomsweremadetosleepin.”

“Oh, and dream in too,Marilla. And you know onecandreamsomuchbetterinaroom where there are prettythings.I’mgoingtoputtheseboughs in the old blue jugandsetthemonmytable.

“Mind you don’t drop

leavesalloverthestairsthen.I’mgoingtoameetingoftheAid Society at Carmody thisafternoon,Anne,and Iwon’tlikely be home before dark.You’ll have to get Matthewand Jerry their supper, somind you don’t forget to putthe tea to draw until you sitdown at the table as you didlasttime.”

“Itwasdreadfulofmetoforget,” said Anneapologetically, “but that was

the afternoon Iwas trying tothink of a name for VioletVale and it crowded otherthings out. Matthew was sogood.Heneverscoldedabit.He put the tea down himselfandsaidwecouldwaitawhileaswellasnot.AndItoldhima lovely fairy storywhilewewere waiting, so he didn’tfind the time long at all. Itwas a beautiful fairy story,Marilla.Iforgottheendofit,so I made up an end for it

myself and Matthew said hecouldn’t tell where the joincamein.”

“Matthewwouldthinkitall right,Anne, ifyou tookanotion to get up and havedinner in the middle of thenight.Butyoukeepyourwitsabout you this time. And—Idon’t really know if I’mdoing right—it may makeyou more addlepated thanever—butyoucanaskDianato come over and spend the

afternoonwith you and haveteahere.”

“Oh, Marilla!” Anneclasped her hands. “Howperfectly lovely! You areable to imagine things afterall or else you’d never haveunderstood how I’ve longedfor that very thing. It willseem so nice and grown-uppish. No fear of myforgetting to put the tea todraw when I have company.Oh, Marilla, can I use the

rosebudsprayteaset?”“No, indeed! The

rosebud tea set! Well, whatnext? You know I never usethatexceptfortheministerortheAids.You’llputdowntheold brown tea set. But youcan open the little yellowcrockofcherrypreserves.It’stime it was being usedanyhow—I believe it’sbeginning to work. And youcan cut some fruitcake andhavesomeofthecookiesand

snaps.”“I can just imagine

myself sitting down at theheadofthetableandpouringout the tea,” said Anne,shuttinghereyesecstatically.“And asking Diana if shetakes sugar! I know shedoesn’t butof course I’ll askher just as if I didn’t know.Andthenpressinghertotakeanotherpieceoffruitcakeandanother helping of preserves.Oh,Marilla, it’s awonderful

sensation just to think of it.Can I take her into the spareroom to layoffherhatwhenshecomes?Andthenintotheparlortosit?”

“No. The sitting-roomwill do for you and yourcompany.Butthere’sabottlehalf full of raspberry cordialthat was left over from thechurch social theothernight.It’sonthesecondshelfofthesitting room closet and youandDiana can have it if you

like, and a cooky to eatwithitalongintheafternoon,forIdaresay Matthew’ll be latecoming in to tea since he’shauling potatoes to thevessel.”

Anne flew down to thehollow, past the Dryad’sBubble and up the sprucepathtoOrchardSlope,toaskDianato tea.Asaresult, justafterMarillahaddrivenofftoCarmody, Diana came over,dressed in her second best

dressandlookingexactlyasitisproper to lookwhenaskedout to tea.Atother timesshewas wont to run into thekitchenwithoutknocking;butnow she knocked primly atthe front door. And whenAnne, dressed in her secondbest,asprimlyopenedit,bothlittle girls shook hands asgravely as if they had nevermet before. This unnaturalsolemnity lasted until afterDiana had been taken to the

east gable to lay off her hatand then had sat for tenminutes in the sitting room,toesinposition.

“How is your mother?”inquiredAnnepolitely,justasifshehadnotseenMrs.Barrypicking apples that morninginexcellenthealthandspirits.

“She is verywell, thankyou. I suppose Mr. CuthbertishaulingpotatoestotheLilySands this afternoon, is he?”said Diana, who had ridden

down to Mr. HarmonAndrews’ that morning inMatthew’scart.

“Yes.Ourpotatocropisvery good this year. I hopeyour father’s potato crop isgood,too.”

“It is fairly good, thankyou. Have you picked manyofyourapplesyet?”

“Oh,eversomany,”saidAnne, forgetting to bedignified and jumping upquickly. “Let’s go out to the

orchard and get some of theRed Sweetings, Diana.Marilla sayswe can have allthat are left on the tree.Marilla is a very generouswoman. She said we couldhave fruitcake and cherrypreserves for tea.But it isn’tgood manners to tell yourcompanywhatyouaregoingtogivethemtoeat,soIwon’ttell you what she said wecould have to drink. Only itbeginswithanr andac and

it’s a bright red color. I lovebright red drinks, don’t you?They taste twice as good asanyothercolor.”

The orchard, with itsgreat sweeping boughs thatbent to thegroundwith fruit,proved so delightful that thelittle girls spent most of theafternoon in it, sitting in agrassycornerwhere the frosthad spared the green and themellow autumn sunshinelingered warmly, eating

apples and talkingashard asthey could. Diana had muchto tellAnneofwhatwentoninschool.ShehadtositwithGertie Pye and she hated it;Gertiesqueakedherpencilallthe timeand it justmadeher—Diana’s—blood run cold;Ruby Gillis had charmed allher warts away, true’s youlive,withamagicpebblethatoldMaryJoefromtheCreekgaveher.Youhad to rub thewarts with the pebble and

then throwitawayoveryourleftshoulderatthetimeofthenew moon and the wartswould all go. CharlieSloane’snamewaswrittenupwithEmWhite’sontheporchwallandEmWhitewasawfulmad about it; Sam Boulterhad “sassed” Mr. Phillips inclass and Mr. Phillipswhipped him and Sam’sfather came down to theschoolanddaredMr.Phillipsto lay a hand on one of his

children again; and MattieAndrewshadanewredhoodand a blue crossover withtassels on it and the airs sheputonaboutitwereperfectlysickening; and LizzieWrightdidn’t speak to MamieWilson because MamieWilson’sgrown-upsisterhadcut out Lizzie Wright’sgrown-up sister with herbeau; and everybody missedAnne so and wished she’dcome to school again; and

GilbertBlythe—ButAnnedidn’twantto

hear about Gilbert Blythe.She jumpeduphurriedlyandsaid suppose they go in andhavesomeraspberrycordial.

Anne looked on thesecond shelf of the sittingroompantrybuttherewasnobottle of raspberry cordialthere.Searchrevealeditawayback on the top shelf. Anneput it on a tray and set it onthetablewithatumbler.

“Now, please helpyourself, Diana,” she saidpolitely. “I don’t believe I’llhave any just now. I don’tfeel as if I wanted any afterallthoseapples.”

Dianapouredherselfouta tumblerful, looked at itsbright red hue admiringly,andthensippeditdaintily.

“That’s awfully niceraspberrycordial,Anne,” shesaid.“Ididn’tknowraspberrycordialwassonice.”

“I’m real glad you likeit.Takeasmuchasyouwant.I’mgoing to runout and stirthefireup.Therearesomanyresponsibilities on a person’smind when they’re keepinghouse,isn’tthere?”

When Anne came backfrom the kitchen Diana wasdrinking her second glassfulof cordial; and, beingentreated thereto by Anne,she offered no particularobjectiontothedrinkingofa

third. The tumblerfuls weregenerous ones and theraspberry cordial wascertainlyverynice.

“The nicest I everdrank,”saidDiana.“It’severso much nicer than Mrs.Lynde’s although she bragsof hers so much. It doesn’ttasteabitlikehers.”

“IshouldthinkMarilla’sraspberry cordial wouldprob’ly be much nicer thanMrs. Lynde’s,” said Anne

loyally. “Marilla is a famouscook. She is trying to teachme to cookbut I assure you,Diana, it is uphill work.There’s so little scope forimagination in cookery. Youjusthave togoby rules.Thelast time I made a cake Iforgot to put the flour in. Iwas thinking the lovelieststory about you and me,Diana. I thought you weredesperately ill with smallpoxand everybody deserted you,

but I went boldly to yourbedside andnursedyoubackto life; and then I took thesmallpox and died and Iwasburied under those poplartreesinthegraveyardandyouplanted a rosebush by mygrave and watered it withyour tears; and you never,never forgot the friend ofyouryouthwhosacrificedherlifeforyou.Oh,itwassuchapathetictale,Diana.Thetearsjust rained down over my

cheeks while I mixed thecake. But I forgot the flourand the cake was a dismalfailure.Flourissoessentialtocakes,youknow.Marillawasvery cross and I don’twonder. I’m a great trial toher. She was terriblymortified about the puddingsauce last week. We had aplum pudding for dinner onTuesday and there was halfthe pudding and a pitcherfulof sauce left over. Marilla

said there was enough foranotherdinnerandtoldmetoset it on the pantry shelf andcover it. I meant to cover itjust as much as could be,Diana,butwhenIcarrieditinIwas imagining Iwas a nun—of course I’m a Protestantbut I imagined I was aCatholic—taking the veil tobury a broken heart incloistered seclusion; and Iforgot all about covering thepuddingsauce.Ithoughtofit

next morning and ran to thepantry. Diana, fancy if youcan my extreme horror atfinding a mouse drowned inthat pudding sauce! I liftedthe mouse out with a spoonand threw it out in the yardand then Iwashed the spoonin three waters. Marilla wasout milking and I fullyintended toaskherwhenshecame in if I’d give the sauceto thepigs;butwhenshedidcomeinIwasimaginingthat

I was a frost fairy goingthroughthewoodsturningthetrees red and yellow,whichevertheywantedtobe,so I never thought about thepudding sauce again andMarilla sent me out to pickapples. Well, Mr. and Mrs.Chester Ross fromSpencervale came here thatmorning.You know they areverystylishpeople,especiallyMrs. Chester Ross. WhenMarilla called me in dinner

was all ready and everybodywasat the table. I tried tobeas polite and dignified as Icould be, for I wanted Mrs.ChesterRosstothinkIwasaladylike little girl even if Iwasn’t pretty. EverythingwentrightuntilIsawMarillacoming with the plumpudding in one hand and thepitcher of pudding sauce,warmed up, in the other.Diana, that was a terriblemoment. I remembered

everythingandIjuststoodupinmyplaceandshriekedout,‘Marilla,youmustn’tusethatpudding sauce. There was amousedrownedinit.Iforgottotellyoubefore.’Oh,Diana,Ishallneverforgetthatawfulmoment if I live to be ahundred. Mrs. Chester Rossjust looked at me and Ithought Iwouldsink throughthe floor with mortification.She is such a perfecthousekeeper and fancy what

shemust have thought of us.Marilla turned redas firebutshenever saidaword—then.She just carried that sauceandpuddingout andbroughtinsomestrawberrypreserves.She even offered me some,but I couldn’t swallow amouthful.Itwaslikeheapingcoals of fire on my head.AfterMrs.ChesterRosswentaway Marilla gave me adreadful scolding. Why,Diana,whatisthematter?”

Dianahadstoodupveryunsteadily;thenshesatdownagain, putting her hands toherhead.

“I’m—I’m awful sick,”shesaid,alittlethickly.“I—I—mustgorighthome.”

“Oh,youmustn’tdreamof going home without yourtea,” cried Anne in distress.“I’ll get it right off—I’ll goandputtheteadownthisveryminute.”

“I must go home,”

repeated Diana, stupidly butdeterminedly.

“Letmegetyoua lunchanyhow,” implored Anne.“Let me give you a bit offruitcake and some of thecherry preserves. Lie downon the sofa for a little whileand you’ll be better. Wheredoyoufeelbad?”

“I must go home,” saidDiana, and that was all shewould say. In vain Annepleaded.

“I never heard ofcompanygoinghomewithouttea,” she mourned. “Oh,Diana, do you suppose thatit’s possible you’re reallytaking the smallpox? If youareI’llgoandnurseyou,youcandependonthat.I’llneverforsake you. But I do wishyou’d stay till after tea.Wheredoyoufeelbad?”

“I’m awful dizzy,” saidDiana.

And indeed, shewalked

verydizzily.Anne,withtearsofdisappointmentinhereyes,gotDiana’shatandwentwithher as far as the Barry yardfence. Then she wept all theway back to Green Gables,whereshesorrowfullyputtheremainder of the raspberrycordial back into the pantryandgotteareadyforMatthewand Jerry, with all the zestgoneoutoftheperformance.

The next day wasSundayandastherainpoured

down in torrents from dawntill dusk Anne did not stirabroad from Green Gables.Monday afternoon Marillasent her down to Mrs.Lynde’s on an errand. In averyshortspaceoftimeAnnecameflyingbackupthelane,with tears rolling down hercheeks. Into the kitchen shedashedandflungherselffacedownward on the sofa in anagony.

“Whatever has gone

wrong now, Anne?” queriedMarilla in doubt anddismay.“I do hope youhaven’t goneandbeensaucytoMrs.Lyndeagain.”

No answer from Annesavemore tears and stormiersobs!

“Anne Shirley, when Iask you a question Iwant tobeanswered.Sitrightupthisveryminuteandtellmewhatyouarecryingabout.”

Anne sat up, tragedy

personified.“Mrs. Lynde was up to

see Mrs. Barry today andMrs. Barry was in an awfulstate,” she wailed. “She saysthat I set Diana drunkSaturday and sent her homein a disgraceful condition.And she says I must be athoroughly bad, wicked littlegirl and she’s never, nevergoing to let Diana play withme again. Oh, Marilla, I’mjustovercomewithwoe.”

Marilla stared in blankamazement.

“Set Diana drunk!” shesaid when she found hervoice.“Anne,areyouorMrs.Barry crazy? What on earthdidyougiveher?”

“Not a thing butraspberry cordial,” sobbedAnne. “I never thoughtraspberry cordial would setpeople drunk, Marilla—noteven if they drank three bigtumblerfulsasDianadid.Oh,

it sounds so—so—like Mrs.Thomas’ husband! But Ididn’tmeantosetherdrunk.”

“Drunk fiddlesticks!”saidMarilla,marching to thesittingroompantry.Thereonthe shelf was a bottle whichsheatoncerecognizedasonecontainingsomeofherthree-year-old homemade currantwine for which she wascelebrated in Avonlea,althoughcertainofthestrictersort,Mrs.Barryamongthem,

disapproved strongly of it.AndatthesametimeMarillarecollected that she had putthebottleofraspberrycordialdown in the cellar instead ofin the pantry as she had toldAnne.

She went back to thekitchen with the wine bottlein her hand. Her face wastwitchinginspiteofherself.

“Anne, you certainlyhaveageniusforgettingintotrouble. You went and gave

Dianacurrantwineinsteadofraspberry cordial.Didn’t youknow the differenceyourself?”

“I never tasted it,” saidAnne. “I thought it was thecordial. Imeant tobe so—so—hospitable. Diana gotawfully sick and had to gohome. Mrs. Barry told Mrs.Lynde she was simply deaddrunk. She just laughed sillylike when her mother askedher what was the matter and

went to sleep and slept forhours. Her mother smelledherbreathandknewshewasdrunk. She had a fearfulheadache all day yesterday.Mrs. Barry is so indignant.She will never believe butwhatIdiditonpurpose.”

“I should think shewouldbetterpunishDianaforbeing so greedy as to drinkthree glassfuls of anything,”said Marilla shortly. “Why,three of those big glasses

would have made her sickeven if it had only beencordial. Well, this story willbe a nice handle for thosefolkswhoaresodownonmefor making currant wine,although I haven’t made anyfor three years ever since Ifound out that the ministerdidn’t approve. I just keptthat bottle for sickness.There, there,child,don’tcry.I can’t see as you were toblame although I’m sorry it

happenedso.”“Imustcry,”saidAnne.

“My heart is broken. Thestars in their courses fightagainst me, Marilla. Dianaand I are parted forever.Oh,Marilla, I little dreamed ofthiswhen firstwe swore ourvowsoffriendship.”

“Don’tbefoolish,Anne.Mrs. Barry will think betterof it when she finds you’renotreallytoblame.Isupposeshe thinksyou’vedone it for

a silly joke or something ofthat sort. You’d best go upthiseveningand tellherhowitwas.”

“MycouragefailsmeatthethoughtoffacingDiana’sinjured mother,” sighedAnne. “I wish you’d go,Marilla. You’re so muchmore dignified than I am.Likely she’d listen to youquickerthantome.”

“Well, I will,” saidMarilla, reflecting that it

would probably be the wisercourse.“Don’tcryanymore,Anne.Itwillbeallright.”

Marillahadchangedhermindabout itsbeingall rightbythetimeshegotbackfromOrchard Slope. Anne waswatching for her coming andflew to the porch door tomeether.

“Oh,Marilla, Iknowbyyour face that it’s been nouse,” she said sorrowfully.“Mrs. Barry won’t forgive

me?”“Mrs. Barry, indeed!”

snapped Marilla. “Of all theunreasonable women I eversawshe’stheworst.Itoldherit was all amistake and youweren’ttoblame,butshejustsimply didn’t believe me.And she rubbed it well inabout my currant wine andhow I’d always said itcouldn’t have the least effecton anybody. I just told herplainly that currant wine

wasn’t meant to be drunkthree tumblerfuls at a timeandthatifachildIhadtodowithwas sogreedy I’d soberher up with a right goodspanking.”

Marillawhisked into thekitchen,grievouslydisturbed,leaving a very muchdistracted little soul in theporch behind her. PresentlyAnnesteppedoutbareheadedinto the chill autumn dusk;very determinedly and

steadily she took her waydownthrough theserecloverfield over the log bridge andup through the spruce grove,lighted by a pale little moonhanginglowoverthewesternwoods.Mrs.Barry,comingtothe door in answer to thetimid knock, found a white-lipped, eager-eyed suppliantonthedoorstep.

Her face hardened.Mrs.Barrywasawomanofstrongprejudices and dislikes, and

her anger was of the cold,sullen sort which is alwayshardest to overcome. To doher justice, she reallybelieved Anne had madeDiana drunk out of sheermaliceprepense,andshewashonestly anxious to preserveher little daughter from thecontamination of furtherintimacywithsuchachild.

“What do you want?”shesaidstiffly.

Anneclaspedherhands.

“Oh, Mrs. Barry, pleaseforgiveme.Ididnotmeanto—to—intoxicateDiana.Howcould I? Just imagine if youwere apoor littleorphangirlthat kind people had adoptedand you had just one bosomfriend in all the world. Doyou think you wouldintoxicate her on purpose? Ithoughtitwasonlyraspberrycordial. I was firmlyconvinced it was raspberrycordial. Oh, please don’t say

thatyouwon’tletDianaplaywithmeanymore. Ifyoudoyouwillcovermylifewithadarkcloudofwoe.”

This speech, whichwould have softened goodMrs. Lynde’s heart in atwinkling, had no effect onMrs. Barry except to irritateher still more. She wassuspicious of Anne’s bigwords and dramatic gesturesand imagined that the childwas making fun of her. So

shesaid,coldlyandcruelly:“I don’t think you are a

fit little girl for Diana toassociate with. You’d bettergo home and behaveyourself.”

Anne’slipquivered.“Won’t you let me see

Diana just once to sayfarewell?”sheimplored.

“Dianahasgoneover toCarmody with her father,”saidMrs.Barry,goinginandshuttingthedoor.

Anne went back toGreen Gables calm withdespair.

“My last hope is gone,”she told Marilla. “I went upand saw Mrs. Barry myselfand she treated me veryinsultingly. Marilla, I do notthink she is a well-bredwoman. There is nothingmoretodoexcepttoprayandI haven’t much hope thatthat’lldomuchgoodbecause,Marilla, I do not believe that

God Himself can do verymuch with such an obstinatepersonasMrs.Barry.”

“Anne, you shouldn’tsay such things,” rebukedMarilla, striving toovercomethat unholy tendency tolaughter which she wasdismayed to find growingupon her. And indeed, whenshe told the whole story toMatthew that night, she didlaugh heartily over Anne’stribulations.

But when she slippedinto the east gable beforegoing to bed and found thatAnne had cried herself tosleep an unaccustomedsoftnesscreptintoherface.

“Poor little soul,” shemurmured,liftingaloosecurlof hair from the child’stearstained face. Then shebent down and kissed theflushedcheekonthepillow.

17

ANewInterestinLife

THE NEXT AFTERNOON Anne,bending over her patchworkat the kitchen window,happened to glance out andbeheld Diana down by theDryad’s Bubble beckoning

mysteriously. Ina triceAnnewas out of the house andflying down to the hollow,astonishment and hopestruggling in her expressiveeyes. But the hope fadedwhen she saw Diana’sdejectedcountenance.

“Your mother hasn’trelented?”shegasped.

Diana shook her headmournfully.

“No; and oh, Anne, shesays I’m never to play with

you again. I’ve cried andcried and I toldher itwasn’tyour fault, but it wasn’t anyuse. I had ever such a timecoaxing her to let me comedown and say good-bye toyou. She said I was only tostay ten minutes and she’stimingmebytheclock.”

“Ten minutes isn’t verylongtosayaneternalfarewellin,”saidAnnetearfully.“Oh,Diana, will you promisefaithfully never to forgetme,

the friend of your youth, nomatter what dearer friendsmaycaressthee?”

“Indeed I will,” sobbedDiana, “and I’ll never haveanother bosom friend—Idon’twanttohave.Icouldn’tloveanybodyasIloveyou.”

“Oh, Diana,” criedAnne,claspingherhands,“doyouloveme?”

“Why, of course I do.Didn’tyouknowthat?”

“No.”Annedrewalong

breath. “I thought you likedme of course, but I neverhoped you loved me. Why,Diana,Ididn’tthinkanybodycould love me. Nobody everhas loved me since I canremember. Oh, this iswonderful! It’s a ray of lightwhich will forever shine onthedarknessofapathseveredfromthee,Diana.Oh,justsayitonceagain.”

“I love you devotedly,Anne,” said Diana stanchly,

“and I always will, youmaybesureofthat.”

“And Iwill always lovethee, Diana,” said Anne,solemnlyextendingherhand.“In the years to come thymemorywillshinelikeastarover my lonely life, as thatlast story we read togethersays. Diana, wilt thou giveme a lock of thy jet-blacktresses in parting to treasureforevermore?”

“Have you got anything

to cut it with?” queriedDiana,wipingaway the tearswhich Anne’s affectingaccents had caused to flowafresh, and returning topracticalities.

“Yes. I’ve got mypatchwork scissors in myapron pocket fortunately,”said Anne. She solemnlyclipped one ofDiana’s curls.“Fare thee well, my belovedfriend. Henceforth we mustbe as strangers though living

side by side. But my heartwilleverbefaithfultothee.”

AnnestoodandwatchedDiana out of sight,mournfully waving her handto the latter whenever sheturnedtolookback.Thenshereturned to the house, not alittle consoled for the timebeing by this romanticparting.

“It is all over,” sheinformed Marilla. “I shallnever have another friend.

I’mreallyworseoffthaneverbefore, for I haven’t KatieMaurice and Violetta now.AndevenifIhaditwouldn’tbe the same. Somehow, littledreamgirlsarenotsatisfyingafterarealfriend.DianaandIhadsuchanaffectingfarewelldownbythespring.Itwillbesacredinmymemoryforever.I used the most patheticlanguageIcouldthinkofandsaid‘thou’and‘thee.’‘Thou’and ‘thee’ seem so much

more romantic than ‘you.’Diana gaveme a lock of herhair and I’m going to sew itup in a little bag andwear itaround my neck all my life.Please see that it is buriedwith me, for I don’t believeI’ll live very long. Perhapswhen she seesme lying coldand dead before her Mrs.Barry may feel remorse forwhatshehasdoneandwillletDianacometomyfuneral.”

“I don’t think there is

much fear of your dying ofgriefas longasyoucan talk,Anne,” said Marillaunsympathetically.

The following MondayAnne surprised Marilla bycoming down fromher roomwith her basket of books onherarmandherlipsprimmedup into a line ofdetermination.

“I’m going back toschool,” she announced.“Thatisallthereisleftinlife

for me, now that my friendhasbeenruthlessly tornfromme. In school I can look ather and muse over daysdeparted.”

“You’dbettermuseoveryour lessons and sums,” saidMarillaconcealingherdelightat this development of thesituation. “If you’re goingback to school I hope we’llhear no more of breakingslates over people’s headsand such carryings-on.

Behave yourself and do justwhatyourteachertellsyou.”

“I’ll try to be a modelpupil,” agreed Annedolefully. “There won’t bemuch fun in it, I expect.Mr.PhillipssaidMinnieAndrewswas a model pupil and thereisn’tasparkofimaginationorlifeinher.Sheisjustdullandpokyandneverseemstohavea good time. But I feel sodepressed thatperhaps itwillcome easy to me now. I’m

going round by the road. Icouldn’t bear to go by theBirchPathallalone.IshouldweepbittertearsifIdid.”

Anne was welcomedback to school with openarms. Her imagination hadbeensorelymissed ingames,her voice in the singing, andher dramatic ability in theperusal aloud of books atdinner hour. Ruby Gillissmuggled three blue plumsover to her during testament

reading; Ella MayMacPherson gave her anenormous yellow pansy cutfrom the covers of a floralcatalogue—a species of deskdecoration much prized inAvonlea school. SophiaSloaneoffered to teachher aperfectly elegant new patternof knit lace, so nice fortrimming aprons. KatieBoulter gave her a perfumebottle to keep slate-water inand Julia Bell copied

carefully on a piece of palepink paper, scalloped on theedges,thefollowingeffusion:

“Whentwilight dropsher curtaindownAnd pins itwithastarRememberthat

you have afriendThough shemay wanderfar.”

“It’s so nice to beappreciated,” sighed Annerapturously to Marilla thatnight.

The girls were not theonly scholars who“appreciated” her. When

Anne went to her seat afterdinner hour—she had beentoldbyMr.PhillipstositwiththemodelMinnieAndrews—she found on her desk a biglucious “strawberry apple.”Annecaughtitupallreadytotake a bite, when sheremembered that the onlyplace in Avonlea wherestrawberry apples grew wasin the old Blythe orchard onthe other side of theLake ofShining Waters. Anne

dropped the apple as if itwere a red-hot coal andostentatiously wiped herfingers on her handkerchief.The apple lay untouched onher desk until the nextmorning,whenlittleTimothyAndrews, who swept theschool and kindled the fire,annexed it as one of hisperquisites. Charlie Sloane’sslate pencil, gorgeouslybedizened with striped redandyellowpaper,costingtwo

cents where ordinary pencilscost only one,which he sentup to her after dinner hour,met with a more favorablereception. Anne wasgraciouslypleasedtoacceptitand rewarded the donorwitha smile which exalted thatinfatuated youth straightwayinto the seventh heaven ofdelight and caused him tomake such fearful errors inhisdictation thatMr.Phillipskept him in after school to

rewriteit.Butas,

“TheCaesar’spageant shornofBrutus’bustDid but ofRome’s bestsonremindhermore,”

sothemarkedabsenceofany

tribute or recognition fromDianaBarry,whowassittingwith Gertie Pye, embitteredAnne’slittletriumph.

“Diana might just havesmiled at me once, I think,”she mourned to Marilla thatnight.Butthenextmorninganote, most fearfully andwonderfully twisted andfolded, and a small parcel,werepassedacrosstoAnne.

“Dear Anne,”ran the former,“Mother says I’mnottoplaywithyouor talk to you evenin school. It isn’tmy fault and don’tbe cross at me,because I love youas much as ever. Imissyouawfullytotellallmysecretstoand I don’t likeGertiePyeonebit.I

made you one ofthe newbookmarkers out ofred tissue paper.They are awfullyfashionable nowandonly threegirlsinschoolknowhowto make them.Whenyoulookatitremember“Yourtruefriend,“DIANABARRY.”

Anne read the note,kissed the bookmark, anddispatched a prompt replyback to the other side of theschool.

“MY OWN DARLINGDIANA:—

“Of course Iamnotcrossatyoubecauseyouhavetoobey your mother.Our spirits can

commune. I shallkeep your lovelypresent forever.Minnie Andrews isa very nice littlegirl—although shehas no imagination—but after havingbeen Diana’sbusum friend IcannotbeMinnie’s.Please excusemistakes becausemy spelling isn’t

very good yet,although muchimproved.“Yoursuntildeath

usdopart,“ANNEORCORDELIASHIRLEY.”

“P. S. I shallsleep with yourletter under mypillowtonight.

“A.ORC.S.”

Marilla pessimisticallyexpected more trouble sinceAnne had again begun to goto school. But nonedeveloped. Perhaps Annecaught something of the“model” spirit from MinnieAndrews; at least she got onvery well with Mr. Phillipsthenceforth.Sheflungherselfinto her studies heart and

soul, determined not to beoutdone in any class byGilbert Blythe. The rivalrybetween them was soonapparent; it was entirelygood-natured on Gilbert’sside; but it is much to befeared that the same thingcannot be said ofAnne,whohad certainly anunpraiseworthy tenacity forholding grudges. She was asintense in her hatreds as inher loves. She would not

stooptoadmitthatshemeantto rival Gilbert in schoolwork, because that wouldhavebeentoacknowledgehisexistence which Annepersistently ignored; but therivalry was there and honorsfluctuated between them.NowGilbertwasheadof thespelling class; now Anne,with a toss of her long redbraids, spelled him down.One morning Gilbert had allhis sums done correctly and

had his name written on theblackboard on the roll ofhonor; the next morningAnne,havingwrestledwildlywith decimals the entireevening before, would befirst. One awful day theywere ties and their nameswere written up together. Itwasalmostasbadasa“take-notice” and Anne’smortification was as evidentas Gilbert’s satisfaction.When the written

examinations at the end ofeach month were held thesuspense was terrible. Thefirst month Gilbert came outthree marks ahead. Thesecond Anne beat him byfive. But her triumph wasmarred by the fact thatGilbert congratulated herheartily before the wholeschool. It would have beeneversomuchsweetertoherifhe had felt the sting of hisdefeat.

Mr.Phillipsmightnotbea very good teacher; but apupilsoinflexiblydeterminedon learning as Anne wascould hardly escape makingprogress under any kind of ateacher. By the end of theterm Anne and Gilbert wereboth promoted into the fifthclass and allowed to beginstudyingtheelementsof“thebranches”—by which Latin,geometry,Frenchandalgebrawere meant. In geometry

AnnemetherWaterloo.“It’s perfectly awful

stuff, Marilla,” she groaned.“I’msureI’llneverbeabletomakeheadortailofit.Thereisnoscopeforimaginationinitatall.Mr.PhillipssaysI’mtheworst dunce he ever sawat it.AndGil—Imean someof the others are so smart atit. It is extremelymortifying,Marilla. Even Diana getsalong better than I do. But Idon’t mind being beaten by

Diana. Even although wemeet as strangers now I stilllove her with aninextinguishable love. Itmakesmeverysadattimestothink about her. But really,Marilla, one can’t stay sadvery long in such aninterestingworld,canone?”

18

AnnetotheRescue

ALLTHINGSGREATarewoundup with all things little. Atfirstglanceitmightnotseemthat the decision of a certainCanadian Premier to includePrince Edward Island in a

political tour could havemuch or anything to dowiththe fortunes of little AnneShirley atGreenGables.Butithad.

It was in January thePremier came, to address hisloyal supporters and such ofhisnon-supportersaschosetobe present at the monstermass meeting held inCharlottetown. Most of theAvonlea people were on thePremier’s side of politics;

hence, on the night of themeeting nearly all the menand a goodly proportion ofthewomenhadgonetotown,thirty miles away. Mrs.Rachel Lynde had gone too.Mrs.RachelLyndewasared-hot politician and couldn’thave believed that thepoliticalrallycouldbecarriedthroughwithouther,althoughshewas on the opposite sideof politics. So she went totownandtookherhusband—

Thomas would be useful inlooking after the horse—andMarilla Cuthbert with her.Marilla had a sneakinginterestinpoliticsherself,andasshethoughtitmightbeheronlychancetoseeareal livePremier,shepromptlytookit,leavingAnneandMatthewtokeep house until her returnthefollowingday.

Hence, while Marillaand Mrs. Rachel wereenjoying themselves hugely

at the mass meeting, AnneandMatthewhadthecheerfulkitchenatGreenGablesalltothemselves.Abrightfirewasglowing in the old-fashionedWaterloo stove and blue-white frost crystals wereshining on thewindowpanes.Matthew nodded over aFarmers’ Advocate on thesofa and Anne at the tablestudiedherlessonswithgrimdetermination,despitesundrywistful glances at the clock

shelf, where lay a new bookthat Jane Andrews had lentherthatday.Janehadassuredher that it was warranted toproduce any number ofthrills,orwordstothateffect,andAnne’s fingers tingled toreach out for it. But thatwouldmeanGilbert Blythe’striumphonthemorrow.Anneturned her back on the clockshelf and tried to imagine itwasn’tthere.

“Matthew, did you ever

study geometry when youwenttoschool?”

“Wellnow,no,Ididn’t.”saidMatthew, coming out ofhisdozewithastart.

“Iwishyouhad,”sighedAnne,“becausethenyou’dbeable to sympathize with me.You can’t sympathizeproperly if you’ve neverstudiedit.Itiscastingacloudovermywholelife.I’msuchadunceatit,Matthew.”

“Well now, I dunno,”

said Matthew soothingly. “Iguess you’re all right atanything.Mr.Phillipstoldmelast week in Blair’s store atCarmody that you was thesmartestscholarinschoolandwas making rapid progress.‘Rapidprogress’washisverywords. There’s them as runsdownTeddyPhillipsandsayshe ain’t much of a teacher;butIguesshe’sallright.”

Matthew would havethought anyonewhopraised

Annewas“allright.”“I’m sure I’d get on

better with geometry if onlyhe wouldn’t change theletters,” complainedAnne. “Ilearn the proposition off byheart,andthenhedrawsitonthe blackboard and putsdifferentlettersfromwhatarein the book and I get allmixed up. I don’t think ateacher should take such amean advantage, do you?We’re studying agriculture

nowandI’vefoundoutatlastwhatmakestheroadsred.It’sa great comfort. I wonderhowMarilla andMrs. Lyndeareenjoyingthemselves.Mrs.Lynde says Canada is goingtothedogsthewaythingsarebeingrunatOttawa,andthatit’s an awful warning to theelectors. She says if womenwere allowed to vote wewould soon see a blessedchange. What way do youvote,Matthew?”

“Conservative,” saidMatthew promptly. To voteConservative was part ofMatthew’sreligion.

“Then I’m Conservativetoo,” said Anne decidedly.“I’m glad, because Gil—because some of the boys inschool areGrits. I guessMr.PhillipsisaGrittoo,becausePrissyAndrews’fatherisone,and Ruby Gillis says thatwhen a man is courting healways has to agree with the

girl’s mother in religion andher father in politics. Is thattrue,Matthew?”

“Well now, I dunno,”saidMatthew.

“Did you ever gocourting,Matthew?”

“Well now, no, Idunno’s I ever did,” saidMatthew, who had certainlyneverthoughtofsuchathinginhiswholeexistence.

Anne reflected with herchininherhands.

“It must be ratherinteresting, don’t you think,Matthew? Ruby Gillis sayswhen she grows up she’sgoing to have ever so manybeaus on the string and havethemallcrazyabouther;butIthink that would be tooexciting. I’d rather have justone in his right mind. ButRuby Gillis knows a greatdeal about such mattersbecause shehas somanybigsisters, and Mrs. Lynde says

theGillis girlshavegoneofflike hot cakes. Mr. Phillipsgoes up to see PrissyAndrews nearly everyevening.Hesaysit is tohelpher with her lessons, butMiranda Sloane is studyingforQueen’s,too,andIshouldthink she needed help a lotmore than Prissy becauseshe’s ever so much stupider,buthenevergoes tohelpherin the evenings at all. Thereareagreatmanythingsinthis

world that I can’t understandverywell,Matthew.”

“Wellnow,IdunnoasIcomprehend them allmyself,” acknowledgedMatthew.

“Well, I suppose Imustfinishupmylessons.Iwon’tallowmyselftoopenthatnewbook Jane lent me until I’mthrough. But it’s a terribletemptation. Matthew. Evenwhen I turnmy back on it Ican see it there just as plain.

Jane said she cried herselfsickoverit.Iloveabookthatmakesmecry.ButIthinkI’llcarrythatbookintothesittingroom and lock it in the jamcloset and give you the key.And you must not give it tome, Matthew, until mylessonsaredone,notevenifIimplore you on my bendedknees.It’sallverywelltosayresisttemptation,butit’severso much easier to resist it ifyou can’t get the key. And

then shall I run down thecellar and get some russets,Matthew?Wouldn’t you likesomerussets?”

“Well now, I dunno butwhatIwould,”saidMatthew,who never ate russets butknew Anne’s weakness forthem.

Just as Anne emergedtriumphantly from the cellarwith her plateful of russetscame the sound of flyingfootsteps on the icy board

walk outside and the nextmomentthekitchendoorwasflung open and in rushedDianaBarry,white-facedandbreathless, with a shawlwrapped hastily around herhead.Annepromptlyletgoofher candle and plate in hersurprise, and plate, candle,and apples crashed togetherdown the cellar ladder andwere found at the bottomembedded in melted grease,thenextday,byMarilla,who

gatheredthemupandthankedmercy the house hadn’t beensetonfire.

“Whatever is thematter,Diana?” cried Anne. “Hasyourmotherrelentedatlast?”

“Oh, Anne, do comequick,” implored Diananervously. “Minnie May isawful sick—she’s got croup,Young Mary Joe says—andfatherandmotherareawaytotown and there’s nobody togo for the doctor. Minnie

MayisawfulbadandYoungMaryJoedoesn’tknowwhattodo—andoh,Anne, I’m soscared!”

Matthew, without aword,reachedoutforcapandcoat, slipped past Diana andawayintothedarknessoftheyard.

“He’s gone to harnessthe sorrel mare to go toCarmodyforthedoctor,”saidAnne, who was hurrying onhoodandjacket.“Iknowitas

well as if he’d said so.Matthew and I are suchkindred spirits I can read histhoughts without words atall.”

“I don’t believe he’llfind the doctor atCarmody,”sobbed Diana. “I know thatDoctor Blair went to townand I guess Doctor Spencerwould go too, Young MaryJoe never saw anybody withcroup and Mrs. Lynde isaway.Oh,Anne!”

“Don’t cry, Di,” saidAnne cheerily. “I knowexactlywhat todo forcroup.You forget that Mrs.Hammond had twins threetimes. When you look afterthree pairs of twins younaturally get a lot ofexperience. They all hadcroup regularly. Justwait tillI get the ipecac bottle—youmayn’t have any at yourhouse.Comeonnow.”

The two little girls

hastened out hand in handand hurried through Lovers’Lane and across the crustedfield beyond, for the snowwas too deep to go by theshorter wood way. Anne,although sincerely sorry forMinnie May, was far frombeing insensible to theromance of the situation andtothesweetnessofoncemoresharing that romance with akindredspirit.

The nightwas clear and

frosty, all ebony of shadowandsilverofsnowyslope;bigstars were shining over thesilent fields; here and therethedarkpointedfirsstoodupwith snow powdering theirbranches and the windwhistlingthroughthem.Annethoughtitwastrulydelightfulto go skimming through allthis mystery and lovelinesswith your bosom friend whohadbeensolongestranged.

MinnieMay,agedthree,

was really very sick. She layon the kitchen sofa, feverishandrestless,whileherhoarsebreathing could be heard allover the house.YoungMaryJoe, a buxom, broad-facedFrench girl from the Creek,whom Mrs. Barry hadengaged to stay with thechildren during her absence,was helpless and bewildered,quite incapable of thinkingwhat todo,ordoing it if shethoughtofit.

Annewenttoworkwithskillandpromptness.

“MinnieMay has croupallright;she’sprettybad,butI’ve seen them worse. Firstwe must have lots of hotwater. I declare,Diana, thereisn’tmorethanacupfulinthekettle!There,I’vefilleditup,and, Mary Joe, you may putsome wood in the stove. Idon’t want to hurt yourfeelings, but it seems to meyou might have thought of

this before if you’d anyimagination. Now, I’llundressMinnieMay and puthertobed,andyoutrytofindsome soft flannel cloths,Diana.I’mgoingtogiveheradoseofipecacfirstofall.”

MinnieMaydidnottakekindlytotheipecac,butAnnehadnotbroughtupthreepairsof twins for nothing. Downthat ipecac went, not onlyonce, butmany times duringthe long, anxiousnightwhen

the two little girls workedpatiently over the sufferingMinnie May, and YoungMaryJoe,honestlyanxioustodo all she could, kept on aroaring fire and heated morewater than would have beenneeded for a hospital ofcroupybabies.

It was three o’clockwhenMatthewcamewiththedoctor, for he had beenobliged to go all the way toSpencervale for one. But the

pressing need for assistancewas past. Minnie May wasmuchbetterandwassleepingsoundly.

“I was awfully neargiving up in despair,”explained Anne. “She gotworse and worse until shewas sicker than ever theHammond twins were, eventhe last pair. I actuallythought she was going tochoke to death. I gave herevery drop of ipecac in that

bottle,andwhenthelastdosewentdownIsaidtomyself—not toDiana orYoungMaryJoe, because I didn’twant toworry them any more thantheywereworried, but I hadto say it to myself just torelieve my feelings—‘this isthe last lingering hope and Ifear ‘tis a vain one.’ But inabout three minutes shecoughed up the phlegm andbegan to get better rightaway.Youmust just imagine

my relief, doctor, because Ican’texpressitinwords.Youknow there are some thingsthat cannot be expressed inwords.”

“Yes, I know,” noddedthedoctor.HelookedatAnneas if he were thinking somethingsaboutherthatcouldn’tbe expressed inwords. Lateron, however, he expressedthemtoMr.andMrs.Barry.

“That little redheadedgirl they have over at

Cuthbert’sisassmartastheymake ’em. I tell you shesaved that baby’s life, for itwould have been too late bythetimeIgothere.Sheseemsto have a skill and presenceof mind perfectly wonderfulina childofher age. Ineversawanythingliketheeyesofherwhen shewas explainingthecaseouttome.”

Annehadgonehome inthe wonderful, white-frostedwinter morning, heavy-eyed

from loss of sleep, but stilltalking unweariedly toMatthew as they crossed thelong white field and walkedundertheglitteringfairyarchoftheLovers’Lanemaples.

“Oh,Matthew, isn’t it awonderful morning? Theworld looks like somethingGod had just imagined forHisownpleasure,doesn’t it?ThosetreeslookasifIcouldblowthemawaywithabreath—pouf!I’msogladIliveina

world where there are whitefrosts,aren’tyou?AndI’msoglad Mrs. Hammond hadthree pairs of twins after all.If shehadn’t Imightn’t haveknownwhattodoforMinnieMay. I’m real sorry I wasever cross with Mrs.Hammond for having twins.But, oh, Matthew, I’m sosleepy.Ican’tgotoschool.IjustknowIcouldn’tkeepmyeyes open and I’d be sostupid. But I hate to stay

home for Gil—some of theothers will get head of theclass, and it’s so hard to getupagain—althoughofcoursethe harder it is the moresatisfaction you have whenyoudogetup,haven’tyou?”

“Well now, I guessyou’llmanageall right,”saidMatthew, looking at Anne’swhite little face and the darkshadows under her eyes.“Youjustgorighttobedandhaveagood sleep. I’ll doall

thechores.”Anne accordingly went

to bed and slept so long andsoundlythatitwaswelloninthe white and rosy winterafternoon when she awokeand descended to the kitchenwhere Marilla, who hadarrived home in themeantime, was sittingknitting.

“Oh, did you see thePremier?”exclaimedAnneatonce.“Whatdidhelooklike,

Marilla?”“Well,henevergottobe

Premier on account of hislooks,” saidMarilla. “Such anoseas thatmanhad!Buthecan speak. I was proud ofbeingaConservative.RachelLynde, of course, being aLiberal, had no use for him.Your dinner is in the oven,Anne; and you can getyourself some blue plumpreserve out of the pantry. Iguess you’re hungry.

Matthew has been tellingmeaboutlastnight.Imustsayitwasfortunateyouknewwhatto do. I wouldn’t have hadany idea myself, for I neversaw a case of croup. Therenow, never mind talking tillyou’vehadyourdinner.Icantell by the look of you thatyou’re just full up withspeeches,butthey’llkeep.”

MarillahadsomethingtotellAnne,butshedidnottellit just then, for she knew if

she did Anne’s consequentexcitement would lift herclearoutoftheregionofsuchmaterialmattersasappetiteordinner. Not until Anne hadfinished her saucer of blueplumsdidMarillasay:

“Mrs. Barry was herethis afternoon, Anne. Shewanted to see you, but Iwouldn’t wake you up. ShesaysyousavedMinnieMay’slife,andsheisverysorrysheactedasshedid in thataffair

of thecurrantwine.Shesaysshe knows now you didn’tmeantosetDianadrunk,andshe hopes you’ll forgive herand be good friends withDiana again. You’re to goover this evening if you like,for Diana can’t stir outsidethedooronaccountof abadcold she caught last night.Now,AnneShirley,forpity’ssake don’t fly clean up intotheair.”

Thewarningseemednot

unnecessary, so uplifted andaerialwasAnne’s expressionand attitude as she sprang toher feet, her face irradiatedwiththeflameofherspirit.

“Oh, Marilla, can I goright now—without washingmy dishes? I’ll wash themwhen I come back, but Icannot tie myself down toanything so unromantic asdishwashing at this thrillingmoment.”

“Yes, yes, run along,”

said Marilla indulgently.“Anne Shirley—are youcrazy?Comebackthisinstantand put something on you. Imightaswellcalltothewind.She’s gone without a cap orwrap. Look at her tearingthrough the orchard with herhair streaming. It’ll be amercyifshedoesn’tcatchherdeathofcold.”

Anne came dancinghome in the purple wintertwilight across the snowy

places.Afar in the southwestwas the great shimmering,pearl-like sparkle of aneveningstarinaskythatwaspalegoldenandethereal roseover gleaming white spacesanddarkglensofspruce.Thetinkles of sleigh bells amongthe snowy hills came likeelfin chimes through thefrostyair,buttheirmusicwasnot sweeter than the song inAnne’sheartandonherlips.

“You see before you a

perfectly happy person,Marilla,” she announced.“I’mperfectlyhappy—yes,inspite of my red hair. Just atpresent I have a soul abovered hair. Mrs. Barry kissedme and cried and said shewas so sorry and she couldnever repay me. I feltfearfully embarrassed,Marilla, but I just said aspolitelyasIcould,‘Ihavenohard feelings for you, Mrs.Barry. I assure you once for

all that I did not mean tointoxicate Diana andhenceforth I shall cover thepast with the mantle ofoblivion.’ That was a prettydignified way of speaking,wasn’tit,Marilla?IfeltthatIwas heaping coals of fire onMrs. Barry’s head. AndDiana and I had a lovelyafternoon. Diana showed meanewfancycrochetstitchheraunt over at Carmody taughther. Not a soul in Avonlea

knows it but us, and wepledged a solemn vow neverto reveal it to any one else.Diana gave me a beautifulcardwithawreathofrosesonitandaverseofpoetry:

“‘If you loveme as I loveyouNothing butdeath canpartustwo.’

And that is true, Marilla.We’re going to ask Mr.Phillips to let us sit togetherin school again, and GertiePye can go with MinnieAndrews.We had an eleganttea.Mrs. Barry had the verybest china set out, Marilla,justasifIwasrealcompany.Ican’ttellyouwhatathrillitgave me. Nobody ever usedtheir very best china on myaccount before. And we hadfruitcakeandpoundcakeand

doughnuts and two kinds ofpreserves, Marilla. AndMrs.Barry askedme if I took teaand said, ‘Pa,whydon’t youpass thebiscuits toAnne?’ Itmust be lovely to be grownup, Marilla, when just beingtreated as if you were is sonice.”

“I don’t know aboutthat,” said Marilla with abriefsigh.

“Well, anyway, when Iam grown up,” said Anne

decidedly,“I’malwaysgoingtotalktolittlegirlsasiftheywere,too,andI’llneverlaughwhen they use big words. Iknow from sorrowfulexperience how that hurtsone’s feelings. After teaDiana and Imade taffy. Thetaffy wasn’t very good, Isuppose because neitherDiana nor I had ever madeany before. Diana left me tostir it while she buttered theplates and I forgot and let it

burn;andthenwhenwesetitout on the platform to coolthecatwalkedoveroneplateand that had to be thrownaway. But the making of itwassplendidfun.ThenwhenI came home Mrs. Barryasked me to come over asoften as I could and Dianastood at the window andthrewkissestomeallthewaydown to Lovers’ Lane. Iassureyou,Marilla,thatIfeellike praying tonight and I’m

going to think out a specialbrand-newprayerinhonoroftheoccasion.”

19

A Concert, aCatastrophe, and aConfession

“MARILLA, CAN I go over toseeDianajustforaminute?”asked Anne, running

breathlessly down from theeast gable one Februaryevening.

“I don’t see what youwant to be traipsing aboutafter dark for,” said Marillashortly. “You and Dianawalked home from schooltogetherandthenstooddownthere in the snow for half anhour more, your tonguesgoingthewholeblessedtime,clickety-clack. So I don’tthinkyou’reverybadlyoffto

seeheragain.”“But she wants to see

me,”pleadedAnne.“Shehassomething very important totellme.”

“How do you know shehas?”

“Because she justsignalled to me from herwindow.Wehavearrangedaway to signal with ourcandles and cardboard. Weset the candle on thewindowsill andmake flashes

by passing the cardboardback and forth. So manyflashesmean a certain thing.Itwasmyidea,Marilla.”

“I’llwarrantyouitwas,”said Marilla emphatically.“Andthenextthingyou’llbesetting fire to the curtainswith your signalingnonsense.”

“Oh,we’reverycareful,Marilla. And it’s sointeresting. Two flashesmean,‘Areyouthere?’Three

mean ‘yes’ and four ‘no.’Five mean, ‘Come over assoon as possible, because Ihave something important toreveal.’ Diana has justsignalledfiveflashes,andI’mreallysufferingtoknowwhatitis.”

“Well, you needn’tsuffer any longer,” saidMarilla sarcastically. “Youcango,butyou’retobebackhere in just ten minutes,rememberthat.”

Anne did remember itandwasbackinthestipulatedtime, although probably nomortal will ever know justwhatitcosthertoconfinethediscussion of Diana’simportant communicationwithin the limits of tenminutes.But at least she hadmadegooduseofthem.

“Oh, Marilla, what doyou think? You knowtomorrowisDiana’sbirthday.Well,hermothertoldhershe

couldaskmetogohomewithher from school and stay allnight with her. And hercousinsarecomingoverfromNewbridge in a big pungsleigh to go to the DebatingClub concert at the halltomorrownight.AndtheyaregoingtotakeDianaandmetothe concert—if you’ll let mego, that is. You will, won’tyou, Marilla? Oh, I feel soexcited.”

“You can calm down

then, because you’re notgoing.You’re better at homein your own bed, and as forthat Club concert, it’s allnonsense, and little girlsshould not be allowed to goouttosuchplacesatall.”

“I’m sure the DebatingClub is a most respectableaffair,”pleadedAnne.

“I’m not saying it isn’t.Butyou’renotgoingtobegingaddingabouttoconcertsandstaying out all hours of the

night. Pretty doings forchildren. I’m surprised atMrs. Barry’s letting Dianago.”

“But it’s such a veryspecial occasion,” mournedAnne, on the verge of tears.“Dianahasonlyonebirthdayin a year. It isn’t as ifbirthdays were commonthings, Marilla. PrissyAndrews is going to recite‘Curfew Must Not RingTonight.’Thatissuchagood

moralpiece,Marilla.I’msureitwoulddomelotsofgoodtohear it. And the choir aregoing to sing four lovelypathetic songs that are prettynear as good as hymns. Andoh, Marilla, the minister isgoing to take part; yes,indeed, he is; he’s going togive an address.Thatwill bejustaboutthesamethingasasermon. Please, mayn’t I go,Marilla?”

“You heardwhat I said,

Anne, didn’t you? Take offyour boots now and go tobed.It’spasteight.”

“There’s just one morething, Marilla,” said Anne,with the air of producing thelast shot in her locker. “Mrs.Barry told Diana that wemightsleepinthespareroombed. Think of the honor ofyour littleAnne being put inthespareroombed.”

“It’s an honor you’llhavetogetalongwithout.Go

to bed, Anne, and don’t letme hear anotherword out ofyou.”

When Anne, with tearsrolling over her cheeks, hadgone sorrowfully upstairs,Matthew, who had beenapparently sound asleep onthe lounge during the wholedialogue,openedhiseyesandsaiddecidedly:

“Well now, Marilla, Ithink you ought to let Annego.”

“I don’t then,” retortedMarilla.“Who’sbringingthischild up, Matthew, you orme?”

“Well now, you,”admittedMatthew.

“Don’tinterferethen.”“Well now, I ain’t

interfering.Itain’tinterferingto have your own opinion.And my opinion is that yououghttoletAnnego.”

“You’d think I ought tolet Anne go to the moon if

she took the notion, I’ve nodoubt,” was Marilla’samiable rejoinder. “I mighthave let her spend the nightwith Diana, if that was all.But I don’t approve of thisconcert plan. She’d go thereandcatchcoldlikeasnot,andhave her head filled up withnonsense and excitement. Itwould unsettle her for aweek. I understand thatchild’sdispositionandwhat’sgood for it better than you,

Matthew.”“I thinkyouought to let

Anne go,” repeatedMatthewfirmly.Argumentwasnothisstrongpoint, but holding fastto his opinion certainly was.Marilla gave a gasp ofhelplessness and took refugeinsilence.Thenextmorning,whenAnnewas washing thebreakfastdishesinthepantry,Matthew paused on his wayout to the barn to say toMarillaagain:

“I thinkyouought to letAnnego,Marilla.”

For a moment Marillalookedthingsnotlawfultobeuttered. Then she yielded totheinevitableandsaidtartly:

“Very well, she can go,since nothing else’ll pleaseyou.”

Anne flew out of thepantry,drippingdish-cloth inhand.

“Oh, Marilla, Marilla,say those blessed words

again.”“I guess once is enough

to say them. This isMatthew’sdoingsandIwashmy hands of it. If you catchpneumonia sleeping in astrangebedorcomingoutofthathothall in themiddleofthe night, don’t blame me,blame Matthew. AnneShirley, you’re drippinggreasy water all over thefloor. I never saw such acarelesschild.”

“Oh,IknowI’magreattrial to you, Marilla,” saidAnnerepentantly.“Imakesomanymistakes.But then justthink of all the mistakes Idon’tmake,althoughImight.I’ll get some sand and scrubup the spots before I go toschool.Oh,Marilla,myheartwas just set on going to thatconcert. I never was to aconcert inmy life, andwhentheothergirlstalkaboutthemin school I feel so out of it.

You didn’t know just how Ifelt about it, but you seeMatthew did. Matthewunderstands me, and it’s sonice to be understood,Marilla.”

Annewas tooexcited todoherselfjusticeastolessonsthat morning in school.Gilbert Blythe spelled herdown in class and left herclear out of sight in mentalarithmetic. Anne’sconsequent humiliation was

less than itmight have been,however, in view of theconcert and the spare roombed.SheandDianatalkedsoconstantlyaboutitalldaythatwith a stricter teacher thanMr. Phillips dire disgracemust inevitably have beentheirportion.

Anne felt that she couldnot have borne it if she hadnotbeengoingtotheconcert,for nothing else wasdiscussed that day in school.

The Avonlea Debating Club,which met fortnightly allwinter, had had severalsmaller free entertainments;butthiswastobeabigaffair,admissiontencents,inaidofthe library. The Avonleayoung people had beenpracticing for weeks, and allthe scholars were especiallyinterested in it by reason ofolderbrothersandsisterswhowere going to take part.Everybody in school over

nineyearsofageexpectedtogo, except Carrie Sloane,whosefathersharedMarilla’sopinions about small girlsgoing out to night concerts.Carrie Sloane cried into hergrammar all the afternoonand felt that life was notworthliving.

For Anne the realexcitement began with thedismissal of school andincreased therefrom increscendountilitreachedtoa

crash of positive ecstasy intheconcert itself.Theyhada“perfectly elegant tea” andthen came the deliciousoccupation of dressing inDiana’s little room upstairs.DianadidAnne’sfronthairinthe new pompador style andAnne tiedDiana’sbowswiththe especial knack shepossessed; and theyexperimented with at leasthalfadozendifferentwaysofarranging their back hair. At

last they were ready, cheeksscarletandeyesglowingwithexcitement.

True, Anne could nothelp a little pang when shecontrastedherplainblacktamand shapeless, tight-sleeved,home-made gray cloth coatwith Diana’s jaunty fur capand smart little jacket. Butshe remembered in time thatshe had an imagination andcoulduseit.

Then Diana’s cousins,

theMurraysfromNewbridge,came; they all crowded intothe big pung sleigh, amongstraw and furry robes. Annereveled in the drive to thehall, slipping along over thesatin-smooth roads with thesnow crisping under therunners. There was amagnificent sunset, and thesnowy hills and deep bluewater of the St. LawrenceGulf seemed to rim in thesplendor like a huge bowl of

pearl and sapphire brimmedwithwineandfire.Tinklesofsleigh bells and distantlaughter, thatseemedlikethemirth of wood elves, camefromeveryquarter.

“Oh, Diana,” breathedAnne, squeezing Diana’smittened hand under the furrobe, “isn’t it all like abeautiful dream? Do I reallylookthesameasusual?Ifeelso different that it seems tome it must show in my

looks.”“You look awfully

nice,”saidDiana,whohavingjust received a complimentfrom one of her cousins, feltthat she ought to pass it on.“You’ve got the loveliestcolor.”

The program that nightwasaseriesof“thrills”foratleast one listener in theaudience, and, as Anneassured Diana, everysucceeding thrillwas thrillier

than the last. When PrissyAndrews, attired in a newpink silk waist with a stringof pearls about her smoothwhite throat and realcarnationsinherhair—rumorwhisperedthatthemasterhadsent all the way to town forthem for her—“climbed theslimy ladder, dark withoutone ray of light,” Anneshivered in luxurioussympathy; when the choirsang “Far Above the Gentle

Daisies” Anne gazed at theceiling as if it were frescoedwith angels; when SamSloane proceeded to explainand illustrate “How SockerySet a Hen” Anne laugheduntil people sitting near herlaughed too, more out ofsympathywith her than withamusementataselectionthatwasratherthreadbareeveninAvonlea; and when Mr.Phillips gaveMark Antony’sorationoverthedeadbodyof

Caesar in the most heart-stirring tones—looking atPrissyAndrewsat theendofevery sentence—Anne feltthatshecouldriseandmutinyonthespotifbutoneRomancitizenledtheway.

Onlyonenumberontheprogramfailedtointeresther.When Gilbert Blythe recited“Bingen on theRhine”Annepicked up Rhoda Murray’slibrarybookand read it untilhehadfinished,whenshesat

rigidly stiff and motionlesswhile Diana clapped herhandsuntiltheytingled.

Itwaselevenwhen theygot home, sated withdissipation, but with theexceeding sweet pleasure oftalking it all over still tocome. Everybody seemedasleepandthehousewasdarkand silent. Anne and Dianatiptoedintotheparlor,alongnarrowroomoutofwhichthespare room opened. It was

pleasantly warm and dimlylightedbytheembersofafireinthegrate.

“Let’s undress here,”said Diana. “It’s so nice andwarm.”

“Hasn’t it been adelightfultime?”sighedAnnerapturously. “It must besplendid to get up and recitethere. Do you suppose wewill ever be asked to do it,Diana?”

“Yes, of course, some

day. They’re alwayswantingthe big scholars to recite.GilbertBlythedoesoftenandhe’sonlytwoyearsolderthanus.Oh,Anne,howcouldyoupretend not to listen to him?Whenhecametotheline,

“‘There’sanother, not autter,

helookedrightdownatyou.”“Diana,”saidAnnewith

dignity, “you are my bosomfriend, but I cannot alloweven you to speak to me ofthatperson.Areyoureadyforbed?Let’srunaraceandseewho’llgettothebedfirst.”

Thesuggestionappealedto Diana. The two littlewhite-clad figures flewdownthe long room, through thespare room door, andbounded on the bed at the

same moment. And then—something—moved beneaththem, therewasagaspandacry—and somebody said inmuffledaccents:

“Mercifulgoodness!”Anne and Diana were

never able to tell just howtheygot off that bed andoutoftheroom.Theyonlyknewthatafteronefranticrushtheyfound themselves, tiptoeingshiveringlyupstairs.

“Oh, who was it—what

wasit?”whisperedAnne,herteethchatteringwithcoldandfright.

“ItwasAuntJosephine,”said Diana, gasping withlaughter. “Oh, Anne, it wasAunt Josephine,however shecame to be there. Oh, and Iknowshewillbefurious.It’sdreadful—it’s really dreadful—but did you ever knowanythingsofunny,Anne?”

“Who is your auntJosephine?”

“She’s father’s aunt andshe lives in Charlottetown.She’s awfully old—seventyanyhow—and I don’t believeshewasever a littlegirl.Wewere expecting her out for avisit, but not so soon. She’sawfully prim and proper andshe’ll scold dreadfully aboutthis,Iknow.Well,we’llhaveto sleep with Minnie May—and you can’t think how shekicks.”

Miss Josephine Barry

did not appear at the earlybreakfast the next morning.Mrs. Barry smiled kindly atthetwolittlegirls.

“Did you have a goodtimelastnight?Itriedtostayawake until you came home,for Iwanted to tellyouAuntJosephine had come and thatyouwouldhavetogoupstairsafter all, but Iwas so tired Ifell asleep. I hopeyoudidn’tdisturbyouraunt,Diana.”

Diana preserved a

discreet silence, but she andAnne exchanged furtivesmiles of guilty amusementacrossthetable.Annehurriedhome after breakfast and soremained in blissfulignorance of the disturbancewhich presently resulted intheBarryhouseholduntil thelateafternoon,whenshewentdown toMrs. Lynde’s on anerrandforMarilla.

“So you and Diananearly frightened poor old

Miss Barry to death lastnight?” said Mrs. Lyndeseverely, but with a twinklein her eye. “Mrs. Barry washereafewminutesagoonherway to Carmody. She’sfeeling real worried over it.Old Miss Barry was in aterrible temper when she gotup this morning—andJosephine Barry’s temper isno joke, I can tell you that.Shewouldn’t speak toDianaatall.”

“It wasn’t Diana’sfault,” said Anne contritely.“It was mine. I suggestedracing to see who would getintobedfirst.”

“I knew it!” said Mrs.Lyndewiththeexultationofacorrect guesser. “I knew thatidea came out of your head.Well, it’smade a nice lot oftrouble,that’swhat.OldMissBarry came out to stay for amonth, but she declares shewon’tstayanotherdayandis

going right back to towntomorrow, Sunday and all asitis.She’dhavegonetodayifthey could have taken her.Shehadpromisedtopayforaquarter’s music lessons forDiana, but now she isdetermined to do nothing atall for such a tomboy. Oh, Iguess they had a lively timeof it there thismorning. TheBarrysmust feel cut up.OldMissBarryisrichandthey’dlike tokeepon thegoodside

ofher.Ofcourse,Mrs.Barrydidn’tsayjustthattome,butI’m a pretty good judge ofhumannature,that’swhat.”

“I’m such an unluckygirl,” mourned Anne. “I’malways getting into scrapesmyself and getting my bestfriends—people I’d shed myheart’sblood for—into them,too.Canyoutellmewhyitisso,Mrs.Lynde?”

“It’s because you’re tooheedlessandimpulsive,child,

that’swhat.Youneverstoptothink—whatever comes intoyour head to say or do yousay or do it without amoment’sreflection.”

“Oh, but that’s the bestof it,” protested Anne.“Something just flashes intoyour mind, so exciting, andyou must out with it. If youstoptothinkitoveryouspoilit all. Haven’t you never feltthatyourself,Mrs.Lynde?”

No,Mrs.Lyndehadnot.

Sheshookherheadsagely.“Youmustlearntothink

a little, Anne, that’s what.The proverb you need to goby is ‘Look before youleap’—especially into spareroombeds.”

Mrs. Lynde laughedcomfortably over her mildjoke, but Anne remainedpensive. She saw nothing tolaugh at in the situation,which to her eyes appearedvery serious. When she left

Mrs. Lynde’s she took herway across the crusted fieldstoOrchard Slope.Dianametheratthekitchendoor.

“Your Aunt Josephinewas very cross about it,wasn’t she?” whisperedAnne.

“Yes,” answered Diana,stifling a giggle with anapprehensive glance over hershoulder at the closed sittingroom door. “She was fairlydancingwithrage,Anne.Oh,

how she scolded. She said Iwas the worst-behaved girlshe ever saw and that myparents ought to be ashamedof the way they had broughtme up. She says she won’tstayandI’msureIdon’tcare.Butfatherandmotherdo.”

“Why didn’t you tellthem it was my fault?”demandedAnne.

“It’slikelyI’ddosuchathing, isn’t it?” said Dianawith just scorn. “I’m no

telltale, Anne Shirley, andanyhowIwasjustasmuchtoblameasyou.”

“Well, I’m going in totell her myself,” said Anneresolutely.

Dianastared.“Anne Shirley, you’d

never! why—she’ll eat youalive!”

“Don’t frighten me anymore than I am frightened,”implored Anne. “I’d ratherwalkuptoacannon’smouth.

ButI’vegottodoit,Diana.Itwasmy fault and I’ve got toconfess. I’ve had practice inconfessingfortunately.”

“Well, she’s in theroom,” saidDiana. “Youcango in if you want to. Iwouldn’t dare. And I don’tbelieve you’ll do a bit ofgood.”

WiththisencouragementAnne bearded the lion in itsden—that is to say, walkedresolutely up to the sitting-

room door and knockedfaintly. A sharp “Come in”followed.

Miss Josephine Barry,thin, prim and rigid, wasknitting fiercely by the fire,her wrath quite unappeasedand her eyes snappingthrough her gold-rimmedglasses. She wheeled aroundinher chair, expecting to seeDiana, and beheld a white-faced girl whose great eyeswere brimmed up with a

mixture of desperate courageandshrinkingterror.

“Who are you?”demanded Miss JosephineBarrywithoutceremony.

“I’m Anne of GreenGables,”saidthesmallvisitortremulously, clasping herhands with her characteristicgesture, “and I’ve come toconfess,ifyouplease.”

“Confesswhat?”“Thatitwasallmyfault

about jumping into bed on

you lastnight. I suggested it.Diana would never havethoughtofsucha thing,Iamsure.Dianaisaveryladylikegirl,MissBarry.Soyoumustseehowunjust it is toblameher.”

“Oh, I must, hey? Irather think Diana did hershareof the jumpingat least.Such carryings-on in arespectablehouse!”

“But we were only infun,”persistedAnne.“Ithink

yououghttoforgiveus,MissBarry, now that we’veapologized. And anyhow,please forgive Diana and lether have her music lessons.Diana’s heart is set on hermusic lessons, Miss Barry,andIknowtoowellwhatitisto set your heart on a thingandnotgetit.Ifyoumustbecross with any one, be crosswithme.I’vebeensousedinmy early days to havingpeoplecross atme that I can

endure it much better thanDianacan.”

Much of the snap hadgone out of the old lady’seyes by this time and wasreplaced by a twinkle ofamused interest.But she stillsaidseverely:

“I don’t think it is anyexcuseforyou thatyouwereonly in fun.Littlegirlsneverindulged in that kind of funwhenIwasyoung.Youdon’tknow what it is to be

awakened out of a soundsleep, after a long andarduousjourney,bytwogreatgirlscomingbouncedownonyou.”

“Idon’tknow, but I canimagine,” saidAnne eagerly.“I’m sure it must have beenvery disturbing. But then,there is our side of it too.Have you any imagination,MissBarry?Ifyouhave,justputyourselfinourplace.Wedidn’t know there was

anybody in that bed and younearly scared us to death. Itwassimplyawfulthewaywefelt. And then, we couldn’tsleep in the spare room afterbeing promised. I supposeyou are used to sleeping insparerooms.Butjustimaginewhat you would feel like ifyou were a little orphan girlwho had never had such anhonor.”

Allthesnaphadgonebythistime.MissBarryactually

laughed—a sound whichcaused Diana, waiting inspeechless anxiety in thekitchen outside, to give agreatgaspofrelief.

“I’m afraid myimaginationisalittlerusty—it’s so long since I used it,”she said. “I dare say yourclaim to sympathy is just asstrongasmine.Italldependson thewaywe look at it.Sitdown here and tellme aboutyourself.”

“I am very sorry Ican’t,” said Anne firmly. “Iwould like to, because youseemlikean interesting lady,and you might even be akindred spirit although youdon’t look verymuch like it.Butit ismydutytogohometo Miss Marilla Cuthbert.Miss Marilla Cuthbert is averykindladywhohastakenme tobringupproperly.Sheis doing her best, but it isverydiscouragingwork.You

mustnotblameherbecauseIjumped on the bed. Butbefore I go I do wish youwould tell me if you willforgiveDianaandstayjustaslong as you meant to inAvonlea.”

“IthinkperhapsIwillifyou will come over and talkto me occasionally,” saidMissBarry.

ThateveningMissBarrygave Diana a silver banglebracelet and told the senior

members of the householdthat she had unpacked hervalise.

“I’vemade upmymindtostaysimplyforthesakeofgettingbetteracquaintedwiththat Anne-girl,” she saidfrankly.“Sheamusesme,andatmytimeoflifeanamusingpersonisararity.”

Marilla’s only commentwhensheheardthestorywas,“I toldyouso.”Thiswas forMatthew’sbenefit.

Miss Barry stayed hermonthoutandover.Shewasa more agreeable guest thanusual, for Anne kept her ingood humor. They becamefirmfriends.

When Miss Barry wentawayshesaid:

“Remember, you Anne-girl,whenyoucome to townyou’retovisitmeandI’llputyouinmyverysparestspare-roombedtosleep.”

“Miss Barry was a

kindredspirit,afterall,”Anneconfided to Marilla. “Youwouldn’t think so to look ather,butsheis.Youdon’tfindit right out at first, as inMatthew’s case, but afterawhile you come to see it.Kindred spirits are not soscarceas Iused to think. It’ssplendid to findout thereareso many of them in theworld.”

20

A Good ImaginationGoneWrong

SPRING HAD COME once moreto Green Gables—thebeautiful, capricious,reluctant Canadian spring,

lingeringalong throughApriland May in a succession ofsweet,fresh,chilly-days,withpink sunsets and miracles ofresurrection and growth. Themaples inLovers’Lanewerered-budded and little curlyferns pushed up around theDryad’sBubble.Away up inthe barrens, behindMr. SilasSloane’s place, theMayflowers blossomed out,pink and white stars ofsweetness under their brown

leaves. All the school girlsand boys had one goldenafternoon gathering them,coming home in the clear,echoing twilight with armsand baskets full of floweryspoil.

“I’msosorryforpeoplewholiveinlandswherethereare no Mayflowers,” saidAnne. “Diana says perhapsthey have something better,buttherecouldn’tbeanythingbetterthanMayflowers,could

there, Marilla? And Dianasays if theydon’tknowwhatthey are like they don’tmissthem. But I think that is thesaddest thingofall. I thinkitwouldbe tragic,Marilla, nottoknowwhatMayflowersarelikeandnottomissthem.Doyou know what I thinkMayflowers are, Marilla? Ithink they must be the soulsof the flowers that died lastsummer and this is theirheaven. But we had a

splendid time today,Marilla.Wehadour lunchdown in abig mossy hollow by an oldwell—such a romantic spot.Charlie Sloane dared ArtyGillis to jump over it, andArtydidbecausehewouldn’ttakeadare.Nobodywouldinschool. It is very fashionableto dare.Mr. Phillips gave allthe Mayflowers he found toPrissy Andrews and I heardhimsay‘sweetstothesweet.’He got that out of a book, I

know; but it shows he hassome imagination. I wasoffered some Mayflowerstoo, but I rejected themwithscorn. I can’t tell you theperson’snamebecauseIhavevowednevertoletitcrossmylips.WemadewreathsoftheMayflowers and put themonour hats; and when the timecametogohomewemarchedin procession down the road,two by two, with ourbouquets and wreaths,

singing ‘My Home on theHill.’Oh, it was so thrilling,Marilla. All Mr. SilasSloane’s folks rushed out toseeusandeverybodywemeton the road stopped andstared after us. We made arealsensation.”

“Not much wonder!Such silly doings!” wasMarilla’sresponse.

After the Mayflowerscame the violets, and VioletVale was empurpled with

them.Annewalkedthroughiton her way to school withreverent steps andworshipping eyes, as if shetrodonholyground.

“Somehow,” she toldDiana, “when I’m goingthrough here I don’t reallycare whether Gil—whetheranybodygets aheadofme inclassornot.ButwhenI’mupinschoolit’salldifferentandI care as much as ever.There’ssuchalotofdifferent

Annes in me. I sometimesthink that iswhy I’m such atroublesome person. If I wasjusttheoneAnneitwouldbeever so much morecomfortable, but then itwouldn’t be half sointeresting.”

OneJuneevening,whenthe orchards were pink-blossomed again, when thefrogs were singing silverlysweet in the marshes aboutthe head of the Lake of

Shining Waters, and the airwasfullofthesavorofcloverfieldsandbalsamicfirwoods,Annewassittingbyhergablewindow. She had beenstudying her lessons, but ithadgrowntoodarktoseethebook, so she had fallen intowide-eyed reverie, lookingout past the boughs of theSnow Queen, once morebestarred with its tufts ofblossom.

In all essential respects

the little gable chamber wasunchanged.Thewallswereaswhite,thepincushionashard,the chairs as stiffly andyellowlyupright asever.Yetthe whole character of theroomwas altered. Itwas fullof a new vital, pulsingpersonality that seemed topervade it and to be quiteindependent of schoolgirlbooks and dresses andribbons, and even of thecrackedbluejugfullofapple

blossomson the table. Itwasas if all the dreams, sleepingand waking, of its vividoccupant had taken a visiblealthoughimmaterialformandhad tapestried the bare roomwithsplendidfilmytissuesofrainbow and moonshine.Presently Marilla camebriskly in with some ofAnne’s freshly ironed schoolaprons.Shehungthemoverachair and sat down with ashortsigh.Shehadhadoneof

herheadaches that afternoon,and although the pain hadgone she felt weak and“tuckered out,” as sheexpressed it. Anne looked ather with eyes limpid withsympathy.

“I do trulywish I couldhave had the headache inyour place, Marilla. I wouldhave endured it joyfully foryoursake.”

“I guess you did yourpart in attending to thework

and letting me rest,” saidMarilla. “You seem to havegot on fairly well and madefewermistakesthanusual.Ofcourse it wasn’t exactlynecessarytostarchMatthew’shandkerchiefs! And mostpeoplewhentheyputapieinthe oven to warm up fordinner take it out and eat itwhen it gets hot instead ofleaving it to be burned to acrisp. But that doesn’t seemtobeyourwayevidently.”

Headaches always leftMarillasomewhatsarcastic.

“Oh, I’mso sorry,” saidAnne penitently. “I neverthought about that pie fromthe moment I put it in theoven till now, although I feltinstinctively that there wassomething missing on thedinner table. I was firmlyresolved,whenyouleftmeincharge this morning, not toimagine anything, but keepmy thoughts on facts. I did

prettywelluntil Iput thepiein, and then an irresistibletemptation came to me toimagine I was an enchantedprincess shut up in a lonelytower with a handsomeknightridingtomyrescueona coal-black steed. So that ishowIcametoforget thepie.I didn’t know I starched thehandkerchiefs.All the time Iwas ironing I was trying tothink of a name for a newisland Diana and I have

discovered up the brook. It’sthe most ravishing spot,Marilla.Therearetwomaple-trees on it and the brookflows right around it. At lastit struckme that itwould besplendid to call it VictoriaIslandbecausewefounditonthe Queen’s birthday. BothDiana and I are very loyal.But I’mvery sorry about thepie and the handkerchiefs. Iwantedtobeextragoodtodaybecause it’s an anniversary.

Do you remember whathappened this day last year,Marilla?”

“No, I can’t think ofanythingspecial.”

“Oh,Marilla, it was thedayIcametoGreenGables.Ishall never forget it. It wasthe turning-point in my life.Ofcourseitwouldn’tseemsoimportant to you. I’ve beenhereforayearandI’vebeensohappy.Ofcourse,I’vehadmytroubles,butonecanlive

downtroubles.Areyousorryyoukeptme,Marilla?”

“No, I can’t say I’msorry,” said Marilla, whosometimeswonderedhowshecouldhavelivedbeforeAnnecame to Green Gables, “no,not exactly sorry. If you’vefinishedyourlessons,Anne,IwantyoutorunoverandaskMrs. Barry if she’ll lend meDiana’sapronpattern.”

“Oh—it’s—it’s toodark,”criedAnne.

“Too dark? Why, it’sonly twilight. And goodnessknows you’ve gone overoftenenoughafterdark.”

“I’llgooverearlyinthemorning,”saidAnneeagerly.“I’ll getupat sunrise andgoover,Marilla.”

“Whathasgot intoyourhead now, Anne Shirley? Iwant that pattern to cut outyournewapron thisevening.Go at once and be smart,too.”

“I’ll have to go aroundbytheroad,then,”saidAnne,takingupherhatreluctantly.

“Go by the road andwastehalfanhour!I’dliketocatchyou!”

“I can’t go through theHaunted Wood, Marilla,”criedAnnedesperately.

Marillastared.“The Haunted Wood!

Are you crazy? What underthe canopy is the HauntedWood?”

“The spruce wood overthe brook,” said Anne in awhisper.

“Fiddlesticks! There isno such thing as a hauntedwood anywhere. Who hasbeentellingyousuchstuff?”

“Nobody,” confessedAnne. “Diana and I justimagined the wood washaunted. All the placesaround here are so—so—commonplace.We just gotthis up for our own

amusement. We began it inApril. A hauntedwood is sovery romantic, Marilla. Wechose the spruce grovebecause it’s so gloomy. Oh,we have imagined the mostharrowing things. There’s awhite lady walks along thebrook just about this time ofthe night and wrings herhands and utters wailingcries.Sheappearswhenthereistobeadeathinthefamily.And the ghost of a little

murdered child haunts thecorner up by Idlewild; itcreepsupbehindyouandlaysits cold fingersonyourhand—so.Oh,Marilla,itgivesmea shudder to thinkof it.Andthere’s a headlessman stalksup and down the path andskeletons glower at youbetween the boughs. Oh,Marilla, I wouldn’t gothrough the Haunted Woodafter dark now for anything,I’d be sure that white things

would reachout frombehindthetreesandgrabme.”

“Did ever any one hearthe like!” ejaculated Marilla,who had listened in dumbamazement. “Anne Shirley,do you mean to tell me youbelieve all that wickednonsense of your ownimagination?”

“Not believe exactly,”faltered Anne. “At least, Idon’t believe it in thedaylight. But after dark,

Marilla, it’sdifferent.That iswhenghostswalk.”

“There are no suchthingsasghosts,Anne.”

“Oh, but there are,Marilla,” criedAnneeagerly.“I know people who haveseen them. And they arerespectable people. CharlieSloane says that hisgrandmother saw hisgrandfather driving home thecows one night after he’dbeen buried for a year. You

know Charlie Sloane’sgrandmother wouldn’t tell astory for anything. She’s avery religious woman. AndMrs. Thomas’ father waspursuedhomeonenightbyalamboffirewithitsheadcutoffhangingbyastripofskin.He said he knew it was thespiritofhisbrotherandthatitwas a warning he would diewithin nine days. He didn’t,buthediedtwoyearsafter,soyou see it was really true.

AndRubyGillissays—”“Anne Shirley,”

interruptedMarilla firmly, “Inever want to hear youtalking in this fashion again.I’vehadmydoubtsaboutthatimagination of yours rightalong, and if this is going tobe theoutcomeof it, Iwon’tcountenanceanysuchdoings.You’ll go right over toBarry’s, and you’ll gothrough that spruce grove,just for a lesson and a

warningtoyou.Andneverletme hear a word out of yourhead about haunted woodsagain.”

Anne might plead andcryassheliked—anddid,forher terrorwas very real. Herimagination had run awaywith her and she held thespruce grove inmortal dreadafter nightfall. But Marillawas inexorable.Shemarchedthe shrinkingghostseerdownto the springandorderedher

to proceed straightway overthebridgeandintotheduskyretreats ofwailing ladies andheadlessspectersbeyond.

“Oh, Marilla, how canyou be so cruel?” sobbedAnne. “Whatwould you feellike if a white thing didsnatch me up and carry meoff?”

“I’llriskit,”saidMarillaunfeelingly. “You know Ialwaysmeanwhat I say. I’llcureyouof imaginingghosts

intoplaces.March,now.”Anne marched. That is,

she stumbled over the bridgeand went shuddering up thehorrible dim path beyond.Anne never forgot thatwalk.Bitterly did she repent thelicense she had given to herimagination. The goblins ofher fancy lurked in everyshadow about her, reachingouttheircold,fleshlesshandsto grasp the terrified smallgirlwhohadcalledtheminto

being.Awhite strip of birchbark blowing up from thehollow over the brown floorof the grove made her heartstand still. The long-drawnwail of two old boughsrubbing against each otherbrought out the perspirationinbeadsonherforehead.Theswoopofbatsinthedarknessoverherwasas thewingsofunearthly creatures. Whenshe reached Mr. WilliamBell’s field she fled across it

as if pursued by an army ofwhite things, and arrived attheBarrykitchendoorsooutof breath that she couldhardly gasp out her requestfor the apron pattern. Dianawas away so that shehadnoexcusetolinger.Thedreadfulreturn journey had to befaced.Annewentbackoveritwith shut eyes, preferring totake the risk of dashing herbrains out among theboughsto that of seeing a white

thing. When she finallystumbled over the log bridgeshe drew one long shiveringbreathofrelief.

“Well,sonothingcaughtyou?” said Marillaunsympathetically.

“Oh, Mar—Marilla,”chattered Anne, “I’ll b-b-becont-t-tented with c-c-commonplace places afterthis.”

21

A New Departure inFlavorings

“DEAR ME, THERE is nothingbut meetings and partings inthis world, as Mrs. Lyndesays,” remarked Anneplaintively, putting her slateand books down on thekitchen table on the last day

of June and wiping her redeyes with a very damphandkerchief. “Wasn’t itfortunate,Marilla, that I tookan extra handkerchief toschool today? I had apresentiment that itwouldbeneeded.”

“I never thought youwere so fond ofMr. Phillipsthat you’d require twohandkerchiefs to dry yourtears just because he wasgoingaway,”saidMarilla.

“I don’t think I wascryingbecauseIwasreallysovery fond of him,” reflectedAnne.“Ijustcriedbecauseallthe others did. It was RubyGillis started it. Ruby GillishasalwaysdeclaredshehatedMr.Phillips, but just as soonas he got up to make hisfarewellspeechsheburstintotears.Thenallthegirlsbeganto cry, one after the other. Itried to hold out, Marilla. Itried to remember the time

Mr.PhillipsmademesitwithGil—withaboy;andthetimehe spelled my name withoutan e on the blackboard; andhow he said I was theworstdunce he ever saw atgeometry and laughed at myspelling; andall the timeshehad been so horrid andsarcastic; but somehow Icouldn’t, Marilla, and I justhadtocrytoo.JaneAndrewshas been talking for amonthabout how glad she’d be

whenMr.Phillipswentawayand she declared she’d nevershed a tear. Well, she wasworsethananyofusandhadto borrow a handkerchieffrom her brother—of coursethe boys didn’t cry—becauseshehadn’tbroughtoneofherown,notexpectingtoneedit.Oh, Marilla, it washeartrending. Mr. Phillipsmade such a beautifulfarewell speech beginning,‘The timehascomeforus to

part.’ It was very affecting.And he had tears in his eyestoo, Marilla. Oh, I feltdreadfully sorry andremorseful for all the timesI’d talked in school anddrawnpicturesofhimonmyslate and made fun of himand Prissy. I can tell you Iwished I’d been a modelpupil like Minnie Andrews.She hadn’t anything on herconscience.Thegirlscriedallthe way home from school.

Carrie Sloane kept sayingeveryfewminutes,‘Thetimehascome forus topart,’andthat would start us off againwhenever we were in anydanger of cheering up. I dofeel dreadfully sad, Marilla.Butonecan’tfeelquiteinthedepths of despair with twomonthsvacationbeforethem,can they, Marilla? Andbesides, we met the newministerandhiswifecomingfromthestation.ForallIwas

feeling so bad about Mr.Phillips going away Icouldn’t help taking a littleinterest in a new minister,could I? His wife is verypretty. Not exactly regallylovely, of course—itwouldn’tdo, I suppose, foraminister to have a regallylovelywife, because itmightset a bad example. Mrs.Lynde says the minister’swifeoveratNewbridgesetsavery bad example because

she dresses so fashionably.Our newminister’swifewasdressed in blue muslin withlovely puffed sleeves and ahat trimmedwith roses. JaneAndrews said she thoughtpuffed sleeves were tooworldlyforaminister’swife,but I didn’t make any suchuncharitable remark,Marilla,because I knowwhat it is tolong for puffed sleeves.Besides, she’s only been aminister’s wife for a little

while, so one should makeallowances, shouldn’t they?TheyaregoingtoboardwithMrs.Lyndeuntilthemanseisready.”

If Marilla, in goingdown to Mrs. Lynde’s thatevening,wasactuatedbyanymotive save her avowed oneof returning the quilting-frames she had borrowed thepreceding winter, it was anamiable weakness shared bymost of the Avonlea people.

ManyathingMrs.Lyndehadlent, sometimes neverexpecting to see it again,came home that night incharge of the borrowersthereof. A newminister, andmoreover a minister with awife, was a lawful object ofcuriosity in a quiet littlecountry settlement wheresensations were few and farbetween.

Old Mr. Bentley, theminister whom Anne had

foundlackinginimagination,had been pastor of Avonleafor eighteen years.Hewas awidower when he came, anda widower he remained,despite the fact that gossipregularlymarriedhimtothis,that or the other one, everyyear of his sojourn. In thepreceding February he hadresigned his charge anddeparted amid the regrets ofhispeople,mostofwhomhadthe affection born of long

intercoursefortheirgoodoldminister in spite of hisshortcomings as an orator.Since then the Avonleachurch had enjoyed a varietyof religious dissipation inlistening to the many andvarious candidates and“supplies”whocameSundayafter Sunday to preach ontrial. These stood or fell bythe judgment of the fathersand mothers in Israel; but acertain small, red-haired girl

whosatmeekly in thecornerof the oldCuthbert pew alsohad her opinions about themanddiscussedthesameinfullwithMatthew,Marillaalwaysdeclining from principle tocriticize ministers in anyshapeorform.

“Idon’tthinkMr.Smithwould have done,Matthew,”was Anne’s final summingup. “Mrs. Lynde says hisdelivery was so poor, but Ithinkhisworst faultwas just

like Mr. Bentley’s—he hadno imagination. And Mr.Terryhad toomuch;he let itrun away with him just as Ididmine in thematterof theHauntedWood.Besides,Mrs.Lynde says his theologywasn’t sound. Mr. Greshamwas a very good man and avery religious man, but hetold too many funny storiesandmadethepeoplelaughinchurch; he was undignified,and you must have some

dignity about a minister,mustn’t you, Matthew? Ithought Mr. Marshall wasdecidedlyattractive;butMrs.Lynde says he isn’t married,orevenengaged,becauseshemade special inquiries abouthim, and she says it wouldnever do to have a youngunmarried minister inAvonlea, because he mightmarryinthecongregationandthat would make trouble.Mrs. Lynde is a very

farseeing woman, isn’t she,Matthew? I’m very gladthey’ve called Mr. Allan. Ilikedhimbecausehissermonwasinterestingandheprayedas ifhemeant it andnot justasifhediditbecausehewasinthehabitof it.Mrs.Lyndesays he isn’t perfect, but shesays she supposes wecouldn’t expect a perfectminister for seven hundredand fifty dollars a year, andanyhowhistheologyissound

because she questioned himthoroughly on all the pointsof doctrine. And she knowshiswife’speopleandtheyaremost respectable and thewomen are all goodhousekeepers. Mrs. Lyndesays that sound doctrine inthe man and goodhousekeeping in the womanmake an ideal combinationforaminister’sfamily.”

The new minister andhis wife were a young,

pleasant-facedcouple, still intheir honeymoon, and full ofall good and beautifulenthusiasms for their chosenlifework.Avonlea opened itsheart to them from the start.Old and young liked thefrank, cheerful young manwith his high ideals, and thebright, gentle little lady whoassumed the mistress-ship ofthe manse. With Mrs. AllanAnne fell promptly andwholeheartedly in love. She

had discovered anotherkindredspirit.

“Mrs. Allan is perfectlylovely,” she announced oneSunday afternoon. “She’staken our class and she’s asplendid teacher. She saidrightawayshedidn’t think itwasfairfortheteachertoaskall the questions, and youknow,Marilla, that isexactlywhat I’ve always thought.Shesaidwecouldaskheranyquestion we liked, and I

askedeversomany.I’mgoodataskingquestions,Marilla.”

“I believe you,” wasMarilla’semphaticcomment.

“Nobody else asked anyexcept Ruby Gillis, and sheasked if there was to be aSunday-school picnic thissummer. I didn’t think thatwasaveryproperquestiontoask because it hadn’t anyconnectionwith the lesson—the lesson was about Danielin the lions’ den—but Mrs.

Allanjustsmiledandsaidshethought therewouldbe.Mrs.Allanhasa lovely smile; shehassuchexquisitedimples inher cheeks. I wish I haddimples in my cheeks,Marilla. I’m not half soskinnyas IwaswhenIcamehere, but I have no dimplesyet. If I had perhaps I couldinfluence people for good.Mrs. Allan said we oughtalways to try to influenceother people for good. She

talked so nice abouteverything. I never knewbefore that religionwas sucha cheerful thing. I alwaysthought it was kind ofmelancholy,butMrs.Allan’sisn’t, and I’d like to be aChristian if I could be onelike her. I wouldn’t want tobe one like Mr.SuperintendentBell.”

“It’s very naughty ofyou to speak so about Mr.Bell,” said Marilla severely.

“Mr. Bell is a real goodman.”

“Oh, of course he’sgood,”agreedAnne.“Buthedoesn’t seem to get anycomfortoutofit.IfIcouldbegood I’d dance and sing alldaybecauseIwasgladofit.IsupposeMrs.Allanistoooldto dance and sing and ofcourse it wouldn’t bedignifiedinaminister’swife.But I can just feel she’sgladshe’s a Christian and that

she’d be one even if shecould get to heaven withoutit.”

“IsupposewemusthaveMr.andMrs.Allanup to teasomedaysoon,”saidMarillareflectively. “They’ve beenmost everywhere but here.Letmesee.NextWednesdaywouldbeagoodtimetohavethem.Butdon’tsayawordtoMatthew about it, for if heknew theywerecominghe’dfindsomeexcuse tobeaway

thatday.He’dgotsoused toMr. Bentley he didn’t mindhim,buthe’sgoing to find ithard togetacquaintedwithanew minister, and a newminister’s wife will frightenhimtodeath.”

“I’ll be as secret as thedead,” assured Anne. “Butoh, Marilla, will you let memakeacakefortheoccasion?I’d love to do something forMrs. Allan, and you know Icanmake a pretty good cake

bythistime.”“You can make a layer

cake,”promisedMarilla.Monday and Tuesday

greatpreparationswentonatGreen Gables. Having theminister and his wife to teawas a serious and importantundertaking, andMarillawasdeterminednottobeeclipsedby any of the Avonleahousekeepers.Annewaswildwith excitement and delight.She talked it all over with

Diana Tuesday night in thetwilight,astheysatonthebigred stones by the Dryad’sBubbleandmaderainbowsinthe water with little twigsdippedinfirbalsam.

“Everything is ready,Diana,exceptmycakewhichI’m tomake in themorning,and the baking-powderbiscuits which Marilla willmake just before teatime. Iassure you, Diana, thatMarillaandIhavehadabusy

two days of it. It’s such aresponsibility having aminister’s family to tea. Inever went through such anexperience before. Youshould just see our pantry.It’s a sight to behold.We’regoing to have jellied chickenand cold tongue. We’re tohave two kinds of jelly, redand yellow, and whippedcream and lemon pie, andcherrypie,andthreekindsofcookies, and fruitcake, and

Marilla’s famous yellowplumpreservesthatshekeepsespecially for ministers, andpound cake and layer cake,andbiscuitsasaforesaid;andnew bread and old both, incasetheminister isdyspepticand can’t eat new. Mrs.Lynde says ministers mostlyare dyspeptic, but I don’tthink Mr. Allan has been aministerlongenoughforittohavehadabadeffectonhim.IjustgrowcoldwhenIthink

ofmy layercake.Oh,Diana,whatifitshouldn’tbegood!Idreamed lastnight that Iwaschasedallaroundbyafearfulgoblin with a big layer cakeforahead.”

“It’llbegood,allright,”assured Diana, who was avery comfortable sort offriend.“I’msurethatpieceoftheoneyoumadethatwehadfor lunch in Idlewild twoweeks ago was perfectlyelegant.”

“Yes; but cakes havesuch a terrible habit ofturningoutbadjustwhenyouespecially want them to begood,”sighedAnne,settingaparticularly well-balsamedtwig afloat. “However, Isuppose I shall just have totrust to Providence and becarefultoputintheflour.Oh,look, Diana, what a lovelyrainbow!Doyousupposethedryadwill comeoutafterwego away and take it for a

scarf?”“You know there is no

such thing as a dryad,” saidDiana. Diana’s mother hadfound out about the HauntedWood and had beendecidedlyangryover it.Asaresult Diana had abstainedfrom any further imitativeflightsofimaginationanddidnot think it prudent tocultivate a spirit of beliefeveninharmlessdryads.

“But it’s so easy to

imagine there is,” saidAnne.“Every night, before I go tobed,Ilookoutofmywindowand wonder if the dryad isreally sitting here, combingherlockswiththespringforamirror. Sometimes I look forher footprints in the dew inthemorning.Oh,Diana,don’tgive up your faith in thedryad!”

Wednesday morningcame.Annegotupatsunrisebecause she was too excited

to sleep. She had caught asevere cold in the head byreasonofherdabbling in thespring on the precedingevening;butnothing shortofabsolute pneumonia couldhavequenchedherinterest inculinary matters thatmorning. After breakfast sheproceeded tomake her cake.When she finally shut theovendooruponitshedrewalongbreath.

“I’m sure I haven’t

forgotten anything this time,Marilla. But do you think itwill rise? Just supposeperhaps the baking powderisn’tgood?Iuseditoutofthenew can. And Mrs. Lyndesaysyoucanneverbesureofgetting good baking powdernowadayswheneverythingisso adulterated. Mrs. LyndesaystheGovernmentoughttotake the matter up, but shesays we’ll never see the daywhen a Tory Government

will do it. Marilla, what ifthatcakedoesn’trise?”

“We’ll have plentywithout it,” was Marilla’sunimpassioned way oflookingatthesubject.

The cake did rise,however,andcameoutoftheoven as light and feathery asgolden foam. Anne, flushedwith delight, clapped ittogether with layers of rubyjellyand,inimagination,sawMrs. Allan eating it and

possibly asking for anotherpiece!

“You’llbeusingthebesttea set, of course, Marilla,”she said. “Can I fix up thetable with ferns and wildroses?”

“I think that’s allnonsense,” sniffed Marilla.“In my opinion it’s theeatables that matter and notflummerydecorations.”

“Mrs. Barry had hertable decorated,” said Anne,

whowasnotentirelyguiltlessofthewisdomoftheserpent,“and theministerpaidheranelegant compliment. He saidit was a feast for the eye aswellasthepalate.”

“Well, do as you like,”said Marilla, who was quitedetermined not to besurpassed by Mrs. Barry oranybody else. “Only mindyou leave enough room forthedishesandthefood.”

Anne laid herself out to

decorate in a manner andafter a fashion that shouldleave Mrs. Barry’s nowhere.Having abundance of rosesand ferns and a very artistictaste of her own, she madethat tea table such a thing ofbeautythatwhentheministerand his wife sat down to ittheyexclaimedinchorusoveritsloveliness.

“It’s Anne’s doings,”saidMarilla,grimly just; andAnne felt that Mrs. Allan’s

approving smile was almosttoo much happiness for thisworld.

Matthew was there,having been inveigled intothe party only goodness andAnneknewhow.Hehadbeeninsuchastateofshynessandnervousness that Marilla hadgiven him up in despair, butAnne took him in hand sosuccessfully that he now satatthetableinhisbestclothesandwhitecollarandtalkedto

the minister notuninterestingly.HeneversaidawordtoMrs.Allan,butthatperhaps was not to beexpected.

All went merry as amarriage bell until Anne’slayer cake was passed. Mrs.Allan, having already beenhelped to a bewilderingvariety, declined it. ButMarilla, seeing thedisappointment on Anne’sface,saidsmilingly:

“Oh, you must take apiece of this, Mrs. Allan.Annemade it onpurpose foryou.”

“In that case I mustsample it,” laughed Mrs.Allan, helping herself to aplumptriangle,asdidalsotheministerandMarilla.

Mrs. Allan took amouthful of hers and a mostpeculiar expression crossedher face; not a word did shesay,however,butsteadilyate

away at it. Marilla saw theexpression and hastened totastethecake.

“Anne Shirley!” sheexclaimed,“whatonearthdidyouputintothatcake?”

“Nothing but what therecipe said, Marilla,” criedAnnewitha lookofanguish.“Oh,isn’titallright?”

“All right! It’s simplyhorrible.Mrs.Allan,don’ttryto eat it. Anne, taste ityourself. What flavoring did

youuse?”“Vanilla,” said Anne,

her face scarlet withmortification after tasting thecake. “Only vanilla. Oh,Marilla,itmusthavebeenthebaking powder. I had mysuspicionsofthatbak—”

“Baking powderfiddlesticks!Goandbringmethe bottle of vanilla youused.”

Anne fled to the pantryand returned with a small

bottle partially filled with abrown liquid and labelledyellowly,“BestVanilla.”

Marillatookit,uncorkedit,smelledit.

“Mercy on us, Anne,you’ve flavored that cakewith anodyne liniment. Ibroke the liniment bottle lastweek and poured what wasleft intoanoldemptyvanillabottle. I suppose it’s partlymy fault—I should havewarned you—but for pity’s

sake why couldn’t you havesmelledit?”

Anne dissolved intotears under this doubledisgrace.

“I couldn’t—I had sucha cold” and with this shefairly fled to the gablechamber, where she castherself on the bed and weptas one who refuses to becomforted.

Presently a light stepsounded on the stairs and

somebodyenteredtheroom.“Oh, Marilla,” sobbed

Anne without looking up,“I’m disgraced for ever. Ishallneverbeabletolivethisdown. Itwill get out—thingsalwaysdogetoutinAvonlea.Diana will ask me how mycake turned out and I shallhave to tell her the truth. Ishall always be pointed at asthe girl who flavored a cakewithanodyne liniment.Gil—theboys in schoolwillnever

get over laughing at it. Oh,Marilla, if you have a sparkofChristianpitydon’ttellmethatImustgodownandwashthedishesafterthis.I’llwashthem when the minister andhis wife are gone, but Icannot ever look Mrs. Allanin the face again. Perhapsshe’ll think I tried to poisonher. Mrs. Lynde says sheknows an orphan girl whotriedtopoisonherbenefactor.But the liniment isn’t

poisonous. It’s meant to betaken internally—althoughnot in cakes. Won’t you tellMrs.Allanso,Marilla?”

“Suppose you jump upandtellhersoyourself.”saidamerryvoice.

Anne flew up, to findMrs. Allan standing by herbed, surveying her withlaughingeyes.

“My dear little girl, youmustn’t cry like this,” shesaid, genuinely disturbed by

Anne’stragicface.“Why,it’sall just a funny mistake thatanybodymightmake.”

“Oh, no, it takes me tomake such a mistake,” saidAnne forlornly. “And Iwanted to have that cake soniceforyou,Mrs.Allan.”

“Yes,Iknow,dear.AndIassureyouIappreciateyourkindness and thoughtfulnessjust as much as if it hadturnedoutallright.Now,youmustn’t cry any more, but

come down with me andshowmeyourflowergarden.Miss Cuthbert tells me youhavealittleplotallyourown.Iwant to see it, for I’mverymuchinterestedinflowers.”

Anne permitted herselfto be led down andcomforted, reflecting that itwas really providential thatMrs. Allan was a kindredspirit.Nothingmorewassaidabout the liniment cake, andwhen the guests went away

Anne found that she hadenjoyed the evening morethan could have beenexpected, considering thatterribleincident.Neverthelessshesigheddeeply.

“Marilla, isn’t it nice tothink that tomorrow isanewday with no mistakes in ityet?”

“I’llwarrantyou’llmakeplenty in it,” saidMarilla. “Inever saw your beat formakingmistakes,Anne.”

“Yes, and well I knowit,” admitted Annemournfully. “But have youevernoticedoneencouragingthing about me, Marilla? Inevermakethesamemistaketwice.”

“I don’t know as that’smuch benefit when you’realwaysmakingnewones.”

“Oh, don’t you see,Marilla? There must be alimit to the mistakes onepersoncanmake,andwhenI

get to the end of them, thenI’ll be through with them.That’s a very comfortingthought.”

“Well, you’d better goand give that cake to thepigs,” said Marilla. “It isn’tfit for any human to eat, notevenJerryBuote.”

22

AnneIsInvitedOuttoTea

“AND WHAT ARE your eyespopping out of your headabout now?” asked Marilla,whenAnnehad just come in

fromarun to thepostoffice.“Have you discoveredanotherkindredspirit?”

Excitement hung aroundAnnelikeagarment,shoneinher eyes, kindled in everyfeature. She had comedancing up the lane, like awind-blown sprite, throughthemellowsunshineandlazyshadows of the Augustevening.

“No, Marilla, but oh,what do you think? I am

invited to tea at the mansetomorrow afternoon! Mrs.Allan left the letter formeatthepostoffice.Justlookatit,Marilla. ‘Miss Anne Shirley,Green Gables.’ That is thefirst time I was ever called‘Miss.’Suchathrillasitgaveme!Ishallcherishitforeveramong my choicesttreasures.”

“Mrs.Allan toldmeshemeant to have all themembers of her Sunday-

school class to tea in turn,”said Marilla, regarding thewonderful event very coolly.“You needn’t get in such afeveroverit.Dolearntotakethingscalmly,child.”

For Anne to take thingscalmly would have been tochangehernature.All “spiritand fire and dew,” as shewas, the pleasures and painsof life came to her withtrebled intensity. Marilla feltthisandwasvaguelytroubled

over it, realizing that the upsand downs of existencewould probably bear hardlyonthisimpulsivesoulandnotsufficiently understandingthattheequallygreatcapacityfor delight might more thancompensate. ThereforeMarillaconceivedittobeherduty to drill Anne into atranquil uniformity ofdispositionas impossible andalien to her as to a dancingsunbeam in one of the brook

shallows. She did not makemuch headway, as shesorrowfully admitted toherself.Thedownfallofsomedear hope or plan plungedAnne into “deeps ofaffliction.” The fulfilmentthereof exalted her to dizzyrealmsofdelight.Marillahadalmost begun to despair ofever fashioning this waif oftheworldintohermodellittlegirl of demure manners andprim deportment. Neither

would shehavebelieved thatshe really liked Anne muchbetterasshewas.

Anne went to bed thatnight speechless with miserybecauseMatthewhadsaidthewindwasroundnortheastandhe feared itwouldbea rainyday tomorrow. The rustle ofthe poplar leaves about thehouseworriedher,itsoundedso like pattering rain drops,and the dull, faraway roar ofthegulf,towhichshelistened

delightedly at other times,loving its strange, sonorous,haunting rhythm, nowseemed like a prophecy ofstorm and disaster to a smallmaiden who particularlywanted a fine day. Annethought that the morningwouldnevercome.

But all things have anend, even nights before thedayonwhichyouareinvitedto take teaat themanse.Themorning, in spite of

Matthew’s predictions, wasfineandAnne’sspiritssoaredtotheirhighest.

“Oh, Marilla, there issomething in me today thatmakes me just loveeverybody I see,” sheexclaimed as shewashed thebreakfast dishes. “You don’tknow how good I feel!Wouldn’titbeniceifitcouldlast? I believe I could be amodel child if I were justinvited out to tea every day.

Butoh,Marilla,it’sasolemnoccasion, too. I feel soanxious. What if I shouldn’tbehaveproperly?YouknowInever had tea at a mansebefore,andI’mnotsurethatIknow all the rules ofetiquette, although I’ve beenstudyingtherulesgivenintheEtiquette Department of theFamily Herald ever since Icame here. I’m so afraid I’lldo something silly or forgetto do something I should do.

Woulditbegoodmanners totake a second helping ofanything if you wanted toverymuch?”

“The trouble with you,Anne, is that you’re thinkingtoomuchaboutyourself.Youshould just think of Mrs.Allan and what would benicestandmostagreeableforher,” saidMarilla, hitting foronce in her life on a verysound and pithy piece ofadvice. Anne instantly

realizedthis.“You are right, Marilla.

I’ll try not to think aboutmyselfatall.”

Anne evidently gotthroughhervisitwithoutanyserious breach of “etiquette”for she came home throughthe twilight, under a great,high-sprung sky gloried overwithtrailsofsaffronandrosycloud, in a beatified state ofmind and told Marilla allaboutithappily,sittingonthe

big red sandstone slab at thekitchen door with her tiredcurly head in Marilla’sginghamlap.

A cool wind wasblowing down over the longharvest fields from the rimsof firry western hills andwhistlingthroughthepoplars.Oneclearstarhungabovetheorchardandthefireflieswereflittingover inLovers’Lane,in and out among the fernsand rustling boughs. Anne

watched them as she talkedand somehow felt that windandstarsandfireflieswerealltangled up together intosomething unutterably sweetandenchanting.

“Oh,Marilla, I’vehadamost fascinating time. I feelthat I have not lived in vainand I shall always feel likethatevenifIshouldneverbeinvited to tea at a manseagain.When Igot thereMrs.Allanmetmeatthedoor.She

was dressed in the sweetestdress of pale pink organdy,with dozens of frills andelbowsleeves,andshelookedjust like a seraph. I reallythink I’d like to be aminister’s wife when I growup, Marilla. A ministermightn’t mind my red hairbecause he wouldn’t bethinking of such worldlythings.Butthenofcourseonewould have to be naturallygoodandI’llneverbethat,so

I suppose there’s no use inthinking about it. Somepeople are naturally good,youknow,andothersarenot.I’m one of the others, Mrs.Lynde says I’m full oforiginal sin. No matter howhard I try to be good I cannevermakesuchasuccessofit as those who are naturallygood. It’s a good deal likegeometry,Iexpect.Butdon’tyou think the trying so hardoughttocountforsomething?

Mrs. Allan is one of thenaturally good people. I loveher passionately. You knowthere are some people, likeMatthewandMrs.Allan,thatyoucanloverightoffwithoutany trouble. And there areothers, likeMrs. Lynde, thatyou have to try very hard tolove.Youknowyououghttolovethembecausetheyknowsomuch and are such activeworkers in the church, butyou have to keep reminding

yourself of it all the time orelse you forget. There wasanotherlittlegirlatthemanseto tea, from theWhiteSandsSunday-school. Her namewasLaurettaBradley,andshewasaverynicelittlegirl.Notexactly a kindred spirit, youknow,butstillverynice.Wehadaneleganttea,andIthinkIkeptalltherulesofetiquettepretty well. After tea Mrs.Allan played and sang andshe got Lauretta and me to

sing, too. Mrs. Allan says Ihave a good voice and shesays I must sing in theSunday-school choir afterthis. You can’t think how Iwas thrilled at the merethought. I’ve longed so tosing in the Sunday-schoolchoir, as Diana does, but IfeareditwasanhonorIcouldnever aspire to. Lauretta hadto go home early becausethere is a big concert in theWhite Sands hotel tonight

andhersisteristoreciteatit.Lauretta says that theAmericansatthehotelgiveaconcerteveryfortnight inaidoftheCharlottetownhospital,andtheyasklotsoftheWhiteSands people to recite.Lauretta said sheexpected tobe asked herself some day. Ijustgazedatherinawe.AftershehadgoneMrs.AllanandIhadahearttohearttalk.Itoldher everything—about Mrs.Thomas and the twins and

Katie Maurice and Violettaand coming to Green Gablesand my troubles overgeometry. And would youbelieve it, Marilla? Mrs.Allan told me she was adunce at geometry, too. Youdon’t know how thatencouraged me. Mrs. LyndecametothemansejustbeforeIleft,andwhatdoyouthink,Marilla? The trustees havehiredanewteacherandit’salady. Her name is Miss

Muriel Stacy. Isn’t that aromantic name? Mrs. Lyndesays they’ve never had afemale teacher in Avonleabefore and she thinks it is adangerous innovation. But Ithink it will be splendid tohave a lady teacher, and Ireally don’t see how I’mgoingtolivethroughthetwoweeks before school begins,I’msoimpatienttoseeher.”

23

Anne Comes to GriefinanAffairofHonor

ANNE HAD TO live throughmore than two weeks, as ithappened. Almost a monthhaving elapsed since the

liniment cake episode, itwashigh time for her to get intofresh trouble of some sort,little mistakes, such asabsent-mindedly emptying apan of skim milk into abasket of yarn balls in thepantry instead of into thepigs’ bucket, and walkingcleanovertheedgeofthelogbridge into the brook whilewrapped in imaginativereverie, not really beingworthcounting.

A week after the tea atthemanseDianaBarrygaveaparty.

“Small and select,”Anne assured Marilla. “Justthegirlsinourclass.”

They had a very goodtime and nothing untowardhappeneduntilaftertea,whenthey found themselves in theBarry garden, a little tired ofalltheirgamesandripeforanenticing form of mischiefwhich might present itself.

This presently took the formof“daring.”

Daring was thefashionable amusementamong theAvonleasmall fryjustthen.Ithadbegunamongthe boys, but soon spread tothe girls, and all the sillythings that were done inAvonleathatsummerbecausethe doers thereof were“dared”todothemwouldfillabookbythemselves.

FirstofallCarrieSloane

daredRubyGillistoclimbtoacertainpointinthehugeoldwillow tree before the frontdoor; which Ruby Gillis,albeit in mortal dread of thefat green caterpillars withwhich said tree was infestedand with the fear of hermotherbeforehereyesifsheshould tear her new muslindress, nimbly did, to thediscomfiture of the aforesaidCarrieSloane.

Then Josie Pye dared

Jane Andrews to hop on herleft leg around the gardenwithout stopping once orputting her right foot to theground;which JaneAndrewsgamely tried to do, but gaveoutatthethirdcornerandhadtoconfessherselfdefeated.

Josie’s triumph beingrather more pronounced thangood taste permitted, AnneShirley dared her to walkalong the top of the boardfence which bounded the

garden to the east. Now, to“walk” board fences requiresmore skill and steadiness ofheadandheelthanonemightsuppose who has never triedit.But Josie Pye, if deficientin some qualities that makefor popularity, had at least anatural and inborn gift, dulycultivated, forwalking boardfences. Josie walked theBarry fence with an airyunconcern which seemed toimply that a little thing like

that wasn’t worth a “dare.”Reluctant admiration greetedher exploit, for most of theothergirlscouldappreciateit,having suffered many thingsthemselves in their efforts towalk fences. Josie descendedfrom her perch, flushed withvictory, and darted a defiantglanceatAnne.

Anne tossed her redbraids.

“Idon’tthinkit’ssuchaverywonderful thing towalk

alittle,low,boardfence,”shesaid. “I knew a girl inMarysville who could walktheridgepoleofaroof.”

“Idon’tbelieve it,” saidJosie flatly. “I don’t believeanybody could walk aridgepole. You couldn’t,anyhow.”

“Couldn’t I?” criedAnnerashly.

“Then I dare you to doit,” said Josie defiantly. “Idare you to climb up there

andwalktheridgepoleofMr.Barry’skitchenroof.”

Anne turned pale, butthere was clearly only onethingtobedone.Shewalkedtowards the house, where aladderwasleaningagainstthekitchen roof. All the fifth-class girls said. “Oh!” partlyin excitement, partly indismay.

“Don’tyoudoit,Anne,”entreated Diana. “You’ll falloffandbekilled.Nevermind

JosiePye.It isn’tfair todareanybody to do anything sodangerous.”

“Imustdo it.Myhonoris at stake,” said Annesolemnly. “I shall walk thatridgepole.Diana,orperishintheattempt.IfIamkilledyouare to have my pearl beadring.”

Anneclimbedtheladderamid breathless silence,gained the ridgepole,balanced herself uprightly on

that precarious footing, andstarted to walk along it,dizzilyconsciousthatshewasuncomfortablyhighup in theworld and that walkingridgepoleswasnota thing inwhich your imaginationhelped you out much.Nevertheless,shemanagedtotake several steps before thecatastrophe came. Then sheswayed, lost her balance,stumbled, staggered and fell,sliding down over the

sunbaked roof and crashingoff it through the tangle ofVirginiacreeperbeneath—allbefore the dismayed circlebelow could give asimultaneous,terrifiedshriek.

IfAnnehadtumbledofftheroofonthesideupwhichshe ascended Diana wouldprobably have fallen heir tothe pearl bead ring then andthere. Fortunately she fell ontheotherside,wheretheroofextended down over the

porchsonearlytothegroundthat a fall therefrom was amuch less serious thing.NeverthelesswhenDianaandthe other girls had rushedfrantically around the house—except Ruby Gillis, whoremained as if rooted to theground and went intohysterics—they found Annelying all white and limpamong thewreckand ruinoftheVirginiacreeper.

“Anne, are you killed?”

shrieked Diana, throwingherself on her knees besideher friend. “Oh, Anne, dearAnne,speakjustonewordtome and tell me if you’rekilled.”

Totheimmensereliefofallthegirls,andespeciallyofJosie Pye, who, in spite oflackofimagination,hadbeenseized with horrible visionsofafuturebrandedasthegirlwho was the cause of AnneShirley’s early and tragic

death, Anne sat dizzily upandanswereduncertainly:

“No, Diana, I am notkilled, but I think I amrenderedunconscious.”

“Where?” sobbedCarrieSloane.“Oh,where,Anne?”

Before Anne couldanswer Mrs. Barry appearedon the scene.At sight of herAnnetriedtoscrambletoherfeet,butsankbackagainwithasharplittlecryofpain.

“What’s the matter?

Where have you hurtyourself?” demanded Mrs.Barry.

“My ankle,” gaspedAnne.“Oh,Diana,pleasefindyour father and ask him totakeme home. I know I cannever walk there. And I’msure I couldn’t hop so far onone foot when Jane couldn’tevenhoparoundthegarden.”

Marilla was out in theorchard picking a panful ofsummerappleswhenshesaw

Mr. Barry coming over thelog bridge and up the slope,with Mrs. Barry beside himand a whole procession oflittle girls trailing after him.In his arms he carried Annewhose head lay limplyagainsthisshoulder.

At that moment Marillahad a revelation. In thesudden stab of fear thatpierced to her very heart sherealizedwhatAnnehadcometo mean to her. She would

have admitted that she likedAnne—nay,thatshewasveryfond of Anne. But now sheknew as she hurried wildlydowntheslopethatAnnewasdearertoherthananythingonearth.

“Mr. Barry, what hashappened to her?” shegasped, more white andshaken than the self-contained, sensible Marillahadbeenformanyyears.

Anne herself answered,

liftingherhead.“Don’t be very

frightened, Marilla. I waswalking the ridgepole and Ifell off. I expect I havesprained my ankle. But,Marilla, Imight have brokenmy neck. Let us look on thebrightsideofthings.”

“I might have knownyou’dgoanddosomethingofthe sortwhen I let yougo tothat party,” said Marilla,sharp and shrewish in her

very relief. “Bring her inhere, Mr. Barry, and lay heron the sofa. Mercy me, thechildhasgoneandfainted!”

It was quite true.Overcomeby thepainofherinjury,Annehadonemoreofherwishesgrantedtoher.Shehadfainteddeadaway.

Matthew, hastilysummoned from the harvestfield, was straightwaydispatched for the doctor,who in due time came, to

discover that the injury wasmore serious than they hadsupposed. Anne’s ankle wasbroken.

Thatnight,whenMarillawent up to the east gable,where awhite-faced girlwaslying, a plaintive voicegreetedherfromthebed.

“Aren’t you very sorryforme,Marilla?”

“Itwasyourownfault,”saidMarilla, twitching downtheblindandlightingalamp.

“And that is just whyyou shouldbe sorry forme,”said Anne, “because thethought that it is allmy ownfaultiswhatmakesitsohard.If I could blame it onanybody I would feel somuchbetter.Butwhatwouldyou have done, Marilla, ifyouhadbeendaredtowalkaridgepole?”

“I’dhavestayedongoodfirmgroundandletthemdareaway. Such absurdity!” said

Marilla.Annesighed.“But you have such

strength of mind, Marilla. Ihaven’t, I just felt that Icouldn’t bear Josie Pye’sscorn. She would havecrowed over me all my life.And I think I have beenpunished so much that youneedn’t be very cross withme,Marilla.It’snotabitniceto faint, after all. And thedoctor hurt me dreadfully

when he was setting myankle. I won’t be able to goaroundforsixorsevenweeksand I’ll miss the new ladyteacher. She won’t be newany more by the time I’mabletogotoschool.AndGil—everybody will get aheadof me in class. Oh, I am anafflictedmortal.ButI’lltrytobearitallbravelyifonlyyouwon’t be cross with me,Marilla.”

“There, there, I’m not

cross,” saidMarilla. “You’rean unlucky child, there’s nodoubt about that; but, as yousay,you’llhave thesufferingof it. Here now, try and eatsomesupper.”

“Isn’t it fortunate I’vegot such an imagination?”said Anne. “It will help methrough splendidly, I expect.What do peoplewho haven’tany imagination do whenthey break their bones, doyousuppose,Marilla?”

Annehadgoodreasontoblessherimaginationmanyatime and oft during thetedious seven weeks thatfollowed. But she was notsolely dependent on it. Shehad many visitors and not aday passed without one ormore of the schoolgirlsdropping in to bring herflowersandbooksandtellherall the happenings in thejuvenileworldofAvonlea.

“Everybody has been so

good and kind, Marilla,”sighed Anne happily, on thedaywhenshecouldfirstlimpacrossthefloor.“Itisn’tverypleasant to be laid up; butthere is a bright side to it,Marilla. You find out howmanyfriendsyouhave.Why,even Superintendent Bellcame to see me, and he’sreallyaveryfineman.Notakindred spirit, of course; butstill I like him and I’mawfullysorryIevercriticized

hisprayers. I believenowhereally does mean them, onlyhe has got into the habit ofsaying them as if he didn’t.Hecouldgetoverthatifhe’dtake a little trouble. I gavehimagoodbroadhint. I toldhimhowhardItriedtomakemy own little private prayersinteresting. He told me allabout the time he broke hisanklewhen hewas a boy. Itdoesseemsostrangetothinkof Superintendent Bell ever

being a boy. Even myimaginationhasitslimitsforIcan’t imagine that. When ItrytoimaginehimasaboyIsee him with gray whiskersand spectacles, just as helooks in Sunday-school, onlysmall. Now, it’s so easy toimagineMrs.Allanasalittlegirl. Mrs. Allan has been tosee me fourteen times. Isn’tthatsomethingtobeproudofMarilla? When a minister’swife has so many claims on

her time! She is such acheerful person to have visityou, too. She never tells youit’s your own fault and shehopes you’ll be a better girlon account of it.Mrs.Lyndealwaystoldmethatwhenshecametoseeme;andshesaidit inakindofwaythatmademefeelshemighthopeI’dbeabettergirl,butdidn’t reallybelieve I would. Even JosiePye came to see me. Ireceived her as politely as I

could, because I think shewas sorry she dared me towalk a ridgepole. If I hadbeenkilledshewouldhavetocarry a dark burden ofremorseallherlife.Dianahasbeen a faithful friend. She’sbeenovereveryday tocheermy lonely pillow. But oh, IshallbesogladwhenIcangoto school for I’veheard suchexcitingthingsaboutthenewteacher. The girls all thinkshe is perfectly sweet. Diana

saysshehastheloveliestfaircurly hair and suchfascinating eyes. She dressesbeautifully, and her sleevepuffsarebiggerthananybodyelse’s in Avonlea. Everyother Friday afternoon shehasrecitationsandeverybodyhastosayapieceortakepartin a dialogue. Oh, it’s justglorious to think of it. JosiePyesaysshehatesit,butthatis just because Josie has solittle imagination. Diana and

Ruby Gillis and JaneAndrews are preparing adialogue, called ‘A MorningVisit,’ for next Friday. Andthe Friday afternoons theydon’t have recitations MissStacy takes them all to thewoods for a ‘field’ day andthey study ferns and flowersand birds. And they havephysical culture exercisesevery morning and evening.Mrs. Lynde says she neverheard of such goings-on and

it all comesof having a ladyteacher.ButIthinkitmustbesplendidand Ibelieve I shallfind that Miss Stacy is akindredspirit.”

“There’sone thingplainto be seen. Anne,” saidMarilla,“andthatisthatyourfall off theBarry roof hasn’tinjuredyourtongueatall.”

24

Miss Stacy and HerPupils Get Up aConcert

ITWAS OCTOBER again whenAnnewasreadytogobacktoschool—a glorious October,

allredandgold,withmellowmornings when the valleyswerefilledwithdelicatemistsas if thespiritofautumnhadpouredtheminforthesuntodrain—amethyst, pearl,silver, rose, and smoke-blue.Thedewsweresoheavy thatthe fields glistened like clothof silverand therewere suchheapsofrustlingleavesinthehollows of many-stemmedwoodstoruncrisplythrough.TheBirchPathwasacanopy

of yellow and the fernsweresear and brown all along it.Therewas a tang in theveryair that inspired theheartsofsmall maidens tripping,unlike snails, swiftly andwillinglytoschool;anditwasjolly to be back again at thelittle brown desk besideDiana, with Ruby Gillisnodding across the aisle andCarrie Sloane sending upnotesandJuliaBellpassinga“chew” of gum down from

the back seat. Anne drew along breath of happiness asshe sharpened her pencil andarranged her picture cards inher desk. Life was certainlyveryinteresting.

In the new teacher shefound another true andhelpful friend. Miss Stacywas a bright, sympatheticyoungwomanwiththehappygift of winning and holdingthe affections of her pupilsandbringingoutthebestthat

was in them mentally andmorally.Anne expanded likea flower under thiswholesome influence andcarriedhome to theadmiringMatthew and the criticalMarilla glowing accounts ofschoolworkandaims.

“I loveMiss Stacy withmywholeheart,Marilla.Sheis so ladylike and she hassuchasweetvoice.Whenshepronounces my name I feelinstinctively that she’s

spelling itwithane.Wehadrecitations this afternoon. Ijustwishyoucouldhavebeentheretohearmerecite‘Mary,QueenofScots.’Ijustputmywhole soul into it. RubyGillis told me coming homethat the way I said the line,‘Now for my father’s arm,she said, my woman’s heartfarewell,’justmadeherbloodruncold.”

“Well now, you mightreciteitformesomeofthese

days, out in the barn,”suggestedMatthew.

“Of course I will,” saidAnne meditatively, “but Iwon’tbeabletodoitsowell,I know. It won’t be soexciting as it is when youhaveawholeschoolfulbeforeyou hanging breathlessly onyour words. I know I won’tbe able to make your bloodruncold.”

“Mrs. Lynde says itmade her blood run cold to

see the boys climbing to theverytopsofthosebigtreesonBell’s hill after crows’ nestslast Friday.” said Marilla. “Iwonder at Miss Stacy forencouragingit.”

“But we wanted acrow’snestfornaturestudy,”explained Anne. “That wason our field afternoon. Fieldafternoons are splendid,Marilla. And Miss Stacyexplains everything sobeautifully.Wehave towrite

compositions on our fieldafternoons and I write thebestones.”

“It’sveryvainofyoutosay so then. You’d better letyourteachersayit.”

“But she did say it,Marilla. And indeed I’m notvain about it. How can I be,when I’m such a dunce atgeometry? Although I’mreally beginning to seethrough it a little, too. MissStacymakes it soclear.Still,

I’ll never be good at it and Iassure you it is a humblingreflection. But I lovewritingcompositions. Mostly MissStacy letsuschooseourownsubjects; but next week wearetowriteacompositiononsome remarkable person. It’shard to choose among somanyremarkablepeoplewhohave lived. Mustn’t it besplendidtoberemarkableandhave compositions writtenabout you after you’re dead?

Oh,Iwoulddearlylovetoberemarkable. I think when Igrow up I’ll be a trainednurse and go with the RedCrosses to the field of battleas a messenger of mercy.Thatis, ifIdon’tgooutasaforeign missionary. Thatwould be very romantic, butone would have to be verygood tobe amissionary, andthat would be a stumbling-block. We have physicalculture exercises every day,

too. Theymake you gracefulandpromotedigestion.”

“Promote fiddlesticks!”said Marilla, who honestlythoughtitwasallnonsense.

But all the fieldafternoons and recitationFridays and physical culturecontortions paled before aproject which Miss Stacybrought forward inNovember. Thiswas that thescholars of Avonlea schoolshould get up a concert and

hold it in the hall onChristmas night, for thelaudable purpose of helpingtopayforaschoolhouseflag.Thepupilsoneandall takinggraciously to this plan, thepreparations for a programwere begun at once. And ofall the excited performers-elect none was so excited asAnne Shirley, who threwherself into the undertakingheart and soul, hampered asshe was by Marilla’s

disapproval. Marilla thoughtitallrankfoolishness.

“It’s just filling yourheads up with nonsense andtaking time that ought to beput on your lessons,” shegrumbled.“Idon’tapproveofchildren’sgettingupconcertsandracingabouttopractices.It makes them vain andforward and fond ofgadding.”

“Butthinkoftheworthyobject,” pleaded Anne. “A

flag will cultivate a spirit ofpatriotism,Marilla.”

“Fudge! There’sprecious little patriotism inthe thoughts of any of you.Allyouwantisagoodtime.”

“Well, when you cancombine patriotism and fun,isn’t it all right? Of courseit’s realnice tobegettingupa concert. We’re going tohave six choruses and Dianais to sing a solo. I’m in twodialogues—‘The Society for

the Suppression of Gossip’and ‘The Fairy Queen.’ Theboys are going to have adialogue, too. And I’m tohave two recitations,Marilla.IjusttremblewhenIthinkofit, but it’s a nice thrilly kindoftremble.Andwe’retohavea tableau at the last—‘Faith,HopeandCharity.’DianaandRubyandIaretobeinit,alldraped inwhitewith flowinghair.I’mtobeHope,withmyhands clasped—so—and my

eyes uplifted. I’m going topracticemy recitations in thegarret. Don’t be alarmed ifyouhearmegroaning.Ihaveto groan heartrendingly inone of them, and it’s reallyhard togetupagoodartisticgroan, Marilla. Josie Pye issulky because she didn’t getthe part she wanted in thedialogue. She wanted to bethe fairy queen. That wouldhavebeenridiculous,forwhoeverheardofafairyqueenas

fat as Josie? Fairy queensmust be slender. JaneAndrews is to be the queenand I am to be one of hermaids of honor. Josie saysshe thinks a red-haired fairyis just as ridiculous as a fatone, but I do not let myselfmindwhat Josie says. I’m tohave awreath ofwhite rosesonmyhairandRubyGillisisgoingtolendmeherslippersbecause I haven’t any ofmyown.It’snecessaryforfairies

to have slippers, you know.Youcouldn’t imaginea fairywearing boots, could you?Especially with copper toes?Wearegoing todecorate thehallwithcreepingspruceandfir mottoes with pink tissuepaper roses in them.Andwearealltomarchintwobytwoafter the audience is seated,while Emma White plays amarch on the organ. Oh,Marilla, I know you are notso enthusiastic about it as I

am, but don’t you hope yourlittle Anne will distinguishherself?”

“AllIhopeisthatyou’llbehave yourself. I’ll beheartily glad when all thisfussisoverandyou’llbeableto settle down. You aresimply good for nothing justnow with your head stuffedfull of dialogues and groansand tableaus. As for yourtongue, it’s amarvel it’s notcleanwornout.”

Anne sighed and betookherselftothebackyard,overwhich a young new moonwas shining through theleafless poplar boughs froman apple-green western sky,and where Matthew wassplittingwood.Anneperchedherselfonablockand talkedthe concert over with him,sure of an appreciative andsympathetic listener in thisinstanceatleast.

“Wellnow,I reckon it’s

going to be a pretty goodconcert. And I expect you’lldo your part fine,” he said,smiling down into her eager,vivacious little face. Annesmiled back at him. Thosetwo were the best of friendsand Matthew thanked hisstarsmanyatimeandoftthathe had nothing to do withbringing her up. That wasMarilla’sexclusiveduty; if ithad been his he would havebeen worried over frequent

conflicts between inclinationand said duty. As it was, hewas free to “spoil Anne”—Marilla’s phrasing—as muchas he liked. But it was notsuch a bad arrangement afterall; a little “appreciation”sometimes does quite asmuch good as all theconscientious “bringing up”intheworld.

25

Matthew Insists onPuffedSleeves

MATTHEWWAS HAVING a badten minutes of it. He hadcome into the kitchen, in thetwilight of a cold, gray

December evening, and hadsat down in the woodboxcorner to take off his heavyboots,unconsciousofthefactthat Anne and a bevy of herschoolmates were having apractice of “The FairyQueen” in the sitting room.Presently they came troopingthrough the hall and out intothe kitchen, laughing andchatteringgaily.Theydidnotsee Matthew, who shrankbashfully back into the

shadowsbeyondthewoodboxwithabootinonehandandabootjack in the other, and hewatched them shyly for theaforesaid tenminutesas theyput on caps and jackets andtalkedaboutthedialogueandthe concert. Anne stoodamong them,bright-eyedandanimated as they; butMatthew suddenly becameconscious that there wassomethingaboutherdifferentfrom her mates. And what

worriedMatthewwasthatthedifference impressed him asbeing something that shouldnotexist.Annehadabrighterface,andbigger,starriereyes,and more delicate featuresthan the others; even shy,unobservant Matthew hadlearned to take note of thesethings;butthedifferencethatdisturbedhimdidnotconsistinanyoftheserespects.Theninwhatdiditconsist?

Matthewwashauntedby

this question long after thegirls had gone, arm in arm,down the long, hard-frozenlane and Anne had betakenherselftoherbooks.Hecouldnot refer it to Marilla, who,hefelt,wouldbequitesuretosniff scornfully and remarkthat the only difference shesaw between Anne and theother girls was that theysometimes kept their tonguesquiet while Anne never did.This,Matthew felt,wouldbe

nogreathelp.He had recourse to his

pipethateveningtohelphimstudy it out, much toMarilla’s disgust. After twohours of smoking and hardreflectionMatthew arrived ata solution of his problem.Annewasnotdressedliketheothergirls!

The more Matthewthought about the matter themore he was convinced thatAnneneverhadbeendressed

like the other girls—neversince shehadcome toGreenGables. Marilla kept herclothedinplain,darkdresses,all made after the sameunvaryingpattern.IfMatthewknew there was such a thingas fashion in dress it is asmuch as he did; but he wasquitesurethatAnne’ssleevesdid not look at all like thesleeves the other girls wore.He recalled the cluster oflittlegirlshehadseenaround

her that evening—all gay inwaists of red and blue andpink and white—and hewondered why Marillaalways kept her so plainlyandsoberlygowned.

Ofcourse, itmustbeallright. Marilla knew best andMarilla was bringing her up.Probably some wise,inscrutablemotive was to beserved thereby. But surely itwould do no harm to let thechildhaveoneprettydress—

something like Diana Barryalways wore. Matthewdecided that he would giveherone;thatsurelycouldnotbe objected to as anunwarrantedputting inofhisoar. Christmas was only afortnight off. A nice newdresswouldbetheverythingforapresent.Matthew,withasighofsatisfaction,putawayhis pipe and went to bed,while Marilla opened all thedoorsandairedthehouse.

The very next eveningMatthew betook himself toCarmody to buy the dress,determined to get the worstoverandhavedonewithit.Itwouldbe, he felt assured,notrifling ordeal. There weresome things Matthew couldbuy and prove himself nomeanbargainer;butheknewhewould be at themercy ofshopkeeperswhen it came tobuyingagirl’sdress.

After much cogitation

Matthew resolved to go toSamuel Lawson’s storeinsteadofWilliamBlair’s.Tobesure, theCuthbertsalwayshad gone toWilliam Blair’s;it was almost as much amatter of conscience withthem as to attend thePresbyterian church and voteConservative. But WilliamBlair’s two daughtersfrequently waited oncustomers thereandMatthewheld them in absolute dread.

He could contrive to dealwith them when he knewexactly what he wanted andcouldpointitout;butinsucha matter as this, requiringexplanation and consultation,Matthew felt thathemustbesure of a man behind thecounter. So he would go toLawson’s, where Samuel orhissonwouldwaitonhim.

Alas! Matthew did notknow that Samuel, in therecent expansion of his

business, had set up a ladyclerkalso;shewasanieceofhiswife’sandaverydashingyoung person indeed, with ahuge, drooping pompadour,big,rollingbrowneyes,andamost extensive andbewildering smile. She wasdressed with exceedingsmartness and wore severalbanglebracelets thatglitteredand rattled and tinkled withevery movement of herhands.Matthewwas covered

withconfusionat findingherthereatall;andthosebanglescompletely wrecked his witsatonefellswoop.

“What can I do for youthis evening, Mr. Cuthbert?”Miss.LucillaHarrisinquired,briskly and ingratiatingly,tappingthecounterwithbothhands.

“Have you any—any—any—well now, say anygarden rakes?” stammeredMatthew.

Miss Harris lookedsomewhat surprised, as wellshe might, to hear a maninquiring for garden rakes inthemiddleofDecember.

“I believe we have oneor two left over,” she said,“but they’re upstairs in thelumberroom.I’llgoandsee.”

During her absenceMatthew collected hisscattered senses for anothereffort.

When Miss Harris

returned with the rake andcheerfully inquired:“Anything else tonight, Mr.Cuthbert?”Matthew took hiscourage in both hands andreplied:“Wellnow,sinceyousuggest it, I might as well—take—that is—look at—buysome—somehayseed.”

Miss Harris had heardMatthewCuthbertcalledodd.She now concluded that hewasentirelycrazy.

“We only keep hayseed

in the spring,” she explainedloftily.“We’venoneonhandjustnow.”

“Oh, certainly—certainly—just as you say,”stammered unhappyMatthew,seizingtherakeandmaking for the door. At thethreshold he recollected thathehadnot paid for it andheturnedmiserablyback.WhileMissHarriswascountingouthis change he rallied hispowers for a final desperate

attempt.“Well now—if it isn’t

toomuchtrouble—Imightaswell—that is—I’d like tolookat—at—somesugar.”

“White or brown?”queriedMissHarrispatiently.

“Oh—well now—brown,”saidMatthewfeebly.

“There’s a barrel of itoverthere,”saidMissHarris,shakingherbanglesatit.“It’stheonlykindwehave.”

“I’ll—I’ll take twenty

pounds of it,” saidMatthew,with beads of perspirationstandingonhisforehead.

Matthew had drivenhalfway home before hewashis own man again. It hadbeen a gruesome experience,but it served him right, hethought, for committing theheresy of going to a strangestore.Whenhereachedhomehe hid the rake in the tool-house, but the sugar hecarriedintoMarilla.

“Brown sugar!”exclaimed Marilla.“Whatever possessed you toget so much? You know Inever use it except for thehiredman’sporridgeorblackfruitcake. Jerry’s gone andI’vemademycakelongago.It’s not good sugar, either—it’scoarseanddark—WilliamBlair doesn’t usually keepsugarlikethat.”

“I—I thought it mightcome in handy sometime,”

said Matthew, making goodhisescape.

WhenMatthew came tothink the matter over hedecided that a woman wasrequired to cope with thesituation. Marilla was out ofthe question. Matthew feltsure she would throw coldwater on his project at once.Remained only Mrs. Lynde;for of no other woman inAvonleawouldMatthewhavedared to ask advice.ToMrs.

Lynde he went accordingly,and that good lady promptlytook the matter out of theharassedman’shands.

“Pickoutadressforyouto give Anne? To be sure Iwill. I’m going to CarmodytomorrowandI’llattendtoit.Have you somethingparticularinmind?No?Well,I’ll just go by my ownjudgment then. I believe anice rich brown would justsuitAnne, andWilliamBlair

hassomenewgloriainthat’srealpretty.Perhapsyou’dlikemetomakeitupforher,too,seeing that if Marilla was tomakeitAnnewouldprobablygetwindofitbeforethetimeand spoil the surprise?Well,I’lldoit.No,itisn’tamiteoftrouble. I like sewing. I’llmakeittofitmyniece,JennyGillis, for she and Anne areas like as two peas as far asfiguregoes.”

“Well now, I’m much

obliged,” saidMatthew, “and—and—Idunno—butI’dlike—I think they make thesleevesdifferentnowadaystowhat they used to be. If itwouldn’tbeasking toomuchI—I’d like themmade in thenewway.”

“Puffs? Of course. Youneedn’t worry a speck moreaboutit,Matthew.I’llmakeitupintheverylatestfashion,”said Mrs. Lynde. To herselfsheaddedwhenMatthewhad

gone:“It’ll be a real

satisfaction to see that poorchild wearing somethingdecent for once. The wayMarilla dresses her ispositively ridiculous, that’swhat, and I’ve ached to tellher so plainly a dozen times.I’ve held my tongue though,for I can seeMarilla doesn’twant advice and she thinksshe knows more aboutbringingchildrenupthanIdo

forallshe’sanoldmaid.Butthat’s always the way. Folksthat has brought up childrenknowthatthere’snohardandfast method in the worldthat’ll suit every child. Butthemasneverhave think it’sall as plain and easy asRuleofThree—just set your threeterms down so fashion, andthe sum’ll work out correct.But flesh and blood don’tcome under the head ofarithmetic and that’s where

Marilla Cuthbert makes hermistake. I suppose she’strying to cultivate a spirit ofhumility inAnnebydressingherasshedoes;butit’smorelikely to cultivate envy anddiscontent. I’msure thechildmust feel the differencebetween her clothes and theother girls’. But to think ofMatthew taking notice of it!That man is waking up afterbeing asleep for over sixtyyears.”

Marilla knew all thefollowing fortnight thatMatthew had something onhismind,butwhatitwasshecould not guess, untilChristmas Eve, when Mrs.Lynde brought up the newdress.Marilla behaved prettywellonthewhole,althoughitis very likely she distrustedMrs. Lynde’s diplomaticexplanation that she hadmade the dress becauseMatthew was afraid Anne

would find out about it toosoonifMarillamadeit.

“So this is whatMatthewhasbeenlookingsomysteriousover andgrinningabout to himself for twoweeks,isit?”shesaidalittlestifflybut tolerantly.“Iknewhe was up to somefoolishness.Well, Imust sayI don’t think Anne neededanymoredresses.Imadeherthreegood,warm,serviceableones this fall, and anything

more is sheer extravagance.There’s enough material inthosesleevesalonetomakeawaist, I declare there is.You’ll just pamper Anne’svanity,Matthew,andshe’sasvainasapeacocknow.Well,I hope she’ll be satisfied atlast, for I know she’s beenhankering after these sillysleeves ever since they camein, although she never said awordafterthefirst.Thepuffshave been getting bigger and

more ridiculous right along;they’re as big as balloonsnow.Nextyearanybodywhowears them will have to gothroughadoorsideways.”

Christmas morningbroke on a beautiful whiteworld.IthadbeenaverymildDecember and people hadlooked forward to a greenChristmas; but just enoughsnowfellsoftlyinthenighttotransfigure Avonlea. Annepeeped out from her frosted

gablewindowwith delightedeyes.The firs in theHauntedWood were all feathery andwonderful; the birches andwild cherry trees wereoutlined in pearl; theploughed fields werestretches of snowy dimples;and therewasa crisp tang inthe air that was glorious.Anne ran downstairs singinguntil her voice reechoedthroughGreenGables.

“Merry Christmas,

Marilla! Merry Christmas,Matthew! Isn’t it a lovelyChristmas? I’m so glad it’swhite. Any other kind ofChristmas doesn’t seem real,does it? I don’t like greenChristmases. They’re notgreen—they’re just nastyfaded browns and grays.Whatmakespeoplecallthemgreen? Why—why—Matthew, is that forme?Oh,Matthew!”

Matthew had sheepishly

unfolded the dress from itspaper swathings and held itoutwithadeprecatoryglanceatMarilla,whofeignedtobecontemptuously filling theteapot, but neverthelesswatched the scene out of thecorner of her eye with aratherinterestedair.

Anne took thedressandlooked at it in reverentsilence.Oh,howprettyitwas—a lovely soft brown gloriawith all the gloss of silk; a

skirt with dainty frills andshirrings; a waist elaboratelypin-tucked in the mostfashionableway,with a littleruffle of filmy lace at theneck. But the sleeves—theywere the crowning glory!Longelbowcuffs, andabovethem two beautiful puffsdivided by rows of shirringand bows of brown silkribbon.

“That’s a Christmaspresent for you, Anne,” said

Matthew shyly. “Why—why—Anne, don’t you like it?Wellnow—wellnow.”

For Anne’s eyes hadsuddenlyfilledwithtears.

“Like it! Oh,Matthew!”Anne laid the dress over achair and clasped her hands.“Matthew, it’s perfectlyexquisite. Oh, I can neverthank you enough. Look atthosesleeves!Oh,itseemstome this must be a happydream.”

“Well, well, let us havebreakfast,” interruptedMarilla. “Imust say,Anne, Idon’t think you needed thedress; but sinceMatthew hasgot it for you, see that youtakegoodcareofit.There’sahair ribbon Mrs. Lynde leftforyou. It’sbrown, tomatchthedress.Comenow,sitin.”

“I don’t see how I’mgoing to eat breakfast,” saidAnne rapturously. “Breakfastseems so commonplace at

suchanexcitingmoment. I’drather feast my eyes on thatdress.I’msogladthatpuffedsleevesarestillfashionable.ItdidseemtomethatI’dneverget over it if they went outbefore I had a dress withthem. I’d never have feltquitesatisfied,yousee.ItwaslovelyofMrs.Lynde togivemetheribbon,too.IfeelthatIoughttobeaverygoodgirlindeed. It’s at times like thisI’m sorry I’m not a model

little girl; and I alwaysresolve that I will be infuture.Butsomehowit’shardto carry out your resolutionswhen irresistible temptationscome.Still,Ireallywillmakeanextraeffortafterthis.”

When the commonplacebreakfast was over Dianaappeared, crossing the whitelog bridge in the hollow, agay little figure in hercrimson ulster. Anne flewdowntheslopetomeether.

“Merry Christmas,Diana! And oh, it’s awonderful Christmas. I’vesomething splendid to showyou. Matthew has given methe loveliest dress,with suchsleeves. I couldn’t evenimagineanynicer.”

“I’ve got somethingmore for you,” said Dianabreathlessly. “Here—thisbox. Aunt Josephine sent usout a big box with ever somanythingsinit—andthisis

for you. I’d have brought itover last night, but it didn’tcome until after dark, and Inever feel very comfortablecoming through the HauntedWoodinthedarknow.”

Anne opened the boxand peeped in. First a cardwith “For the Anne-girl andMerryChristmas,”writtenonit; and then, a pair of thedaintiest little kid slippers,with beaded toes and satinbowsandglisteningbuckles.

“Oh,” said Anne,“Diana, this is too much. Imustbedreaming.”

“I call it providential,”saidDiana. “Youwon’thaveto borrow Ruby’s slippersnow,andthat’sablessing,forthey’re two sizes too big foryou,anditwouldbeawfultohear a fairy shuffling. JosiePyewouldbedelighted.Mindyou, RobWright went homewith Gertie Pye from thepracticenightbeforelast.Did

youeverhearanythingequaltothat?”

AlltheAvonleascholarswereinafeverofexcitementthatday,forthehallhadtobedecorated and a last grandrehearsalheld.

The concert came off inthe evening and was apronounced success. Thelittlehallwascrowded;alltheperformers did excellentlywell,butAnnewasthebrightparticularstaroftheoccasion,

asevenenvy, in theshapeofJosiePye,darednotdeny.

“Oh, hasn’t it been abrilliant evening?” sighedAnne, when it was all overand she and Diana werewalkinghome togetherunderadark,starrysky.

“Everything went offvery well,” said Dianapractically. “I guesswemusthave made as much as tendollars.Mindyou,Mr.Allanisgoingtosendanaccountof

it to the Charlottetownpapers.”

“Oh, Diana, will wereallyseeournamesinprint?Itmakesme thrill to thinkofit. Your solo was perfectlyelegant,Diana. I felt prouderthan you did when it wasencored.Ijustsaidtomyself,‘It is my dear bosom friendwhoissohonored.’”

“Well, your recitationsjust brought down thehouse,Anne. That sad one was

simplysplendid.”“Oh, I was so nervous,

Diana. When Mr. Allancalled out my name I reallycannot tellhowIevergotuponthatplatform.Ifeltasifamillion eyes were looking atme and through me, and forone dreadful moment I wassure I couldn’t begin at all.Then I thought ofmy lovelypuffed sleeves and tookcourage. I knew that I mustlive up to those sleeves,

Diana.SoIstartedin,andmyvoice seemed to be comingfrom ever so far away. I justfelt like a parrot. It’sprovidential that I practisedthose recitations so often upin the garret, or I’d neverhavebeenabletogetthrough.DidIgroanallright?”

“Yes, indeed, yougroaned lovely,” assuredDiana.

“I saw old Mrs. SloanewipingawaytearswhenIsat

down. It was splendid tothink I had touchedsomebody’s heart. It’s soromantic to take part in aconcert,isn’tit?Oh,it’sbeena very memorable occasionindeed.”

“Wasn’t the boys’dialogue fine?” said Diana.“Gilbert Blythe was justsplendid.Anne,Idothinkit’sawfulmeanthewayyoutreatGil.WaittillItellyou.Whenyouranofftheplatformafter

thefairydialogueoneofyourroses fell out of your hair. IsawGil pick it up and put itin his breast-pocket. Therenow.You’resoromanticthatI’m sure you ought to bepleasedatthat.”

“It’snothingtomewhatthat person does,” saidAnneloftily.“Isimplyneverwasteathoughtonhim,Diana.”

That night Marilla andMatthew, who had been outtoaconcert for the first time

intwentyyears,satforawhilebythekitchenfireafterAnnehadgonetobed.

“Well now, I guess ourAnne did as well as any ofthem,”saidMatthewproudly.

“Yes,shedid,”admittedMarilla.“She’sabrightchild,Matthew.Andshelookedrealnice, too. I’ve been kind ofopposed to this concertscheme,butIsupposethere’sno real harm in it after all.Anyhow, I was proud of

Anne tonight, although I’mnotgoingtotellherso.”

“Well now, Iwasproudof her and I did tell her so’fore shewentupstairs,” saidMatthew.“Wemustseewhatwe can do for her some ofthese days, Marilla. I guessshe’ll need something morethan Avonlea school by andby.”

“There’s timeenough tothink of that,” said Marilla.“She’s only thirteen in

March. Though tonight itstruck me she was growingquite a big girl. Mrs. Lyndemade that dress a mite toolong,anditmakesAnnelookso tall. She’s quick to learnandIguess thebest thingwecandoforherwillbetosendher to Queen’s after a spell.But nothing need be saidabout that for a year or twoyet.”

“Well now, it’ll do noharm to be thinking it over

off and on,” said Matthew.“Things like that are all thebetter for lots of thinkingover.”

26

The Story Club IsFormed

JUNIOR AVONLEA FOUND ithard to settle down tohumdrumexistenceagain.ToAnne in particular things

seemed fearfully flat, stale,and unprofitable after thegoblet of excitement she hadbeen sipping for weeks.Could she go back to theformer quiet pleasures ofthose far away days beforethe concert? At first, as shetoldDiana,shedidnotreallythinkshecould.

“I’m positively certain.Diana, that life can never bequitethesameagainasitwasinthoseoldendays,”shesaid

mournfully, as if referring toaperiodofatleastfiftyyearsback. “Perhaps after awhileI’ll get used to it, but I’mafraid concerts spoil peoplefor everyday life. I supposethat is why Marilladisapproves of them.Marillais such a sensible woman. Itmustbeagreatdealbetter tobe sensible; but still, I don’tbelieveI’dreallywanttobeasensibleperson,because theyare so unromantic. Mrs.

Lyndesaysthereisnodangerofmyeverbeingone,butyoucannevertell.Ifeeljustnowthat I may grow up to besensibleyet.Butperhapsthatis only because I’m tired. Isimply couldn’t sleep lastnight for ever so long. I justlay awake and imagined theconcert over and over again.That’s one splendid thingabout such affairs—it’s solovelytolookbacktothem.”

Eventually, however,

Avonlea school slipped backinto its old groove and tookup its old interests. To besure, the concert left traces.Ruby Gillis and EmmaWhite, who had quarreledoverapointofprecedenceintheirplatformseats,nolongersat at the same desk, and apromising friendship of threeyears was broken up. JosiePye and Julia Bell did not“speak” for three months,because Josie Pye had told

Bessie Wright that JuliaBell’s bow when she got upto recitemade her think of achicken jerking its head, andBessietoldJulia.NoneoftheSloanes would have anydealings with the Bells,because the Bells haddeclared that theSloaneshadtoo much to do in theprogramme, and the Sloaneshad retorted that the Bellswerenotcapableofdoingthelittletheyhadtodoproperly.

Finally, Charlie Sloanefought Moody SpurgeonMacPherson, becauseMoodySpurgeon had said thatAnneShirley put on airs about herrecitations, and MoodySpurgeon was “licked”consequently MoodySpurgeon’s sister, Ella May,would not “speak” to AnneShirley all the rest of thewinter.Withtheexceptionofthese trifling frictions, workinMissStacy’slittlekingdom

went on with regularity andsmoothness.

The winter weeksslipped by. It was anunusually mild winter, withso little snow that Anne andDiana could go to schoolnearly every day by way ofthe Birch Path. On Anne’sbirthday they were trippinglightly down it, keeping eyesand ears alert amid all theirchatter, for Miss Stacy hadtoldthemthattheymustsoon

write a composition on “AWinter’s Walk in theWoods,” and it behoovedthemtobeobservant.

“Just think, Diana, I’mthirteen years old today,”remarked Anne in an awedvoice. “I can scarcely realizethatI’minmyteens.WhenIwoke thismorning it seemedtomethateverythingmustbedifferent. You’ve beenthirteen for a month, so Isuppose itdoesn’t seemsuch

anoveltytoyouasitdoestome. It makes life seem somuchmoreinteresting.Intwomore years I’ll be reallygrownup.It’sagreatcomforttothinkthatI’llbeabletousebigwordsthenwithoutbeinglaughedat.”

“Ruby Gillis says shemeanstohaveabeauassoonasshe’sfifteen,”saidDiana.

“Ruby Gillis thinks ofnothingbutbeaus,”saidAnnedisdainfully. “She’s actually

delighted when any onewriteshernameupinatake-notice for all she pretends tobesomad.ButI’mafraidthatis an uncharitable speech.Mrs. Allan says we shouldnever make uncharitablespeeches;buttheydoslipoutso often before you think,don’tthey?Isimplycan’ttalkabout Josie Pye withoutmaking an uncharitablespeech, so I never mentionher at all. You may have

noticed that. I’m trying tobeasmuch likeMrs.Allan as Ipossiblycan,forIthinkshe’sperfect. Mr. Allan thinks sotoo.Mrs. Lynde says he justworships the ground shetreads on and she doesn’treally think it right for aminister to set his affectionsso much on a mortal being.But then, Diana, evenministersarehumanandhavetheir besetting sins just likeeverybodyelse.Ihadsuchan

interesting talk with Mrs.AllanaboutbesettingsinslastSunday afternoon. There arejustafewthingsit’spropertotalk about on Sundays andthat is one of them. Mybesettingsinisimaginingtoomuch and forgetting myduties. I’mstrivingveryhardto overcome it and now thatI’mreallythirteenperhapsI’llgetonbetter.”

“In four more yearswe’ll be able to put our hair

up,” said Diana. “Alice Bellis only sixteen and she iswearing hers up, but I thinkthat’s ridiculous. I shall waituntilI’mseventeen.”

“If I had Alice Bell’scrooked nose,” said Annedecidedly, “I wouldn’t—butthere!Iwon’tsaywhatIwasgoing to because it wasextremely uncharitable.Besides, I was comparing itwithmyownnoseand that’svanity. I’m afraid I think too

much about my nose eversinceIheardthatcomplimentaboutitlongago.Itreallyisagreat comfort to me. Oh,Diana, look, there’s a rabbit.That’s something toremember for our woodscomposition.Ireallythinkthewoods are just as lovely inwinterasinsummer.They’reso white and still, as if theywere asleep and dreamingprettydreams.”

“I won’t mind writing

that composition when itstimecomes,”sighedDiana.“Icanmanagetowriteaboutthewoods, but the one we’re tohand in Monday is terrible.TheideaofMissStacytellingus towriteastoryoutofourownheads!”

“Why, it’s as easy aswink,”saidAnne.

“It’s easy for youbecause you have animagination,” retorted Diana,“but what would you do if

you had been born withoutone?Isupposeyouhaveyourcompositionalldone?”

Anne nodded, tryinghard not to look virtuouslycomplacent and failingmiserably.

“I wrote it last Mondayevening. It’s called ‘TheJealous Rival; or, in DeathNot Divided.’ I read it toMarilla and she said it wasstuff and nonsense. Then Iread it to Matthew and he

said it was fine. That is thekindofcriticIlike.It’sasad,sweetstory.Ijustcriedlikeachild while I was writing it.It’s about two beautifulmaidens called CordeliaMontmorency and GeraldineSeymour who lived in thesame village and weredevotedly attached to eachother. Cordelia was a regalbrunette with a coronet ofmidnight hair and dusklyflashing eyes. Geraldine was

a queenly blonde with hairlike spun gold and velvetypurpleeyes.”

“I never saw anybodywithpurpleeyes,”saidDianadubiously.

“Neither did I. I justimagined them. I wantedsomething out of thecommon. Geraldine had analabaster brow, too. I’vefound out what an alabasterbrow is. That is one of theadvantages of being thirteen.

Youknowsomuchmorethanyoudidwhenyouwere onlytwelve.”

“Well, what became ofCordelia and Geraldine?”asked Diana, who wasbeginning to feel ratherinterestedintheirfate.

“They grew in beautyside by side until they weresixteen. Then Bertram DeVere came to their nativevillage and fell in love withthe fair Geraldine. He saved

her life when her horse ranaway with her in a carriage,and she fainted in his armsandhecarriedherhomethreemiles; because, youunderstand, the carriage wasall smashed up. I found itrather hard to imagine theproposal because I had noexperience to go by. I askedRuby Gillis if she knewanything about how menproposed because I thoughtshe’d likely be an authority

on the subject, having somany sisters married. Rubytold me she was hid in thehall pantry when MalcolmAndrews proposed to hersister Susan. She saidMalcolm told Susan that hisdadhadgivenhimthefarminhis own name and then said,‘What do you say, darlingpet, if we get hitched thisfall?’AndSusansaid,‘Yes—no—I don’t know—let mesee,’—and there they were,

engagedasquickasthat.ButI didn’t think that sort of aproposalwasaveryromanticone, so in the end I had toimagine it out as well as Icould.Imadeitveryfloweryand poetical and Bertramwent on his knees, althoughRubyGillissaysit isn’tdonenowadays. Geraldineaccepted him in a speech apage long. I can tell you Itookalotoftroublewiththatspeech.Irewroteitfivetimes

and I look upon it as mymasterpiece. Bertram gaveheradiamondringandarubynecklace and told her theywould go to Europe for awedding tour, for he wasimmenselywealthy.Butthen,alas, shadows began todarken over their path.Cordeliawas secretly in lovewith Bertram herself andwhen Geraldine told herabout the engagement shewas simply furious,

especially when she saw thenecklace and the diamondring. All her affection forGeraldineturnedtobitterhateand she vowed that sheshould never marry Bertram.But she pretended to beGeraldine’s friend the sameas ever. One evening theywere standing on the bridgeover a rushing turbulentstreamandCordelia,thinkingthey were alone, pushedGeraldineoverthebrinkwith

awild,mocking,‘Ha,ha,ha.’ButBertramsawitallandheat once plunged into thecurrent, exclaiming, ‘I willsave thee, my peerlessGeraldine.’ But alas, he hadforgotten he couldn’t swim,and theywerebothdrowned,clasped in eachother’s arms.Their bodies were washedashoresoonafterwards.Theywere buried in the one graveand their funeral was mostimposing,Diana.It’ssomuch

more romantic toenda storyup with a funeral than awedding.AsforCordelia,shewentinsanewithremorseandwas shut up in a lunaticasylum. I thought that was apoetical retribution for hercrime.”

“How perfectly lovely!”sighed Diana, who belongedto Matthew’s school ofcritics. “I don’t see how youcan make up such thrillingthingsoutofyourownhead,

Anne. Iwishmyimaginationwasasgoodasyours.”

“It would be if you’donly cultivate it,” said Annecheeringly.“I’ve just thoughtofaplan,Diana.LetyouandI have a story club all ourown and write stories forpractice. I’ll help you alonguntil you can do them byyourself. You ought tocultivate your imagination,you know. Miss Stacy saysso. Only we must take the

rightway.ItoldherabouttheHauntedWood, but she saidwewentthewrongwayaboutitinthat.”

This was how the storyclub came into existence. Itwas limited to Diana andAnneatfirst,butsoonitwasextended to include JaneAndrewsandRubyGillisandone or two others who feltthattheirimaginationsneededcultivating. No boys wereallowedinit—althoughRuby

Gillis opined that theiradmission would make itmore exciting—and eachmember had to produce onestoryaweek.

“It’s extremelyinteresting,” Anne toldMarilla. “Each girl has toread her story out loud andthen we talk it over.We aregoing to keep them allsacredly and have them toread to our descendants. Weeach write under a nom de

plume. Mine is RosamondMontmorency. All the girlsdoprettywell.RubyGillis israther sentimental. She putstoomuchlovemakingintoherstories and you know toomuchisworsethantoolittle.Jane never puts any becauseshe says itmakesher feel sosilly when she has to read itout loud. Jane’s stories areextremely sensible. ThenDianaputstoomanymurdersinto hers. She says most of

the time she doesn’t knowwhattodowiththepeoplesoshekillsthemofftogetridofthem.Imostlyalwayshavetotellthemwhattowriteabout,but that isn’t hard for I’vemillionsofideas.”

“I think this storywriting business is thefoolishest yet,” scoffedMarilla.“You’llgetapackofnonsenseintoyourheadsandwastetimethatshouldbeputon your lessons. Reading

stories is bad enough butwritingthemisworse.”

“Butwe’re socareful toput a moral into them all,Marilla,” explained Anne. “Iinsistuponthat.All thegoodpeople are rewarded and allthe bad ones are suitablypunished. I’m sure that musthaveawholesomeeffect.Themoral is the great thing.Mr.Allan says so. I read one ofmy stories to him and Mrs.Allan and they both agreed

that themoralwas excellent.Only they laughed in thewrong places. I like it betterwhen people cry. Jane andRubyalmostalwayscrywhenI come to the pathetic parts.Diana wrote her AuntJosephineaboutourclubandher Aunt Josephine wrotebackthatweweretosendhersome of our stories. So wecopied out four of our verybest and sent them. MissJosephine Barry wrote back

that she had never readanything so amusing in herlife. That kind of puzzled usbecause the stories were allvery pathetic and almosteverybodydied.ButI’mgladMiss Barry liked them. Itshowsourclubisdoingsomegoodintheworld.Mrs.Allansays that ought to be ourobject in everything. I doreally try to make it myobject but I forget so oftenwhenI’mhavingfun.IhopeI

shall be a little like Mrs.Allan when I grow up. Doyou think there is anyprospectofit,Marilla?”

“I shouldn’t say therewas a great deal,” wasMarilla’s encouraginganswer.“I’msureMrs.Allanwas never such a silly,forgetful little girl as youare.”

“No; but she wasn’talwayssogoodassheisnoweither,” said Anne seriously.

“Shetoldmesoherself—thatis,shesaidshewasadreadfulmischiefwhenshewasagirland was always getting intoscrapes. I felt so encouragedwhen I heard that. Is it verywickedofme,Marilla,tofeelencouraged when I hear thatother people have been badandmischievous?Mrs.Lyndesays it is. Mrs. Lynde saysshe always feels shockedwhen she hears of any oneeverhavingbeennaughty,no

matter how small they were.Mrs. Lynde says she onceheard aminister confess thatwhenhewasaboyhestoleastrawberry tart out of hisaunt’s pantry and she neverhad any respect for thatminister again. Now, Iwouldn’t have felt that way,I’d have thought that it wasreal noble of him to confessit, and I’dhave thoughtwhatanencouragingthingitwouldbe for small boys nowadays

who do naughty things andare sorry for them to knowthat perhaps they may growup tobeministers in spiteofit. That’s how I’d feel,Marilla.”

“The way I feel atpresent, Anne,” said Marilla,“isthatit’shightimeyouhadthose disheswashed.You’vetakenhalfanhourlongerthanyou should with all yourchattering.Learntoworkfirstandtalkafterwards.”

27

Vanity and VexationofSpirit

MARILLA,WALKINGHOME onelate April evening from anAidmeeting,realizedthatthewinter was over and gone

with the thrill of delight thatspring never fails to bring totheoldestandsaddestaswellas to the youngest andmerriest. Marilla was notgiven to subjective analysisof her thoughts and feelings.She probably imagined thatshe was thinking about theAidsandtheirmissionaryboxand the new carpet for thevestry room, but under thesereflectionswas a harmoniousconsciousness of red fields

smoking into pale purplymists in thedecliningsun,oflong, sharp-pointed firshadows falling over themeadowbeyondthebrook,ofstill, crimson-budded maplesaround a mirror-like wood-pool, of a wakening in theworld and a stir of hiddenpulses under the gray sod.Thespringwasabroad in theland and Marilla’s sober,middle-aged step was lighterand swifter because of its

deep,primalgladness.Her eyes dwelt

affectionately on GreenGables, peering through itsnetwork of trees andreflecting the sunlight backfrom its windows in severallittle coruscations of glory.Marilla, as she picked hersteps along the damp lane,thought that it was really asatisfaction to know that shewas going home to a brisklysnapping wood fire and a

table nicely spread for tea,insteadoftothecoldcomfortof old Aid meeting eveningsbefore Anne had come toGreenGables.

Consequently, whenMarilla entered her kitchenand found the fire black out,with no sign of Anneanywhere, she felt justlydisappointed and irritated.ShehadtoldAnnetobesureand have tea ready at fiveo’clock, but now she must

hurry to take off her second-best dress and prepare themeal herself againstMatthew’s return fromplowing.

“I’ll settle Miss Annewhen she comeshome,” saidMarillagrimly,assheshavedup kindlings with a carvingknifeandmorevimthanwasstrictly necessary. Matthewhadcomeinandwaswaitingpatiently for his tea in hiscorner. “She’s gadding off

somewhere with Diana,writing stories or practicingdialogues or some suchtomfoolery, and neverthinking once about the timeorherduties.She’sjustgottobepulledupshortandsuddenon this sort of thing. I don’tcare if Mrs. Allan does sayshe’s the brightest andsweetestchildsheeverknew.Shemaybebrightandsweetenough,butherheadisfullofnonsense and there’s never

anyknowingwhat shape it’llbreakoutinnext.Justassoonasshegrowsoutofonefreakshe takes up with another.But there! Here I am sayingthe very thing Iwas so riledwithRachelLyndeforsayingat the Aid today. I was realglad whenMrs. Allan spokeupforAnne,forifshehadn’tI know I’d have saidsomething too sharp toRachel before everybody.Anne’s got plenty of faults,

goodnessknows,andfarbeitfromme to deny it. But I’mbringing her up and notRachel Lynde, who’d pickfaults in the Angel Gabrielhimself if he lived inAvonlea.Justthesame,Annehas no business to leave thehouse like this when I toldhershewastostayhomethisafternoon and look afterthings. I must say, with allher faults, I never found herdisobedient or untrustworthy

before and I’m real sorry tofindhersonow.”

“Well now, I dunno,”said Matthew, who, beingpatient and wise and, aboveall, hungry, had deemed itbest to let Marilla talk herwrathoutunhindered,havinglearned by experience thatshe got through withwhatever work was on handmuch quicker if not delayedby untimely argument.“Perhaps you’re judging her

toohasty,Marilla.Don’t callheruntrustworthyuntilyou’resure she has disobeyed you.Mebbeitcanallbeexplained—Anne’s a great hand atexplaining.”

“She’s not here when Itold her to stay,” retortedMarilla. “I reckon she’ll findit hard to explain that tomysatisfaction.OfcourseIknewyou’dtakeherpart,Matthew.But I’m bringing her up, notyou.”

Itwasdarkwhensupperwasready,andstillnosignofAnne, coming hurriedly overthe log bridge or up Lovers’Lane, breathless andrepentant with a sense ofneglected duties. Marillawashed and put away thedishes grimly.Then,wantinga candle to light her downcellar,shewentuptotheeastgable for the one thatgenerally stood on Anne’stable. Lighting it, she turned

around to see Anne herselflying on the bed, facedownward among thepillows.

“Mercy on us,” saidastonishedMarilla,“haveyoubeenasleep,Anne?”

“No,” was the muffledreply.

“Are you sick then?”demanded Marilla anxiously,goingovertothebed.

Anne cowered deeperintoherpillowsasifdesirous

of hiding herself for everfrommortaleyes.

“No.Butplease,Marilla,go away and don’t look atme. I’m in the depths ofdespair and I don’t carewhogets head in class or writesthebestcompositionorsingsin the Sunday-school choirany more. Little things likethatareofnoimportancenowbecause I don’t suppose I’llever be able to go anywhereagain. My career is closed.

Please,Marilla, go away anddon’tlookatme.”

“Did any one ever hearthe like?” the mystifiedMarilla wanted to know.“Anne Shirley, whatever isthe matter with you? Whathave you done?Get right upthisminute and tellme.Thisminute, I say. There now,whatisit?”

Anne had slid to thefloorindespairingobedience.

“Look at my hair,

Marilla,”shewhispered.Accordingly, Marilla

lifted her candle and lookedscrutinizingly atAnne’s hair,flowing in heavy massesdown her back. It certainlyhad a very strangeappearance.

“Anne Shirley, whathave you done to your hair?Why,it’sgreen!”

Greenitmightbecalled,ifitwereanyearthlycolor—aqueer, dull, bronzy green,

withstreakshereandthereofthe original red to heightenthe ghastly effect. Never inall her life had Marilla seenanything so grotesque asAnne’shairatthatmoment.

“Yes, it’s green,”moaned Anne. “I thoughtnothing could be as bad asredhair.ButnowIknowit’stentimesworsetohavegreenhair. Oh, Marilla, you littleknowhowutterlywretched Iam.”

“I little know how yougotintothisfix,butImeantofind out,” said Marilla.“Come right down to thekitchen—it’stoocolduphere—and tell me just whatyou’ve done. I’ve beenexpecting something queerfor some time. You haven’tgot into any scrape for overtwo months, and I was sureanother one was due. Now,then,whatdidyoudotoyourhair?”

“Idyedit.”“Dyed it! Dyed your

hair!AnneShirley,didn’tyouknowitwasawickedthingtodo?”

“Yes, I knew it was alittlewicked,”admittedAnne.“But I thought it was worthwhile tobea littlewicked toget rid of red hair. I countedthe cost, Marilla. Besides, Imeant to be extra good inotherwaystomakeupforit.”

“Well,” said Marilla

sarcastically,“ifI’ddecideditwas worth while to dye myhairI’dhavedyeditadecentcoloratleast.Iwouldn’thavedyeditgreen.”

“But I didn’t mean todye it green, Marilla,”protestedAnnedejectedly.“IfI was wicked I meant to bewicked to some purpose. Hesaid it would turn my hair abeautiful raven black—hepositively assured me that itwould.HowcouldIdoubthis

word,Marilla?Iknowwhatitfeels like to have your worddoubted.AndMrs.Allansayswe should never suspect anyoneofnottellingusthetruthunless we have proof thatthey’renot.Ihaveproofnow—green hair is proof enoughfor anybody. But I hadn’tthen and I believed everywordhesaidimplicitly.”

“Who said? Who areyoutalkingabout?”

“The peddler that was

here this afternoon. I boughtthedyefromhim.”

“Anne Shirley, howoftenhaveItoldyounevertoletoneofthoseItaliansinthehouse! I don’t believe inencouraging them to comearoundatall.”

“Oh, I didn’t let him inthehouse.Irememberedwhatyou toldme, and Iwent out,carefully shut the door, andlooked at his things on thestep. Besides, he wasn’t an

Italian—he was a GermanJew.Hehadabigboxfullofveryinterestingthingsandhetoldmehewasworkinghardto make enough money tobring his wife and childrenout fromGermany.Hespokesofeelinglyaboutthemthatittouchedmyheart.Iwantedtobuy something from him tohelp him in such a worthyobject.ThenallatonceIsawthe bottle of hair dye. Thepeddlersaiditwaswarranted

to dye any hair a beautifulraven black and wouldn’twash off. In a trice I sawmyself with beautiful ravenblackhairand the temptationwas irresistible.But thepriceofthebottlewasseventy-fivecents and I had only fiftycents left out of my chickenmoney. I think the peddlerhad a very kind heart, for hesaid that seeing it was me,he’dsellitforfiftycentsandthat was just giving it away.

SoIboughtit,andassoonashe had gone I came up hereand applied it with an oldhairbrush as the directionssaid. I used up the wholebottle, andoh,Marilla,whenI saw the dreadful color itturnedmy hair I repented ofbeingwicked, I can tell you.AndI’vebeenrepentingeversince.”

“Well, I hope you’llrepenttogoodpurpose,”saidMarilla severely, “and that

you’vegot your eyesopenedtowhere your vanity has ledyou, Anne. Goodness knowswhat’s to be done. I supposethe first thing is togiveyourhair a goodwashing and seeifthatwilldoanygood.”

Accordingly, Annewashedher hair, scrubbing itvigorously with soap andwater, but for all thedifference it made shemightaswellhavebeenscouringitsoriginal red.Thepeddlerhad

certainly spoken the truthwhenhedeclaredthatthedyewouldn’t wash off, howeverhis veracity might beimpeachedinotherrespects.

“Oh,Marilla,what shallI do?” questioned Anne intears. “I can never live thisdown. People have prettywell forgotten my othermistakes—the liniment cakeand setting Diana drunk andflyingintoatemperwithMrs.Lynde. But they’ll never

forget this. Theywill think Iam not respectable. Oh,Marilla, ‘what a tangledwebwe weave when first wepractice to deceive.’ That ispoetry,butit istrue.Andoh,how Josie Pye will laugh!Marilla, I cannot face JosiePye. I am theunhappiest girlinPrinceEdwardIsland.”

Anne’s unhappinesscontinuedforaweek.Duringthat time she went nowhereandshampooedherhairevery

day.Dianaaloneofoutsidersknewthefatalsecret,butshepromised solemnly never totell,anditmaybestatedhereand now that she kept herword.AttheendoftheweekMarillasaiddecidedly:

“It’snouse,Anne.Thatis fast dye if ever there wasany. Your hair must be cutoff; there is no other way.You can’t go out with itlookinglikethat.”

Anne’s lips quivered,

but she realized the bittertruth of Marilla’s remarks.With a dismal sigh she wentforthescissors.

“Pleasecutitoffatonce,Marilla,andhaveitover.Oh,Ifeelthatmyheartisbroken.This is such an unromanticaffliction. The girls in bookslosetheirhairinfeversorsellittogetmoneyforsomegooddeed,andI’msureIwouldn’tmind losingmyhair in somesuch fashion half so much.

But there is nothingcomforting in having yourhair cut off because you’vedyed it a dreadful color, isthere? I’m going to weep allthetimeyou’recuttingitoff,if itwon’t interfere. It seemssuchatragicthing.”

Anne wept then, butlater on, when she wentupstairs and looked in theglass, she was calm withdespair.Marillahaddoneherwork thoroughly and it had

beennecessary toshingle thehair as closely as possible.Theresultwasnotbecoming,to state the case asmildly asmay be. Anne promptlyturnedherglasstothewall.

“I’llnever,neverlookatmyself again until my hairgrows,” she exclaimedpassionately.

Then she suddenlyrightedtheglass.

“Yes, Iwill, too. I’ll dopenanceforbeingwickedthat

way.I’lllookatmyselfeverytime I come tomy roomandsee how ugly I am. And Iwon’t tryto imagineitaway,either. I never thought I wasvain about my hair, of allthings,butnowIknowIwas,in spite of its being red,because it was so long andthick and curly. I expectsomethingwillhappen tomynosenext.”

Anne’s clipped headmadeasensationinschoolon

thefollowingMonday,buttoherreliefnobodyguessedthereal reason for it, not evenJosiePye,who,however,didnot fail to inform Anne thatshe looked like a perfectscarecrow.

“I didn’t say anythingwhen Josie said that to me,”Anne confided that eveningtoMarilla,whowas lyingonthe sofa after one of herheadaches, “because Ithought it was part of my

punishment and I ought tobear it patiently. It’s hard tobe told you look like ascarecrowandIwantedtosaysomethingback.ButIdidn’t.I just swept her one scornfullookandthenIforgaveher.Itmakesyou feelveryvirtuouswhen you forgive people,doesn’t it? I mean to devoteallmyenergiestobeinggoodafterthisandIshallnevertryto be beautiful again. Ofcourseit’sbettertobegood.I

knowitis,butit’ssometimesso hard to believe a thingevenwhenyouknow it. Idoreally want to be good,Marilla, like you and Mrs.Allan and Miss Stacy, andgrowuptobeacredittoyou.Diana says when my hairbegins to grow to tie a blackvelvetribbonaroundmyheadwith a bow at one side. Shesaysshethinksitwillbeverybecoming. I will call it asnood—that sounds so

romantic. But am I talkingtoo much, Marilla? Does ithurtyourhead?”

“Myhead isbetternow.It was terrible bad thisafternoon, though. Theseheadachesofminearegettingworseandworse.I’llhavetosee a doctor about them. Asforyourchatter,Idon’tknowthat I mind it—I’ve got sousedtoit.”

Which was Marilla’sway of saying that she liked

tohearit.

28

An Unfortunate LilyMaid

“OF COURSE YOU must beElaine,Anne,”saidDiana.“Icouldneverhavethecouragetofloatdownthere.”

“NorI,”saidRubyGilliswith a shiver. “I don’t mindfloating down when there’stwo or three of us in the flatand we can sit up. It’s funthen. But to lie down andpretend I was dead—I justcouldn’t. I’d die really offright.”

“Of course it would beromantic,” conceded JaneAndrews. “But I know Icouldn’t keep still. I’d bepopping up every minute or

sotoseewhereIwasandifIwasn’t drifting too far out.And you know, Anne, thatwouldspoiltheeffect.”

“Butit’ssoridiculoustohave a red-headed Elaine,”mourned Anne. “I’m notafraid to float down and I’dlove to be Elaine. But it’sridiculous just the same.Ruby ought to be Elainebecausesheissofairandhassuch lovely long golden hair—Elaine had ‘all her bright

hair streaming down,’ youknow. And Elaine was thelily maid. Now, a red-hairedpersoncannotbealilymaid.”

“YourcomplexionisjustasfairasRuby’s,”saidDianaearnestly, “and your hair isever so much darker than itusedtobebeforeyoucutit.”

“Oh,doyoureallythinkso?” exclaimed Anne,flushing sensitively withdelight. “I’ve sometimesthought it wasmyself—but I

never dared to ask any onefor fear shewould tell me itwasn’t.Doyouthinkitcouldbe called auburn now,Diana?”

“Yes, and I think it isreal pretty,” said Diana,looking admiringly at theshort, silky curls thatclustered over Anne’s headand were held in place by avery jaunty black velvetribbonandbow.

They were standing on

the bank of the pond, belowOrchard Slope,where a littleheadlandfringedwithbirchesran out from the bank; at itstip was a small woodenplatform built out into thewater for the convenience offishermen and duck hunters.RubyandJanewerespendingthe midsummer afternoonwith Diana, and Anne hadcomeovertoplaywiththem.

Anne and Diana hadspent most of their playtime

thatsummeronandaboutthepond.Idlewildwasathingofthe past, Mr. Bell havingruthlessly cut down the littlecircle of trees in his backpasture in the spring. Annehadsatamongthestumpsandwept, not without an eye totheromanceofit;butshewasspeedily consoled, for, afterall,assheandDianasaid,biggirls of thirteen, going onfourteen, were too old forsuch childish amusements as

playhouses, and there weremore fascinating sports to befound about the pond. Itwassplendidtofishfortroutoverthe bridge and the two girlslearned to row themselvesabout in the littleflatbottomed dory Mr. Barrykeptforduckshooting.

It was Anne’s idea thatthey dramatize Elaine. TheyhadstudiedTennyson’spoemin school the precedingwinter, the Superintendent of

Education having prescribedit in the English course forthe Prince Edward Islandschools. They had analyzedand parsed it and torn it topieces in general until itwasa wonder there was anymeaning at all left in it forthem,butat least thefair lilymaid and Lancelot andGuinevere and King Arthurhad become very real peopleto them, and Anne wasdevouredbysecretregretthat

she had not been born inCamelot. Those days, shesaid, were so much moreromanticthanthepresent.

Anne’s plan was hailedwith enthusiasm. The girlshaddiscoveredthatiftheflatwere pushed off from thelanding place it would driftdown with the current underthe bridge and finally stranditself on another headlandlowerdownwhich ranout atacurveinthepond.Theyhad

oftengonedownlikethisandnothing could be moreconvenient for playingElaine.

“Well, I’ll be Elaine,”said Anne, yieldingreluctantly, for, although shewouldhavebeendelightedtoplay the principal character,yet her artistic sensedemanded fitness for it andthis, she felt, her limitationsmadeimpossible.“Ruby,youmustbeKingArthurandJane

will beGuinevere andDianamust be Lancelot. But firstyoumustbe thebrothersandthe father.Wecan’thave theold dumb servitor becausethereisn’troomfortwointheflatwhen one is lying down.Wemustpallthebargeallitslength in blackest samite.Thatoldblackshawlofyourmother’s will be just thething,Diana.”

The black shawl havingbeenprocured,Annespreadit

over the flat and then laydown on the bottom, withclosedeyesandhandsfoldedoverherbreast.

“Oh, she does lookreallydead,”whisperedRubyGillisnervously,watchingthestill, white little face underthe flickering shadowsof thebirches. “It makes me feelfrightened, girls. Do yousupposeit’sreallyrighttoactlike this? Mrs. Lynde saysthat all playacting is

abominablywicked.”“Ruby, you shouldn’t

talk aboutMrs. Lynde,” saidAnne severely. “It spoils theeffect because this ishundredsofyearsbeforeMrs.Lynde was born. Jane, youarrange this. It’s silly forElaine to be talking whenshe’sdead.”

Jane rose to theoccasion. Cloth of gold forcoverlet there was none, butan old piano scarf of yellow

Japanese crêpe was anexcellent substitute. A whitelily was not obtainable justthen, but the effect of a tallblue iris placed in one ofAnne’s folded hands was allthatcouldbedesired.

“Now, she’s all ready,”said Jane. “Wemustkissherquiet brows and, Diana, yousay, ‘Sister, farewell forever,’ and Ruby, you say,‘Farewell, sweet sister,’ bothof you as sorrowfully as you

possibly can. Anne, forgoodness sake smile a little.You know Elaine ‘lay asthough she smiled.’ That’sbetter.Nowpushtheflatoff.”

Theflatwasaccordinglypushed off, scraping roughlyover an old embedded stakein the process. Diana andJane and Ruby only waitedlong enough to see it caughtin thecurrentandheaded forthe bridge before scamperingup through thewoods,across

the road, and down to thelower headland where, asLancelot and Guinevere andtheKing, theywere to be inreadiness to receive the lilymaid.

ForafewminutesAnne,driftingslowlydown,enjoyedthe romance of her situationto the full. Then somethinghappenednotat all romantic.The flat began to leak. In avery few moments it wasnecessary for Elaine to

scramble to her feet, pick upherclothofgoldcoverletandpall of blackest samite andgazeblanklyatabigcrackinthe bottom of her bargethroughwhich thewaterwasliterally pouring. That sharpstake at the landing had tornoff the stripofbattingnailedon the flat. Anne did notknowthis,but itdidnot takeher long to realize that shewasinadangerousplight.Atthis rate the flat would fill

and sink longbefore it coulddrift to the lower headland.Where were the oars? Leftbehindatthelanding!

Anne gave one gaspinglittle scream which nobodyever heard; shewaswhite tothe lips, but she did not loseher self-possession. Therewasonechance—justone.

“I was horriblyfrightened,” she told Mrs.Allan the next day, “and itseemed like years while the

flatwas drifting down to thebridgeandthewaterrisinginit every moment. I prayed,Mrs. Allan, most earnestly,but I didn’t shut my eyes topray,forIknewtheonlywayGodcouldsavemewastoletthe flat float close enough tooneofthebridgepilesformeto climbupon it.Youknowthe piles are just old treetrunks and there are lots ofknotsandoldbranchstubsonthem. It was proper to pray,

but I had to do my part bywatchingoutandrightwell Iknew it. I just said, ‘DearGod,pleasetaketheflatclosetoapileandI’lldo therest,’over and over again. Undersuchcircumstancesyoudon’tthink much about making afloweryprayer.Butminewasanswered,fortheflatbumpedright into a pile for aminuteand I flung the scarf and theshawl over my shoulder andscrambled up on a big

providentialstub.AndthereIwas. Mrs. Allan, clinging tothat slipperyoldpilewithnowayofgettingupordown.Itwas a very unromanticposition, but I didn’t thinkabout that at the time. Youdon’t think much aboutromance when you have justescapedfromawaterygrave.I said a grateful prayer atonce and then I gave all myattention to holding on tight,for I knew I shouldprobably

havetodependonhumanaidtogetbacktodryland.”

Theflatdriftedunderthebridge and then promptlysank in midstream. Ruby,Jane, and Diana, alreadyawaiting it on the lowerheadland, saw it disappearbeforetheirveryeyesandhadnotadoubtbutthatAnnehadgone down with it. For amoment they stood still,white as sheets, frozen withhorror at the tragedy; then,

shrieking at the tops of theirvoices, they started on afrantic run up through thewoods,neverpausingastheycrossed the main road toglancethewayofthebridge.Anne,clingingdesperately toher precarious foothold, sawtheir flying forms and heardtheir shrieks. Help wouldsoon come, but meanwhileher position was a veryuncomfortableone.

The minutes passed by,

each seeming an hour to theunfortunate lily maid. Whydidn’t somebody come?Where had the girls gone?Supposetheyhadfainted,oneandall!Supposenobodyevercame! Suppose she grew sotired and cramped that shecould hold on no longer!Anne looked at the wickedgreen depths below her,wavering with long, oilyshadows, and shivered. Herimagination began to suggest

all manner of gruesomepossibilitiestoher.

Then,justasshethoughtshe really could not endurethe ache in her arms andwrists another moment.Gilbert Blythe came rowingunder the bridge in HarmonAndrews’dory!

Gilbert glanced up and,much to his amazement,beheld a little white scornfulface looking down upon himwith big, frightened but also

scornfulgrayeyes.“Anne Shirley! How on

earth did you get there?” heexclaimed.

Without waiting for ananswerhepulledclose to thepile and extended his hand.There was no help for it;Anne, clinging to GilbertBlythe’s hand, scrambleddown into the dory, whereshesat,drabbledandfurious,inthesternwithherarmsfullof dripping shawl and wet

crêpe. It was certainlyextremely difficult to bedignified under thecircumstances!

“What has happened,Anne?” askedGilbert, takinguphisoars.

“We were playingElaine,” explained Annefrigidly,withoutevenlookingat her rescuer, “and I had todrift down toCamelot in thebarge—I mean the flat. Theflat began to leak and I

climbed out on the pile. Thegirlswent for help.Will youbekindenough to rowme tothelanding?”

Gilbertobliginglyrowedto the landing and Anne,disdaining assistance, sprangnimblyonshore.

“I’m verymuch obligedtoyou,”shesaidhaughtilyasshe turned away.ButGilberthadalsosprungfromtheboatandnowlaidadetaininghandonherarm.

“Anne,” he saidhurriedly, “look here. Can’twe be good friends? I’mawfully sorry I made fun ofyour hair that time. I didn’tmean to vex you and I onlymeant it for a joke. Besides,it’s so longago. I thinkyourhair is awfully pretty now—honestIdo.Let’sbefriends.”

For a moment Annehesitated. She had an odd,newly awakenedconsciousness under all her

outrageddignitythatthehalf-shy, half-eager expression inGilbert’s hazel eyes wassomethingthatwasverygoodto see. Her heart gave aquick, queer little beat. Butthe bitterness of her oldgrievance promptly stiffenedup her waveringdetermination. That scene oftwoyearsbeforeflashedbackinto her recollection asvividlyasifithadtakenplaceyesterday. Gilbert had called

her“carrots”andhadbroughtaboutherdisgracebefore thewhole school. Herresentment, which to otherandolderpeoplemightbeaslaughableasitscause,wasinnowhit allayed and softenedbytimeseemingly.ShehatedGilbert Blythe! She wouldneverforgivehim!

“No,”shesaidcoldly,“Ishall never be friends withyou, Gilbert Blythe; and Idon’twanttobe!”

“All right!” Gilbertspring into his skiff with anangry color in his cheeks.“I’ll never ask you to befriends again, Anne Shirley.AndIdon’tcareeither!”

He pulled away withswift defiant strokes, andAnnewentupthesteep,fernylittle path under the maples.She held her head very high,but she was conscious of anodd feeling of regret. Shealmost wished she had

answered Gilbert differently.Ofcourse,hehadinsultedherterribly, but still—!Altogether, Anne ratherthoughtitwouldbearelieftositdownandhaveagoodcry.Shewasreallyquiteunstrung,for the reaction from herfright and cramped clingingwasmakingitselffelt.

Halfwayupthepathshemet Jane and Diana rushingback to the pond in a statenarrowly removed from

positive frenzy. They hadfound nobody at OrchardSlope, both Mr. and Mrs.Barrybeingaway.HereRubyGillis had succumbed tohysterics, and was left torecoverfromthemasbestshemight, while Jane andDianaflew through the HauntedWoodandacrossthebrooktoGreenGables.Theretheyhadfound nobody either, forMarillahadgonetoCarmodyandMatthewwasmakinghay

inthebackfield.“Oh, Anne,” gasped

Diana, fairly falling on theformer’s neck and weepingwith relief and delight. “Oh,Anne—we thought—youwere—drowned—andwefeltlike murderers—because wehad made—you be—Elaine.And Ruby is in hysterics—oh, Anne, how did youescape?”

“Iclimbedupononeofthe piles,” explained Anne

wearily, “and Gilbert Blythecame along inMr.Andrews’doryandbroughtmetoland.”

“Oh, Anne, howsplendidofhim!Why,it’ssoromantic!” said Jane, findingbreathenoughforutteranceatlast. “Of course you’ll speaktohimafterthis.”

“Of course I won’t,”flashed Anne with amomentary return of her oldspirit.“AndIdon’twanteverto hear the word romantic

again, Jane Andrews. I’mawfully sorry you were sofrightened, girls. It is all myfault. I feel sure I was bornunder an unlucky star.Everything I do gets me ormy dearest friends into ascrape. We’ve gone and lostyour father’s flat,Diana, andI have a presentiment thatwe’ll not be allowed to rowonthepondanymore.”

Anne’s presentimentprovedmoretrustworthythan

presentiments are apt to do.Great was the consternationin the Barry and Cuthberthouseholds when the eventsof the afternoon becameknown.

“Willyoueverhaveanysense, Anne?” groanedMarilla.

“Oh, yes, I think I will,Marilla,” returned Anneoptimistically. A good cry,indulged in the gratefulsolitudeoftheeastgable,had

soothed her nerves andrestored her to her wontedcheerfulness. “I think myprospects of becomingsensiblearebrighternowthanever.”

“I don’t see how,” saidMarilla.

“Well,”explainedAnne,“I’ve learned a new andvaluable lesson today. EversinceIcametoGreenGablesI’ve been making mistakes,and each mistake has helped

to cure me of some greatshortcoming.Theaffairoftheamethystbroochcuredmeofmeddling with things thatdidn’t belong to me. TheHauntedWoodmistakecuredmeof lettingmyimaginationrun away with me. Theliniment cake mistake curedme of carelessness incooking. Dyeing my haircured me of vanity. I neverthinkaboutmyhairandnosenow—at least, very seldom.

Andtoday’smistakeisgoingto cure me of being tooromantic. I have come to theconclusion that it is no usetrying to be romantic inAvonlea. It was probablyeasy enough in toweredCamelot hundreds of yearsago, but romance is notappreciated now. I feel quitesure that youwill soon see agreat improvement in me inthisrespect,Marilla.”

“I’m sure I hope so,”

saidMarillaskeptically.But Matthew, who had

been sitting mutely in hiscorner,laidahandonAnne’sshoulder when Marilla hadgoneout.

“Don’t give up all yourromance, Anne,” hewhisperedshyly,“alittleofitis a good thing—not toomuch, of course—but keep alittleof it,Anne,keepa littleofit.”

29

An Epoch in Anne’sLife

ANNEWASBRINGING thecowshome from the back pastureby way of Lovers’ Lane. ItwasaSeptembereveningand

all the gaps and clearings inthe woods were brimmed upwith ruby sunset light. Hereand there the lane wassplashed with it, but for themostpartitwasalreadyquiteshadowybeneath themaples,and the spaces under the firswerefilledwithaclearvioletdusk like airy wine. Thewindswere out in their tops,andthereisnosweetermusicon earth than that which thewindmakesinthefir-treesat

evening.The cows swung

placidly down the lane, andAnne followed themdreamily, repeatingaloud thebattle canto from“Marmion”—which had alsobeen part of their Englishcourse the preceding winterand which Miss Stacy hadmade themlearnoffbyheart—and exulting in its rushinglines and the clash of spearsin its imagery. When she

cametothelines;

“The stubbornspearsmenstillmadegoodTheir darkimpenetrablewood,”

shestoppedinecstasytoshuther eyes that she might thebetter fancy herself one of

that heroic ring. When sheopened them again it was tobeholdDianacomingthroughthe gate that led into theBarry field and looking soimportant thatAnne instantlydivined therewasnews tobetold. But betray too eagercuriosityshewouldnot.

“Isn’t this evening justlikeapurpledream,Diana?Itmakesmesogladtobealive.In the mornings I alwaysthink the mornings are best;

but when evening comes Ithinkit’slovelierstill.”

“It’s a very fineevening,”saidDiana,“butoh,I have such news, Anne.Guess. You can have threeguesses.”

“CharlotteGillisisgoingto be married in the churchafterallandMrs.Allanwantsustodecorateit,”criedAnne.

“No. Charlotte’s beauwon’t agree to that, becausenobodyeverhasbeenmarried

in the church yet, and hethinks it would seem toomuch like a funeral. It’s toomean, because it would besuchfun.Guessagain.”

“Jane’s mother is goingto let her have a birthdayparty?”

Diana shook her head,her black eyes dancing withmerriment.

“Ican’tthinkwhatitcanbe,” said Anne in despair,“unless it’s that Moody

Spurgeon MacPherson sawyou home from prayermeetinglastnight.Didhe?”

“I should think not,”exclaimedDiana indignantly.“Iwouldn’tbelikelytoboastof it if he did, the horridcreature!Iknewyoucouldn’tguess it. Mother had a letterfrom Aunt Josephine today,and Aunt Josephine wantsyou and me to go to townnext Tuesday and stop withher for the Exhibition.

There!”“Oh, Diana,” whispered

Anne, finding it necessary tolean up against a maple treefor support, “do you reallymean it? But I’m afraidMarillawon’t letmego.Shewill say that she can’tencourage gadding about.That was what she said lastweekwhenJaneinvitedmetogowiththemintheirdouble-seatedbuggytotheAmericanconcert at the White Sands

Hotel. I wanted to go, butMarilla said I’d be better athome learning my lessonsand so would Jane. I wasbitterlydisappointed,Diana.Ifelt so heartbroken that Iwouldn’t say my prayerswhen I went to bed. But Irepentedofthatandgotupinthe middle of the night andsaidthem.”

“I’ll tell you,” saidDiana, “we’ll get mother toask Marilla. She’ll be more

likely to letyougo then;andif she does we’ll have thetime of our lives,Anne. I’venever been to an Exhibition,andit’ssoaggravatingtohearthe other girls talking abouttheir trips. Jane and Rubyhave been twice, and they’regoingthisyearagain.”

“I’m not going to thinkabout it at all until I knowwhetherIcangoornot,”saidAnneresolutely.“IfIdidandthen was disappointed, it

would be more than I couldbear.But incaseIdogoI’mvery glad my new coat willbereadybythattime.Marilladidn’t think I needed a newcoat. She said my old onewould do very well foranother winter and that Iought to be satisfied withhavinganewdress.Thedressis very pretty. Diana—navyblue and made sofashionably. Marilla alwaysmakes my dresses

fashionablynow,becauseshesays she doesn’t intend tohaveMatthew going toMrs.Lynde tomake them. I’m soglad.Itiseversomucheasiertobegoodifyourclothesarefashionable. At least, it iseasier for me. I suppose itdoesn’t make such adifference to naturally goodpeople. But Matthew said Imust have a new coat, soMarillaboughtalovelypieceof blue broadcloth, and it’s

being made by a realdressmakeroveratCarmody.It’s to be done Saturdaynight, and I’m trying not toimagine myself walking upthechurchaisleonSundayinmynewsuitandcap,becauseI’m afraid it isn’t right toimagine such things. But itjust slips into my mind inspite of me. My cap is sopretty.Matthewbought it forme the day we were over atCarmody. It is one of those

littlebluevelvetonesthatareall the rage, with gold cordand tassels. Your new hat iselegant, Diana, and sobecoming. When I saw youcomeintochurchlastSundaymy heart swelled with pridetothinkyouweremydearestfriend. Do you suppose it’swrongforustothinksomuchabout our clothes? Marillasaysitisverysinful.Butitissuch an interesting subject,isn’tit?”

Marilla agreed to letAnne go to town, and itwasarranged that Mr. Barryshouldtakethegirlsinonthefollowing Tuesday. AsCharlottetown was thirtymiles away and Mr. Barrywished to go and return thesameday,itwasnecessarytomake a very early start. ButAnne counted it all joy, andwas up before sunrise onTuesday morning. A glancefromherwindowassuredher

thatthedaywouldbefine,fortheeasternskybehindthefirsoftheHauntedWoodwasallsilvery and cloudless.Throughthegapinthetreesalight was shining in thewestern gable of OrchardSlope,atokenthatDianawasalsoup.

AnnewasdressedbythetimeMatthewhadthefireonand had the breakfast readywhenMarillacamedown,butfor her own part was much

too excited to eat. Afterbreakfast the jaunty new capand jacket were donned, andAnnehastenedoverthebrookand up through the firs toOrchardSlope.Mr.BarryandDiana were waiting for her,and they were soon on theroad.

It was a long drive, butAnne and Diana enjoyedevery minute of it. It wasdelightful torattlealongoverthe moist roads in the early

redsunlightthatwascreepingacross the shorn harvestfields. The airwas fresh andcrisp, and little smoke-bluemists curled through thevalleys and floated off fromthehills.Sometimes the roadwent through woods wheremaples were beginning tohang out scarlet banners;sometimes it crossed riverson bridges thatmadeAnne’sflesh cringe with the old,half-delightful fear;

sometimes it wound along aharborshoreandpassedbyalittle cluster of weather-grayfishinghuts;againitmountedtohillswhenceafarsweepofcurving upland ormisty bluesky could be seen; butwherever it went there wasmuchofinteresttodiscuss.Itwas almost noon when theyreachedtownandfoundtheirway to “Beechwood.” Itwasquite a fine oldmansion, setback from the street in a

seclusion of green elms andbranching beeches. MissBarry met them at the doorwith a twinkle in her sharpblackeyes.

“So you’ve come to seeme at last, you Anne-girl,”she said. “Mercy, child, howyou have grown! You’retaller than I am, I declare.And you’re ever so muchbetter-looking than you usedtobe,too.ButIdaresayyouknow that without being

told.”“Indeed I didn’t,” said

Anne radiantly. “I know I’mnot so freckled as I used tobe, so I’ve much to bethankful for, but I reallyhadn’t dared to hope therewas any other improvement.I’msogladyouthinkthereis,MissBarry.”

Miss Barry’s house wasfurnished with “greatmagnificence,” as Anne toldMarilla afterwards. The two

littlecountrygirlswereratherabashed by the splendor ofthe parlor where Miss Barryleft them when she went toseeaboutdinner.

“Isn’t it just like apalace?”whisperedDiana. “Inever was in AuntJosephine’shousebefore,andI’dnoidea itwassogrand.IjustwishJuliaBellcouldseethis—she puts on such airsabouthermother’sparlor.”

“Velvet carpet,” sighed

Anne luxuriously, “and silkcurtains! I’ve dreamed ofsuch things, Diana. But doyou know I don’t believe Ifeel very comfortable withthem after all. There are somanythingsinthisroomandallsosplendidthatthereisnoscopeforimagination.Thatisoneconsolationwhenyouarepoor—there are so manymore thingsyoucan imagineabout.”

Their sojourn in town

wassomethingthatAnneandDiana dated from for years.From first to last it wascrowdedwithdelights.

On Wednesday MissBarry took them to theExhibition grounds and keptthemthereallday.

“Itwas splendid,”Annerelated toMarilla lateron. “Inever imagined anything sointeresting. I don’t reallyknow which department wasthemost interesting.I thinkI

liked the horses and theflowers and the fancy workbest.JosiePyetookfirstprizefor knitted lace. I was realgladshedid.And Iwasgladthat I felt glad, for it showsI’m improving, don’t youthink, Marilla, when I canrejoice in Josie’s success?Mr. Harmon Andrews tooksecond prize for GravensteinapplesandMr.Belltookfirstprizeforapig.Dianasaidshethoughtitwasridiculousfora

Sunday-schoolsuperintendentto take a prize in pigs, but Idon’t see why. Do you? Shesaid she would always thinkof it after this when he waspraying so solemnly. ClaraLouise MacPherson took aprize for painting, and Mrs.Lynde got first prize forhomemadebutterandcheese.So Avonlea was pretty wellrepresented, wasn’t it? Mrs.Lyndewastherethatday,andI never knew how much I

reallylikedheruntilIsawherfamiliar faceamongall thosestrangers. There werethousands of people there,Marilla. It made me feeldreadfully insignificant. AndMissBarry tookusup to thegrand stand to see the horseraces. Mrs. Lynde wouldn’tgo;shesaidhorseracingwasan abomination, and shebeing a church member,thought it her bounden dutyto set a good example by

stayingaway.But thereweresomanythereIdon’tbelieveMrs. Lynde’s absence wouldeverbenoticed.Idon’tthink,though, that I ought to govery often to horse races,because they are awfullyfascinating. Diana got soexcitedthatsheofferedtobetme ten cents that the redhorse would win. I didn’tbelieve he would, but Irefused to bet, because Iwanted to tellMrs. Allan all

about everything, and I feltsureitwouldn’tdototellherthat. It’s alwayswrong to doanything you can’t tell theminister’s wife. It’s as goodasanextraconsciencetohavea minister’s wife for yourfriend.AndIwasverygladIdidn’t bet, because the redhorse did win, and I wouldhave lost ten cents. So yousee that virtue was its ownreward.Wesawamangoupinaballoon.I’dlovetogoup

inaballoon,Marilla;itwouldbe simply thrilling; and wesaw a man selling fortunes.Youpaidhimtencentsandalittle bird picked out yourfortune for you. Miss BarrygaveDiana andme ten centseach to have our fortunestold. Mine was that I wouldmarryadarkcomplectedmanwhowasverywealthy, and Iwouldgoacrosswatertolive.I looked carefully at all thedarkmenIsawafterthat,but

Ididn’tcaremuchforanyofthem, and anyhow I supposeit’s too early to be lookingout for himyet.Oh, itwas anever-to-be-forgotten day,Marilla. I was so tired Icouldn’t sleep at night.MissBarry put us in the spareroom, according to promise.It was an elegant room,Marilla, but somehowsleepinginaspareroomisn’twhat I used to think it was.That’s the worst of growing

up, and I’m beginning torealize it. The things youwanted so much when youwere a child don’t seem halfso wonderful to you whenyougetthem.”

Thursday thegirlshadadrive in the park, and in theevening Miss Barry tookthem to a concert in theAcademy of Music, where anoted prima donna was tosing. To Anne the eveningwas a glittering vision of

delight.“Oh, Marilla, it was

beyond description. I was soexcited I couldn’t even talk,soyoumayknowwhatitwaslike. I just sat in enrapturedsilence.MadameSelitskywasperfectly beautiful, and worewhite satin and diamonds.ButwhenshebegantosingInever thought about anythingelse.Oh,Ican’ttellyouhowI felt. But it seemed to methat itcouldneverbehard to

begoodanymore.IfeltlikeIdo when I look up to thestars. Tears came into myeyes,but,oh, theywere suchhappy tears I was so sorrywhen it was all over, and Itold Miss Barry I didn’t seehow I was ever to return tocommon life again. She saidshe thought if we went overto the restaurant across thestreetandhadanicecreamitmighthelpme.Thatsoundedsoprosaic;buttomysurprise

Ifoundittrue.Theicecreamwasdelicious.Marilla, and itwas so lovely and dissipatedtobesitting thereeating it ateleveno’clockatnight.Dianasaid she believed she wasborn forcity life.MissBarryasked me what my opinionwas, but I said Iwould havetothinkitoververyseriouslybefore Icould tellherwhat Ireallythought.SoIthoughtitoverafterIwenttobed.Thatisthebesttimetothinkthings

out. And I came to theconclusion, Marilla, that Iwasn’t born for city life andthatIwasgladofit.It’sniceto be eating ice cream atbrilliant restaurants at eleveno’clock at night once inawhile;butasaregular thingI’dratherbeintheeastgableat eleven, sound asleep, butkind of knowing even inmysleep that the stars wereshining outside and that thewindwas blowing in the firs

across the brook. I toldMissBarrysoatbreakfastthenextmorning and she laughed.MissBarrygenerallylaughedatanythingIsaid,evenwhenIsaidthemostsolemnthings.I don’t think I liked it,Marilla, because I wasn’ttryingtobefunny.Butsheisa most hospitable lady andtreatedusroyally.”

Friday brought going-home time, and Mr. Barrydroveinforthegirls.

“Well, I hope you’veenjoyed yourselves,” saidMissBarry,asshebadethemgood-bye.

“Indeed we have,” saidDiana.

“Andyou,Anne-girl?”“I’ve enjoyed every

minute of the time,” saidAnne, throwing her armsimpulsively about the oldwoman’s neck and kissingher wrinkled cheek. Dianawouldneverhavedaredtodo

such a thing, and felt ratheraghast at Anne’s freedom.ButMiss Barrywas pleased,andshestoodonherverandaandwatchedthebuggyoutofsight. Then she went backintoherbighousewithasigh.Itseemedverylonely,lackingthosefreshyoung lives.MissBarrywasaratherselfisholdlady,ifthetruthmustbetold,andhadnevercaredmuchforanybody but herself. Shevalued people only as they

were of service to her oramused her. Anne hadamusedher,andconsequentlystood high in the old lady’sgood graces. ButMiss Barryfound herself thinking lessaboutAnne’squaintspeechesthanofherfreshenthusiasms,her transparent emotions, herlittle winning ways, and thesweetness of her eyes andlips.

“I thought MarillaCuthbert was an old fool

whenIheardshe’dadoptedagirloutofanorphanasylum,”she said to herself, “but Iguess she didn’t make muchofamistakeafterall.IfI’dachild like Anne in the houseallthetimeI’dbeabetterandhappierwoman.”

Anne and Diana foundthedrivehomeaspleasantasthe drive in—pleasanter,indeed, since there was thedelightful consciousness ofhomewaitingattheendofit.

It was sunset when theypassed through White Sandsand turned into the shoreroad. Beyond, the Avonleahills came out darkly againstthe saffron sky.Behind themthe moon was rising out ofthe sea that grew all radiantand transfigured in her light.Every little cove along thecurvingroadwasamarvelofdancing ripples. The wavesbrokewithasoftswishontherocks below them, and the

tang of the sea was in thestrong,freshair.

“Oh, but it’s good to bealiveand tobegoinghome,”breathedAnne.

When she crossed thelogbridgeoverthebrookthekitchenlightofGreenGableswinked her a friendlywelcome back, and throughthe open door shone thehearth fire, sending out itswarm red glow athwart thechillyautumnnight.Anneran

blithely up the hill and intothe kitchen, where a hotsupper was waiting on thetable.

“So you’ve got back?”said Marilla, folding up herknitting.

“Yes, and, oh, it’s sogood to be back,” saidAnnejoyously. “I could kisseverything,eventotheclock.Marilla, a broiled chicken!You don’t mean to say youcookedthatforme!”

“Yes, I did,” saidMarilla. “I thought you’d behungryaftersuchadriveandneed something realappetizing.Hurryandtakeoffyour things, and we’ll havesupper as soon as Matthewcomesin.I’mgladyou’vegotback, I must say. It’s beenfearfullonesomeherewithoutyou, and I never put in fourlongerdays.”

After supper Anne satbefore the fire between

Matthew and Marilla, andgave them a full account ofhervisit.

“I’ve had a splendidtime,”sheconcludedhappily,“and I feel that it marks anepochinmylife.Butthebestof it all was the cominghome.”

30

The Queen’s Class IsOrganized

MARILLALAIDHERknittingonherlapandleanedbackinherchair. Her eyes were tired,and she thought vaguely that

shemustseeabouthavingherglasseschangedthenexttimeshewenttotown,forhereyeshadgrowntiredveryoftenoflate.

It was nearly dark, forthe dull November twilighthad fallen around GreenGables, and the only light inthe kitchen came from thedancing red flames in thestove.

Anne was curled upTurk-fashion on the

hearthrug, gazing into thatjoyous glow where thesunshine of a hundredsummers was being distilledfrom the maple cordwood.Shehadbeenreading,butherbookhadslippedtothefloor,and now she was dreaming,with a smile on her partedlips. Glittering castles inSpain were shapingthemselves out of the mistsand rainbows of her livelyfancy; adventures wonderful

and enthralling werehappeningtoherincloudland—adventures that alwaysturned out triumphantly andneverinvolvedherinscrapeslikethoseofactuallife.

Marilla looked at herwith a tenderness that wouldnever have been suffered toreveal itself in any clearerlight than that soft minglingof fireshineandshadow.Thelesson of a love that shoulddisplayitselfeasilyinspoken

wordandopen lookwasoneMarillacouldneverlearn.Butshe had learned to love thisslim, gray-eyed girl with anaffection all the deeper andstronger from its veryundemonstrativeness. Herlovemadeherafraidofbeingundulyindulgent,indeed.Shehad an uneasy feeling that itwas rather sinful to set one’sheart so intensely on anyhumancreatureasshehadsethers on Anne, and perhaps

she performed a sort ofunconscious penance for thisby being stricter and morecritical than if the girl hadbeen less dear to her.CertainlyAnneherselfhadnoidea how Marilla loved her.She sometimes thoughtwistfully that Marilla wasvery hard to please anddistinctlylackinginsympathyand understanding. But shealways checked the thoughtreproachfully, remembering

whatsheowedtoMarilla.“Anne,” said Marilla

abruptly, “Miss Stacy washere thisafternoonwhenyouwereoutwithDiana.”

Anne came back fromher other world with a startandasigh.

“Was she? Oh, I’m sosorryIwasn’tin.Whydidn’tyou call me, Marilla? Dianaand I were only over in theHauntedWood. It’s lovely inthewoods now.All the little

wood things—the ferns andthe satin leaves and thecrackerberries—have gone tosleep,justasifsomebodyhadtucked them away untilspring under a blanket ofleaves. I think it was a littlegray fairy with a rainbowscarf that came tiptoeingalongthelastmoonlightnightand did it. Diana wouldn’tsaymuch about that, though.Dianahasneverforgottenthescoldinghermothergaveher

about imagining ghosts intothe Haunted Wood. It had avery bad effect on Diana’simagination. It blighted it.Mrs. Lynde saysMyrtleBellis a blighted being. I askedRuby Gillis whyMyrtle wasblighted, and Ruby said sheguessed it was because heryoungmanhadgonebackonher. Ruby Gillis thinks ofnothing but young men, andthe older she gets the worseshe is. Young men are all

verywellintheirplace,butitdoesn’t do to drag them intoeverything, does it? DianaandIarethinkingseriouslyofpromisingeachother thatwewill nevermarry but be niceold maids and live togetherfor ever. Diana hasn’t quitemade up her mind though,because she thinksperhaps itwould be nobler to marrysome wild, dashing, wickedyoung man and reform him.Diana and I talk a great deal

about serious subjects now,you know. We feel that weare so much older than weused to be that it isn’tbecoming to talk of childishmatters. It’s such a solemnthing to be almost fourteen,Marilla. Miss Stacy took allus girlswho are in our teensdown to the brook lastWednesday, and talked to usaboutit.Shesaidwecouldn’tbetoocarefulwhathabitsweformed and what ideals we

acquiredinourteens,becauseby the time we were twentyour characters would bedevelopedandthefoundationlaidforourwholefuturelife.Andshesaidifthefoundationwas shaky we could neverbuild anything really worthwhile on it. Diana and Italkedthematterovercominghome from school. We feltextremely solemn, Marilla.And we decided that wewould try to be very careful

indeed and form respectablehabits and learn allwecouldandbeassensibleaspossible,so that by the time we weretwenty our characters wouldbe properly developed. It’sperfectlyappallingtothinkofbeing twenty, Marilla. Itsounds so fearfully old andgrownup.ButwhywasMissStacyherethisafternoon?”

“That is what I want totell you,Anne, if you’ll evergive me a chance to get a

word in edgewise. She wastalkingaboutyou.”

“About me?” Annelooked rather scared. Thensheflushedandexclaimed:

“Oh, I know what shewas saying. I meant to tellyou, Marilla, honestly I did,but I forgot. Miss Stacycaughtmereading‘BenHur’inschoolyesterdayafternoonwhen I should have beenstudying my Canadianhistory. JaneAndrews lent it

to me. I was reading it atdinnerhour,andIhadjustgotto the chariot race whenschoolwent in. Iwas simplywild to know how it turnedout—althoughIfeltsure‘BenHur’ must win, because itwouldn’tbepoeticaljusticeifhe didn’t—so I spread thehistory open on my desk-lidand then tucked ‘Ben Hur’between the desk and myknee. It just looked as if Iwere studying Canadian

history, you know, while allthe while I was reveling in‘BenHur.’IwassointerestedinitthatInevernoticedMissStacy coming down the aisleuntilall atonce I just lookedupandthereshewaslookingdown at me, so reproachfullike. I can’t tell you howashamed I felt, Marilla,especiallywhenIheardJosiePyegiggling.MissStacytook‘Ben Hur’ away, but shenever said a word then. She

kept me in at recess andtalked tome. She said I haddone very wrong in tworespects. First, Iwaswastingthe time I ought to have putonmystudies;andsecondlyIwas deceiving my teacher intryingtomakeitappearIwasreadingahistorywhenitwasa storybook instead. I hadnever realized until thatmoment,Marilla, thatwhat Iwas doing was deceitful. Iwas shocked. I cried bitterly,

and asked Miss Stacy toforgive me and I’d never dosuch a thing again; and Ioffered to do penance bynever so much as looking at‘BenHur’ for awholeweek,not even to see how thechariot race turned out. ButMissStacysaidshewouldn’trequire that, and she forgavemefreely.SoIthinkitwasn’tvery kind of her to come upheretoyouaboutitafterall.”

“Miss Stacy never

mentionedsuchathingtome,Anne, and it’s only yourguilty conscience that’s thematterwithyou.Youhavenobusiness to be takingstorybooks to school. Youread too many novelsanyhow.When Iwasagirl Iwasn’tsomuchasallowedtolookatanovel.”

“Oh, how can you call‘Ben Hur’ a novel when it’sreallysuchareligiousbook?”protested Anne. “Of course

it’s a little too exciting to beproper reading for Sunday,and I only read it onweekdays. And I never readany book now unless eitherMiss Stacy or Mrs. Allanthinksitisaproperbookforagirl thirteen and three-quarters to read. Miss Stacymade me promise that. Shefoundmereadingabookoneday called, ‘The LuridMysteryoftheHauntedHall.’It was one Ruby Gillis had

lent me, and, oh, Marilla, itwas so fascinating andcreepy. It just curdled theblood inmy veins. ButMissStacysaiditwasaverysilly,unwholesome book, and sheasked me not to read anymore of it or any like it. Ididn’tmindpromisingnot toread any more like it, but itwas agonizing to give backthat book without knowinghow it turned out. But myloveforMissStacystoodthe

test and I did. It’s reallywonderful,Marilla,whatyoucan do when you’re trulyanxious to please a certainperson.”

“Well, I guess I’ll lightthe lamp and get to work,”said Marilla. “I see plainlythat you don’t want to hearwhatMiss Stacy had to say.You’remoreinterestedinthesound of your own tonguethaninanythingelse.”

“Oh, indeed, Marilla, I

do want to hear it,” criedAnnecontritely.“Iwon’tsayanother word—not one, Iknow I talk too much, but Iam really trying toovercomeit, and although I say far toomuch, yet if you only knewhow many things I want tosayanddon’t,you’dgivemesome credit for it. Please tellme,Marilla.”

“Well,MissStacywantstoorganizeaclassamongheradvanced studentswhomean

to study for the entranceexamination into Queen’s.She intends to give themextralessonsforanhourafterschool.And she came to askMatthewandmeifwewouldliketohaveyoujoinit.Whatdo you think about ityourself, Anne? Would youliketogotoQueen’sandpassforateacher?”

“Oh, Marilla!” Annestraightened toherkneesandclasped her hands. “It’s been

thedreamofmylife—thatis,for the last six months, eversinceRubyandJanebegantotalk of studying for theentrance. But I didn’t sayanything about it, because Isupposed it would beperfectly useless. I’d love tobe a teacher.Butwon’t it bedreadfully expensive? Mr.Andrewssaysitcosthimonehundred and fifty dollars toputPrissythrough,andPrissywasn’tadunceingeometry.”

“I guess you needn’tworry about that part of it.When Matthew and I tookyou to bring up we resolvedwe would do the best wecouldforyouandgiveyouagoodeducation.Ibelieveinagirl being fitted to earn herown living whether she everhas to or not. You’ll alwayshaveahomeatGreenGablesas longasMatthewandIarehere,butnobodyknowswhatis going to happen in this

uncertainworld, and it’s justaswelltobeprepared.Soyoucan join the Queen’s class ifyoulike,Anne.”

“Oh, Marilla, thankyou.” Anne flung her armsabout Marilla’s waist andlooked up earnestly into herface. “I’m extremely gratefultoyouandMatthew.AndI’llstudyashardasIcananddomyverybesttobeacredittoyou.Iwarnyounottoexpectmuchingeometry,butIthink

I can hold my own inanythingelseifIworkhard.”

“I dare say you’ll getalong well enough. MissStacysaysyouarebrightanddiligent.” Not for worldswouldMarillahavetoldAnnejustwhatMissStacyhadsaidabout her; that would havebeen to pamper vanity. “Youneedn’t rush to any extremeof killing yourself over yourbooks.Thereisnohurry.Youwon’t be ready to try the

entranceforayearandahalfyet. But it’swell to begin intime and be thoroughlygrounded,MissStacysays.”

“I shall take moreinterest than ever in mystudies now,” said Anneblissfully, “because I have apurpose in life. Mr. Allansayseverybodyshouldhaveapurpose in life and pursue itfaithfully. Only he says wemustfirstmakesurethatitisa worthy purpose. I would

call it a worthy purpose towanttobeateacherlikeMissStacy,wouldn’tyou,Marilla?I think it’s a very nobleprofession.”

The Queen’s class wasorganizedinduetime.GilbertBlythe, Anne Shirley, RubyGillis, Jane Andrews, JosiePye, Charlie Sloane, andMoody SpurgeonMacPherson joined it. DianaBarry did not, as her parentsdid not intend to send her to

Queen’s. This seemednothingshortofacalamitytoAnne. Never, since the nighton which Minnie May hadhad the croup, had she andDiana been separated inanything. On the eveningwhen the Queen’s class firstremained in school for theextra lessons and Anne sawDianagoslowlyoutwith theothers, to walk home alonethrough the Birch Path andViolet Vale, it was all the

former could do to keep herseat and refrain fromrushingimpulsivelyafterherchum.Alump came into her throat,andshehastilyretiredbehindthepagesofherupliftedLatingrammar to hide the tears inher eyes. Not for worldswouldAnnehavehadGilbertBlytheorJosiePyeseethosetears.

“But, oh, Marilla, IreallyfeltthatIhadtastedthebitterness of death, as Mr.

Allan said in his sermon lastSunday,whenIsawDianagoout alone,” she saidmournfully that night. “Ithought how splendid itwouldhavebeenifDianahadonly been going to study forthe Entrance, too. But wecan’t have things perfect inthis imperfectworld, asMrs.Lyndesays.Mrs.Lyndeisn’texactly a comforting personsometimes, but there’s nodoubt she says a great many

very true things.And I thinktheQueen’s class is going tobeextremelyinteresting.Janeand Ruby are just going tostudy to be teachers. That isthe height of their ambition.Rubysaysshewillonlyteachfor two years after she getsthrough,andthensheintendsto be married. Jane says shewill devote her whole life toteaching, and never, nevermarry,becauseyouarepaidasalary for teaching, but a

husband won’t pay youanything, and growls if youaskforashareintheeggandbutter money. I expect Janespeaks from mournfulexperience, for Mrs. Lyndesays that her father is aperfectoldcrank,andmeanerthansecondskimmings.JosiePye says she is just going tocollege for education’s sake,because she won’t have toearnherownliving;shesaysof course it is different with

orphans who are living oncharity—they have to hustle.Moody Spurgeon is going tobe a minister. Mrs. Lyndesays he couldn’t be anythingelsewith a name like that tolive up to. I hope it isn’twicked of me, Marilla, butreally the thought of MoodySpurgeon being a ministermakesmelaugh.He’ssuchafunny looking boy with thatbigfatface,andhislittleblueeyes,andhisearsstickingout

likeflaps.Butperhapshewillbe more intellectual lookingwhen he grows up. CharlieSloane says he’s going to gointopoliticsandbeamemberof Parliament, but Mrs.Lynde says he’ll neversucceed at that, because theSloanesareallhonestpeople,and it’s only rascals that getoninpoliticsnowadays.”

“What is Gilbert Blythegoingtobe?”queriedMarilla,seeingthatAnnewasopening

herCaesar.“Idon’thappentoknow

what Gilbert Blythe’sambition in life is—ifhehasany,”saidAnnescornfully.

There was open rivalrybetween Gilbert and Annenow. Previously the rivalryhadbeenratherone-sided,buttherewasnolongeranydoubtthat Gilbert was asdeterminedtobefirstinclassas Anne was. He was afoeman worthy of her steel.

The other members of theclass tacitly acknowledgedtheir superiority, and neverdreamedoftryingtocompetewiththem.

Since the day by thepondwhenshehadrefusedtolisten to his plea forforgiveness,Gilbert, save forthe aforesaid determinedrivalry, had evinced norecognition whatever of theexistenceofAnneShirley.Hetalked and jested with the

other girls, exchanged booksand puzzles with them,discussed lessons and plans,sometimeswalkedhomewithoneortheotherofthemfromprayer meeting or DebatingClub. But Anne Shirley hesimply ignored, and Annefound out that it is notpleasanttobeignored.Itwasin vain that she told herselfwith a toss of her head thatshe did not care.Deep downin her wayward, feminine

little heart she knew that shedid care, and that if she hadthat chance of the Lake ofShining Waters again shewould answer verydifferently. All at once, as itseemed, and to her secretdismay,shefoundthattheoldresentment shehadcherishedagainst himwas gone—gonejustwhenshemostneededitssustaining power. It was invain that she recalled everyincident and emotion of that

memorableoccasionandtriedto feel the old satisfyinganger. That day by the pondhad witnessed its lastspasmodic flicker. Annerealizedthatshehadforgivenand forgotten withoutknowing it. But it was toolate.

And at least neitherGilbertnoranybodyelse,noteven Diana, should eversuspect how sorry she wasand how much she wished

shehadn’tbeensoproudandhorrid! She determined to“shroud her feelings indeepestoblivion,”anditmaybe stated here and now thatshedidit,sosuccessfullythatGilbert,whopossiblywasnotquite so indifferent as heseemed, could not consolehimself with any belief thatAnne felt his retaliatoryscorn.Theonlypoorcomforthe hadwas that she snubbedCharlieSloane, unmercifully,

continuallyandundeservedly.Otherwise the winter

passed away in a round ofpleasant duties and studies.ForAnnethedaysslippedbylike golden beads on thenecklaceoftheyear.Shewashappy,eager,interested;therewere lessons to be learnedand honors to be won;delightfulbookstoread;newpieces tobepracticed for theSunday-schoolchoir;pleasantSaturday afternoons at the

manse with Mrs. Allan; andthen, almost before Annerealized it, spring had comeagaintoGreenGablesandallthe world was abloom oncemore.

Studiespalledjustaweebit then; the Queen’s class,left behind in school whilethe others scattered to greenlanesandleafywoodcutsandmeadow byways, lookedwistfully out of thewindowsand discovered that Latin

verbs and French exerciseshad somehow lost the tangand zest they had possessedin the crisp winter months.Even Anne and Gilbertlagged and grew indifferent.Teacherandtaughtwerealikeglad when the term wasended and the glad vacationdays stretched rosily beforethem.

“But you’ve done goodwork this past year,” MissStacy told them on the last

evening, “and you deserve agood,jollyvacation.Havethebest timeyoucan in theout-of-door world and lay in agood stock of health andvitalityandambition tocarryyouthroughnextyear.Itwillbe the tug ofwar, you know—the last year before theEntrance.”

“Are you going to bebacknextyear,MissStacy?”askedJosiePye.

JosiePyeneverscrupled

to ask questions; in thisinstance the rest of the classfelt grateful to her; none ofthemwouldhavedaredtoaskit of Miss Stacy, but allwantedto,fortherehadbeenalarming rumors running atlarge through the school forsome time that Miss Stacywasnotcomingbackthenextyear—that she had beenoffered a position in thegraded school of her ownhome district and meant to

accept. The Queen’s classlistened in breathlesssuspenseforheranswer.

“Yes,IthinkIwill,”saidMiss Stacy. “I thought oftaking another school, but IhavedecidedtocomebacktoAvonlea. To tell the truth,I’ve grown so interested inmypupilshere that I found Icouldn’t leave them. So I’llstayandseeyouthrough.”

“Hurrah!” said MoodySpurgeon. Moody Spurgeon

had never been so carriedaway by his feelings before,and he blusheduncomfortably every time hethoughtaboutitforaweek.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” saidAnne with shining eyes.“DearMissStacy,itwouldbeperfectly dreadful if youdidn’t come back. I don’tbelieveIcouldhavethehearttogoonwithmystudiesatallifanotherteachercamehere.”

When Anne got home

that night she stacked all hertext-books away in an oldtrunk in the attic, locked it,and threw the key into theblanketbox.

“I’m not even going tolook at a school book invacation,” she told Marilla.“I’ve studied as hard all theterm as I possibly could andI’veporedoverthatgeometryuntil I know everyproposition in the first bookoff by heart, even when the

lettersarechanged.Ijustfeeltired of everything sensibleand I’m going to let myimagination run riot for thesummer. Oh, you needn’t bealarmed,Marilla. I’llonly letit run riot within reasonablelimits. But I want to have areal good jolly time thissummer, for maybe it’s thelast summer I’ll be a littlegirl.Mrs.LyndesaysthatifIkeep stretching out next yearas I’ve done this I’ll have to

putonlongerskirts.ShesaysI’m all running to legs andeyes. And when I put onlongerskirtsIshallfeelthatIhavetoliveuptothemandbevery dignified. It won’t evendo to believe in fairies then,I’m afraid; so I’m going tobelieve in them with all mywhole heart this summer. Ithink we’re going to have avery gay vacation. RubyGillis is going to have abirthday party soon and

there’s the Sunday-schoolpicnic and the missionaryconcertnextmonth.AndMr.Barrysaysthatsomeeveninghe’ll takeDianaandmeovertotheWhiteSandsHotelandhavedinner there.Theyhavedinner there in the evening,youknow.JaneAndrewswasover once last summer andshe says it was a dazzlingsight toseetheelectric lightsand the flowers and all thelady guests in such beautiful

dresses. Jane says it was herfirst glimpse into high lifeand she’ll never forget it toherdyingday.”

Mrs.Lyndecameupthenext afternoon to find outwhyMarilla had not been attheAidmeetingonThursday.WhenMarillawasnotatAidmeeting people knew therewas something wrong atGreenGables.

“Matthew had a badspell with his heart

Thursday,”Marillaexplained,“andIdidn’tfeellikeleavinghim. Oh, yes, he’s all rightagainnow,buthetakesthemspellsoftenerthanheusedtoand I’m anxious about him.The doctor says he must becareful to avoid excitement.That’s easy enough, forMatthew doesn’t go aboutlookingforexcitementbyanymeansandneverdid,buthe’snot to do any very heavyworkeitherandyoumightas

well tell Matthew not tobreatheasnottowork.Comeand lay off your things,Rachel.You’llstaytotea?”

“Well, seeing you’re sopressing, perhaps I might aswell stay,” saidMrs.Rachel,who had not the slightestintention of doing anythingelse.

Mrs.RachelandMarillasat comfortably in the parlorwhile Anne got the tea andmade hot biscuits that were

light and white enough todefy even Mrs. Rachel’scriticism.

“I must say Anne hasturned out a real smart girl,”admitted Mrs. Rachel, asMarilla accompanied her totheendof the laneat sunset.“Shemust be a great help toyou.”

“She is,” said Marilla,“and she’s real steady andreliable now. I used to beafraid she’d never get over

her feather-brainedways,butshe has and I wouldn’t beafraidtotrustherinanythingnow.”

“I never would havethoughtshe’dhaveturnedoutso well that first day I washere three years ago,” saidMrs. Rachel. “Lawful heart,shall I ever forget thattantrumofhers!WhenIwenthome that night I says toThomas, says I, ‘Mark mywords, Thomas, Marilla

Cuthbert’lllivetoruethestepshe’s took.’ But I wasmistakenandI’mrealgladofit.Iain’toneofthosekindofpeople,Marilla, as can neverbe brought to own up thatthey’vemade amistake. No,thatneverwasmyway,thankgoodness. I did make amistake in judgingAnne,butit weren’t no wonder, for anodder, unexpectederwitch ofachildthereneverwasinthisworld,that’swhat.Therewas

no ciphering her out by therules that worked with otherchildren.It’snothingshortofwonderful how she’simproved these three years,butespecially in looks.She’sa real pretty girl got to be,thoughIcan’tsayI’moverlypartial to that pale, big-eyedstylemyself.Ilikemoresnapand color, like Diana Barryhas or Ruby Gillis. RubyGillis’ looks are real showy.But somehow—Idon’t know

howit isbutwhenAnneandthemaretogether,thoughsheain’t half as handsome, shemakes them look kind ofcommon and overdone—something like them whiteJune lilies shecallsnarcissusalongside of the big, redpeonies,that’swhat.”

31

Where theBrook andRiverMeet

ANNE HAD HER “good”summer and enjoyed itwholeheartedly. She andDiana fairly lived outdoors,

reveling in all the delightsthat Lovers’ Lane and theDryad’s Bubble andWillowmere and VictoriaIsland afforded. Marillaoffered no objections toAnne’s gypsyings. TheSpencervale doctor who hadcome the night Minnie MayhadthecroupmetAnneatthehouse of a patient oneafternoon early in vacation,looked her over sharply,screweduphismouth, shook

his head, and sent amessageto Marilla Cuthbert byanotherperson.Itwas:

“Keep that redheadedgirl of yours in the open airall summer and don’t let herread books until she getsmorespringintoherstep.”

Thismessage frightenedMarilla wholesomely. ShereadAnne’sdeathwarrantbyconsumption in it unless itwas scrupulously obeyed.Asaresult,Annehadthegolden

summer of her life as far asfreedomand frolicwent.Shewalked, rowed, berried anddreamed to her heart’scontent;andwhenSeptembercameshewasbright-eyedandalert, with a step that wouldhavesatisfiedtheSpencervaledoctor and a heart full ofambitionandzestoncemore.

“I feel just likestudyingwith might and main,” shedeclared as she brought herbooks down from the attic.

“Oh, you good old friends,I’m glad to see your honestfaces once more—yes, evenyou, geometry. I’ve had aperfectly beautiful summer,Marilla, and now I’mrejoicing as a strong man torun a race, asMr.Allan saidlast Sunday. Doesn’t Mr.Allan preach magnificentsermons?Mrs.Lyndesaysheis improving every day andthefirst thingweknowsomecity church will gobble him

upand thenwe’llbe left andhave to turn to and break inanothergreenpreacher.But Idon’t see the use of meetingtrouble halfway, do you,Marilla? I think it would bebetterjusttoenjoyMr.Allanwhilewehavehim.IfIwerea man I think I’d be aminister.Theycanhavesuchaninfluenceforgood,iftheirtheologyissound;anditmustbethrillingtopreachsplendidsermons and stir your

hearers’ hearts. Why can’twomenbeministers,Marilla?I askedMrs. Lynde that andshe was shocked and said itwouldbe a scandalous thing.She said there might befemaleministersintheStatesand she believed there was,butthankgoodnesswehadn’tgot to that stage in Canadayet and she hoped we neverwould.ButIdon’tseewhy.Ithink women would makesplendid ministers. When

there is a social to be got upor a church tea or anythingelse to raise money thewomenhavetoturntoanddothe work. I’m sure Mrs.Lynde can pray every bit aswell as Superintendent Belland I’ve no doubt she couldpreach too with a littlepractice.”

“Yes, I believe shecould,” said Marilla drily.“Shedoesplentyofunofficialpreachingasitis.Nobodyhas

much of a chance to gowrong in Avonlea withRacheltooverseethem.”

“Marilla,”saidAnneinaburst of confidence, “I wanttotellyousomethingandaskyouwhat you think about it.It has worried me terribly—onSundayafternoons,thatis,when I think specially aboutsuchmatters.Idoreallywantto be good; and when I’mwith you or Mrs. Allan orMiss Stacy I want it more

than ever and I want to dojust what would please youandwhatyouwouldapproveof.ButmostlywhenI’mwithMrs.LyndeIfeeldesperatelywicked and as if Iwanted togo anddo thevery thing shetells me I oughtn’t to do. Ifeelirresistiblytemptedtodoit.Now,whatdoyouthinkisthereasonIfeellikethat?Doyou think it’s because I’mreallybadandunregenerate?”

Marilla looked dubious

for a moment. Then shelaughed.

“Ifyouare Iguess Iamtoo, Anne, for Rachel oftenhas that very effect onme. Isometimes think she’d havemore of an influence forgood, as you say yourself, ifshe didn’t keep naggingpeople to do right. Thereshould have been a specialcommandment againstnagging. But there, Ishouldn’t talk so.Rachel isa

good Christian woman andshemeanswell.Thereisn’takinder soul in Avonlea andshe never shirks her share ofwork.”

“I’m very glad you feelthe same,” said Annedecidedly. “It’s soencouraging. I sha’n’t worryso much over that after this.But I dare say there’ll beother things to worry me.Theykeepcomingupnewallthe time—things to perplex

you, you know. You settleone question and there’sanother right after. There aresomany things tobe thoughtover and decided whenyou’rebeginning togrowup.Itkeepsmebusyall the timethinking them over anddeciding what is right. It’s aseriousthingtogrowup,isn’tit.Marilla? But when I havesuchgoodfriendsasyouandMatthew andMrs.Allan andMiss Stacy I ought to grow

upsuccessfully,andI’msureit will be my own fault if Idon’t. I feel it’s a greatresponsibility because I haveonlytheonechance.IfIdon’tgrowuprightIcan’tgobackand begin over again. I’vegrown two inches thissummer, Marilla. Mr. GillismeasuredmeatRuby’sparty.I’m so glad you made mynewdresseslonger.Thatdarkgreen one is so pretty and itwas sweet of you to put on

theflounce.OfcourseIknowitwasn’treallynecessary,butflounces are so stylish thisfall and Josie Pye hasflounces on all her dresses. Iknow I’ll be able to studybetterbecauseofmine.Ishallhave such a comfortablefeeling deep down in mymindaboutthatflounce.”

“It’sworthsomething tohavethat,”admittedMarilla.

MissStacycamebacktoAvonleaschoolandfoundall

her pupils eager for workoncemore.EspeciallydidtheQueen’s class gird up theirloins for the fray, for at theendofthecomingyear,dimlyshadowing their pathwayalready, loomed up thatfateful thing known as “theEntrance,” at the thought ofwhich one and all felt theirhearts sink into their veryshoes. Suppose they did notpass! That thought wasdoomed to haunt Anne

through the waking hours ofthat winter. Sundayafternoons inclusive, to thealmost entire exclusion ofmoral and theologicalproblems. When Anne hadbaddreamsshefoundherselfstaringmiserablyatpasslistsoftheEntranceexams,whereGilbert Blythe’s name wasblazoned at the top and inwhich hers did not appear atall.

But itwas a jolly, busy,

happy swift-flying winter.School work was asinteresting, class rivalry asabsorbing, as of yore. Newworlds of thought, feeling,and ambition, fresh,fascinating fields ofunexplored knowledgeseemed to be opening outbeforeAnne’seagereyes.

“Hills peepedo’er hill and

Alps on Alpsarose.”

Muchofallthiswasdueto Miss Stacy’s tactful,careful, broad-mindedguidance.Sheledherclasstothink and explore anddiscover for themselves andencouraged straying from theold beaten paths to a degreethat quite shocked Mrs.Lynde and the school

trustees, who viewed allinnovations on establishedmethodsratherdubiously.

Apart from her studiesAnne expanded socially, forMarilla, mindful of theSpencervale doctor’s dictum,no longer vetoed occasionaloutings. The Debating Clubflourished and gave severalconcerts; there were one ortwopartiesalmostvergingongrown-up affairs; there weresleigh drives and skating

frolicsgalore.Between times Anne

grew, shooting up so rapidlythat Marilla was astonishedone day, when they werestanding sideby side, to findthe girl was taller thanherself.

“Why, Anne, howyou’ve grown!” she said,almost unbelievingly. A sighfollowed on the words.Marilla felt a queer regretoverAnne’sinches.Thechild

she had learned to love hadvanished somehow and herewasthistall,serious-eyedgirloffifteen,withthethoughtfulbrow and the proudly poisedlittle head, in her place.Marillalovedthegirlasmuchasshehadlovedthechild,butshewasconsciousofaqueersorrowful sense of loss. Andthat night when Anne hadgone to prayer meeting withDiana, Marilla sat alone inthe wintry twilight and

indulgedintheweaknessofacry.Matthew,cominginwithalantern,caughtheratitandgazed at her in suchconsternationthatMarillahadtolaughthroughhertears.

“I was thinking aboutAnne,” sheexplained. “She’sgottobesuchabiggirl—andshe’llprobablybeawayfromus next winter. I’ll miss herterrible.”

“She’ll be able to comehome often,” comforted

Matthew,towhomAnnewasas yet and always would bethe little, eager girl he hadbrought home from BrightRiver on that June eveningfour years before. “Thebranch railroad will be builttoCarmodybythattime.”

“It won’t be the samething as having her here allthe time,” sighed Marillagloomily, determined toenjoy her luxury of griefuncomforted. “But there—

men can’t understand thesethings!”

There were otherchanges inAnne no less realthanthephysicalchange.Forone thing, she became muchquieter. Perhaps she thoughtall the more and dreamed asmuch as ever, but shecertainly talked less. Marillanoticed and commented onthisalso.

“You don’t chatter halfas much as you used to,

Anne, nor use half as manybig words. What has comeoveryou?”

Anne colored andlaughed a little, as shedroppedherbookandlookeddreamily out of the window,where big fat red buds wereburstingoutonthecreeperinresponse to the lure of thespringsunshine.

“I don’t know—I don’twant to talk as much,” shesaid, denting her chin

thoughtfully with herforefinger.“It’snicertothinkdear,prettythoughtsandkeepthem in one’s heart, liketreasures.Idon’tliketohavethemlaughedatorwonderedover. And somehow I don’twant to use big words anymore. It’salmostapity, isn’tit, now that I’m reallygrowing big enough to saythemifIdidwantto.It’sfunto be almost grown up insome ways, but it’s not the

kind of fun I expected,Marilla. There’s so much tolearn and do and think thatthereisn’ttimeforbigwords.Besides,Miss Stacy says theshort ones aremuch strongerand better. She makes uswriteallouressaysassimplyas possible. It was hard atfirst. I was so used tocrowding in all the fine bigwordsIcouldthinkof—andIthought of any number ofthem.But I’ve got used to it

now and I see it’s so muchbetter.”

“What has become ofyour story club? I haven’theard you speak of it for alongtime.”

“The story club isn’t inexistence any longer. Wehadn’t time for it—andanyhow I think we had gottired of it. It was silly to bewriting about love andmurder and elopements andmysteries. Miss Stacy

sometimes has us write astory for training incomposition, but she won’tletuswriteanythingbutwhatmight happen in Avonlea inour own lives, and shecriticizes it very sharply andmakes us criticize our owntoo. I never thought mycompositions had so manyfaultsuntilIbegantolookforthem myself. I felt soashamed Iwanted togiveupaltogether, but Miss Stacy

said I could learn to writewell if I only trained myselftobemyown severest critic.AndsoIamtryingto.”

“You’ve only two moremonthsbefore theEntrance,”said Marilla. “Do you thinkyou’ll be able to getthrough?”

Anneshivered.“I don’t know.

Sometimes I think I’ll be allright—andthenIgethorriblyafraid. We’ve studied hard

andMissStacyhasdrilledusthoroughly, but we mayn’tget through for all that.We’ve each got a stumbling-block. Mine is geometry ofcourse, and Jane’s is Latinand Ruby’s and Charlie’s isalgebra and Josie’s isarithmetic. Moody Spurgeonsays he feels it in his bonesthat he is going to fail inEnglishhistory.MissStacyisgoingtogiveusexaminationsin June just as hard as we’ll

have at the Entrance andmark us just as strictly, sowe’ll have some idea. Iwishit was all over, Marilla. Ithauntsme.SometimesIwakeup in the night and wonderwhatI’lldoifIdon’tpass.”

“Why,gotoschoolnextyear and try again,” saidMarillaunconcernedly.

“Oh, I don’t believe I’dhavetheheartforit.Itwouldbe such a disgrace to fail,especially if Gil—if the

others passed. And I get sonervous in an examinationthat I’m likely to make amessofit.IwishIhadnerveslike Jane Andrews. Nothingrattlesher.”

Anne sighed and,dragging her eyes from thewitcheries of the springworld, the beckoning day ofbreeze and blue, and thegreen things upspringing inthe garden, buried herselfresolutely in her book.There

wouldbeothersprings,butifshedidnotsucceedinpassingthe Entrance Anne feltconvinced that she wouldnever recover sufficiently toenjoythem.

32

ThePassListIsOut

WITH THE END of June camethe close of the termand theclose ofMiss Stacy’s rule inAvonlea school. Anne andDiana walked home thatevening feeling very sober

indeed. Red eyes and damphandkerchiefs boreconvincing testimony to thefact that Miss Stacy’sfarewell words must havebeenquiteastouchingasMr.Phillips’ had been undersimilar circumstances threeyears before. Diana lookedbackat theschoolhousefromthefootofthesprucehillandsigheddeeply.

“Itdoesseemasifitwastheendofeverything,doesn’t

it?”shesaiddismally.“You oughtn’t to feel

half as badly as I do,” saidAnne, hunting vainly for adryspotonherhandkerchief.“You’ll be back again nextwinter,butIsupposeI’veleftthedearoldschoolforever—ifIhavegoodluck,thatis.”

“It won’t be a bit thesame. Miss Stacy won’t bethere, nor you nor Jane norRuby probably. I shall havetositallalone, for Icouldn’t

bear to have anotherdeskmate after you. Oh, wehavehad jolly times, haven’twe, Anne? It’s dreadful tothinkthey’reallover.”

Two big tears rolleddownbyDiana’snose.

“If you would stopcrying I could,” said Anneimploringly. “Just as soon asI put away my hanky I seeyou brimming up and thatstarts me off again. As Mrs.Lynde says, ‘If you can’t be

cheerful, be as cheerful asyoucan.’Afterall,IdaresayI’llbebacknextyear.Thisisone of the times I know I’mnot going to pass. They’regettingalarminglyfrequent.”

“Why, you came outsplendidly in theexamsMissStacygave.”

“Yes, but those examsdidn’t make me nervous.WhenIthinkoftherealthingyou can’t imagine what ahorrid cold fluttery feeling

comes round my heart. Andthen my number is thirteenand Josie Pye says it’s sounlucky. I am notsuperstitious and I know itcan make no difference. ButstillIwishitwasn’tthirteen.”

“Idowish Iweregoingin with you,” said Diana.“Wouldn’t we have aperfectly elegant time? But Isuppose you’ll have to cramintheevenings.”

“No; Miss Stacy has

madeuspromisenot toopena book at all. She says itwould only tire and confuseus and we are to go outwalking and not think abouttheexamsatallandgotobedearly. It’s good advice, but Iexpect it will be hard tofollow; good advice is apt tobe, I think. Prissy Andrewstold me that she sat up halfthe night every night of herEntrance week and crammedfor dear life; and I had

determined to sit up at leastas long as she did. Itwas sokind of your Aunt Josephineto ask me to stay atBeechwood while I’m intown.”

“You’ll write to mewhileyou’rein,won’tyou?”

“I’llwriteTuesdaynightandtellyouhowthefirstdaygoes,”promisedAnne.

“I’llbehauntingthepostoffice Wednesday,” vowedDiana.

Anne went to town thefollowing Monday and onWednesday Diana hauntedthepostoffice,asagreed,andgotherletter.

“DearestDiana,” wroteAnne, “here it isTuesday night andI’m writing this inthe library atBeechwood. Last

nightIwashorriblylonesome all alonein my room andwished so muchyouwerewithme.Icouldn’t ‘cram’because I’dpromised MissStacy not to, but itwasashardtokeepfrom opening myhistoryasitusedtobetokeepmefromreading a story

before my lessonswerelearned.

“This morningMiss Stacy cameformeandwewentto the Academy,callingforJaneandRuby and Josie onour way. Rubyaskedmetofeelherhands and theywere cold as ice.Josie said I lookedasifIhadn’tslepta

winkandshedidn’tbelieveIwasstrongenoughtostandthegrind of theteacher’s courseeven if I did getthrough. There aretimes and seasonseven yet when Idon’t feel that I’vemade any greatheadway inlearning to likeJosiePye!

“When wereached theAcademy therewere scores ofstudents there fromall over the Island.The firstpersonwesaw was MoodySpurgeon sittingonthe steps andmuttering away tohimself. Jane askedhim what on earthhe was doing and

he said he wasrepeating themultiplication tableover and over tosteady his nervesand for pity’s sakenottointerrupthim,because if hestopped for amoment he gotfrightened andforgot everythinghe ever knew, butthe multiplication

table kept all hisfacts firmly in theirproperplace!

“When wewere assigned toour rooms MissStacy had to leaveus. Jane and I sattogether and Janewas so composedthat I envied her.No need of themultiplication tablefor good, steady,

sensible Jane! Iwondered if Ilookedas I feltandif they could hearmy heart thumpingclear across theroom. Then a mancame in and begandistributing theEnglishexamination sheets.My hands grewcold then and myhead fairly whirled

roundasIpickeditup. Just one awfulmoment,—Diana, Ifeltexactlyas Ididfour years agowhen I askedMarilla if I mightstay at GreenGables—and theneverything clearedup inmymind andmy heart beganbeating again—Iforgot to say that it

had stoppedaltogether!—for Iknew I could dosomethingwiththatpaperanyhow.

“At noon wewent home fordinner and thenback again forhistory in theafternoon. ThehistorywasaprettyhardpaperandIgotdreadfully mixed

up in the dates.Still, I think I didfairly well today.But oh, Diana,tomorrow thegeometry examcomesoffandwhenIthinkof it it takesevery bit ofdetermination Ipossess to keepfrom opening myEuclid. If I thoughtthe multiplication

table would helpme any I wouldrecite it from nowtill tomorrowmorning.

“I went downto see the othergirls this evening.On my way I metMoody Spurgeonwanderingdistractedly around.Hesaidheknewhehadfailedinhistory

andhewasborn tobeadisappointmentto his parents andhewasgoinghomeon the morningtrain; and it wouldbe easier to be acarpenter than aminister, anyhow. Icheeredhimupandpersuaded him tostay to the endbecauseitwouldbeunfairtoMissStacy

if he didn’t.Sometimes I havewishedIwasbornaboy,butwhenIseeMoody SpurgeonI’m always gladI’m a girl and nothissister.

“Ruby was inhysterics when Ireached theirboarding-house;shehad just discovereda fearful mistake

shehadmadeinherEnglish paper.When sherecovered we wentup-townandhadanice-cream.Howwewished you hadbeenwithus.

“Oh, Diana, ifonly the geometryexamination wereover! But there, asMrs. Lynde wouldsay, thesunwillgo

on rising andsetting whether Ifail in geometry ornot.Thatistruebutnot especiallycomforting. I thinkI’d rather it didn’tgoonifIfailed!

The geometry

examinationandalltheotherswere over in due time andAnnearrivedhomeonFridayevening, rather tiredbutwithan air of chastened triumphabout her.Dianawas over atGreen Gables when shearrived and they met as ifthey had been parted foryears.

“You old darling, it’sperfectly splendid to see youback again. It seems like anage since you went to town

and oh, Anne, how did yougetalong?”

“Pretty well, I think, ineverything but the geometry.I don’t know whether IpassedinitornotandIhaveacreepy,crawlypresentimentthatIdidn’t.Oh,howgooditistobeback!GreenGablesisthe dearest, loveliest spot intheworld.”

“How did the othersdo?”

“Thegirlssaytheyknow

they didn’t pass, but I thinkthey did pretty well. Josiesays the geometry was soeasy a child of ten could doit! Moody Spurgeon stillthinkshefailedinhistoryandCharlie says he failed inalgebra. But we don’t reallyknow anything about it andwon’tuntilthepasslistisout.Thatwon’tbeforafortnight.Fancy living a fortnight insuchsuspense!IwishIcouldgo to sleep and never wake

upuntilitisover.”Diana knew itwould be

useless to ask how GilbertBlythe had fared, so shemerelysaid:

“Oh, you’ll pass allright.Don’tworry.”

“I’drathernotpassatallthannotcomeoutprettywelluponthelist,”flashedAnne,by which she meant—andDiana knew shemeant—thatsuccesswould be incompleteandbitterifshedidnotcome

outaheadofGilbertBlythe.With this end in view

Anne had strained everynerve during theexaminations.SohadGilbert.They had met and passedeach other on the street adozentimeswithoutanysignofrecognitionandeverytimeAnne had held her head alittle higher and wished alittle more earnestly that shehadmadefriendswithGilbertwhen he asked her, and

vowed a little moredeterminedly to surpass himintheexamination.Sheknewthat all Avonlea junior waswondering which wouldcomeoutfirst;sheevenknewthat Jimmy Glover and NedWright had a bet on thequestion and that Josie Pyehad said there was no doubtin the world that Gilbertwould be first; and she feltthatherhumiliationwouldbeunbearableifshefailed.

Butshehadanotherandnoblermotive for wishing todowell.Shewanted to“passhigh”forthesakeofMatthewand Marilla—especiallyMatthew. Matthew haddeclaredtoherhisconvictionthat she “would beat thewhole Island.” That, Annefelt, was something it wouldbefoolishtohopeforeveninthe wildest dreams. But shedid hope fervently that shewouldbe among the first ten

atleast,sothatshemightseeMatthew’skindlybrowneyesgleam with pride in herachievement. That, she felt,would be a sweet rewardindeed for all her hard workand patient grubbing amongunimaginative equations andconjugations.

At the end of thefortnight Anne took to“haunting” the post officealso, in the distractedcompany of Jane, Ruby and

Josie, opening theCharlottetown dailies withshaking hands and cold,sinkaway feelings as bad asany experienced during theEntrance week. Charlie andGilbertwerenotabovedoingthistoo,butMoodySpurgeonstayedresolutelyaway.

“Ihaven’tgotthegrittogo there and look at a paperincoldblood,”hetoldAnne.“I’m just going to wait untilsomebodycomesandtellsme

suddenlywhetherI’vepassedornot.”

When three weeks hadgone bywithout the pass listappearingAnnebegantofeelthat she really couldn’t standthe strain much longer. Herappetitefailedandherinterestin Avonlea doingslanguished. Mrs. Lyndewanted to know what elseyoucouldexpectwithaTorysuperintendentofeducationatthe head of affairs, and

Matthew, noting Anne’spalenessandindifferenceandthelaggingstepsthatboreherhome from the post officeevery afternoon, beganseriously to wonder if hehadn’t better voteGrit at thenextelection.

But one evening thenewscame.Annewas sittingat her open window, for thetime forgetful of thewoesofexaminationsandthecaresoftheworld,asshedrankinthe

beauty of the summer dusk,sweet-scented with flower-breaths from the gardenbelow and sibilant andrustling from the stir ofpoplars. The eastern skyabove the firs was flushedfaintly pink from thereflection of the west, andAnne was wonderingdreamily if thespiritofcolorlooked like that, when shesawDianacomeflyingdownthrough the firs, over the log

bridge,anduptheslope,witha fluttering newspaper in herhand.

Annesprang toher feet,knowing at once what thatpapercontained.Thepasslistwas out! Her head whirledandherheartbeatuntilithurther. She could not move astep.Itseemedanhourtoherbefore Diana came rushingalong the hall and burst intothe room without evenknocking, so great was her

excitement.“Anne, you’ve passed,”

she cried, “passed the veryfirst—youandGilbertboth—you’reties—butyournameisfirst.Oh,I’msoproud!”

Dianaflungthepaperonthe table and herself onAnne’sbed,utterlybreathlessand incapable of furtherspeech. Anne lighted thelamp, oversetting thematchsafeandusinguphalfadozen matches before her

shaking hands couldaccomplishthetask.Thenshesnatched up the paper. Yes,she had passed—there washernameattheverytopofalist of two hundred! Thatmomentwasworthlivingfor.

“Youdidjustsplendidly,Anne,” puffed Diana,recovering sufficiently to situp and speak, for Anne,starry-eyed and rapt, had notuttered a word. “Fatherbroughtthepaperhomefrom

Bright River not tenminutesago—it came out on theafternoon train, you know,and won’t be here tilltomorrowbymail—andwhenI saw the pass list I justrushedoverlikeawildthing.You’ve all passed, everyoneofyou,MoodySpurgeonandall,althoughhe’sconditionedinhistory.JaneandRubydidprettywell—they’rehalf-wayup—andsodidCharlie.Josiejust scraped through with

three marks to spare, butyou’ll see she’ll put on asmany airs as if she’d led.Won’t Miss Stacy bedelighted? Oh, Anne, whatdoes it feel like to see yournameattheheadofapasslistlike that? If it were me IknowI’dgocrazywithjoy.Iam pretty near crazy as it is,but you’re as calm and coolasaspringevening.”

“I’m just dazzledinside,”saidAnne.“Iwantto

say a hundred things, and Ican’t findwords to say themin. Ineverdreamedof this—yes,Idid,too,justonce!Iletmyselfthinkonce, ‘What if Ishould come out first?’quakingly, you know, for itseemed so vain andpresumptuoustothinkIcouldlead the Island. Excuseme aminute, Diana. I must runright out to the field to tellMatthew. Then we’ll go upthe road and tell the good

newstotheothers.”They hurried to the

hayfield below the barnwhere Matthew was coilinghay,and,as luckwouldhaveit,Mrs.Lyndewas talking toMarillaatthelanefence.

“Oh, Matthew,”exclaimedAnne,“I’vepassedand I’m first—or one of thefirst! I’m not vain, but I’mthankful.”

“Wellnow,Ialwayssaidit,” said Matthew, gazing at

the pass list delightedly. “Iknewyoucouldbeatthemalleasy.”

“You’ve done prettywell, Imust say,Anne,” saidMarilla, trying to hide herextreme pride in Anne fromMrs. Rachel’s critical eye.But that good soul saidheartily:

“I just guess she hasdonewell, and farbe it fromme tobebackward in sayingit. You’re a credit to your

friends, Anne, that’s what,andwe’reallproudofyou.”

That night Anne, whohad wound up a delightfuleveningbyaseriouslittletalkwithMrs.Allanatthemanse,knelt sweetly by her openwindow in a great sheen ofmoonshine and murmured aprayer of gratitude andaspiration that came straightfrom her heart. Therewas init thankfulness for the pastand reverent petition for the

future;andwhenshesleptonher white pillow her dreamswere as fair and bright andbeautiful as maidenhoodmightdesire.

33

TheHotelConcert

“PUTONYOURwhiteorgandy,byallmeans,Anne,”advisedDianadecidedly.

They were together inthe east gable chamber;outsideitwasonlytwilight—

a lovely yellowish-greentwilight with a clear bluecloudless sky. A big roundmoon,slowlydeepeningfromher pallid luster intoburnished silver, hung overthe Haunted Wood; the airwas full of sweet summersounds—sleepy birdstwittering, freakish breezes,far-awayvoicesandlaughter.ButinAnne’sroomtheblindwas drawn and the lamplighted,foranimportanttoilet

wasbeingmade.The east gable was a

very different place fromwhatithadbeenonthatnightfouryearsbefore,whenAnnehadfeltitsbarenesspenetrateto the marrow of her spiritwith its inhospitable chill.Changeshadcreptin,Marillaconnivingatthemresignedly,until it was as sweet anddainty a nest as a young girlcoulddesire.

The velvet carpet with

the pink roses and the pinksilk curtains of Anne’s earlyvisions had certainly nevermaterialized; but her dreamshad kept pace with hergrowth,anditisnotprobableshelamentedthem.Thefloorwas covered with a prettymatting, and thecurtains thatsoftenedthehighwindowandfluttered in the vagrantbreezeswereofpalegreenartmuslin. The walls, hung notwith gold and silver brocade

tapestry, but with a daintyapple blossom paper, wereadorned with a few goodpictures given Anne byMrs.Allan. Miss Stacy’sphotograph occupied theplace of honor, and Annemade a sentimental point ofkeeping fresh flowers on thebracket under it. Tonight aspike of white lilies faintlyperfumed the room like thedream of a fragrance. Therewas no “mahogany

furniture,” but there was awhite-paintedbookcase filledwith books, a cushionedwicker rocker, a toilet tablebefrilledwithwhitemuslin,aquaint, gilt-framed mirrorwith chubbypink cupids andpurplegrapespaintedoveritsarched top, thatused tohangin the spare room,anda lowwhitebed.

Annewasdressingforaconcert at the White SandsHotel. The guests had got it

upinaidoftheCharlottetownhospital, and had hunted outall the available amateurtalent in the surroundingdistricts to help it along.Bertha Sampson and PearlClay of the White SandsBaptist choir had been askedto sing a duet; Milton Clarkof Newbridge was to give aviolin solo; Winnie AdellaBlairofCarmodywastosinga Scotch ballad; and LauraSpencer of Spencervale and

Anne Shirley of Avonleaweretorecite.

As Anne would havesaid at one time, it was “anepoch in her life,” and shewas deliciously athrill withtheexcitementofit.Matthewwas in the seventhheavenofgratifiedprideoverthehonorconferred on his Anne, andMarilla was not far behind,althoughshewouldhavediedrather than admit it, and saidshe didn’t think it was very

proper for a lot of youngfolks to be gadding over tothe hotel without anyresponsiblepersonwiththem.

AnneandDianaweretodriveoverwithJaneAndrewsandherbrotherBilly in theirdouble-seated buggy; andseveral other Avonlea girlsand boys were going, too.Therewas a party of visitorsexpected out from town, andaftertheconcertasupperwastobegiventotheperformers.

“Doyoureallythinktheorgandy will be best?”queried Anne anxiously. “Idon’t think it’s as pretty asmy blue-flowered muslin—and it certainly isn’t sofashionable.”

“But itsuitsyoueversomuch better,” said Diana.“It’s so soft and frilly andclinging. The muslin is stiff,and makes you look toodressed up. But the organdyseemsasifitgrewonyou.”

Anne sighed andyielded.Dianawasbeginningto have a reputation fornotable taste in dressing, andher advice on such subjectswas much sought after. Shewas looking very prettyherselfonthisparticularnightinadressof the lovelywild-rose pink, from which Annewasforeverdebarred;butshewasnottotakeanypartintheconcert, so her appearancewasofminorimportance.All

her pains were bestoweduponAnne,who, shevowed,must, for the credit ofAvonlea, be dressed andcombed and adorned to thequeen’staste.

“Pulloutthatfrillalittlemore—so, here, let me tieyour sash; now for yourslippers. I’m going to braidyourhair in twothickbraids,andtiethemhalfwayupwithbig white bows—no, don’tpull out a single curl over

your forehead—just have thesoftpart.Thereisnowayyoudoyourhairsuitsyousowell,Anne, and Mrs. Allan saysyou look like a Madonnawhen you part it so. I shallfasten this little white houserose just behind your ear.There was just one on mybush,andIsaveditforyou.”

“Shall I put my pearlbeads on?” asked Anne.“Matthewbroughtmeastringfrom town last week, and I

knowhe’dliketoseethemonme.”

Dianapursedupherlips,put her black head on oneside critically, and finallypronounced in favor of thebeads,whichwere thereupontiedaroundAnne’sslimmilkwhitethroat.

“There’s something sostylishaboutyou,Anne,”saidDiana, with unenviousadmiration. “You hold yourhead with such an air. I

supposeit’syourfigure.Iamjust a dumpling. I’ve alwaysbeen afraid of it, and now Iknowitisso.Well,IsupposeI shall just have to resignmyselftoit.”

“But you have suchdimples,” saidAnne, smilingaffectionately into the pretty,vivacious face so near herown. “Lovely dimples, likelittle dents in cream. I havegivenupallhopeofdimples.My dimple-dream will never

cometrue;butsomanyofmydreams have that I mustn’tcomplain. Am I all readynow?”

“All ready,” assuredDiana,asMarillaappearedinthe doorway, a gaunt figurewithgrayerhair thanofyoreandnofewerangles,butwitha much softer face. “Comeright in and look at ourelocutionist,Marilla.Doesn’tshelooklovely?”

Marilla emitted a sound

betweenasniffandagrunt.“She looks neat and

proper. I like that way offixing her hair. But I expectshe’ll ruin that dress drivingoverthereinthedustanddewwith it,and it looksmost toothin for these damp nights.Organdy’s the mostunserviceable stuff in theworld anyhow, and I toldMatthew so when he got it.But there is nouse in sayinganything to Matthew

nowadays.Timewaswhenhewould take my advice, butnow he just buys things forAnne regardless, and theclerksatCarmodyknowtheycan palm anything off onhim. Just let them tell him athing is pretty andfashionable, and Matthewplunkshismoneydownforit.Mind you keep your skirtclearofthewheel,Anne,andputyourwarmjacketon.”

Then Marilla stalked

downstairs, thinking proudlyhowsweetAnnelooked,withthat

“Onemoonbeamfrom theforeheadtothecrown”

and regretting that she couldnot go to the concert herself

tohearhergirlrecite.“I wonder if it is too

damp for my dress,” saidAnneanxiously.

“Not a bit of it,” saidDiana,pullingupthewindowblind. “It’s a perfect night,and therewon’t be any dew.Lookatthemoonlight.”

“I’msogladmywindowlookseastintothesunrising,”said Anne, going over toDiana.“It’ssosplendidtoseethe morning coming up over

those long hills and glowingthrough those sharp fir tops.It’sneweverymorning,andIfeel as if I washed my verysoul in that bath of earliestsunshine. Oh, Diana, I lovethis little room so dearly. Idon’tknowhowI’llgetalongwithout itwhen Igo to townnextmonth.”

“Don’t speak of yourgoing away tonight,” beggedDiana.“Idon’twant to thinkof it, it makes me so

miserable, and I do want tohave a good time thisevening.What are yougoingto recite,Anne?Andareyounervous?”

“Not a bit. I’ve recitedso often in public I don’tmindatallnow.I’vedecidedtogive‘TheMaiden’sVow.’It’s so pathetic. LauraSpencer is going to give acomic recitation, but I’drather make people cry thanlaugh.”

“Whatwill you recite iftheyencoreyou?”

“They won’t dream ofencoring me,” scoffed Anne,whowasnotwithoutherownsecrethopes that theywould,and already visioned herselftellingMatthewallaboutitatthenextmorning’sbreakfast-table. “There are Billy andJanenow—Ihearthewheels.Comeon.”

Billy Andrews insistedthatAnne should ride on the

front seat with him, so sheunwillingly climbed up. Shewouldhavemuchpreferredtositbackwith thegirls,whereshe could have laughed andchattered to her heart’scontent.TherewasnotmuchofeitherlaughterorchatterinBilly.Hewasabig,fat,stolidyouth of twenty, with around, expressionless face,and a painful lack ofconversational gifts. But headmired Anne immensely,

andwaspuffedupwithprideover the prospect of drivingto White Sands with thatslim, upright figure besidehim.

Anne, bydint of talkingoverher shoulder to thegirlsand occasionally passing asop of civility toBilly—whogrinned and chuckled andnevercouldthinkofanyreplyuntil it was too late—contrivedtoenjoythedriveinspiteofall.Itwasanightfor

enjoyment.Theroadwasfullof buggies, all bound for thehotel, and laughter, silver-clear, echoed and re-echoedalong it. When they reachedthe hotel it was a blaze oflight from top to bottom.Theyweremet by the ladiesoftheconcertcommittee,oneofwhomtookAnneofftotheperformers’ dressing room,which was filled with themembers of a CharlottetownSymphony Club, among

whomAnnefeltsuddenlyshyand frightened andcountrified.Herdress,which,intheeastgable,hadseemedso dainty and pretty, nowseemed simple and plain—too simple and plain, shethought, among all the silksand laces that glistened andrustled around her. Whatwere her pearl beadscompared to thediamondsofthe big, handsome lady nearher? And how poor her one

wee white rose must lookbeside all the hot houseflowers the others wore!Anne laid her hat and jacketaway, and shrank miserablyinto a corner. She wishedherself back in the whiteroomatGreenGables.

Itwas stillworseon theplatform of the big concerthall of the hotel, where shepresently found herself. Theelectric lights dazzled hereyes, the perfume and hum

bewildered her. She wishedshe were sitting down in theaudience with Diana andJane, who seemed to behaving a splendid time awayat theback.Shewaswedgedin between a stout lady inpink silk and a tall, scornfullooking girl in a white lacedress. The stout ladyoccasionally turned her headsquarelyaroundandsurveyedAnne through her eyeglassesuntil Anne, acutely sensitive

of being so scrutinized, feltthat she must scream aloud;and the white lace girl kepttalking audibly to her nextneighbor about the “countrybumpkins”and“rusticbelles”in the audience, languidlyanticipating “such fun” fromthedisplaysoflocaltalentonthe program. Anne believedthatshewouldhatethatwhitelacegirltotheendoflife.

Unfortunately for Anne,a professional elocutionist

was staying at the hotel andhad consented to recite. Shewasalithe,dark-eyedwomanin a wonderful gown ofshimmering gray stuff likewoven moonbeams, withgems on her neck and in herdark hair. She had amarvelously flexible voiceand wonderful power ofexpression;theaudiencewentwildoverherselection.Anne,forgetting all about herselfandhertroublesfor thetime,

listenedwithraptandshiningeyes; butwhen the recitationended she suddenly put herhands over her face. Shecouldnevergetupandreciteafter that—never. Had sheeverthoughtshecouldrecite?Oh, if shewere only back atGreenGables!

At this unpropitiousmomenthernamewascalled.Somehow, Anne—who didnot notice the rather guiltylittle start of surprise the

white lace girl gave, andwould not have understoodthe subtle complimentimplied therein if she had—got on her feet, and moveddizzily out to the front. Shewas so pale that Diana andJane, down in the audience,claspedeachother’shandsinnervoussympathy.

Anne was the victim ofan overwhelming attack ofstagefright.Oftenasshehadrecited in public, she had

never before faced such anaudienceasthis,andthesightof it paralyzed her energiescompletely. Everything wasso strange, so brilliant, sobewildering—the rows ofladies in evening dress, thecritical faces, the wholeatmosphere of wealth andculture about her. Verydifferent this from the plainbenchesattheDebatingClub,filled with the homely,sympathetic faces of friends

and neighbors.These people,she thought, would bemerciless critics. Perhaps,like the white lace girl, theyanticipated amusement fromher “rustic” efforts. She felthopelessly, helplesslyashamed and miserable. Herknees trembled, her heartfluttered, a horrible faintnesscame over her; not a wordcould she utter, and the nextmoment shewould have fledfromtheplatformdespite the

humiliation which, she felt,musteverafterbeherportionifshedidso.

But suddenly, as herdilated,frightenedeyesgazedout over the audience, shesaw Gilbert Blythe away atthebackoftheroom,bendingforward with a smile on hisface—a smile which seemedto Anne at once triumphantandtaunting.Inrealityitwasnothing of the kind. Gilbertwas merely smiling with

appreciation of the wholeaffair in general and of theeffect produced by Anne’sslender white form andspiritual face against abackground of palms inparticular. Josie Pye, whomhehaddrivenover,satbesidehim, and her face certainlywas both triumphant andtaunting. But Anne did notseeJosie,andwouldnothavecared if she had. She drew along breath and flung her

headupproudly,courageanddetermination tingling overherlikeanelectricshock.Shewould not fail before GilbertBlythe—he should never beable to laugh at her, never,never! Her fright andnervousness vanished; andshe began her recitation, herclear,sweetvoicereachingtothe farthest corner of theroom without a tremor or abreak. Self-possession wasfully restored to her, and in

thereactionfromthathorriblemomentofpowerlessnesssherecitedasshehadneverdonebefore. When she finishedthere were bursts of honestapplause. Anne, steppingback to her seat, blushingwith shyness and delight,found her hand vigorouslyclasped and shaken by thestoutladyinpinksilk.

“My dear, you didsplendidly,”shepuffed.“I’vebeen crying like a baby,

actuallyIhave.There,they’reencoringyou—they’re boundtohaveyouback!”

“Oh, I can’t go,” saidAnneconfusedly.“Butyet—Imust, or Matthew will bedisappointed. He said theywouldencoreme.”

“Then don’t disappointMatthew,”saidthepinklady,laughing.

Smiling, blushing,limpid-eyed, Anne trippedbackandgaveaquaint,funny

little selection that captivatedheraudiencestillfurther.Therestof the eveningwasquitealittletriumphforher.

When the concert wasover, the stout, pink lady—who was the wife of anAmerican millionaire—tookher under her wing, andintroduced her to everybody;andeverybodywasveryniceto her. The professionalelocutionist, Mrs. Evans,came and chatted with her,

telling her that she had acharming voice and“interpreted” her selectionsbeautifully. Even the whitelace girl paid her a languidlittle compliment. They hadsupper in the big, beautifullydecorateddining-room;Dianaand Jane were invited topartake of this, also, sincetheyhadcomewithAnne,butBilly was nowhere to befound, having decamped inmortal fear of some such

invitation.Hewas inwaitingfor them, with the team,however, when it was allover,andthethreegirlscamemerrily out into the calm,white moonshine radiance.Anne breathed deeply, andlooked into the clear skybeyond the dark boughs ofthefirs.

Oh,itwasgoodtobeoutagaininthepurityandsilenceof the night! How great andstillandwonderfuleverything

was,with themurmur of thesea sounding through it andthedarklingcliffsbeyondlikegrim giants guardingenchantedcoasts.

“Hasn’t it been aperfectly splendid time?”sighed Jane, as they droveaway. “I just wish I was arich American and couldspendmy summer at a hoteland wear jewels and low-necked dresses and have icecream and chicken salad

everyblessedday.I’msureitwouldbeeversomuchmorefun than teaching school.Anne, your recitation wassimply great, although Ithought at first you werenever going to begin. I thinkit was better than Mrs.Evans’.”

“Oh,no,don’tsaythingslike that, Jane,” said Annequickly, “because it soundssilly. It couldn’t be betterthanMrs.Evans’, youknow,

for she is a professional, andI’m only a schoolgirl,with alittle knack of reciting. I’mquite satisfied if the peoplejustlikedmineprettywell.”

“I’ve a compliment foryou. Anne,” said Diana. “Atleast I think it must be acompliment because of thetone he said it in. Part of itwas anyhow. There was anAmerican sitting behind Janeand me—such a romanticlookingman,with coal-black

hair andeyes. JosiePye sayshe is a distinguished artist,and that her mother’s cousininBostonismarriedtoamanthatusedtogotoschoolwithhim.Well,weheardhimsay—didn’twe, Jane?—‘Who isthatgirlon theplatformwiththe splendid Titian hair? Shehas a face I should like topaint.’Therenow,Anne.ButwhatdoesTitianhairmean?”

“Being interpreted itmeans plain red, I guess,”

laughedAnne. “Titian was avery famous artist who likedtopaintred-hairedwomen.”

“Did you see all thediamondsthoseladieswore?”sighed Jane. “They weresimply dazzling. Wouldn’tyou just love to be rich,girls?”

“We are rich,” saidAnne staunchly. “Why, wehave sixteen years to ourcredit, and we’re happy asqueens, and we’ve all got

imaginations, more or less.Look at that sea, girls—allsilverand shadowandvisionof things not seen. Wecouldn’t enjoy its lovelinessanymore if we hadmillionsof dollars and ropes ofdiamonds. You wouldn’tchange into any of thosewomen if you could. Wouldyouwanttobethatwhitelacegirl andwear a sour look allyour life, as if you’d beenborn turning up your nose at

the world?Or the pink lady,kind and nice as she is, sostout and short that you’dreally no figure at all? Oreven Mrs. Evans, with thatsad,sadlookinhereyes?Shemust have been dreadfullyunhappy sometime to havesuch a look. You know youwouldn’t.JaneAndrews!”

“I don’t know—exactly,” said Janeunconvinced. “I thinkdiamonds would comfort a

personforagooddeal.”“Well,Idon’twanttobe

anyonebutmyself,even if Igouncomfortedbydiamondsall my life,” declared Anne.“I’mquitecontenttobeAnneof Green Gables, with mystring of pearl beads. I knowMatthew gave me as muchlove with them as ever wentwith Madame the PinkLady’sjewels.”

34

AQueen’sGirl

THE NEXT THREE weeks werebusy ones at Green Gables,forAnnewasgettingreadytogotoQueen’s,andtherewasmuchsewingtobedone,andmanythingstobetalkedover

and arranged. Anne’s outfitwas ample and pretty, forMatthew saw to that, andMarilla for once made noobjections whatever toanything he purchased orsuggested. More—oneevening she went up to theeast gablewith her arms fullof a delicate pale greenmaterial.

“Anne,here’ssomethingforanicelightdressforyou.I don’t suppose you really

need it; you’ve plenty ofpretty waists; but I thoughtmaybe you’d like somethingreal dressy to wear if youwere asked out anywhere ofaneveningintown,toapartyor anything like that. I hearthatJaneandRubyandJosiehavegot‘eveningdresses,’asthey call them, and I don’tmean you shall be behindthem.IgotMrs.Allantohelpmepickit in townlastweek,andwe’ll getEmilyGillis to

make it for you. Emily hasgottaste,andherfitsaren’ttobeequaled.”

“Oh, Marilla, it’s justlovely,” said Anne. “Thankyou somuch. I don’t believeyououghttobesokindtome—it’smaking ithardereverydayformetogoaway.”

The green dress wasmade upwith asmany tucksand frills and shirrings asEmily’stastepermitted.Anneput it on one evening for

Matthew’s and Marilla’sbenefit, and recited “TheMaiden’s Vow” for them inthe kitchen. As Marillawatched the bright, animatedfaceandgracefulmotionsherthoughts went back to theevening Anne had arrived atGreen Gables, and memoryrecalledavividpictureoftheodd, frightened child in herpreposterous yellowish-brown wincey dress, theheartbreak lookingoutofher

tearfuleyes.Somethinginthememory brought tears toMarilla’sowneyes.

“Ideclare,my recitationhas made you cry, Marilla,”said Anne gaily, stoopingoverMarilla’schairtodropabutterfly kiss on that lady’scheek. “Now, I call that apositivetriumph.”

“No, I wasn’t cryingover your piece,” saidMarilla, who would havescorned to be betrayed into

such weakness by any“poetrystuff.”“Ijustcouldn’thelp thinkingof the littlegirlyou used to be,Anne.And Iwas wishing you could havestayed a little girl, evenwithall your queer ways. You’vegrown up now and you’regoingaway;andyou looksotall and stylish and so—so—different altogether in thatdress—as if you didn’tbelonginAvonleaatall—andIjustgotlonesomethinkingit

allover.”“Marilla!” Anne sat

down on Marilla’s ginghamlap, tookMarilla’s lined facebetween her hands, andlooked gravely and tenderlyintoMarilla’s eyes. “I’m notabitchanged—notreally.I’monly just pruned down andbranched out. The realme—back here—is just the same.It won’t make a bit ofdifferencewhereIgoorhowmuch I change outwardly; at

heart I shall always be yourlittleAnne,whowillloveyouandMatthewanddearGreenGablesmoreandbettereverydayofherlife.”

Anne laid her freshyoungcheekagainstMarilla’sfaded one, and reachedout ahand to pat Matthew’sshoulder.Marillawouldhavegivenmuch just then tohavepossessed Anne’s power ofputting her feelings intowords; but nature and habit

had willed it otherwise, andshe could only put her armsclose about her girl and holdher tenderly to her heart,wishing that she need neverlethergo.

Matthew, with asuspicious moisture in hiseyes,gotupandwentout-of-doors.Under the stars of thebluesummernighthewalkedagitatedly across the yard tothegateunderthepoplars.

“Well now, I guess she

ain’t beenmuch spoiled,” hemuttered, proudly. “I guessmy putting in my oaroccasional never did muchharm after all. She’s smartand pretty, and loving, too,which is better than all therest.She’sbeenablessing tous, and there never was aluckier mistake than whatMrs.Spencermade—ifitwasluck. I don’t believe it wasany such thing. It wasProvidence, because the

Almightysawweneededher,Ireckon.”

The day finally camewhenAnnemustgo to town.She and Matthew drove inone fine Septembermorning,after a tearful parting withDiana and an untearful,practical one—on Marilla’sside at least—with Marilla.But when Anne had goneDiana dried her tears andwent to a beach picnic atWhiteSandswithsomeofher

Carmody cousins, where shecontrived to enjoy herselftolerably well; while Marillaplunged fiercely intounnecessaryworkandkeptatit all day long with thebitterest kind of a heartache—the ache that burns andgnawsandcannotwashitselfaway in ready tears.But thatnight, when Marilla went tobed, acutely and miserablyconscious that the littlegableroom at the end of the hall

was untenanted by any vividyoung life and unstirred byanysoftbreathing,sheburiedher face in her pillow, andwept forhergirl inapassionof sobs that appalled herwhen she grew calm enoughto reflecthowverywicked itmustbetotakeonsoaboutasinfulfellowcreature.

Anneand therestof theAvonlea scholars reachedtownjustintimetohurryoffto the Academy. That first

daypassedpleasantlyenoughin a whirl of excitement,meetingall thenewstudents,learning to know theprofessorsbysightandbeingassorted and organized intoclasses.Anneintendedtakingup the Second Year work,being advised to do so byMiss Stacy; Gilbert Blytheelected to do the same. Thismeant getting a First Classteacher’s license in one yearinstead of two, if they were

successful; but it also meantmuchmore andharderwork.Jane, Ruby, Josie, Charlie,and Moody Spurgeon, notbeing troubled with thestirrings of ambition, werecontenttotakeuptheSecondClass work. Anne wasconscious of a pang ofloneliness when she foundherself in a room with fiftyother students, not one ofwhom she knew, except thetall, brown-haired boy across

the room; and knowing himinthefashionshedid,didnothelp her much, as shereflected pessimistically. Yetshewas undeniably glad thatthey were in the same class;the old rivalry could still becarried on, and Anne wouldhardly have known what todoifithadbeenlacking.

“I wouldn’t feelcomfortable without it,” shethought. “Gilbert looksawfully determined. I

suppose he’s making up hismind, here and now, to winthe medal. What a splendidchinhehas!Inevernoticeditbefore. I do wish Jane andRuby had gone in for FirstClass, too. I suppose Iwon’tfeel so much like a cat in astrange garret when I getacquainted, though. Iwonderwhich of the girls here aregoing to be my friends. It’sreally an interestingspeculation. Of course I

promised Diana that noQueen’s girl, no matter howmuchIlikedher,shouldeverbeasdeartomeassheis;butI’ve lots of second-bestaffections to bestow. I likethe look of that girlwith thebrown eyes and crimsonwaist. She looks vivid andred-rosy; there’s that pale,fair one gazing out of thewindow.Shehas lovelyhair,and looks as if she knew athing or two about dreams.

I’dliketoknowthemboth—know them well—wellenough towalkwithmyarmabout their waists, and callthem nicknames. But justnow I don’t know them andthey don’t know me, andprobablydon’twant toknowme particularly. Oh, it’slonesome!”

It was lonesomer stillwhen Anne found herselfaloneinherhallbedroomthatnightattwilight.Shewasnot

to boardwith the other girls,whoallhadrelatives in townto take pity on them. MissJosephine Barry would haveliked to board her, butBeechwood was so far fromthe Academy that it was outofthequestion;soMissBarryhunted up a boarding-house,assuringMatthewandMarillathat itwas theveryplace forAnne.

“The lady who keeps itis a reduced gentlewoman,”

explained Miss Barry. “HerhusbandwasaBritishofficer,and she is very careful whatsort of boarders she takes.Annewill notmeetwith anyobjectionable persons underher roof. The table is good,and the house is near theAcademy, in a quietneighborhood.”

All this might be quitetrue,andindeed,provedtobeso, but it did not materiallyhelp Anne in the first agony

of homesickness that seizedupon her. She lookeddismally about her narrowlittle room, with its dull-papered,picturelesswalls, itssmall iron bedstead andempty bookcase; and ahorrible choke came into herthroat as she thought of herown white room at GreenGables, where she wouldhave the pleasantconsciousness of a greatgreen still outdoors, of sweet

peas growing in the garden,and moonlight falling on theorchard, of the brook belowthe slope and the spruceboughs tossing in the nightwind beyond it, of a vaststarrysky,andthelightfromDiana’s window shining outthrough the gap in the trees.Here there was nothing ofthis; Anne knew that outsideof her window was a hardstreet, with a network oftelephone wires shutting out

the sky, the tramp of alienfeet, and a thousand lightsgleaming on stranger faces.Sheknewthatshewasgoingtocry,andfoughtagainstit.

“Iwon’t cry. It’s silly—and weak—there’s the thirdtear splashing down by mynose.Therearemorecoming!I must think of somethingfunny to stop them. Butthere’s nothing funny exceptwhat is connected withAvonlea,andthatonlymakes

things worse—four—five—I’mgoing home next Friday,but that seems a hundredyears away. Oh, Matthew isnearly home by now—andMarillaisatthegate,lookingdownthelaneforhim—six—seven—eight—oh, there’s nouse in counting them!They’re coming in a floodpresently.Ican’tcheerup—Idon’t want to cheer up. It’snicertobemiserable!”

Thefloodoftearswould

havecome,nodoubt,hadnotJosie Pye appeared at thatmoment. In the joyof seeinga familiar face Anne forgotthat there had never beenmuch love lost between herand Josie. As a part ofAvonlea life even a Pyewaswelcome.

“I’m so glad you cameup,”Annesaidsincerely.

“You’ve been crying,”remarked Josie, withaggravating pity. “I suppose

you’re homesick—somepeople have so little self-controlinthatrespect.I’venointentionofbeinghomesick,Icantellyou.Town’stoojollyafterthatpokyoldAvonlea.Iwonder how I ever existedthere so long. You shouldn’tcry,Anne; it isn’t becoming,for your nose and eyes getred, and then you seem allred. I’d a perfectlyscrumptious time in theAcademy today. Our French

professor is simply a duck.His moustache would giveyouker-wollopsof theheart.Have you anything eatablearound, Anne? I’m literallystarving.Ah,IguessedlikelyMarilla’d load you up withcake. That’s why I calledround. Otherwise I’d havegone to the park to hear theband play with FrankStockley. He boards sameplaceasIdo,andhe’sasport.Henoticedyouinclasstoday,

and asked me who the red-headed girl was. I told himyou were an orphan that theCuthberts had adopted, andnobody knew very muchaboutwhatyou’dbeenbeforethat.”

Annewaswondering if,after all, solitude and tearswere not more satisfactorythan Josie Pye’scompanionship when JaneandRubyappeared,eachwithan inch of Queen’s color

ribbon—purple and scarlet—pinned proudly to her coat.As Josie was not “speaking”to Jane just then she had tosubside into comparativeharmlessness.

“Well,”saidJanewithasigh, “I feel as if I’d livedmany moons since themorning. I ought to be homestudying my Virgil—thathorrid old professor gave ustwenty lines to start in ontomorrow. But I simply

couldn’t settledown to studytonight.Anne,methinksIseethe traces of tears. If you’vebeencryingdoownup.Itwillrestore my selfrespect, for Iwas shedding tears freelybefore Ruby came along. Idon’tmind being a goose somuch if somebody else isgoosey, too. Cake? You’llgivemea teenypiece,won’tyou? Thank you. It has therealAvonleaflavor.”

Ruby, perceiving the

Queen’scalendarlyingonthetable, wanted to know ifAnne meant to try for thegoldmedal.

Anne blushed andadmitted shewas thinking ofit.

“Oh, that reminds me,”said Josie,“Queen’s is togetoneoftheAveryscholarshipsafter all. The word cametoday.FrankStockleytoldme—his uncle is one of theboard of governors, you

know.ItwillbeannouncedintheAcademytomorrow.”

An Avery scholarship!Annefeltherheartbeatmorequickly, and the horizons ofher ambition shifted andbroadened as if by magic.Before Josie had told thenewsAnne’shighestpinnacleof aspiration had been ateacher’s provincial license,Class First, at the end of theyear, and perhaps themedal!ButnowinonemomentAnne

saw herself winning theAvery scholarship, taking anArts course at RedmondCollege, and graduating in agown and mortarboard, allbefore the echo of Josie’swordshaddiedaway.FortheAvery scholarship was inEnglish, and Anne felt thathere her foot was on hernativeheath.

A wealthy manufacturerof New Brunswick had diedand leftpartofhis fortune to

endow a large number ofscholarships to be distributedamong the various highschoolsandacademiesof theMaritime Provinces,according to their respectivestandings. There had beenmuch doubt whether onewouldbeallottedtoQueen’s,but the matter was settled atlast,andattheendoftheyearthe graduate who made thehighest mark in English andEnglishLiteraturewouldwin

thescholarship—twohundredand fifty dollars a year forfour years at RedmondCollege. No wonder thatAnne went to bed that nightwithtinglingcheeks!

“I’llwinthatscholarshipif hard work can do it,” sheresolved.“Wouldn’tMatthewbe proud if I got to be a B.A.?Oh,it’sdelightfultohaveambitions.I’msogladIhavesuch a lot. And there neverseems to be any end to them

—that’sthebestofit.Justassoon as you attain to oneambitionyouseeanotheroneglittering higher up still. Itdoes make life sointeresting.”

35

The Winter atQueen’s

ANNE’S HOMESICKNESS WOREoff, greatly helped in thewearing by her weekendvisits home. As long as the

open weather lasted theAvonleastudentswentout toCarmody on the new branchrailway every Friday night.Diana and several otherAvonlea young folks weregenerally on hand to meetthemandtheyallwalkedovertoAvonlea in amerry party.Anne thought those Fridayevening gypsyings over theautumnal hills in the crispgolden air, with thehomelights of Avonlea

twinkling beyond, were thebest and dearest hours in thewholeweek.

Gilbert Blythe nearlyalways walked with RubyGillis and carried her satchelfor her. Ruby was a veryhandsome young lady, nowthinking herself quite asgrown up as she really was;sheworeherskirtsaslongashermotherwould letheranddid her hair up in town,though she had to take it

down when she went home.She had large, bright-blueeyes, a brilliant complexion,and a plump showy figure.Shelaughedagreatdeal,wascheerful and good-tempered,and enjoyed the pleasantthingsoflifefrankly.

“But I shouldn’t thinkshe was the sort of girlGilbert would like,”whispered Jane to Anne.Anne did not think so either,but she would not have said

so for theAvery scholarship.She could not help thinking,too, that it would be verypleasanttohavesuchafriendas Gilbert to jest and chatterwith and exchange ideasabout books and studies andambitions. Gilbert hadambitions, she knew, andRubyGillis didnot seem thesort of person with whomsuch could be profitablydiscussed.

There was no silly

sentiment in Anne’s ideasconcerning Gilbert. Boysweretoher,whenshethoughtabout them at all, merelypossible good comrades. Ifshe and Gilbert had beenfriends she would not havecaredhowmanyotherfriendshe had nor with whom hewalked.Shehadagenius forfriendship; girl friends shehad in plenty; but she had avague consciousness thatmasculine friendship might

alsobeagoodthingtoroundout one’s conceptions ofcompanionship and furnishbroader standpoints ofjudgment and comparison.NotthatAnnecouldhaveputherfeelingsonthematterintojustsuchcleardefinition.ButshethoughtthatifGilberthadever walked home with herfrom the train, over the crispfields and along the fernybyways, theymighthavehadmany and merry and

interesting conversationsaboutthenewworldthatwasopening around them andtheir hopes and ambitionstherein. Gilbert was a cleveryoung fellow, with his ownthoughts about things and adetermination to get the bestout of life and put the bestinto it. RubyGillis told JaneAndrews that she didn’tunderstand half the thingsGilbertBlythesaid;hetalkedjust like Anne Shirley did

whenshehadathoughtfulfitonandforherpartshedidn’tthink it any fun to bebothering about books andthat sort of thing when youdidn’t have to. FrankStockley had lots more dashand go, but then he wasn’thalf as good-looking asGilbert and she reallycouldn’t decide which shelikedbest!

In the Academy Annegradually drew a little circle

of friends about her,thoughtful, imaginative,ambitious students likeherself. With the “rose-red”girl, StellaMaynard, and the“dream girl,” Priscilla Grant,she soon became intimate,finding the latter palespiritual-lookingmaidentobefull to the brim of mischiefandpranksandfun,whilethevivid,black-eyedStellahadaheartfulofwistfuldreamsandfancies, as aerial and

rainbow-likeasAnne’sown.After the Christmas

holidaystheAvonleastudentsgave up going home onFridays and settled down tohard work. By this time allthe Queen’s scholars hadgravitated into their ownplaces in the ranks and thevarious classes had assumeddistinct and settled shadingsof individuality.Certainfactshad become generallyaccepted.Itwasadmittedthat

the medal contestants hadpracticallynarroweddown tothree—Gilbert Blythe, AnneShirley, and Lewis Wilson;the Avery scholarship wasmore doubtful, any one of acertain six being a possiblewinner.Thebronzemedalformathematics was consideredas good as won by a fat,funny little upcountry boywithabumpyforeheadandapatchedcoat.

Ruby Gillis was the

handsomestgirloftheyearatthe Academy; in the SecondYear classes Stella Maynardcarried off the palm forbeauty,withsmallbutcriticalminority in favor of AnneShirley. Ethel Marr wasadmitted by all competentjudges to have the moststylishmodes of hairdressingand Jane Andrews—plain,plodding, conscientious Jane—carried off the honors inthe domestic science course.

Even Josie Pye attained acertain preeminence as thesharpest-tongued young ladyin attendance at Queen’s. Soit may be fairly stated thatMiss Stacy’s old pupils heldtheir own in the wider arenaoftheacademicalcourse.

Anne worked hard andsteadily. Her rivalry withGilbert was as intense as ithad ever been in Avonleaschool, although it was notknown in the class at large,

but somehow the bitternesshad gone out of it. Anne nolonger wished to win for thesake of defeating Gilbert;rather, for the proudconsciousness of a well-wonvictory over a worthyfoeman. It would be worthwhile to win, but she nolonger thought life would beinsupportableifshedidnot.

In spite of lessons thestudents found opportunitiesfor pleasant times. Anne

spentmanyofhersparehoursat Beechwood and generallyate her Sunday dinners thereandwenttochurchwithMissBarry. The latterwas, as sheadmitted, growing old, buther black eyes were not dimnorthevigorofhertongueinthe least abated. But shenever sharpened the latter onAnne,whocontinued tobe aprime favorite with thecriticaloldlady.

“That Anne-girl

improves all the time,” shesaid.“Igettiredofothergirls—there is such a provokingand eternal sameness aboutthem. Anne has as manyshades as a rainbow andevery shade is the prettiestwhile it lasts. I don’t knowthat she is as amusingas shewaswhenshewasachild,butshemakesme loveher and Ilike people who make melove them. It saves me somuch trouble in making

myselflovethem.”Then, almost before

anybody realized it, springhadcome;outinAvonleatheMayflowers were peepingpinklyoutontheserebarrenswheresnow-wreathslingered;and the “mist of green” wason the woods and in thevalleys.But inCharlottetownharassed Queen’s studentsthought and talked only ofexaminations.

“Itdoesn’tseempossible

that the term is nearly over,”said Anne. “Why, last fall itseemed so long to lookforward to—a whole winterof studies and classes. Andhere we are, with the examsloomingupnextweek.Girls,sometimes I feel as if thoseexams meant everything, butwhen I look at the big budsswelling on those chestnuttreesandthemistyblueairatthe end of the streets theydon’t seem half so

important.”JaneandRubyandJosie,

who had dropped in, did nottake this viewof it. To themthe coming examinationswere constantly veryimportant indeed—far moreimportant than chestnut budsorMaytime hazes. It was allverywellforAnne,whowassure of passing at least, tohave her moments ofbelittling them, but whenyour whole future depended

on them—as the girls trulythoughttheirsdid—youcouldnot regard themphilosophically.

“I’ve lost seven poundsinthelasttwoweeks,”sighedJane.“It’snousetosaydon’tworry.Iwillworry.Worryinghelps you some—it seems asif youwere doing somethingwhen you’re worrying. Itwould be dreadful if I failedto getmy license after goingto Queen’s all winter and

spendingsomuchmoney.”“Idon’tcare,”saidJosie

Pye.“IfIdon’tpassthisyearI’m coming back next. Myfather can afford to sendme.Anne, Frank Stockley saysthat Professor Tremaine saidGilbertBlythewassuretogetthe medal and that EmilyClay would likely win theAveryscholarship.”

“Thatmaymakemefeelbadly tomorrow, Josie,”laughedAnne,“butjustnowI

honestlyfeelthataslongasIknow the violets are comingout all purple down in thehollow below Green Gablesandthatlittlefernsarepokingtheir heads up in Lovers’Lane, it’s not a great deal ofdifference whether I win theAvery or not. I’ve done mybestandIbegintounderstandwhat ismeant by the ‘joy ofthestrife.’Nexttotryingandwinning, the best thing istryingandfailing.Girls,don’t

talk about exams! Look atthat arch of pale green skyoverthosehousesandpictureto yourselves what it mustlooklikeoverthepurply-darkbeechwoods back ofAvonlea.”

“What are you going towear for commencement,Jane?” asked Rubypractically.

Jane and Josie bothanswered at once and thechatter drifted into a side

eddy of fashions. But Anne,with her elbows on thewindow sill, her soft cheeklaid against her claspedhands, and her eyes filledwith visions, looked outunheedingly across city roofand spire to that gloriousdomeofsunsetskyandwoveher dreams of a possiblefuture from the golden tissueofyouth’sownoptimism.AlltheBeyondwasherswith itspossibilities lurking rosily in

the oncoming years—eachyear a rose of promise to bewoven into an immortalchaplet.

36

The Glory and theDream

ON THE MORNING when thefinal results of all theexaminations were to beposted on the bulletin board

at Queen’s, Anne and Janewalked down the streettogether. Jane was smilingand happy; examinationswere over and she wascomfortably sure she hadmade a pass at least; furtherconsiderations troubled Janenotatall; shehadnosoaringambitions and consequentlywas not affected with theunrest attendant thereon. Forwepayapriceforeverythingwe get or take in thisworld;

and although ambitions arewell worth having, they arenot to be cheaply won, butexact their dues ofwork andself-denial, anxiety anddiscouragement. Anne waspale and quiet; in ten moreminutesshewouldknowwhohad won the medal and whothe Avery. Beyond those tenminutes there did not seem,just then, to be anythingworthbeingcalledTime.

“Of course you’ll win

one of them anyhow,” saidJane, who couldn’tunderstand how the facultycouldbesounfairastoorderitotherwise.

“I have no hope of theAvery,” said Anne.“Everybody says EmilyClaywillwinit.AndI’mnotgoingto march up to that bulletinboard and look at it beforeeverybody. I haven’t themoral courage. I’m goingstraight to the girls’ dressing

room. You must read theannouncements and thencomeandtellme,Jane.AndIimplore you in the name ofour old friendship to do it asquickly aspossible. If I havefailed just say so, withouttrying to break it gently; andwhatever you do don’tsympathizewithme.Promisemethis,Jane.”

Janepromisedsolemnly;but,asithappened,therewasno necessity for such a

promise.When theywent uptheentrancestepsofQueen’sthey found the hall full ofboys who were carryingGilbert Blythe around ontheir shouldersandyellingatthe tops of their voices,“Hurrah for Blythe,Medalist!”

ForamomentAnne feltone sickening pang of defeatand disappointment. So shehad failed and Gilbert hadwon! Well, Matthew would

besorry—hehadbeensosureshewouldwin.

Andthen!Somebodycalledout:“Three cheers for Miss

Shirley, winner of theAvery!”

“Oh, Anne,” gaspedJane,astheyfledtothegirls’dressing room amid heartycheers. “Oh, Anne, I’m soproud!Isn’titsplendid?”

And then the girls werearound them and Anne was

the center of a laughing,congratulating group. Hershoulders were thumped andher hands shaken vigorously.She was pushed and pulledand hugged and among it allshe managed to whisper toJane:

“Oh,won’tMatthewandMarilla be pleased! I mustwrite the news home rightaway.”

Commencementwas thenext important happening.

The exercises were held inthe big assembly hall of theAcademy. Addresses weregiven, essays read, songssung, the public award ofdiplomas, prizes and medalsmade.

Matthew and Marillawerethere,witheyesandearsfor only one student on theplatform—a tall girl in palegreen, with faintly flushedcheeks and starry eyes, whoread the best essay and was

pointed out and whisperedaboutastheAverywinner.

“Reckonyou’regladwekepther,Marilla?”whisperedMatthew, speaking for thefirsttimesincehehadenteredthe hall, when Anne hadfinishedheressay.

“It’s not the first timeI’ve been glad,” retortedMarilla. “You do like to rubthingsin,MatthewCuthbert.”

Miss Barry, who wassitting behind them, leaned

forwardandpokedMarillainthebackwithherparasol.

“Aren’t you proud ofthat Anne-girl? I am,” shesaid.

Anne went home toAvonlea with Matthew andMarillathatevening.Shehadnot been home since Aprilandshefeltthatshecouldnotwait another day. The appleblossoms were out and theworld was fresh and young.DianawasatGreenGablesto

meet her. In her own whiteroom,whereMarillahadsetaflowering house rose on thewindow sill, Anne lookedabout her and drew a longbreathofhappiness.

“Oh,Diana, it’ssogoodtobebackagain.It’ssogoodto see those pointed firscoming out against the pinksky—and that white orchardand the old Snow Queen.Isn’t the breath of the mintdelicious? And that tea rose

—why,it’sasongandahopeand a prayer all in one. Andit’s good to see you again,Diana!”

“IthoughtyoulikedthatStella Maynard better thanme,” said Dianareproachfully.“JosiePyetoldme you did. Josie said youwereinfatuatedwithher.”

AnnelaughedandpeltedDiana with the faded “Junelilies”ofherbouquet.

“Stella Maynard is the

dearest girl in the worldexcept one and you are thatone,Diana,”shesaid.“Iloveyoumorethanever—andI’veso many things to tell you.But just now I feel as if itwere joy enough to sit hereand look at you. I’m tired, Ithink—tiredofbeingstudiousand ambitious. I mean tospend at least two hourstomorrow lying out in theorchard grass, thinking ofabsolutelynothing.”

“You’ve donesplendidly, Anne. I supposeyou won’t be teaching nowthatyou’vewontheAvery?”

“No. I’m going toRedmond in September.Doesn’t it seem wonderful?I’llhaveabrandnewstockofambition laid in by that timeafter three glorious, goldenmonthsofvacation. JaneandRubyaregoingtoteach.Isn’titsplendidtothinkweallgotthrough even to Moody

SpurgeonandJosiePye?”“TheNewbridgetrustees

haveofferedJanetheirschoolalready,”saidDiana.“GilbertBlythe isgoing to teach, too.He has to. His father can’tafford to sendhim tocollegenext year, after all, so hemeans to earn his own waythrough.Iexpecthe’llgettheschool here if Miss Amesdecidestoleave.”

Anne felt a queer littlesensation of dismayed

surprise. She had not knownthis; she had expected thatGilbert would be going toRedmond also. What wouldshedowithouttheirinspiringrivalry? Would not work,even at a coeducationalcollegewith a real degree inprospect, be rather flatwithoutherfriendtheenemy?

The next morning atbreakfast it suddenly struckAnne that Matthew was notlooking well. Surely he was

muchgrayerthanhehadbeenayearbefore.

“Marilla,” she saidhesitatingly when he hadgone out, “is Matthew quitewell?”

“No, he isn’t,” saidMarilla in a troubled tone.“He’s had some real badspells with his heart thisspring and he won’t sparehimselfamite.I’vebeenrealworried about him, but he’ssome better this while back

and we’ve got a good hiredman,soI’mhopinghe’llkindofrestandpickup.Maybehewill now you’re home. Youalwayscheerhimup.”

Anne leaned across thetable and tookMarilla’s faceinherhands.

“You are not looking aswellyourselfasI’dliketoseeyou,Marilla.You look tired.I’m afraid you’ve beenworking too hard. You musttake a rest, now that I’m

home. I’m just going to takethisonedayofftovisitallthedearoldspotsandhuntupmyold dreams, and then it willbeyourturntobelazywhileIdothework.”

Marilla smiledaffectionatelyathergirl.

“It’s not the work—it’smyhead.I’veapainsooftennow—behind my eyes.Doctor Spencer’s beenfussingwithglasses,buttheydon’tdomeanygood.There

is a distinguished oculistcoming to the Island the lastof Juneand thedoctor says Imust see him. I guess I’llhave to. I can’t read or sewwith any comfort now.Well,Anne, you’ve done real wellat Queen’s I must say. Totake First Class License inone year and win the Averyscholarship—well,well,Mrs.Lyndesayspridegoesbeforeafallandshedoesn’tbelievein the higher education of

women at all; she says itunfits themforwoman’s truesphere.Idon’tbelieveawordof it. Speaking of Rachelreminds me—did you hearanything about the AbbeyBanklately,Anne?”

“I heard that it wasshaky,” answered Anne.“Why?”

“That is what Rachelsaid.Shewasuphereonedaylastweek and said therewassome talk about it. Matthew

feltrealworried.Allwehavesaved is in that bank—everypenny. I wanted Matthew toput it in theSavingsBank inthe first place, but old Mr.Abbey was a great friend offather’s and he’d alwaysbanked with him. Matthewsaidanybankwithhimatthehead of it was good enoughforanybody.”

“Ithinkhehasonlybeenits nominal head for manyyears,” said Anne. “He is a

very old man; his nephewsare really at the head of theinstitution.”

“Well,whenRacheltoldus that, IwantedMatthew todrawourmoneyrightoutandhe said he’d think of it. ButMr. Russell told himyesterday that the bank wasallright.”

Anne had her good dayin the companionship of theoutdoor world. She neverforgot that day; it was so

brightandgoldenandfair,sofree from shadow and solavishofblossom.Annespentsome of its rich hours in theorchard; she went to theDryad’s Bubble andWillowmereandVioletVale;she called at the manse andhad a satisfying talk withMrs.Allan;andfinallyintheevening she went withMatthew for the cows,through Lovers’ Lane to theback pasture. The woods

wereallgloried throughwithsunsetandthewarmsplendorof it streamed down throughthe hill gaps in the west.Matthewwalked slowlywithbent head; Anne, tall anderect, suited her springingsteptohis.

“You’ve been workingtoo hard today, Matthew,”she said reproachfully. “Whywon’t you take thingseasier?”

“Wellnow,Ican’tseem

to,” said Matthew, as heopenedtheyardgatetoletthecows through. “It’s only thatI’m getting old, Anne, andkeepforgettingit.Well,well,I’ve always worked prettyhard and I’d rather drop inharness.”

“If I had been the boyyou sent for,” said Annewistfully.“I’dbeabletohelpyou so much now and spareyou in a hundred ways. Icould find it in my heart to

wish I had been, just forthat.”

“Well now, I’d ratherhave you than a dozen boys,Anne,” said Matthew pattingherhand.“Justmindyouthat—rather than a dozen boys.Wellnow,Iguessitwasn’taboy that took the Averyscholarship, was it? It was agirl—my girl—my girl thatI’mproudof.”

He smiledhis shy smileat her as he went into the

yard.Anne took thememoryof itwithherwhen shewenttoherroomthatnightandsatfor a long while at her openwindow, thinking of the pastand dreaming of the future.OutsidetheSnowQueenwasmistily white in themoonshine; the frogs weresinging in the marsh beyondOrchard Slope. Anne alwaysremembered the silvery,peaceful beauty and fragrantcalmof thatnight. Itwas the

last night before sorrowtouchedherlife;andnolifeisever quite the same againwhen once that cold,sanctifying touch has beenlaiduponit.

37

The Reaper WhoseNameIsDeath

“MATTHEW—MATTHEW—WHATisthematter?Matthew,areyousick?”

It was Marilla who

spoke, alarm in every jerkyword.Annecamethroughthehall, her hands full of whitenarcissus,—it was longbefore Anne could love thesight or odor of whitenarcissus again,—in time tohear her and to seeMatthewstanding in the porchdoorway, a folded paper inhis hand, and his facestrangely drawn and gray.Anne dropped her flowersandsprangacrossthekitchen

tohimatthesamemomentasMarilla. They were both toolate; before they could reachhim Matthew had fallenacrossthethreshold.

“He’s fainted,” gaspedMarilla. “Anne, run forMartin—quick, quick! He’satthebarn.”

Martin, the hired man,who had just driven homefromthepostoffice,startedatonceforthedoctor,callingatOrchardSlope on hisway to

send Mr. and Mrs. Barryover. Mrs. Lynde, who wasthereonanerrand,cametoo.TheyfoundAnneandMarilladistractedly trying to restoreMatthewtoconsciousness.

Mrs.Lyndepushedthemgently aside, tried his pulse,andthenlaidherearoverhisheart. She looked at theiranxiousfacessorrowfullyandthetearscameintohereyes.

“Oh, Marilla,” she saidgravely. “I don’t think—we

candoanythingforhim.”“Mrs. Lynde, you don’t

think—you can’t thinkMatthew is—is—” Annecould not say the dreadfulword; she turned sick andpallid.

“Child, yes, I’m afraidof it.Lookathis face.Whenyou’veseenthatlookasoftenasIhaveyou’llknowwhatitmeans.”

Anne looked at the stillfaceandtherebeheldtheseal

oftheGreatPresence.When the doctor came

he said that death had beeninstantaneous and probablypainless, caused in alllikelihood by some suddenshock. The secret of theshockwasdiscoveredtobeinthe paper Matthew had heldand which Martin hadbrought from the office thatmorning. It contained anaccount of the failure of theAbbeyBank.

ThenewsspreadquicklythroughAvonlea, andalldayfriends and neighborsthronged Green Gables andcameandwentonerrandsofkindness for the dead andliving.For the first time shy,quietMatthewCuthbertwasapersonof central importance;the white majesty of deathhadfallenonhimandsethimapartasonecrowned.

When the calm nightcamesoftlydownoverGreen

Gables the old house washushed and tranquil. In theparlor lay Matthew Cuthbertin his coffin, his long grayhair framing his placid faceon which there was a littlekindlysmileasifhebutslept,dreaming pleasant dreams.Therewereflowersabouthim—sweet old-fashionedflowerswhichhismotherhadplanted in the homesteadgardeninherbridaldaysandfor which Matthew had

alwayshadasecret,wordlesslove.Annehadgatheredthemandbroughtthemtohim,heranguished, tearless eyesburning in her white face. Itwas the last thing she coulddoforhim.

The Barrys and Mrs.Lynde stayed with them thatnight.Diana,goingtotheeastgable, where Anne wasstanding at herwindow, saidgently:

“Anne dear, would you

like to have me sleep withyoutonight?”

“Thank you, Diana.”Anne looked earnestly intoherfriend’sface.“Ithinkyouwon’t misunderstand mewhen I say that Iwant to bealone. I’m not afraid. Ihaven’t been alone oneminute since it happened—andIwanttobe.Iwanttobequite silent and quiet and trytorealizeit.Ican’t realize it.Half the time it seems tome

that Matthew can’t be dead;andtheotherhalfitseemsasifhemusthavebeendeadfora long timeand I’vehad thishorribledullacheeversince.”

Diana did not quiteunderstand. Marilla’simpassioned grief, breakingall the bounds of naturalreserve and lifelong habit inits stormy rush, she couldcomprehend better thanAnne’s tearless agony. Butshe went away kindly,

leaving Anne alone to keepherfirstvigilwithsorrow.

Anne hoped that tearswould come in solitude. Itseemedtoheraterriblethingthatshecouldnotshedatearfor Matthew, whom she hadloved so much and who hadbeensokindtoher,Matthew,whohadwalkedwithherlastevening at sunset and wasnow lying in the dim roombelow with that awful peaceon his brow. But no tears

came at first, evenwhen sheknelt by her window in thedarkness andprayed, lookingup to the stars beyond thehills—notears,onlythesamehorrible dull ache of miserythat kept on aching until shefellasleep,wornoutwiththeday’spainandexcitement.

In the night sheawakened, with the stillnessand the darkness about her,and the recollection of theday came over her like a

wave of sorrow. She couldseeMatthew’sfacesmilingather as he had smiled whenthey parted at the gate thatlast evening—she could hearhis voice saying, “My girl—my girl that I’m proud of.”Then the tears came andAnne wept her heart out.Marillaheardherandcreptintocomforther.

“There—there—don’tcry so, dearie. It can’t bringhim back. It—it—isn’t right

to cry so. I knew that today,but I couldn’t help it then.He’d always been such agood, kind brother to me—butGodknowsbest.”

“Oh, just let me cry,Marilla,” sobbedAnne. “Thetears don’t hurt me like thatachedid.Stayhereforalittlewhilewithmeandkeepyourarmroundme—so.Icouldn’thave Diana stay, she’s goodand kind and sweet—but it’snothersorrow—she’soutside

of it and she couldn’t comeclose enough to my heart tohelp me. It’s our sorrow—yours andmine.Oh,Marilla,what will we do withouthim?”

“We’ve got each other,Anne. I don’t knowwhat I’ddo if you weren’t here—ifyou’dnevercome.Oh,Anne,I know I’ve been kind ofstrict and harsh with youmaybe—but you mustn’tthinkIdidn’tloveyouaswell

asMatthewdid,forallthat.Iwant to tell you nowwhen Ican. It’s never been easy forme to say things out of myheart, but at times like thisit’seasier. I loveyouasdearas if youweremyown fleshand blood and you’ve beenmy joy and comfort eversince you came to GreenGables.”

Two days afterwardsthey carried MatthewCuthbert over his homestead

threshold and away from thefields he had tilled and theorchardshehadlovedandthetreeshehadplanted;andthenAvonlea settled back to itsusual placidity and even atGreen Gables affairs slippedinto their old groove andwork was done and dutiesfulfilled with regularity asbefore, although alwayswiththe aching sense of “loss inall familiar things.” Anne,new to grief, thought it

almostsadthatitcouldbeso—thattheycouldgoonintheold way without Matthew.Shefeltsomethinglikeshameand remorse when shediscovered that the sunrisesbehind the firs and the palepink buds opening in thegarden gave her the oldinrush of gladness when shesawthem—thatDiana’svisitswerepleasant toher and thatDiana’s merry words andways moved her to laughter

andsmiles—that,inbrief,thebeautiful world of blossomand love and friendship hadlost none of its power topleaseherfancyandthrillherheart, that life still called toher with many insistentvoices.

“It seems like disloyaltytoMatthew,somehow,tofindpleasure in these things nowthat he has gone,” she saidwistfully to Mrs. Allan oneevening when they were

togetherinthemansegarden.“Imisshimsomuch—allthetime—and yet, Mrs. Allan,theworld and life seemverybeautiful and interesting tome for all. TodayDiana saidsomething funnyand I foundmyself laughing. I thoughtwhen it happened I couldnever laugh again. And itsomehow seems as if Ioughtn’tto.”

“When Matthew washere he liked to hear you

laugh and he liked to knowthatyoufoundpleasureinthepleasant things around you,”saidMrs.Allangently.“Heisjust away now; and he likestoknowitjustthesame.Iamsure we should not shut ourhearts against the healinginfluences that nature offersus. But I understand yourfeeling. I think we allexperience the same thing.We resent the thought thatanything can please us when

some one we love is nolonger here to share thepleasure with us, and wealmost feel as if we wereunfaithfultooursorrowwhenwe find our interest in lifereturningtous.”

“I was down to thegraveyardtoplantarosebushon Matthew’s grave thisafternoon,” said Annedreamily.“Itookaslipofthelittle white Scotch rosebushhis mother brought out from

Scotland long ago; Matthewalways liked those roses thebest—theyweresosmallandsweet on their thorny stems.It made me feel glad that Icould plant it by his grave—as if Iwere doing somethingthatmustpleasehimintakingittheretobenearhim.Ihopehe has roses like them inheaven. Perhaps the souls ofallthoselittlewhiterosesthathe has loved so manysummers were all there to

meet him. I must go homenow.Marilla is all alone andshegetslonelyattwilight.”

“She will be lonelierstill, I fear, when you goaway again to college,” saidMrs.Allan.

Anne did not reply; shesaid good night and wentslowlybacktoGreenGables.Marilla was sitting on thefrontdoor-stepsandAnnesatdown beside her. The doorwas open behind them, held

back by a big pink conchshellwithhintsofseasunsetsin its smooth innerconvolutions.

Anne gathered somesprays of pale yellowhoneysuckle and put them inher hair. She liked thedelicioushintoffragrance,asof some aerial benediction,above her every time shemoved.

“Doctor Spencer washere while you were away,”

Marilla said. “He says thatthe specialistwill be in towntomorrowandheinsiststhatImustgoinandhavemyeyesexamined. I suppose I’dbettergoandhaveitover.I’llbe more than thankful if theman can give me the rightkind of glasses to suit myeyes.Youwon’tmindstayinghere alone while I’m away,willyou?Martinwillhavetodrive me in and there’sironingandbakingtodo.”

“I shall be all right.Diana will come over forcompany for me. I shallattend to the ironing andbaking beautifully—youneedn’t fear that I’ll starchthe handkerchiefs or flavorthecakewithliniment.”

Marillalaughed.“What a girl you were

formakingmistakes in themdays,Anne.Youwerealwaysgettingintoscrapes.Ididuseto think youwere possessed.

Do you mind the time youdyedyourhair?”

“Yes, indeed. I shallneverforgetit,”smiledAnne,touching the heavy braid ofhairthatwaswoundabouthershapelyhead.“Ilaughalittlenow sometimeswhen I thinkwhataworrymyhairusedtobe to me—but I don’t laughmuch, because it was a veryreal trouble then. I did sufferterriblyovermyhairandmyfreckles. My freckles are

really gone; and people arenice enough to tell me myhair is auburn now—all butJosie Pye. She informed meyesterday that she reallythought it was redder thanever, or at least my blackdressmadeitlookredder,andshe asked me if people whohad redhair evergotused tohavingit.Marilla,I’vealmostdecided to give up trying tolike Josie Pye. I’ve madewhat I would once have

called a heroic effort to likeher, but Josie Pye won’t beliked.”

“Josie is a Pye,” saidMarillasharply,“soshecan’thelp being disagreeable. Isuppose people of that kindserve someusefulpurpose insociety,butImustsayIdon’tknow what it is any morethan I know the use ofthistles. Is Josie going toteach?”

“No, she is going back

toQueen’s next year. So areMoodySpurgeonandCharlieSloane. Jane and Ruby aregoing to teachand theyhaveboth got schools—Jane atNewbridgeandRubyatsomeplaceupwest.”

“Gilbert Blythe is goingtoteachtoo,isn’the?”

“Yes”—briefly.“What a nice looking

young fellow he is,” saidMarilla absently. “I saw himinchurch lastSundayandhe

seemedsotallandmanly.Helooksa lot likehis fatherdidat the same age. JohnBlythewas a nice boy. We used toberealgoodfriends,heandI.Peoplecalledhimmybeau.”

Anne looked up withswiftinterest.

“Oh,Marilla—and whathappened?—why didn’t you—”

“We had a quarrel. Iwouldn’t forgive him whenhe asked me to. I meant to,

afterawhile—butIwassulkyand angry and I wanted topunish him first. He nevercameback—theBlytheswereallmightyindependent.ButIalways felt—rather sorry.I’ve always kind of wishedI’d forgiven himwhen I hadthechance.”

“So you’ve had a bit ofromance in your life, too,”saidAnnesoftly.

“Yes, I suppose youmight call it that. You

wouldn’t think so to look atme, would you? But younever can tell about peoplefrom their outsides.Everybody has forgot aboutme and John. I’d forgottenmyself. But it all came backtomewhenIsawGilbertlastSunday.”

38

TheBendintheRoad

MARILLA WENT TO town thenext day and returned in theevening.AnnehadgoneovertoOrchard SlopewithDianaandcamebacktofindMarillain the kitchen, sitting by the

tablewithherheadleaningonher hand. Something in herdejectedattitudestruckachillto Anne’s heart. She hadnever seenMarilla sit limplyinertlikethat.

“Are you very tired,Marilla?”

“Yes—no—I don’tknow,” said Marilla wearily,looking up. “I suppose I amtired but I haven’t thoughtaboutit.It’snotthat.”

“Didyouseetheoculist?

What did he say?” askedAnneanxiously.

“Yes, I saw him. Heexamined my eyes. He saysthat if I give up all readingand sewing entirely and anykind of work that strains theeyes,andifI’mcarefulnottocry,and if Iwear theglasseshe’s given me he thinks myeyes may not get any worseand my headaches will becured. But if I don’t he saysI’llcertainlybestoneblindin

sixmonths.Blind!Anne,justthinkofit!”

ForaminuteAnne,afterherfirstquickexclamationofdismay,wassilent.Itseemedto her that she could notspeak.Thenshesaidbravely,butwithacatchinhervoice:

“Marilla, don’t think ofit. You know he has givenyou hope. It you are carefulyou won’t lose your sightaltogether; and if his glassescureyourheadachesitwillbe

agreatthing.”“I don’t call it much

hope,” said Marilla bitterly.“What am I to live for if Ican’t read or sew or doanythinglikethat?Imightaswell be blind—or dead. Andasforcrying,Ican’thelpthatwhen I get lonesome. Butthere, it’s no good talkingabout it. If you’ll get me acup of tea I’ll be thankful.I’maboutdoneout.Don’tsayanythingaboutthistoanyone

for a spell yet, anyway. Ican’t bear that folks shouldcome here to question andsympathizeandtalkaboutit.”

WhenMarilla had eatenherlunchAnnepersuadedhertogotobed.ThenAnnewentherself to the east gable andsat down by her window inthe darkness alone with hertears and her heaviness ofheart. How sadly things hadchanged since she had satthere the night after coming

home!Thenshehadbeenfullofhopeandjoyandthefuturehad looked rosy withpromise. Anne felt as if shehad lived years since then,but before she went to bedtherewasa smileonher lipsand peace in her heart. Shehad looked her dutycourageously in the face andfound it a friend—as dutyever is when we meet itfrankly.

One afternoon a few

days later Marilla cameslowlyinfromtheyardwhereshe had been talking to acaller—a man whom AnneknewbysightasJohnSadlerfrom Carmody. AnnewonderedwhathecouldhavebeensayingtobringthatlooktoMarilla’sface.

“What did Mr. Sadlerwant,Marilla?”

Marilla sat down by thewindow and looked atAnne.There were tears in her eyes

in defiance of the oculist’sprohibition and her voicebrokeasshesaid:

“He heard that I wasgoing to sell Green Gablesandhewantstobuyit.”

“Buy it! Buy GreenGables?” Anne wondered ifshe had heard aright. “Oh,Marilla, you don’t mean tosellGreenGables!”

“Anne, I don’t knowwhat else is to be done. I’vethoughtitallover.Ifmyeyes

werestrongIcouldstayhereand make out to look afterthings and manage, with agoodhiredman.ButasitisIcan’t. I may lose my sightaltogether; and anyway I’llnotbefit torunthings.Oh,Inever thought I’d live to seethedaywhenI’dhavetosellmy home. But things wouldonly go behind worse andworseallthetime,tillnobodywould want to buy it. Everycent of our money went in

that bank; and there’s somenotes Matthew gave last fallto pay. Mrs. Lynde advisesmetosellthefarmandboardsomewhere—with her Isuppose.Itwon’tbringmuch—it’ssmallandthebuildingsare old. But it’ll be enoughfor me to live on I reckon.I’m thankful you’re providedfor with that scholarship,Anne. I’m sorry you won’thave a home to come to inyourvacations, that’sall,but

I suppose you’ll managesomehow.”

Marilla broke down andweptbitterly.

“Youmustn’tsellGreenGables,” said Anneresolutely.

“Oh, Anne, I wish Ididn’t have to. But you cansee for yourself. I can’t stayhere alone. I’dgo crazywithtroubled and loneliness. Andmysightwouldgo—Iknowitwould.”

“Youwon’thavetostayhere alone, Marilla. I’ll bewith you. I’m not going toRedmond.”

“Not going toRedmond!”Marilla liftedherwornfacefromherhandsandlooked at Anne. “Why, whatdoyoumean?”

“JustwhatIsay.I’mnotgoingtotakethescholarship.I decided so the night afteryou came home from town.You surely don’t think I

couldleaveyoualoneinyourtrouble, Marilla, after allyou’ve done for me. I’vebeen thinking and planning.Letmetellyoumyplans.Mr.Barrywants to rent the farmfor next year. So you won’thave any bother over that.And I’mgoing to teach. I’veappliedfor theschoolhere—butIdon’texpecttogetitforIunderstandthetrusteeshavepromisedittoGilbertBlythe.But I can have the Carmody

school—Mr.Blair toldmesolast night at the store. Ofcourse thatwon’tbequite asniceorconvenientasifIhadtheAvonleaschool.ButIcanboardhomeanddrivemyselfovertoCarmodyandback,inthe warm weather at least.And even in winter I cancome home Fridays. We’llkeep a horse for that. Oh, Ihave it all planned out,Marilla.And I’ll read to youand keep you cheered up.

You sha’n’t be dull orlonesome. And we’ll be realcozyandhappyheretogether,youandI.”

Marillahad listened likeawomaninadream.

“Oh, Anne, I could getonrealwellifyouwerehere,I know. But I can’t let yousacrificeyourselfsoforme.Itwouldbeterrible.”

“Nonsense!” Annelaughedmerrily.“Thereisnosacrifice. Nothing could be

worse than giving up GreenGables—nothing could hurtmemore.Wemust keep thedear old place. My mind isquite made up, Marilla. I’mnotgoing toRedmond;and Iam going to stay here andteach.Don’tyouworryaboutmeabit.”

“But your ambitions—and—”

“I’mjustasambitiousasever. Only, I’ve changed theobject of my ambitions. I’m

going tobeagood teacher—and I’m going to save youreyesight. Besides, I mean tostudyathomehereandtakealittle college course all bymyself. Oh, I’ve dozens ofplans, Marilla. I’ve beenthinkingthemoutforaweek.Ishallgivelifeheremybest,and I believe it will give itsbest tome in return.When Ileft Queen’s my futureseemed to stretch out beforeme like a straight road. I

thought I could see along itfor many a milestone. Nowthere is a bend in it. I don’tknow what lies around thebend, but I’m going tobelieve that the best does. Ithas a fascination of its own,that bend, Marilla. I wonderhow the road beyond it goes—whatthereisofgreengloryand soft, checkered light andshadows—what newlandscapes—what newbeauties—what curves and

hillsandvalleysfurtheron.”“Idon’tfeelasifIought

to let you give it up,” saidMarilla, referring to thescholarship.

“But you can’t preventme. I’m sixteen and a half,‘obstinateasamule,’asMrs.Lyndeoncetoldme,”laughedAnne. “Oh, Marilla, don’tyou go pitying me. I don’tlike tobepitied, and there isnoneedfor it. I’mheartgladover the very thought of

stayingatdearGreenGables.Nobody could love it as youand I do—so we must keepit.”

“You blessed girl!” saidMarilla,yielding.“Ifeelas ityou’d given me new life. IguessIoughttostickoutandmakeyougo tocollege—butI know I can’t, so I ain’tgoingtotry.I’llmakeituptoyouthough,Anne.”

When it became noisedabroad inAvonlea thatAnne

Shirleyhadgivenuptheideaof going to college andintended to stay home andteach there was a good dealofdiscussionoverit.Mostofthe good folks, not knowingaboutMarilla’s eyes, thoughtshe was foolish. Mrs. Allandid not. She toldAnne so inapprovingwordsthatbroughttears of pleasure to the girl’seyes. Neither did good Mrs.Lynde. She came up oneevening and foundAnne and

Marilla sitting at the frontdoor in the warm, scentedsummer dusk. They liked tosit there when the twilightcame down and the whitemoths flew about in thegarden and the odor of mintfilledthedewyair.

Mrs. Rachel depositedher substantial person uponthe stone bench by the door,behind which grew a row oftall pink and yellowhollyhocks, with a long

breath of mingled wearinessandrelief.

“IdeclareI’mgladtositdown. I’ve been on my feetall day, and two hundredpounds is a good bit for twofeet to carry round. It’s agreat blessing not to be fat,Marilla.Ihopeyouappreciateit.Well,Anne, I hearyou’vegivenupyournotionofgoingto college. Iwas real glad tohear it. You’ve got as mucheducation now as a woman

can be comfortable with. Idon’tbelieveingirlsgoingtocollege with the men andcramming their heads full ofLatin and Greek and all thatnonsense.”

“But I’mgoing to studyLatin and Greek just thesame, Mrs. Lynde,” saidAnnelaughing.“I’mgoingtotake my Arts course righthere at Green Gables, andstudyeverythingthatIwouldatcollege.”

Mrs. Lynde lifted herhandsinholyhorror.

“Anne Shirley, you’llkillyourself.”

“Not a bit of it. I shallthrive on it. Oh, I’m notgoing to overdo things. As‘Josiah Allen’s wife’ says, Ishall be ‘mejum.’ But I’llhavelotsofsparetimeinthelong winter evenings, andI’ve no vocation for fancywork.I’mgoingtoteachoveratCarmody,youknow.”

“Idon’tknowit.Iguessyou’re going to teach righthereinAvonlea.Thetrusteeshavedecided togiveyou theschool.”

“Mrs. Lynde!” criedAnne,springingtoherfeetinhersurprise.“Why,I thoughtthey had promised it toGilbertBlythe!”

“So they did. But assoonasGilbertheardthatyouhad applied for it hewent tothem—they had a business

meeting at the school lastnight, you know—and toldthem that he withdrew hisapplication, and suggestedthat they accept yours. Hesaidhewasgoing to teachatWhite Sands. Of course hegave up the school just tooblige you, because he knewhowmuchyouwantedtostaywithMarilla,andImustsayIthink it was real kind andthoughtful in him, that’swhat. Real self-sacrificing,

too, for he’ll have his boardto pay at White Sands, andeverybodyknowshe’s got toearn his own way throughcollege. So the trusteesdecided to take you. I wastickledtodeathwhenThomascamehomeandtoldme.”

“Idon’tfeelthatIoughtto take it,” murmured Anne.“I mean—I don’t think Iought to let Gilbert makesuchasacrificefor—forme.”

“I guess you can’t

preventhimnow.He’ssignedpapers with theWhite Sandstrustees. So it wouldn’t dohim any good now if youwere to refuse. Of courseyou’ll taketheschool.You’llget along all right, now thattherearenoPyesgoing.Josiewas the last of them, and agood thing she was, that’swhat.There’sbeensomePyeor other going to Avonleaschool for the last twentyyears, and I guess their

mission in life was to keepschoolteachers reminded thatearth isn’t their home. Blessmy heart!What does all thatwinking and blinking at theBarrygablemean?”

“Diana is signaling forme to go over,” laughedAnne. “You know we keepuptheoldcustom.ExcusemewhileIrunoverandseewhatshewants.”

Anne ran down theclover slope like a deer, and

disappeared in the firryshadows of the HauntedWood. Mrs. Lynde lookedafterherindulgently.

“There’s a good deal ofthe child about her yet insomeways.”

“There’s a good dealmoreofthewomanaboutherin others,” retorted Marilla,with a momentary return ofheroldcrispness.

But crispness was nolonger Marilla’s

distinguishing characteristic.As Mrs. Lynde told herThomasthatnight.

“Marilla Cuthbert hasgotmellow.That’swhat.”

Anne went to the littleAvonlea graveyard the nextevening to put fresh flowerson Matthew’s grave andwater the Scotch rosebush.Shelingeredthereuntildusk,liking the peace and calm ofthe little place, with itspoplarswhoserustlewaslike

low, friendly speech, and itswhispering grasses growingat will among the graves.When she finally left it andwalked down the long hillthat sloped to the Lake ofShining Waters it was pastsunset and all Avonlea laybefore her in a dreamlikeafterlight—“a haunt ofancient peace.” There was afreshness in the air as of awind that had blown overhoney-sweet fields of clover.

Home lights twinkled outhere and there among thehomestead trees. Beyond laythe sea, misty and purple,with its haunting, unceasingmurmur. The west was aglory of soft mingled hues,and the pond reflected themall in still softer shadings.The beauty of it all thrilledAnne’s heart, and shegratefullyopenedthegatesofhersoultoit.

“Dear old world,” she

murmured, “you are verylovely, and I am glad to bealiveinyou.”

Halfwaydownthehillatallladcamewhistlingoutofa gate before the Blythehomestead. It was Gilbert,and the whistle died on hislips as he recognized Anne.Heliftedhiscapcourteously,buthewouldhavepassedonin silence, if Anne had notstopped and held out herhand.

“Gilbert,” she said,withscarlet cheeks, “I want tothank you for giving up theschool for me. It was verygoodofyou—andIwantyoutoknowthatIappreciateit.”

Gilbert took the offeredhandeagerly.

“It wasn’t particularygoodofmeatall,Anne.Iwaspleased to be able to do yousome small service. Are wegoingtobefriendsafterthis?Have you really forgivenme

myoldfault?”Anne laughed and tried

unsuccessfully to withdrawherhand.

“I forgave you that daybythepondlanding,althoughI didn’t know it. What astubborn little goose I was.I’ve been—I may as wellmake a complete confession—I’vebeensorryeversince.”

“Wearegoing tobe thebestof friends,” saidGilbert,jubilantly. “Wewere born to

be good friends, Anne.You’vethwarteddestinylongenough. I knowwe can helpeach other in many ways.You are going to keep upyour studies, aren’t you? Soam I. Come, I’m going towalkhomewithyou.”

Marilla lookedcuriouslyat Anne when the latterenteredthekitchen.

“Whowas that came upthelanewithyou,Anne?”

“Gilbert Blythe,”

answeredAnne,vexedtofindherself blushing. “I met himonBarry’shill.”

“I didn’t think you andGilbert Blythe were suchgoodfriendsthatyou’dstandfor half an hour at the gatetalking tohim,” saidMarilla,withadrysmile.

“We haven’t been—we’ve been good enemies.But we have decided that itwillbemuchmoresensibletobe good friends in future.

Werewe really there half anhour? It seemed just a fewminutes. But, you see, wehave five years’ lostconversations to catch upwith,Marilla.”

Anne sat long at herwindow that nightcompanioned by a gladcontent. The wind purredsoftly in the cherry boughs,andthemintbreathscameupto her. The stars twinkledover the pointed firs in the

hollow and Diana’s lightgleamedthroughtheoldgap.

Anne’s horizons hadclosed in since the night shehad sat there after cominghome from Queen’s; but ifthe path set before her feetwas to be narrow she knewthat flowers of quiethappinesswouldbloomalongit. The joys of sincere workand worthy aspiration andcongenial friendship were tobehers;nothingcouldrobher

of her birthright of fancy orher ideal world of dreams.And there was always thebendintheroad!

“‘God’s in his heaven,all’s right with the world,’”whisperedAnnesoftly.

AbouttheAuthor

LUCY MAUDEMONTGOMERY (1874–1942) was born on PrinceEdward Island, Canada, thesetting for ANNE OF GREEN

GABLES. She left to attendcollege,butreturnedtoPrinceEdward Island to teach. In1911 she married theReverend Ewan MacDonald.ANNE OF GREEN GABLES, thefirst in a series of “Anne”books by Montgomery, waspublished in 1908 toimmediate success andcontinues to be a perennialfavorite.

Visit

www.AuthorTracker.com forexclusiveinformationonyourfavoriteHarperCollinsauthor.

Copyright

ANNE OF GREEN GABLES. Allnew material copyright ©1999 by HarperCollinsPublishers Inc. All rightsreserved under International

and Pan-AmericanCopyrightConventions. By payment ofthe required fees, you havebeen granted the non-exclusive, non-transferableright to access and read thetextof thise-bookon-screen.No part of this text may bereproduced, transmitted,down-loaded, decompiled,reverse engineered, or storedin or introduced into anyinformation storage andretrieval system, in any form

or by any means, whetherelectronicormechanical,nowknown or hereinafterinvented,without the expresswritten permission ofHarperCollinse-books.

Library of CongressCataloging in-PublicationData

Montgomery. L.M. (Lucy

Maud),1874–1942.AnneofGreenGables /LM.Montgomery.p.cm.Summary: Anne, an eleven-year-old orphan, is sent bymistaketolivewitha lonely,middle-aged brother andsister on a Prince EdwardIsland farm and proceeds tomakean indelible impressiononeveryonearoundher.ISBN 0-694-01251-3 (book-and-charmpkg.)

[1. Orphans—Fiction. 2.Friendship—Fiction. 3.Country life—Prince EdwardIsland—Fiction. 4. PrinceEdward Island—Fiction.] I.Title.PZ7.M768An199998-35542[Fic]—dc21CIPAC

First HarperFestival edition,1999

EPub Edition © May 2010ISBN:978-0-06-202333-9

10987654321

AboutthePublisher

AustraliaHarperCollins Publishers(Australia)Pty.Ltd.25RydeRoad(POBox321)Pymble, NSW 2073,Australiahttp://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au

CanadaHarperCollinsPublishersLtd.55AvenueRoad,Suite2900Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2,Canadahttp://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca

NewZealandHarperCollinsPublishers(NewZealand)LimitedP.O.Box1Auckland,NewZealandhttp://www.harpercollins.co.nz

UnitedKingdomHarperCollinsPublishersLtd.77-85FulhamPalaceRoadLondon,W68JB,UKhttp://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk

UnitedStatesHarperCollinsPublishersInc.10East53rdStreetNewYork,NY10022http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com