"ANNE OF GREEN GABLES\n\n                  By Lucy Maud Montgomery\n\n\n\nTable of Contents\n\n     CHAPTER I          Mrs. Rachel Lynde Is Surprised\n     CHAPTER II         Matthew Cuthbert Is Surprised\n     CHAPTER III        Marilla Cuthbert Is Surprised\n     CHAPTER IV         Morning at Green Gables\n     CHAPTER V          Anne's History\n     CHAPTER VI         Marilla Makes Up Her Mind\n     CHAPTER VII        Anne Says Her Prayers\n     CHAPTER VIII       Anne's Bringing-Up Is Begun\n     CHAPTER IX         Mrs. Rachel Lynde Is Properly Horrified\n     CHAPTER X          Anne's Apology\n     CHAPTER XI         Anne's Impressions of Sunday School\n     CHAPTER XII        A Solemn Vow and Promise\n     CHAPTER XIII       The Delights of Anticipation\n     CHAPTER XIV        Anne's Confession\n     CHAPTER XV         A Tempest in the School Teapot\n     CHAPTER XVI        Diana Is Invited to Tea with Tragic Results\n     CHAPTER XVII       A New Interest in Life\n     CHAPTER XVIII      Anne to the Rescue\n     CHAPTER XIX        A Concert a Catastrophe and a Confession\n     CHAPTER XX         A Good Imagination Gone Wrong\n     CHAPTER XXI        A New Departure in Flavorings\n     CHAPTER XXII       Anne is Invited Out to Tea\n     CHAPTER XXIII      Anne Comes to Grief in an Affair of Honor\n     CHAPTER XXIV       Miss Stacy and Her Pupils Get Up a Concert\n     CHAPTER XXV        Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves\n     CHAPTER XXVI       The Story Club Is Formed\n     CHAPTER XXVII      Vanity and Vexation of Spirit\n     CHAPTER XXVIII     An Unfortunate Lily Maid\n     CHAPTER XXIX       An Epoch in Anne's Life\n     CHAPTER XXX        The Queens Class Is Organized\n     CHAPTER XXXI       Where the Brook and River Meet\n     CHAPTER XXXII      The Pass List Is Out\n     CHAPTER XXXIII     The Hotel Concert\n     CHAPTER XXXIV      A Queen's Girl\n     CHAPTER XXXV       The Winter at Queen's\n     CHAPTER XXXVI      The Glory and the Dream\n     CHAPTER XXXVII     The Reaper Whose Name Is Death\n     CHAPTER XXXVIII    The Bend in the road\n\n\n\n\nANNE OF GREEN GABLES\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised\n\n\nMrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down\ninto a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and\ntraversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the\nold Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook\nin its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool\nand cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet,\nwell-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs.\nRachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it\nprobably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window,\nkeeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children\nup, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never\nrest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.\n\nThere are plenty of people in Avonlea and out of it, who can attend\nclosely to their neighbor's business by dint of neglecting their own;\nbut Mrs. Rachel Lynde was one of those capable creatures who can manage\ntheir own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain. She was a\nnotable housewife; her work was always done and well done; she \"ran\" the\nSewing Circle, helped run the Sunday-school, and was the strongest prop\nof the Church Aid Society and Foreign Missions Auxiliary. Yet with all\nthis Mrs. Rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen\nwindow, knitting \"cotton warp\" quilts--she had knitted sixteen of them,\nas Avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awed voices--and keeping\na sharp eye on the main road that crossed the hollow and wound up\nthe steep red hill beyond. Since Avonlea occupied a little triangular\npeninsula jutting out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence with water on two\nsides of it, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass over that\nhill road and so run the unseen gauntlet of Mrs. Rachel's all-seeing\neye.\n\nShe was sitting there one afternoon in early June. The sun was coming in\nat the window warm and bright; the orchard on the slope below the house\nwas in a bridal flush of pinky-white bloom, hummed over by a myriad of\nbees. Thomas Lynde--a meek little man whom Avonlea people called \"Rachel\nLynde's husband\"--was sowing his late turnip seed on the hill field\nbeyond the barn; and Matthew Cuthbert ought to have been sowing his on\nthe big red brook field away over by Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel knew\nthat he ought because she had heard him tell Peter Morrison the evening\nbefore in William J. Blair's store over at Carmody that he meant to sow\nhis turnip seed the next afternoon. Peter had asked him, of course, for\nMatthew Cuthbert had never been known to volunteer information about\nanything in his whole life.\n\nAnd yet here was Matthew Cuthbert, at half-past three on the afternoon\nof a busy day, placidly driving over the hollow and up the hill;\nmoreover, he wore a white collar and his best suit of clothes, which was\nplain proof that he was going out of Avonlea; and he had the buggy\nand the sorrel mare, which betokened that he was going a considerable\ndistance. Now, where was Matthew Cuthbert going and why was he going\nthere?\n\nHad it been any other man in Avonlea, Mrs. Rachel, deftly putting this\nand that together, might have given a pretty good guess as to both\nquestions. But Matthew so rarely went from home that it must be\nsomething pressing and unusual which was taking him; he was the shyest\nman alive and hated to have to go among strangers or to any place where\nhe might have to talk. Matthew, dressed up with a white collar and\ndriving in a buggy, was something that didn't happen often. Mrs. Rachel,\nponder as she might, could make nothing of it and her afternoon's\nenjoyment was spoiled.\n\n\"I'll just step over to Green Gables after tea and find out from Marilla\nwhere he's gone and why,\" the worthy woman finally concluded. \"He\ndoesn't generally go to town this time of year and he NEVER visits; if\nhe'd run out of turnip seed he wouldn't dress up and take the buggy to\ngo for more; he wasn't driving fast enough to be going for a doctor.\nYet something must have happened since last night to start him off. I'm\nclean puzzled, that's what, and I won't know a minute's peace of mind or\nconscience until I know what has taken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonlea\ntoday.\"\n\nAccordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had not far to go; the\nbig, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the Cuthberts lived was a\nscant quarter of a mile up the road from Lynde's Hollow. To be sure, the\nlong lane made it a good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert's father, as\nshy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possibly\ncould from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woods\nwhen he founded his homestead. Green Gables was built at the furthest\nedge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visible\nfrom the main road along which all the other Avonlea houses were so\nsociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living in such a place\nLIVING at all.\n\n\"It's just STAYING, that's what,\" she said as she stepped along the\ndeep-rutted, grassy lane bordered with wild rose bushes. \"It's no wonder\nMatthew and Marilla are both a little odd, living away back here by\nthemselves. Trees aren't much company, though dear knows if they were\nthere'd be enough of them. I'd ruther look at people. To be sure, they\nseem contented enough; but then, I suppose, they're used to it. A body\ncan get used to anything, even to being hanged, as the Irishman said.\"\n\nWith this Mrs. Rachel stepped out of the lane into the backyard of Green\nGables. Very green and neat and precise was that yard, set about on one\nside with great patriarchal willows and the other with prim Lombardies.\nNot a stray stick nor stone was to be seen, for Mrs. Rachel would have\nseen it if there had been. Privately she was of the opinion that Marilla\nCuthbert swept that yard over as often as she swept her house. One could\nhave eaten a meal off the ground without overbrimming the proverbial\npeck of dirt.\n\nMrs. Rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped in\nwhen bidden to do so. The kitchen at Green Gables was a cheerful\napartment--or would have been cheerful if it had not been so painfully\nclean as to give it something of the appearance of an unused parlor. Its\nwindows looked east and west; through the west one, looking out on\nthe back yard, came a flood of mellow June sunlight; but the east one,\nwhence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the left\norchard and nodding, slender birches down in the hollow by the brook,\nwas greened over by a tangle of vines. Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, when\nshe sat at all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed to\nher too dancing and irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant to\nbe taken seriously; and here she sat now, knitting, and the table behind\nher was laid for supper.\n\nMrs. Rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, had taken a mental\nnote of everything that was on that table. There were three plates laid,\nso that Marilla must be expecting some one home with Matthew to tea; but\nthe dishes were everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preserves\nand one kind of cake, so that the expected company could not be any\nparticular company. Yet what of Matthew's white collar and the sorrel\nmare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy with this unusual mystery\nabout quiet, unmysterious Green Gables.\n\n\"Good evening, Rachel,\" Marilla said briskly. \"This is a real fine\nevening, isn't it? Won't you sit down? How are all your folks?\"\n\nSomething that for lack of any other name might be called friendship\nexisted and always had existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel,\nin spite of--or perhaps because of--their dissimilarity.\n\nMarilla was a tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her dark\nhair showed some gray streaks and was always twisted up in a hard little\nknot behind with two wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it. She\nlooked like a woman of narrow experience and rigid conscience, which she\nwas; but there was a saving something about her mouth which, if it had\nbeen ever so slightly developed, might have been considered indicative\nof a sense of humor.\n\n\"We're all pretty well,\" said Mrs. Rachel. \"I was kind of afraid YOU\nweren't, though, when I saw Matthew starting off today. I thought maybe\nhe was going to the doctor's.\"\n\nMarilla's lips twitched understandingly. She had expected Mrs.\nRachel up; she had known that the sight of Matthew jaunting off so\nunaccountably would be too much for her neighbor's curiosity.\n\n\"Oh, no, I'm quite well although I had a bad headache yesterday,\" she\nsaid. \"Matthew went to Bright River. We're getting a little boy from an\norphan asylum in Nova Scotia and he's coming on the train tonight.\"\n\nIf Marilla had said that Matthew had gone to Bright River to meet a\nkangaroo from Australia Mrs. Rachel could not have been more astonished.\nShe was actually stricken dumb for five seconds. It was unsupposable\nthat Marilla was making fun of her, but Mrs. Rachel was almost forced to\nsuppose it.\n\n\"Are you in earnest, Marilla?\" she demanded when voice returned to her.\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" said Marilla, as if getting boys from orphan asylums\nin Nova Scotia were part of the usual spring work on any well-regulated\nAvonlea farm instead of being an unheard of innovation.\n\nMrs. Rachel felt that she had received a severe mental jolt. She thought\nin exclamation points. A boy! Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert of all people\nadopting a boy! From an orphan asylum! Well, the world was certainly\nturning upside down! She would be surprised at nothing after this!\nNothing!\n\n\"What on earth put such a notion into your head?\" she demanded\ndisapprovingly.\n\nThis had been done without her advice being asked, and must perforce be\ndisapproved.\n\n\"Well, we've been thinking about it for some time--all winter in fact,\"\nreturned Marilla. \"Mrs. Alexander Spencer was up here one day before\nChristmas and she said she was going to get a little girl from the\nasylum over in Hopeton in the spring. Her cousin lives there and Mrs.\nSpencer has visited here and knows all about it. So Matthew and I have\ntalked it over off and on ever since. We thought we'd get a boy. Matthew\nis getting up in years, you know--he's sixty--and he isn't so spry as he\nonce was. His heart troubles him a good deal. And you know how desperate\nhard it's got to be to get hired help. There's never anybody to be had\nbut those stupid, half-grown little French boys; and as soon as you do\nget one broke into your ways and taught something he's up and off to the\nlobster canneries or the States. At first Matthew suggested getting a\nHome boy. But I said 'no' flat to that. 'They may be all right--I'm not\nsaying they're not--but no London street Arabs for me,' I said. 'Give\nme a native born at least. There'll be a risk, no matter who we get. But\nI'll feel easier in my mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a born\nCanadian.' So in the end we decided to ask Mrs. Spencer to pick us out\none when she went over to get her little girl. We heard last week she\nwas going, so we sent her word by Richard Spencer's folks at Carmody\nto bring us a smart, likely boy of about ten or eleven. We decided that\nwould be the best age--old enough to be of some use in doing chores\nright off and young enough to be trained up proper. We mean to give him\na good home and schooling. We had a telegram from Mrs. Alexander Spencer\ntoday--the mail-man brought it from the station--saying they were coming\non the five-thirty train tonight. So Matthew went to Bright River to\nmeet him. Mrs. Spencer will drop him off there. Of course she goes on to\nWhite Sands station herself.\"\n\nMrs. Rachel prided herself on always speaking her mind; she proceeded to\nspeak it now, having adjusted her mental attitude to this amazing piece\nof news.\n\n\"Well, Marilla, I'll just tell you plain that I think you're doing a\nmighty foolish thing--a risky thing, that's what. You don't know what\nyou're getting. You're bringing a strange child into your house and home\nand you don't know a single thing about him nor what his disposition is\nlike nor what sort of parents he had nor how he's likely to turn out.\nWhy, it was only last week I read in the paper how a man and his wife up\nwest of the Island took a boy out of an orphan asylum and he set fire to\nthe house at night--set it ON PURPOSE, Marilla--and nearly burnt them to\na crisp in their beds. And I know another case where an adopted boy used\nto suck the eggs--they couldn't break him of it. If you had asked my\nadvice in the matter--which you didn't do, Marilla--I'd have said for\nmercy's sake not to think of such a thing, that's what.\"\n\nThis Job's comforting seemed neither to offend nor to alarm Marilla. She\nknitted steadily on.\n\n\"I don't deny there's something in what you say, Rachel. I've had some\nqualms myself. But Matthew was terrible set on it. I could see that, so\nI gave in. It's so seldom Matthew sets his mind on anything that when he\ndoes I always feel it's my duty to give in. And as for the risk, there's\nrisks in pretty near everything a body does in this world. There's risks\nin people's having children of their own if it comes to that--they don't\nalways turn out well. And then Nova Scotia is right close to the Island.\nIt isn't as if we were getting him from England or the States. He can't\nbe much different from ourselves.\"\n\n\"Well, I hope it will turn out all right,\" said Mrs. Rachel in a tone\nthat plainly indicated her painful doubts. \"Only don't say I didn't\nwarn you if he burns Green Gables down or puts strychnine in the well--I\nheard of a case over in New Brunswick where an orphan asylum child did\nthat and the whole family died in fearful agonies. Only, it was a girl\nin that instance.\"\n\n\"Well, we're not getting a girl,\" said Marilla, as if poisoning wells\nwere a purely feminine accomplishment and not to be dreaded in the case\nof a boy. \"I'd never dream of taking a girl to bring up. I wonder at\nMrs. Alexander Spencer for doing it. But there, SHE wouldn't shrink from\nadopting a whole orphan asylum if she took it into her head.\"\n\nMrs. Rachel would have liked to stay until Matthew came home with his\nimported orphan. But reflecting that it would be a good two hours at\nleast before his arrival she concluded to go up the road to Robert\nBell's and tell the news. It would certainly make a sensation second\nto none, and Mrs. Rachel dearly loved to make a sensation. So she took\nherself away, somewhat to Marilla's relief, for the latter felt\nher doubts and fears reviving under the influence of Mrs. Rachel's\npessimism.\n\n\"Well, of all things that ever were or will be!\" ejaculated Mrs. Rachel\nwhen she was safely out in the lane. \"It does really seem as if I must\nbe dreaming. Well, I'm sorry for that poor young one and no mistake.\nMatthew and Marilla don't know anything about children and they'll\nexpect him to be wiser and steadier that his own grandfather, if so be's\nhe ever had a grandfather, which is doubtful. It seems uncanny to think\nof a child at Green Gables somehow; there's never been one there, for\nMatthew and Marilla were grown up when the new house was built--if they\never WERE children, which is hard to believe when one looks at them.\nI wouldn't be in that orphan's shoes for anything. My, but I pity him,\nthat's what.\"\n\nSo said Mrs. Rachel to the wild rose bushes out of the fulness of her\nheart; but if she could have seen the child who was waiting patiently\nat the Bright River station at that very moment her pity would have been\nstill deeper and more profound.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. Matthew Cuthbert is surprised\n\n\nMatthew Cuthbert and the sorrel mare jogged comfortably over the eight\nmiles to Bright River. It was a pretty road, running along between\nsnug farmsteads, with now and again a bit of balsamy fir wood to drive\nthrough or a hollow where wild plums hung out their filmy bloom. The air\nwas sweet with the breath of many apple orchards and the meadows sloped\naway in the distance to horizon mists of pearl and purple; while\n\n     \"The little birds sang as if it were\n     The one day of summer in all the year.\"\n\nMatthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during the\nmoments when he met women and had to nod to them--for in Prince Edward\nisland you are supposed to nod to all and sundry you meet on the road\nwhether you know them or not.\n\nMatthew dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had an\nuncomfortable feeling that the mysterious creatures were secretly\nlaughing at him. He may have been quite right in thinking so, for he\nwas an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray\nhair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard\nwhich he had worn ever since he was twenty. In fact, he had looked\nat twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the\ngrayness.\n\nWhen he reached Bright River there was no sign of any train; he thought\nhe was too early, so he tied his horse in the yard of the small Bright\nRiver hotel and went over to the station house. The long platform was\nalmost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl who was\nsitting on a pile of shingles at the extreme end. Matthew, barely noting\nthat it WAS a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible without\nlooking at her. Had he looked he could hardly have failed to notice the\ntense rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression. She was\nsitting there waiting for something or somebody and, since sitting and\nwaiting was the only thing to do just then, she sat and waited with all\nher might and main.\n\nMatthew encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket office\npreparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirty\ntrain would soon be along.\n\n\"The five-thirty train has been in and gone half an hour ago,\" answered\nthat brisk official. \"But there was a passenger dropped off for you--a\nlittle girl. She's sitting out there on the shingles. I asked her to\ngo into the ladies' waiting room, but she informed me gravely that she\npreferred to stay outside. 'There was more scope for imagination,' she\nsaid. She's a case, I should say.\"\n\n\"I'm not expecting a girl,\" said Matthew blankly. \"It's a boy I've come\nfor. He should be here. Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to bring him over\nfrom Nova Scotia for me.\"\n\nThe stationmaster whistled.\n\n\"Guess there's some mistake,\" he said. \"Mrs. Spencer came off the train\nwith that girl and gave her into my charge. Said you and your sister\nwere adopting her from an orphan asylum and that you would be along for\nher presently. That's all I know about it--and I haven't got any more\norphans concealed hereabouts.\"\n\n\"I don't understand,\" said Matthew helplessly, wishing that Marilla was\nat hand to cope with the situation.\n\n\"Well, you'd better question the girl,\" said the station-master\ncarelessly. \"I dare say she'll be able to explain--she's got a tongue\nof her own, that's certain. Maybe they were out of boys of the brand you\nwanted.\"\n\nHe walked jauntily away, being hungry, and the unfortunate Matthew was\nleft to do that which was harder for him than bearding a lion in its\nden--walk up to a girl--a strange girl--an orphan girl--and demand of\nher why she wasn't a boy. Matthew groaned in spirit as he turned about\nand shuffled gently down the platform towards her.\n\nShe had been watching him ever since he had passed her and she had her\neyes on him now. Matthew was not looking at her and would not have seen\nwhat she was really like if he had been, but an ordinary observer would\nhave seen this: A child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, very\ntight, very ugly dress of yellowish-gray wincey. She wore a faded brown\nsailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braids\nof very thick, decidedly red hair. Her face was small, white and thin,\nalso much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, which\nlooked green in some lights and moods and gray in others.\n\nSo far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen\nthat the chin was very pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes\nwere full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped\nand expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short,\nour discerning extraordinary observer might have concluded that no\ncommonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child of whom\nshy Matthew Cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid.\n\nMatthew, however, was spared the ordeal of speaking first, for as soon\nas she concluded that he was coming to her she stood up, grasping with\none thin brown hand the handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpet-bag;\nthe other she held out to him.\n\n\"I suppose you are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?\" she said in\na peculiarly clear, sweet voice. \"I'm very glad to see you. I was\nbeginning to be afraid you weren't coming for me and I was imagining\nall the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up\nmy mind that if you didn't come for me to-night I'd go down the track to\nthat big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all\nnight. I wouldn't be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a\nwild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don't you think?\nYou could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn't you? And\nI was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn't\nto-night.\"\n\nMatthew had taken the scrawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and\nthere he decided what to do. He could not tell this child with the\nglowing eyes that there had been a mistake; he would take her home and\nlet Marilla do that. She couldn't be left at Bright River anyhow, no\nmatter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanations\nmight as well be deferred until he was safely back at Green Gables.\n\n\"I'm sorry I was late,\" he said shyly. \"Come along. The horse is over in\nthe yard. Give me your bag.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can carry it,\" the child responded cheerfully. \"It isn't heavy.\nI've got all my worldly goods in it, but it isn't heavy. And if it isn't\ncarried in just a certain way the handle pulls out--so I'd better\nkeep it because I know the exact knack of it. It's an extremely old\ncarpet-bag. Oh, I'm very glad you've come, even if it would have been\nnice to sleep in a wild cherry-tree. We've got to drive a long piece,\nhaven't we? Mrs. Spencer said it was eight miles. I'm glad because I\nlove driving. Oh, it seems so wonderful that I'm going to live with you\nand belong to you. I've never belonged to anybody--not really. But the\nasylum was the worst. I've only been in it four months, but that was\nenough. I don't suppose you ever were an orphan in an asylum, so you\ncan't possibly understand what it is like. It's worse than anything you\ncould imagine. Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like\nthat, but I didn't mean to be wicked. It's so easy to be wicked without\nknowing it, isn't it? They were good, you know--the asylum people. But\nthere is so little scope for the imagination in an asylum--only just\nin the other orphans. It was pretty interesting to imagine things about\nthem--to imagine that perhaps the girl who sat next to you was really\nthe daughter of a belted earl, who had been stolen away from her parents\nin her infancy by a cruel nurse who died before she could confess. I\nused to lie awake at nights and imagine things like that, because\nI didn't have time in the day. I guess that's why I'm so thin--I AM\ndreadful thin, ain't I? There isn't a pick on my bones. I do love to\nimagine I'm nice and plump, with dimples in my elbows.\"\n\nWith this Matthew's companion stopped talking, partly because she was\nout of breath and partly because they had reached the buggy. Not another\nword did she say until they had left the village and were driving down\na steep little hill, the road part of which had been cut so deeply into\nthe soft soil, that the banks, fringed with blooming wild cherry-trees\nand slim white birches, were several feet above their heads.\n\nThe child put out her hand and broke off a branch of wild plum that\nbrushed against the side of the buggy.\n\n\"Isn't that beautiful? What did that tree, leaning out from the bank,\nall white and lacy, make you think of?\" she asked.\n\n\"Well now, I dunno,\" said Matthew.\n\n\"Why, a bride, of course--a bride all in white with a lovely misty veil.\nI've never seen one, but I can imagine what she would look like. I don't\never expect to be a bride myself. I'm so homely nobody will ever want to\nmarry me--unless it might be a foreign missionary. I suppose a foreign\nmissionary mightn't be very particular. But I do hope that some day I\nshall have a white dress. That is my highest ideal of earthly bliss. I\njust love pretty clothes. And I've never had a pretty dress in my life\nthat I can remember--but of course it's all the more to look forward\nto, isn't it? And then I can imagine that I'm dressed gorgeously. This\nmorning when I left the asylum I felt so ashamed because I had to wear\nthis horrid old wincey dress. All the orphans had to wear them, you\nknow. A merchant in Hopeton last winter donated three hundred yards of\nwincey to the asylum. Some people said it was because he couldn't sell\nit, but I'd rather believe that it was out of the kindness of his heart,\nwouldn't you? When we got on the train I felt as if everybody must be\nlooking at me and pitying me. But I just went to work and imagined that\nI had on the most beautiful pale blue silk dress--because when you ARE\nimagining you might as well imagine something worth while--and a big\nhat all flowers and nodding plumes, and a gold watch, and kid gloves and\nboots. I felt cheered up right away and I enjoyed my trip to the Island\nwith all my might. I wasn't a bit sick coming over in the boat. Neither\nwas Mrs. Spencer although she generally is. She said she hadn't time\nto get sick, watching to see that I didn't fall overboard. She said she\nnever saw the beat of me for prowling about. But if it kept her from\nbeing seasick it's a mercy I did prowl, isn't it? And I wanted to see\neverything that was to be seen on that boat, because I didn't know\nwhether I'd ever have another opportunity. Oh, there are a lot more\ncherry-trees all in bloom! This Island is the bloomiest place. I just\nlove it already, and I'm so glad I'm going to live here. I've always\nheard that Prince Edward Island was the prettiest place in the world,\nand I used to imagine I was living here, but I never really expected I\nwould. It's delightful when your imaginations come true, isn't it?\nBut those red roads are so funny. When we got into the train at\nCharlottetown and the red roads began to flash past I asked Mrs. Spencer\nwhat made them red and she said she didn't know and for pity's sake not\nto ask her any more questions. She said I must have asked her a thousand\nalready. I suppose I had, too, but how you going to find out about\nthings if you don't ask questions? And what DOES make the roads red?\"\n\n\"Well now, I dunno,\" said Matthew.\n\n\"Well, that is one of the things to find out sometime. Isn't it splendid\nto think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes\nme feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be\nhalf so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'd\nbe no scope for imagination then, would there? But am I talking too\nmuch? People are always telling me I do. Would you rather I didn't\ntalk? If you say so I'll stop. I can STOP when I make up my mind to it,\nalthough it's difficult.\"\n\nMatthew, much to his own surprise, was enjoying himself. Like most quiet\nfolks he liked talkative people when they were willing to do the talking\nthemselves and did not expect him to keep up his end of it. But he had\nnever expected to enjoy the society of a little girl. Women were bad\nenough in all conscience, but little girls were worse. He detested the\nway they had of sidling past him timidly, with sidewise glances, as if\nthey expected him to gobble them up at a mouthful if they ventured to\nsay a word. That was the Avonlea type of well-bred little girl. But\nthis freckled witch was very different, and although he found it rather\ndifficult for his slower intelligence to keep up with her brisk mental\nprocesses he thought that he \"kind of liked her chatter.\" So he said as\nshyly as usual:\n\n\"Oh, you can talk as much as you like. I don't mind.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm so glad. I know you and I are going to get along together\nfine. It's such a relief to talk when one wants to and not be told\nthat children should be seen and not heard. I've had that said to me a\nmillion times if I have once. And people laugh at me because I use big\nwords. But if you have big ideas you have to use big words to express\nthem, haven't you?\"\n\n\"Well now, that seems reasonable,\" said Matthew.\n\n\"Mrs. Spencer said that my tongue must be hung in the middle. But it\nisn't--it's firmly fastened at one end. Mrs. Spencer said your place was\nnamed Green Gables. I asked her all about it. And she said there were\ntrees all around it. I was gladder than ever. I just love trees. And\nthere weren't any at all about the asylum, only a few poor weeny-teeny\nthings out in front with little whitewashed cagey things about them.\nThey just looked like orphans themselves, those trees did. It used to\nmake me want to cry to look at them. I used to say to them, 'Oh, you\nPOOR little things! If you were out in a great big woods with other\ntrees all around you and little mosses and Junebells growing over your\nroots and a brook not far away and birds singing in you branches, you\ncould grow, couldn't you? But you can't where you are. I know just\nexactly how you feel, little trees.' I felt sorry to leave them behind\nthis morning. You do get so attached to things like that, don't you? Is\nthere a brook anywhere near Green Gables? I forgot to ask Mrs. Spencer\nthat.\"\n\n\"Well now, yes, there's one right below the house.\"\n\n\"Fancy. It's always been one of my dreams to live near a brook. I\nnever expected I would, though. Dreams don't often come true, do they?\nWouldn't it be nice if they did? But just now I feel pretty nearly\nperfectly happy. I can't feel exactly perfectly happy because--well,\nwhat color would you call this?\"\n\nShe twitched one of her long glossy braids over her thin shoulder and\nheld it up before Matthew's eyes. Matthew was not used to deciding on\nthe tints of ladies' tresses, but in this case there couldn't be much\ndoubt.\n\n\"It's red, ain't it?\" he said.\n\nThe girl let the braid drop back with a sigh that seemed to come from\nher very toes and to exhale forth all the sorrows of the ages.\n\n\"Yes, it's red,\" she said resignedly. \"Now you see why I can't be\nperfectly happy. Nobody could who has red hair. I don't mind the other\nthings so much--the freckles and the green eyes and my skinniness. I\ncan imagine them away. I can imagine that I have a beautiful rose-leaf\ncomplexion and lovely starry violet eyes. But I CANNOT imagine that red\nhair away. I do my best. I think to myself, 'Now my hair is a glorious\nblack, black as the raven's wing.' But all the time I KNOW it is just\nplain red and it breaks my heart. It will be my lifelong sorrow. I read\nof a girl once in a novel who had a lifelong sorrow but it wasn't red\nhair. Her hair was pure gold rippling back from her alabaster brow. What\nis an alabaster brow? I never could find out. Can you tell me?\"\n\n\"Well now, I'm afraid I can't,\" said Matthew, who was getting a little\ndizzy. He felt as he had once felt in his rash youth when another boy\nhad enticed him on the merry-go-round at a picnic.\n\n\"Well, whatever it was it must have been something nice because she was\ndivinely beautiful. Have you ever imagined what it must feel like to be\ndivinely beautiful?\"\n\n\"Well now, no, I haven't,\" confessed Matthew ingenuously.\n\n\"I have, often. Which would you rather be if you had the\nchoice--divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?\"\n\n\"Well now, I--I don't know exactly.\"\n\n\"Neither do I. I can never decide. But it doesn't make much real\ndifference for it isn't likely I'll ever be either. It's certain I'll\nnever be angelically good. Mrs. Spencer says--oh, Mr. Cuthbert! Oh, Mr.\nCuthbert!! Oh, Mr. Cuthbert!!!\"\n\nThat was not what Mrs. Spencer had said; neither had the child tumbled\nout of the buggy nor had Matthew done anything astonishing. They had\nsimply rounded a curve in the road and found themselves in the \"Avenue.\"\n\nThe \"Avenue,\" so called by the Newbridge people, was a stretch of road\nfour or five hundred yards long, completely arched over with huge,\nwide-spreading apple-trees, planted years ago by an eccentric old\nfarmer. Overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below the\nboughs the air was full of a purple twilight and far ahead a glimpse\nof painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end of a\ncathedral aisle.\n\nIts beauty seemed to strike the child dumb. She leaned back in the\nbuggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face lifted rapturously to\nthe white splendor above. Even when they had passed out and were driving\ndown the long slope to Newbridge she never moved or spoke. Still with\nrapt face she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw\nvisions trooping splendidly across that glowing background. Through\nNewbridge, a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and small\nboys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows, they drove, still\nin silence. When three more miles had dropped away behind them the child\nhad not spoken. She could keep silence, it was evident, as energetically\nas she could talk.\n\n\"I guess you're feeling pretty tired and hungry,\" Matthew ventured to\nsay at last, accounting for her long visitation of dumbness with the\nonly reason he could think of. \"But we haven't very far to go now--only\nanother mile.\"\n\nShe came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with the\ndreamy gaze of a soul that had been wondering afar, star-led.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Cuthbert,\" she whispered, \"that place we came through--that\nwhite place--what was it?\"\n\n\"Well now, you must mean the Avenue,\" said Matthew after a few moments'\nprofound reflection. \"It is a kind of pretty place.\"\n\n\"Pretty? Oh, PRETTY doesn't seem the right word to use. Nor beautiful,\neither. They don't go far enough. Oh, it was wonderful--wonderful.\nIt's the first thing I ever saw that couldn't be improved upon by\nimagination. It just satisfies me here\"--she put one hand on her\nbreast--\"it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache. Did\nyou ever have an ache like that, Mr. Cuthbert?\"\n\n\"Well now, I just can't recollect that I ever had.\"\n\n\"I have it lots of time--whenever I see anything royally beautiful. But\nthey shouldn't call that lovely place the Avenue. There is no meaning\nin a name like that. They should call it--let me see--the White Way of\nDelight. Isn't that a nice imaginative name? When I don't like the name\nof a place or a person I always imagine a new one and always think of\nthem so. There was a girl at the asylum whose name was Hepzibah Jenkins,\nbut I always imagined her as Rosalia DeVere. Other people may call that\nplace the Avenue, but I shall always call it the White Way of Delight.\nHave we really only another mile to go before we get home? I'm glad and\nI'm sorry. I'm sorry because this drive has been so pleasant and I'm\nalways sorry when pleasant things end. Something still pleasanter may\ncome after, but you can never be sure. And it's so often the case that\nit isn't pleasanter. That has been my experience anyhow. But I'm glad to\nthink of getting home. You see, I've never had a real home since I can\nremember. It gives me that pleasant ache again just to think of coming\nto a really truly home. Oh, isn't that pretty!\"\n\nThey had driven over the crest of a hill. Below them was a pond, looking\nalmost like a river so long and winding was it. A bridge spanned it\nmidway and from there to its lower end, where an amber-hued belt of\nsand-hills shut it in from the dark blue gulf beyond, the water was a\nglory of many shifting hues--the most spiritual shadings of crocus and\nrose and ethereal green, with other elusive tintings for which no name\nhas ever been found. Above the bridge the pond ran up into fringing\ngroves of fir and maple and lay all darkly translucent in their wavering\nshadows. Here and there a wild plum leaned out from the bank like a\nwhite-clad girl tip-toeing to her own reflection. From the marsh at the\nhead of the pond came the clear, mournfully-sweet chorus of the frogs.\nThere was a little gray house peering around a white apple orchard on\na slope beyond and, although it was not yet quite dark, a light was\nshining from one of its windows.\n\n\"That's Barry's pond,\" said Matthew.\n\n\"Oh, I don't like that name, either. I shall call it--let me see--the\nLake of Shining Waters. Yes, that is the right name for it. I know\nbecause of the thrill. When I hit on a name that suits exactly it gives\nme a thrill. Do things ever give you a thrill?\"\n\nMatthew ruminated.\n\n\"Well now, yes. It always kind of gives me a thrill to see them ugly\nwhite grubs that spade up in the cucumber beds. I hate the look of\nthem.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't think that can be exactly the same kind of a thrill. Do you\nthink it can? There doesn't seem to be much connection between grubs\nand lakes of shining waters, does there? But why do other people call it\nBarry's pond?\"\n\n\"I reckon because Mr. Barry lives up there in that house. Orchard\nSlope's the name of his place. If it wasn't for that big bush behind it\nyou could see Green Gables from here. But we have to go over the bridge\nand round by the road, so it's near half a mile further.\"\n\n\"Has Mr. Barry any little girls? Well, not so very little either--about\nmy size.\"\n\n\"He's got one about eleven. Her name is Diana.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" with a long indrawing of breath. \"What a perfectly lovely name!\"\n\n\"Well now, I dunno. There's something dreadful heathenish about it,\nseems to me. I'd ruther Jane or Mary or some sensible name like that.\nBut when Diana was born there was a schoolmaster boarding there and they\ngave him the naming of her and he called her Diana.\"\n\n\"I wish there had been a schoolmaster like that around when I was born,\nthen. Oh, here we are at the bridge. I'm going to shut my eyes tight.\nI'm always afraid going over bridges. I can't help imagining that\nperhaps just as we get to the middle, they'll crumple up like a\njack-knife and nip us. So I shut my eyes. But I always have to open them\nfor all when I think we're getting near the middle. Because, you see,\nif the bridge DID crumple up I'd want to SEE it crumple. What a jolly\nrumble it makes! I always like the rumble part of it. Isn't it splendid\nthere are so many things to like in this world? There we're over. Now\nI'll look back. Good night, dear Lake of Shining Waters. I always say\ngood night to the things I love, just as I would to people. I think they\nlike it. That water looks as if it was smiling at me.\"\n\nWhen they had driven up the further hill and around a corner Matthew\nsaid:\n\n\"We're pretty near home now. That's Green Gables over--\"\n\n\"Oh, don't tell me,\" she interrupted breathlessly, catching at his\npartially raised arm and shutting her eyes that she might not see his\ngesture. \"Let me guess. I'm sure I'll guess right.\"\n\nShe opened her eyes and looked about her. They were on the crest of a\nhill. The sun had set some time since, but the landscape was still\nclear in the mellow afterlight. To the west a dark church spire rose\nup against a marigold sky. Below was a little valley and beyond a long,\ngently-rising slope with snug farmsteads scattered along it. From one\nto another the child's eyes darted, eager and wistful. At last they\nlingered on one away to the left, far back from the road, dimly white\nwith blossoming trees in the twilight of the surrounding woods. Over it,\nin the stainless southwest sky, a great crystal-white star was shining\nlike a lamp of guidance and promise.\n\n\"That's it, isn't it?\" she said, pointing.\n\nMatthew slapped the reins on the sorrel's back delightedly.\n\n\"Well now, you've guessed it! But I reckon Mrs. Spencer described it\nso's you could tell.\"\n\n\"No, she didn't--really she didn't. All she said might just as well have\nbeen about most of those other places. I hadn't any real idea what it\nlooked like. But just as soon as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, it\nseems as if I must be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black and\nblue from the elbow up, for I've pinched myself so many times today.\nEvery little while a horrible sickening feeling would come over me and\nI'd be so afraid it was all a dream. Then I'd pinch myself to see if it\nwas real--until suddenly I remembered that even supposing it was only\na dream I'd better go on dreaming as long as I could; so I stopped\npinching. But it IS real and we're nearly home.\"\n\nWith a sigh of rapture she relapsed into silence. Matthew stirred\nuneasily. He felt glad that it would be Marilla and not he who would\nhave to tell this waif of the world that the home she longed for was\nnot to be hers after all. They drove over Lynde's Hollow, where it was\nalready quite dark, but not so dark that Mrs. Rachel could not see them\nfrom her window vantage, and up the hill and into the long lane of Green\nGables. By the time they arrived at the house Matthew was shrinking from\nthe approaching revelation with an energy he did not understand. It was\nnot of Marilla or himself he was thinking of the trouble this mistake\nwas probably going to make for them, but of the child's disappointment.\nWhen he thought of that rapt light being quenched in her eyes he had\nan uncomfortable feeling that he was going to assist at murdering\nsomething--much the same feeling that came over him when he had to kill\na lamb or calf or any other innocent little creature.\n\nThe yard was quite dark as they turned into it and the poplar leaves\nwere rustling silkily all round it.\n\n\"Listen to the trees talking in their sleep,\" she whispered, as he\nlifted her to the ground. \"What nice dreams they must have!\"\n\nThen, holding tightly to the carpet-bag which contained \"all her worldly\ngoods,\" she followed him into the house.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. Marilla Cuthbert is Surprised\n\n\nMarilla came briskly forward as Matthew opened the door. But when her\neyes fell on the odd little figure in the stiff, ugly dress, with the\nlong braids of red hair and the eager, luminous eyes, she stopped short\nin amazement.\n\n\"Matthew Cuthbert, who's that?\" she ejaculated. \"Where is the boy?\"\n\n\"There wasn't any boy,\" said Matthew wretchedly. \"There was only HER.\"\n\nHe nodded at the child, remembering that he had never even asked her\nname.\n\n\"No boy! But there MUST have been a boy,\" insisted Marilla. \"We sent\nword to Mrs. Spencer to bring a boy.\"\n\n\"Well, she didn't. She brought HER. I asked the station-master. And I\nhad to bring her home. She couldn't be left there, no matter where the\nmistake had come in.\"\n\n\"Well, this is a pretty piece of business!\" ejaculated Marilla.\n\nDuring this dialogue the child had remained silent, her eyes roving from\none to the other, all the animation fading out of her face. Suddenly\nshe seemed to grasp the full meaning of what had been said. Dropping her\nprecious carpet-bag she sprang forward a step and clasped her hands.\n\n\"You don't want me!\" she cried. \"You don't want me because I'm not a\nboy! I might have expected it. Nobody ever did want me. I might have\nknown it was all too beautiful to last. I might have known nobody really\ndid want me. Oh, what shall I do? I'm going to burst into tears!\"\n\nBurst into tears she did. Sitting down on a chair by the table, flinging\nher arms out upon it, and burying her face in them, she proceeded to cry\nstormily. Marilla and Matthew looked at each other deprecatingly across\nthe stove. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Finally Marilla\nstepped lamely into the breach.\n\n\"Well, well, there's no need to cry so about it.\"\n\n\"Yes, there IS need!\" The child raised her head quickly, revealing a\ntear-stained face and trembling lips. \"YOU would cry, too, if you were\nan orphan and had come to a place you thought was going to be home and\nfound that they didn't want you because you weren't a boy. Oh, this is\nthe most TRAGICAL thing that ever happened to me!\"\n\nSomething like a reluctant smile, rather rusty from long disuse,\nmellowed Marilla's grim expression.\n\n\"Well, don't cry any more. We're not going to turn you out-of-doors\nto-night. You'll have to stay here until we investigate this affair.\nWhat's your name?\"\n\nThe child hesitated for a moment.\n\n\"Will you please call me Cordelia?\" she said eagerly.\n\n\"CALL you Cordelia? Is that your name?\"\n\n\"No-o-o, it's not exactly my name, but I would love to be called\nCordelia. It's such a perfectly elegant name.\"\n\n\"I don't know what on earth you mean. If Cordelia isn't your name, what\nis?\"\n\n\"Anne Shirley,\" reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, \"but,\noh, please do call me Cordelia. It can't matter much to you what you\ncall me if I'm only going to be here a little while, can it? And Anne is\nsuch an unromantic name.\"\n\n\"Unromantic fiddlesticks!\" said the unsympathetic Marilla. \"Anne is a\nreal good plain sensible name. You've no need to be ashamed of it.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it,\" explained Anne, \"only I like Cordelia\nbetter. I've always imagined that my name was Cordelia--at least, I\nalways have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it was\nGeraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anne\nplease call me Anne spelled with an E.\"\n\n\"What difference does it make how it's spelled?\" asked Marilla with\nanother rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.\n\n\"Oh, it makes SUCH a difference. It LOOKS so much nicer. When you hear a\nname pronounced can't you always see it in your mind, just as if it was\nprinted out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks so much\nmore distinguished. If you'll only call me Anne spelled with an E I\nshall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, Anne spelled with an E, can you tell us how this\nmistake came to be made? We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring us a boy.\nWere there no boys at the asylum?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, there was an abundance of them. But Mrs. Spencer said\nDISTINCTLY that you wanted a girl about eleven years old. And the matron\nsaid she thought I would do. You don't know how delighted I was. I\ncouldn't sleep all last night for joy. Oh,\" she added reproachfully,\nturning to Matthew, \"why didn't you tell me at the station that you\ndidn't want me and leave me there? If I hadn't seen the White Way of\nDelight and the Lake of Shining Waters it wouldn't be so hard.\"\n\n\"What on earth does she mean?\" demanded Marilla, staring at Matthew.\n\n\"She--she's just referring to some conversation we had on the road,\"\nsaid Matthew hastily. \"I'm going out to put the mare in, Marilla. Have\ntea ready when I come back.\"\n\n\"Did Mrs. Spencer bring anybody over besides you?\" continued Marilla\nwhen Matthew had gone out.\n\n\"She brought Lily Jones for herself. Lily is only five years old and she\nis very beautiful and had nut-brown hair. If I was very beautiful and\nhad nut-brown hair would you keep me?\"\n\n\"No. We want a boy to help Matthew on the farm. A girl would be of\nno use to us. Take off your hat. I'll lay it and your bag on the hall\ntable.\"\n\nAnne took off her hat meekly. Matthew came back presently and they sat\ndown to supper. But Anne could not eat. In vain she nibbled at the\nbread and butter and pecked at the crab-apple preserve out of the little\nscalloped glass dish by her plate. She did not really make any headway\nat all.\n\n\"You're not eating anything,\" said Marilla sharply, eying her as if it\nwere a serious shortcoming. Anne sighed.\n\n\"I can't. I'm in the depths of despair. Can you eat when you are in the\ndepths of despair?\"\n\n\"I've never been in the depths of despair, so I can't say,\" responded\nMarilla.\n\n\"Weren't you? Well, did you ever try to IMAGINE you were in the depths\nof despair?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't.\"\n\n\"Then I don't think you can understand what it's like. It's a very\nuncomfortable feeling indeed. When you try to eat a lump comes right\nup in your throat and you can't swallow anything, not even if it was a\nchocolate caramel. I had one chocolate caramel once two years ago and it\nwas simply delicious. I've often dreamed since then that I had a lot\nof chocolate caramels, but I always wake up just when I'm going to eat\nthem. I do hope you won't be offended because I can't eat. Everything is\nextremely nice, but still I cannot eat.\"\n\n\"I guess she's tired,\" said Matthew, who hadn't spoken since his return\nfrom the barn. \"Best put her to bed, Marilla.\"\n\nMarilla had been wondering where Anne should be put to bed. She had\nprepared a couch in the kitchen chamber for the desired and expected\nboy. But, although it was neat and clean, it did not seem quite the\nthing to put a girl there somehow. But the spare room was out of the\nquestion for such a stray waif, so there remained only the east gable\nroom. Marilla lighted a candle and told Anne to follow her, which Anne\nspiritlessly did, taking her hat and carpet-bag from the hall table as\nshe passed. The hall was fearsomely clean; the little gable chamber in\nwhich she presently found herself seemed still cleaner.\n\nMarilla set the candle on a three-legged, three-cornered table and\nturned down the bedclothes.\n\n\"I suppose you have a nightgown?\" she questioned.\n\nAnne nodded.\n\n\"Yes, I have two. The matron of the asylum made them for me. They're\nfearfully skimpy. There is never enough to go around in an asylum, so\nthings are always skimpy--at least in a poor asylum like ours. I hate\nskimpy night-dresses. But one can dream just as well in them as\nin lovely trailing ones, with frills around the neck, that's one\nconsolation.\"\n\n\"Well, undress as quick as you can and go to bed. I'll come back in a\nfew minutes for the candle. I daren't trust you to put it out yourself.\nYou'd likely set the place on fire.\"\n\nWhen Marilla had gone Anne looked around her wistfully. The whitewashed\nwalls were so painfully bare and staring that she thought they must ache\nover their own bareness. The floor was bare, too, except for a round\nbraided mat in the middle such as Anne had never seen before. In\none corner was the bed, a high, old-fashioned one, with four dark,\nlow-turned posts. In the other corner was the aforesaid three-corner\ntable adorned with a fat, red velvet pin-cushion hard enough to turn the\npoint of the most adventurous pin. Above it hung a little six-by-eight\nmirror. Midway between table and bed was the window, with an icy white\nmuslin frill over it, and opposite it was the wash-stand. The whole\napartment was of a rigidity not to be described in words, but which\nsent a shiver to the very marrow of Anne's bones. With a sob she hastily\ndiscarded her garments, put on the skimpy nightgown and sprang into bed\nwhere she burrowed face downward into the pillow and pulled the clothes\nover her head. When Marilla came up for the light various skimpy\narticles of raiment scattered most untidily over the floor and a certain\ntempestuous appearance of the bed were the only indications of any\npresence save her own.\n\nShe deliberately picked up Anne's clothes, placed them neatly on a prim\nyellow chair, and then, taking up the candle, went over to the bed.\n\n\"Good night,\" she said, a little awkwardly, but not unkindly.\n\nAnne's white face and big eyes appeared over the bedclothes with a\nstartling suddenness.\n\n\"How can you call it a GOOD night when you know it must be the very\nworst night I've ever had?\" she said reproachfully.\n\nThen she dived down into invisibility again.\n\nMarilla went slowly down to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the supper\ndishes. Matthew was smoking--a sure sign of perturbation of mind. He\nseldom smoked, for Marilla set her face against it as a filthy habit;\nbut at certain times and seasons he felt driven to it and them Marilla\nwinked at the practice, realizing that a mere man must have some vent\nfor his emotions.\n\n\"Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish,\" she said wrathfully. \"This is\nwhat comes of sending word instead of going ourselves. Richard Spencer's\nfolks have twisted that message somehow. One of us will have to drive\nover and see Mrs. Spencer tomorrow, that's certain. This girl will have\nto be sent back to the asylum.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose so,\" said Matthew reluctantly.\n\n\"You SUPPOSE so! Don't you know it?\"\n\n\"Well now, she's a real nice little thing, Marilla. It's kind of a pity\nto send her back when she's so set on staying here.\"\n\n\"Matthew Cuthbert, you don't mean to say you think we ought to keep\nher!\"\n\nMarilla's astonishment could not have been greater if Matthew had\nexpressed a predilection for standing on his head.\n\n\"Well, now, no, I suppose not--not exactly,\" stammered Matthew,\nuncomfortably driven into a corner for his precise meaning. \"I\nsuppose--we could hardly be expected to keep her.\"\n\n\"I should say not. What good would she be to us?\"\n\n\"We might be some good to her,\" said Matthew suddenly and unexpectedly.\n\n\"Matthew Cuthbert, I believe that child has bewitched you! I can see as\nplain as plain that you want to keep her.\"\n\n\"Well now, she's a real interesting little thing,\" persisted Matthew.\n\"You should have heard her talk coming from the station.\"\n\n\"Oh, she can talk fast enough. I saw that at once. It's nothing in her\nfavour, either. I don't like children who have so much to say. I don't\nwant an orphan girl and if I did she isn't the style I'd pick out.\nThere's something I don't understand about her. No, she's got to be\ndespatched straight-way back to where she came from.\"\n\n\"I could hire a French boy to help me,\" said Matthew, \"and she'd be\ncompany for you.\"\n\n\"I'm not suffering for company,\" said Marilla shortly. \"And I'm not\ngoing to keep her.\"\n\n\"Well now, it's just as you say, of course, Marilla,\" said Matthew\nrising and putting his pipe away. \"I'm going to bed.\"\n\nTo bed went Matthew. And to bed, when she had put her dishes away, went\nMarilla, frowning most resolutely. And up-stairs, in the east gable, a\nlonely, heart-hungry, friendless child cried herself to sleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. Morning at Green Gables\n\n\nIt was broad daylight when Anne awoke and sat up in bed, staring\nconfusedly at the window through which a flood of cheery sunshine was\npouring and outside of which something white and feathery waved across\nglimpses of blue sky.\n\nFor a moment she could not remember where she was. First came a\ndelightful thrill, as something very pleasant; then a horrible\nremembrance. This was Green Gables and they didn't want her because she\nwasn't a boy!\n\nBut it was morning and, yes, it was a cherry-tree in full bloom outside\nof her window. With a bound she was out of bed and across the floor.\nShe pushed up the sash--it went up stiffly and creakily, as if it hadn't\nbeen opened for a long time, which was the case; and it stuck so tight\nthat nothing was needed to hold it up.\n\nAnne dropped on her knees and gazed out into the June morning, her eyes\nglistening with delight. Oh, wasn't it beautiful? Wasn't it a lovely\nplace? Suppose she wasn't really going to stay here! She would imagine\nshe was. There was scope for imagination here.\n\nA huge cherry-tree grew outside, so close that its boughs tapped against\nthe house, and it was so thick-set with blossoms that hardly a leaf\nwas to be seen. On both sides of the house was a big orchard, one of\napple-trees and one of cherry-trees, also showered over with blossoms;\nand their grass was all sprinkled with dandelions. In the garden below\nwere lilac-trees purple with flowers, and their dizzily sweet fragrance\ndrifted up to the window on the morning wind.\n\nBelow the garden a green field lush with clover sloped down to the\nhollow where the brook ran and where scores of white birches grew,\nupspringing airily out of an undergrowth suggestive of delightful\npossibilities in ferns and mosses and woodsy things generally. Beyond it\nwas a hill, green and feathery with spruce and fir; there was a gap in\nit where the gray gable end of the little house she had seen from the\nother side of the Lake of Shining Waters was visible.\n\nOff to the left were the big barns and beyond them, away down over\ngreen, low-sloping fields, was a sparkling blue glimpse of sea.\n\nAnne's beauty-loving eyes lingered on it all, taking everything greedily\nin. She had looked on so many unlovely places in her life, poor child;\nbut this was as lovely as anything she had ever dreamed.\n\nShe knelt there, lost to everything but the loveliness around her, until\nshe was startled by a hand on her shoulder. Marilla had come in unheard\nby the small dreamer.\n\n\"It's time you were dressed,\" she said curtly.\n\nMarilla really did not know how to talk to the child, and her\nuncomfortable ignorance made her crisp and curt when she did not mean to\nbe.\n\nAnne stood up and drew a long breath.\n\n\"Oh, isn't it wonderful?\" she said, waving her hand comprehensively at\nthe good world outside.\n\n\"It's a big tree,\" said Marilla, \"and it blooms great, but the fruit\ndon't amount to much never--small and wormy.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't mean just the tree; of course it's lovely--yes, it's\nRADIANTLY lovely--it blooms as if it meant it--but I meant everything,\nthe garden and the orchard and the brook and the woods, the whole big\ndear world. Don't you feel as if you just loved the world on a morning\nlike this? And I can hear the brook laughing all the way up here.\nHave you ever noticed what cheerful things brooks are? They're always\nlaughing. Even in winter-time I've heard them under the ice. I'm so glad\nthere's a brook near Green Gables. Perhaps you think it doesn't make any\ndifference to me when you're not going to keep me, but it does. I shall\nalways like to remember that there is a brook at Green Gables even if\nI never see it again. If there wasn't a brook I'd be HAUNTED by the\nuncomfortable feeling that there ought to be one. I'm not in the depths\nof despair this morning. I never can be in the morning. Isn't it a\nsplendid thing that there are mornings? But I feel very sad. I've just\nbeen imagining that it was really me you wanted after all and that I was\nto stay here for ever and ever. It was a great comfort while it lasted.\nBut the worst of imagining things is that the time comes when you have\nto stop and that hurts.\"\n\n\"You'd better get dressed and come down-stairs and never mind your\nimaginings,\" said Marilla as soon as she could get a word in edgewise.\n\"Breakfast is waiting. Wash your face and comb your hair. Leave the\nwindow up and turn your bedclothes back over the foot of the bed. Be as\nsmart as you can.\"\n\nAnne could evidently be smart to some purpose for she was down-stairs\nin ten minutes' time, with her clothes neatly on, her hair brushed and\nbraided, her face washed, and a comfortable consciousness pervading her\nsoul that she had fulfilled all Marilla's requirements. As a matter of\nfact, however, she had forgotten to turn back the bedclothes.\n\n\"I'm pretty hungry this morning,\" she announced as she slipped into the\nchair Marilla placed for her. \"The world doesn't seem such a howling\nwilderness as it did last night. I'm so glad it's a sunshiny morning.\nBut I like rainy mornings real well, too. All sorts of mornings are\ninteresting, don't you think? You don't know what's going to happen\nthrough the day, and there's so much scope for imagination. But I'm\nglad it's not rainy today because it's easier to be cheerful and bear\nup under affliction on a sunshiny day. I feel that I have a good deal\nto bear up under. It's all very well to read about sorrows and imagine\nyourself living through them heroically, but it's not so nice when you\nreally come to have them, is it?\"\n\n\"For pity's sake hold your tongue,\" said Marilla. \"You talk entirely too\nmuch for a little girl.\"\n\nThereupon Anne held her tongue so obediently and thoroughly that her\ncontinued silence made Marilla rather nervous, as if in the presence of\nsomething not exactly natural. Matthew also held his tongue,--but this\nwas natural,--so that the meal was a very silent one.\n\nAs it progressed Anne became more and more abstracted, eating\nmechanically, with her big eyes fixed unswervingly and unseeingly on the\nsky outside the window. This made Marilla more nervous than ever; she\nhad an uncomfortable feeling that while this odd child's body might\nbe there at the table her spirit was far away in some remote airy\ncloudland, borne aloft on the wings of imagination. Who would want such\na child about the place?\n\nYet Matthew wished to keep her, of all unaccountable things! Marilla\nfelt that he wanted it just as much this morning as he had the night\nbefore, and that he would go on wanting it. That was Matthew's way--take\na whim into his head and cling to it with the most amazing silent\npersistency--a persistency ten times more potent and effectual in its\nvery silence than if he had talked it out.\n\nWhen the meal was ended Anne came out of her reverie and offered to wash\nthe dishes.\n\n\"Can you wash dishes right?\" asked Marilla distrustfully.\n\n\"Pretty well. I'm better at looking after children, though. I've had so\nmuch experience at that. It's such a pity you haven't any here for me to\nlook after.\"\n\n\"I don't feel as if I wanted any more children to look after than I've\ngot at present. YOU'RE problem enough in all conscience. What's to be\ndone with you I don't know. Matthew is a most ridiculous man.\"\n\n\"I think he's lovely,\" said Anne reproachfully. \"He is so very\nsympathetic. He didn't mind how much I talked--he seemed to like it. I\nfelt that he was a kindred spirit as soon as ever I saw him.\"\n\n\"You're both queer enough, if that's what you mean by kindred spirits,\"\nsaid Marilla with a sniff. \"Yes, you may wash the dishes. Take plenty of\nhot water, and be sure you dry them well. I've got enough to attend to\nthis morning for I'll have to drive over to White Sands in the afternoon\nand see Mrs. Spencer. You'll come with me and we'll settle what's to be\ndone with you. After you've finished the dishes go up-stairs and make\nyour bed.\"\n\nAnne washed the dishes deftly enough, as Marilla who kept a sharp eye on\nthe process, discerned. Later on she made her bed less successfully, for\nshe had never learned the art of wrestling with a feather tick. But is\nwas done somehow and smoothed down; and then Marilla, to get rid of her,\ntold her she might go out-of-doors and amuse herself until dinner time.\n\nAnne flew to the door, face alight, eyes glowing. On the very threshold\nshe stopped short, wheeled about, came back and sat down by the table,\nlight and glow as effectually blotted out as if some one had clapped an\nextinguisher on her.\n\n\"What's the matter now?\" demanded Marilla.\n\n\"I don't dare go out,\" said Anne, in the tone of a martyr relinquishing\nall earthly joys. \"If I can't stay here there is no use in my loving\nGreen Gables. And if I go out there and get acquainted with all those\ntrees and flowers and the orchard and the brook I'll not be able to help\nloving it. It's hard enough now, so I won't make it any harder. I want\nto go out so much--everything seems to be calling to me, 'Anne, Anne,\ncome out to us. Anne, Anne, we want a playmate'--but it's better not.\nThere is no use in loving things if you have to be torn from them, is\nthere? And it's so hard to keep from loving things, isn't it? That was\nwhy I was so glad when I thought I was going to live here. I thought\nI'd have so many things to love and nothing to hinder me. But that brief\ndream is over. I am resigned to my fate now, so I don't think I'll\ngo out for fear I'll get unresigned again. What is the name of that\ngeranium on the window-sill, please?\"\n\n\"That's the apple-scented geranium.\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't mean that sort of a name. I mean just a name you gave it\nyourself. Didn't you give it a name? May I give it one then? May I call\nit--let me see--Bonny would do--may I call it Bonny while I'm here? Oh,\ndo let me!\"\n\n\"Goodness, I don't care. But where on earth is the sense of naming a\ngeranium?\"\n\n\"Oh, I like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums. It\nmakes them seem more like people. How do you know but that it hurts a\ngeranium's feelings just to be called a geranium and nothing else? You\nwouldn't like to be called nothing but a woman all the time. Yes, I\nshall call it Bonny. I named that cherry-tree outside my bedroom window\nthis morning. I called it Snow Queen because it was so white. Of course,\nit won't always be in blossom, but one can imagine that it is, can't\none?\"\n\n\"I never in all my life saw or heard anything to equal her,\" muttered\nMarilla, beating a retreat down to the cellar after potatoes. \"She\nis kind of interesting as Matthew says. I can feel already that I'm\nwondering what on earth she'll say next. She'll be casting a spell over\nme, too. She's cast it over Matthew. That look he gave me when he went\nout said everything he said or hinted last night over again. I wish he\nwas like other men and would talk things out. A body could answer back\nthen and argue him into reason. But what's to be done with a man who\njust LOOKS?\"\n\nAnne had relapsed into reverie, with her chin in her hands and her eyes\non the sky, when Marilla returned from her cellar pilgrimage. There\nMarilla left her until the early dinner was on the table.\n\n\"I suppose I can have the mare and buggy this afternoon, Matthew?\" said\nMarilla.\n\nMatthew nodded and looked wistfully at Anne. Marilla intercepted the\nlook and said grimly:\n\n\"I'm going to drive over to White Sands and settle this thing. I'll take\nAnne with me and Mrs. Spencer will probably make arrangements to send\nher back to Nova Scotia at once. I'll set your tea out for you and I'll\nbe home in time to milk the cows.\"\n\nStill Matthew said nothing and Marilla had a sense of having wasted\nwords and breath. There is nothing more aggravating than a man who won't\ntalk back--unless it is a woman who won't.\n\nMatthew hitched the sorrel into the buggy in due time and Marilla and\nAnne set off. Matthew opened the yard gate for them and as they drove\nslowly through, he said, to nobody in particular as it seemed:\n\n\"Little Jerry Buote from the Creek was here this morning, and I told him\nI guessed I'd hire him for the summer.\"\n\nMarilla made no reply, but she hit the unlucky sorrel such a vicious\nclip with the whip that the fat mare, unused to such treatment, whizzed\nindignantly down the lane at an alarming pace. Marilla looked back once\nas the buggy bounced along and saw that aggravating Matthew leaning over\nthe gate, looking wistfully after them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. Anne's History\n\n\n\"Do you know,\" said Anne confidentially, \"I've made up my mind to enjoy\nthis drive. It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy\nthings if you make up your mind firmly that you will. Of course, you\nmust make it up FIRMLY. I am not going to think about going back to the\nasylum while we're having our drive. I'm just going to think about\nthe drive. Oh, look, there's one little early wild rose out! Isn't it\nlovely? Don't you think it must be glad to be a rose? Wouldn't it\nbe nice if roses could talk? I'm sure they could tell us such lovely\nthings. And isn't pink the most bewitching color in the world? I love\nit, but I can't wear it. Redheaded people can't wear pink, not even in\nimagination. Did you ever know of anybody whose hair was red when she\nwas young, but got to be another color when she grew up?\"\n\n\"No, I don't know as I ever did,\" said Marilla mercilessly, \"and I\nshouldn't think it likely to happen in your case either.\"\n\nAnne sighed.\n\n\"Well, that is another hope gone. 'My life is a perfect graveyard of\nburied hopes.' That's a sentence I read in a book once, and I say it\nover to comfort myself whenever I'm disappointed in anything.\"\n\n\"I don't see where the comforting comes in myself,\" said Marilla.\n\n\"Why, because it sounds so nice and romantic, just as if I were a\nheroine in a book, you know. I am so fond of romantic things, and a\ngraveyard full of buried hopes is about as romantic a thing as one can\nimagine isn't it? I'm rather glad I have one. Are we going across the\nLake of Shining Waters today?\"\n\n\"We're not going over Barry's pond, if that's what you mean by your Lake\nof Shining Waters. We're going by the shore road.\"\n\n\"Shore road sounds nice,\" said Anne dreamily. \"Is it as nice as it\nsounds? Just when you said 'shore road' I saw it in a picture in my\nmind, as quick as that! And White Sands is a pretty name, too; but I\ndon't like it as well as Avonlea. Avonlea is a lovely name. It just\nsounds like music. How far is it to White Sands?\"\n\n\"It's five miles; and as you're evidently bent on talking you might as\nwell talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself.\"\n\n\"Oh, what I KNOW about myself isn't really worth telling,\" said Anne\neagerly. \"If you'll only let me tell you what I IMAGINE about myself\nyou'll think it ever so much more interesting.\"\n\n\"No, I don't want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts.\nBegin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you?\"\n\n\"I was eleven last March,\" said Anne, resigning herself to bald facts\nwith a little sigh. \"And I was born in Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia.\nMy father's name was Walter Shirley, and he was a teacher in the\nBolingbroke High School. My mother's name was Bertha Shirley. Aren't\nWalter and Bertha lovely names? I'm so glad my parents had nice names.\nIt would be a real disgrace to have a father named--well, say Jedediah,\nwouldn't it?\"\n\n\"I guess it doesn't matter what a person's name is as long as he behaves\nhimself,\" said Marilla, feeling herself called upon to inculcate a good\nand useful moral.\n\n\"Well, I don't know.\" Anne looked thoughtful. \"I read in a book once\nthat a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never been\nable to believe it. I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it was\ncalled a thistle or a skunk cabbage. I suppose my father could have been\na good man even if he had been called Jedediah; but I'm sure it would\nhave been a cross. Well, my mother was a teacher in the High school,\ntoo, but when she married father she gave up teaching, of course. A\nhusband was enough responsibility. Mrs. Thomas said that they were\na pair of babies and as poor as church mice. They went to live in a\nweeny-teeny little yellow house in Bolingbroke. I've never seen that\nhouse, but I've imagined it thousands of times. I think it must have\nhad honeysuckle over the parlor window and lilacs in the front yard and\nlilies of the valley just inside the gate. Yes, and muslin curtains in\nall the windows. Muslin curtains give a house such an air. I was born\nin that house. Mrs. Thomas said I was the homeliest baby she ever saw, I\nwas so scrawny and tiny and nothing but eyes, but that mother thought I\nwas perfectly beautiful. I should think a mother would be a better judge\nthan a poor woman who came in to scrub, wouldn't you? I'm glad she\nwas satisfied with me anyhow, I would feel so sad if I thought I was a\ndisappointment to her--because she didn't live very long after that, you\nsee. She died of fever when I was just three months old. I do wish she'd\nlived long enough for me to remember calling her mother. I think it\nwould be so sweet to say 'mother,' don't you? And father died four days\nafterwards from fever too. That left me an orphan and folks were at\ntheir wits' end, so Mrs. Thomas said, what to do with me. You see,\nnobody wanted me even then. It seems to be my fate. Father and mother\nhad both come from places far away and it was well known they hadn't any\nrelatives living. Finally Mrs. Thomas said she'd take me, though she was\npoor and had a drunken husband. She brought me up by hand. Do you know\nif there is anything in being brought up by hand that ought to make\npeople who are brought up that way better than other people? Because\nwhenever I was naughty Mrs. Thomas would ask me how I could be such a\nbad girl when she had brought me up by hand--reproachful-like.\n\n\"Mr. and Mrs. Thomas moved away from Bolingbroke to Marysville, and I\nlived with them until I was eight years old. I helped look after the\nThomas children--there were four of them younger than me--and I can tell\nyou they took a lot of looking after. Then Mr. Thomas was killed\nfalling under a train and his mother offered to take Mrs. Thomas and the\nchildren, but she didn't want me. Mrs. Thomas was at HER wits' end, so\nshe said, what to do with me. Then Mrs. Hammond from up the river came\ndown and said she'd take me, seeing I was handy with children, and\nI went up the river to live with her in a little clearing among the\nstumps. It was a very lonesome place. I'm sure I could never have\nlived there if I hadn't had an imagination. Mr. Hammond worked a little\nsawmill up there, and Mrs. Hammond had eight children. She had twins\nthree times. I like babies in moderation, but twins three times in\nsuccession is TOO MUCH. I told Mrs. Hammond so firmly, when the last\npair came. I used to get so dreadfully tired carrying them about.\n\n\"I lived up river with Mrs. Hammond over two years, and then Mr. Hammond\ndied and Mrs. Hammond broke up housekeeping. She divided her children\namong her relatives and went to the States. I had to go to the asylum\nat Hopeton, because nobody would take me. They didn't want me at the\nasylum, either; they said they were over-crowded as it was. But they had\nto take me and I was there four months until Mrs. Spencer came.\"\n\nAnne finished up with another sigh, of relief this time. Evidently\nshe did not like talking about her experiences in a world that had not\nwanted her.\n\n\"Did you ever go to school?\" demanded Marilla, turning the sorrel mare\ndown the shore road.\n\n\"Not a great deal. I went a little the last year I stayed with Mrs.\nThomas. When I went up river we were so far from a school that I\ncouldn't walk it in winter and there was a vacation in summer, so I\ncould only go in the spring and fall. But of course I went while I was\nat the asylum. I can read pretty well and I know ever so many pieces of\npoetry off by heart--'The Battle of Hohenlinden' and 'Edinburgh after\nFlodden,' and 'Bingen of the Rhine,' and most of the 'Lady of the Lake'\nand most of 'The Seasons' by James Thompson. Don't you just love poetry\nthat gives you a crinkly feeling up and down your back? There is a piece\nin the Fifth Reader--'The Downfall of Poland'--that is just full of\nthrills. Of course, I wasn't in the Fifth Reader--I was only in the\nFourth--but the big girls used to lend me theirs to read.\"\n\n\"Were those women--Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond--good to you?\" asked\nMarilla, looking at Anne out of the corner of her eye.\n\n\"O-o-o-h,\" faltered Anne. Her sensitive little face suddenly flushed\nscarlet and embarrassment sat on her brow. \"Oh, they MEANT to be--I know\nthey meant to be just as good and kind as possible. And when people\nmean to be good to you, you don't mind very much when they're not\nquite--always. They had a good deal to worry them, you know. It's  a very\ntrying to have a drunken husband, you see; and it must be very trying to\nhave twins three times in succession, don't you think? But I feel sure\nthey meant to be good to me.\"\n\nMarilla asked no more questions. Anne gave herself up to a silent\nrapture over the shore road and Marilla guided the sorrel abstractedly\nwhile she pondered deeply. Pity was suddenly stirring in her heart for\nthe child. What a starved, unloved life she had had--a life of drudgery\nand poverty and neglect; for Marilla was shrewd enough to read between\nthe lines of Anne's history and divine the truth. No wonder she had been\nso delighted at the prospect of a real home. It was a pity she had to be\nsent back. What if she, Marilla, should indulge Matthew's unaccountable\nwhim and let her stay? He was set on it; and the child seemed a nice,\nteachable little thing.\n\n\"She's got too much to say,\" thought Marilla, \"but she might be trained\nout of that. And there's nothing rude or slangy in what she does say.\nShe's ladylike. It's likely her people were nice folks.\"\n\nThe shore road was \"woodsy and wild and lonesome.\" On the right hand,\nscrub firs, their spirits quite unbroken by long years of tussle with\nthe gulf winds, grew thickly. On the left were the steep red sandstone\ncliffs, so near the track in places that a mare of less steadiness than\nthe sorrel might have tried the nerves of the people behind her. Down\nat the base of the cliffs were heaps of surf-worn rocks or little sandy\ncoves inlaid with pebbles as with ocean jewels; beyond lay the sea,\nshimmering and blue, and over it soared the gulls, their pinions\nflashing silvery in the sunlight.\n\n\"Isn't the sea wonderful?\" said Anne, rousing from a long, wide-eyed\nsilence. \"Once, when I lived in Marysville, Mr. Thomas hired an express\nwagon and took us all to spend the day at the shore ten miles away.\nI enjoyed every moment of that day, even if I had to look after the\nchildren all the time. I lived it over in happy dreams for years.\nBut this shore is nicer than the Marysville shore. Aren't those gulls\nsplendid? Would you like to be a gull? I think I would--that is, if I\ncouldn't be a human girl. Don't you think it would be nice to wake up at\nsunrise and swoop down over the water and away out over that lovely blue\nall day; and then at night to fly back to one's nest? Oh, I can just\nimagine myself doing it. What big house is that just ahead, please?\"\n\n\"That's the White Sands Hotel. Mr. Kirke runs it, but the season hasn't\nbegun yet. There are heaps of Americans come there for the summer. They\nthink this shore is just about right.\"\n\n\"I was afraid it might be Mrs. Spencer's place,\" said Anne mournfully.\n\"I don't want to get there. Somehow, it will seem like the end of\neverything.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. Marilla Makes Up Her Mind\n\n\nGet there they did, however, in due season. Mrs. Spencer lived in a big\nyellow house at White Sands Cove, and she came to the door with surprise\nand welcome mingled on her benevolent face.\n\n\"Dear, dear,\" she exclaimed, \"you're the last folks I was looking for\ntoday, but I'm real glad to see you. You'll put your horse in? And how\nare you, Anne?\"\n\n\"I'm as well as can be expected, thank you,\" said Anne smilelessly. A\nblight seemed to have descended on her.\n\n\"I suppose we'll stay a little while to rest the mare,\" said Marilla,\n\"but I promised Matthew I'd be home early. The fact is, Mrs. Spencer,\nthere's been a queer mistake somewhere, and I've come over to see where\nit is. We send word, Matthew and I, for you to bring us a boy from the\nasylum. We told your brother Robert to tell you we wanted a boy ten or\neleven years old.\"\n\n\"Marilla Cuthbert, you don't say so!\" said Mrs. Spencer in distress.\n\"Why, Robert sent word down by his daughter Nancy and she said you\nwanted a girl--didn't she Flora Jane?\" appealing to her daughter who had\ncome out to the steps.\n\n\"She certainly did, Miss Cuthbert,\" corroborated Flora Jane earnestly.\n\n\"I'm dreadful sorry,\" said Mrs. Spencer. \"It's too bad; but it certainly\nwasn't my fault, you see, Miss Cuthbert. I did the best I could and I\nthought I was following your instructions. Nancy is a terrible flighty\nthing. I've often had to scold her well for her heedlessness.\"\n\n\"It was our own fault,\" said Marilla resignedly. \"We should have come\nto you ourselves and not left an important message to be passed along by\nword of mouth in that fashion. Anyhow, the mistake has been made and the\nonly thing to do is to set it right. Can we send the child back to the\nasylum? I suppose they'll take her back, won't they?\"\n\n\"I suppose so,\" said Mrs. Spencer thoughtfully, \"but I don't think\nit will be necessary to send her back. Mrs. Peter Blewett was up here\nyesterday, and she was saying to me how much she wished she'd sent by me\nfor a little girl to help her. Mrs. Peter has a large family, you know,\nand she finds it hard to get help. Anne will be the very girl for you. I\ncall it positively providential.\"\n\nMarilla did not look as if she thought Providence had much to do with\nthe matter. Here was an unexpectedly good chance to get this unwelcome\norphan off her hands, and she did not even feel grateful for it.\n\nShe knew Mrs. Peter Blewett only by sight as a small, shrewish-faced\nwoman without an ounce of superfluous flesh on her bones. But she had\nheard of her. \"A terrible worker and driver,\" Mrs. Peter was said to\nbe; and discharged servant girls told fearsome tales of her temper and\nstinginess, and her family of pert, quarrelsome children. Marilla felt\na qualm of conscience at the thought of handing Anne over to her tender\nmercies.\n\n\"Well, I'll go in and we'll talk the matter over,\" she said.\n\n\"And if there isn't Mrs. Peter coming up the lane this blessed minute!\"\nexclaimed Mrs. Spencer, bustling her guests through the hall into the\nparlor, where a deadly chill struck on them as if the air had been\nstrained so long through dark green, closely drawn blinds that it had\nlost every particle of warmth it had ever possessed. \"That is real\nlucky, for we can settle the matter right away. Take the armchair, Miss\nCuthbert. Anne, you sit here on the ottoman and don't wiggle. Let\nme take your hats. Flora Jane, go out and put the kettle on. Good\nafternoon, Mrs. Blewett. We were just saying how fortunate it was you\nhappened along. Let me introduce you two ladies. Mrs. Blewett, Miss\nCuthbert. Please excuse me for just a moment. I forgot to tell Flora\nJane to take the buns out of the oven.\"\n\nMrs. Spencer whisked away, after pulling up the blinds. Anne sitting\nmutely on the ottoman, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, stared\nat Mrs Blewett as one fascinated. Was she to be given into the keeping\nof this sharp-faced, sharp-eyed woman? She felt a lump coming up in her\nthroat and her eyes smarted painfully. She was beginning to be afraid\nshe couldn't keep the tears back when Mrs. Spencer returned, flushed\nand beaming, quite capable of taking any and every difficulty, physical,\nmental or spiritual, into consideration and settling it out of hand.\n\n\"It seems there's been a mistake about this little girl, Mrs. Blewett,\"\nshe said. \"I was under the impression that Mr. and Miss Cuthbert wanted\na little girl to adopt. I was certainly told so. But it seems it was a\nboy they wanted. So if you're still of the same mind you were yesterday,\nI think she'll be just the thing for you.\"\n\nMrs. Blewett darted her eyes over Anne from head to foot.\n\n\"How old are you and what's your name?\" she demanded.\n\n\"Anne Shirley,\" faltered the shrinking child, not daring to make any\nstipulations regarding the spelling thereof, \"and I'm eleven years old.\"\n\n\"Humph! You don't look as if there was much to you. But you're wiry. I\ndon't know but the wiry ones are the best after all. Well, if I take you\nyou'll have to be a good girl, you know--good and smart and respectful.\nI'll expect you to earn your keep, and no mistake about that. Yes, I\nsuppose I might as well take her off your hands, Miss Cuthbert. The\nbaby's awful fractious, and I'm clean worn out attending to him. If you\nlike I can take her right home now.\"\n\nMarilla looked at Anne and softened at sight of the child's pale face\nwith its look of mute misery--the misery of a helpless little creature\nwho finds itself once more caught in the trap from which it had escaped.\nMarilla felt an uncomfortable conviction that, if she denied the appeal\nof that look, it would haunt her to her dying day. More-over, she did\nnot fancy Mrs. Blewett. To hand a sensitive, \"highstrung\" child over to\nsuch a woman! No, she could not take the responsibility of doing that!\n\n\"Well, I don't know,\" she said slowly. \"I didn't say that Matthew and I\nhad absolutely decided that we wouldn't keep her. In fact I may say that\nMatthew is disposed to keep her. I just came over to find out how the\nmistake had occurred. I think I'd better take her home again and talk it\nover with Matthew. I feel that I oughtn't to decide on anything without\nconsulting him. If we make up our mind not to keep her we'll bring or\nsend her over to you tomorrow night. If we don't you may know that she\nis going to stay with us. Will that suit you, Mrs. Blewett?\"\n\n\"I suppose it'll have to,\" said Mrs. Blewett ungraciously.\n\nDuring Marilla's speech a sunrise had been dawning on Anne's face. First\nthe look of despair faded out; then came a faint flush of hope;\nher eyes grew deep and bright as morning stars. The child was quite\ntransfigured; and, a moment later, when Mrs. Spencer and Mrs. Blewett\nwent out in quest of a recipe the latter had come to borrow she sprang\nup and flew across the room to Marilla.\n\n\"Oh, Miss Cuthbert, did you really say that perhaps you would let me\nstay at Green Gables?\" she said, in a breathless whisper, as if speaking\naloud might shatter the glorious possibility. \"Did you really say it? Or\ndid I only imagine that you did?\"\n\n\"I think you'd better learn to control that imagination of yours, Anne,\nif you can't distinguish between what is real and what isn't,\" said\nMarilla crossly. \"Yes, you did hear me say just that and no more. It\nisn't decided yet and perhaps we will conclude to let Mrs. Blewett take\nyou after all. She certainly needs you much more than I do.\"\n\n\"I'd rather go back to the asylum than go to live with her,\" said Anne\npassionately. \"She looks exactly like a--like a gimlet.\"\n\nMarilla smothered a smile under the conviction that Anne must be\nreproved for such a speech.\n\n\"A little girl like you should be ashamed of talking so about a lady and\na stranger,\" she said severely. \"Go back and sit down quietly and hold\nyour tongue and behave as a good girl should.\"\n\n\"I'll try to do and be anything you want me, if you'll only keep me,\"\nsaid Anne, returning meekly to her ottoman.\n\nWhen they arrived back at Green Gables that evening Matthew met them in\nthe lane. Marilla from afar had noted him prowling along it and guessed\nhis motive. She was prepared for the relief she read in his face when he\nsaw that she had at least brought back Anne back with her. But she said\nnothing, to him, relative to the affair, until they were both out in the\nyard behind the barn milking the cows. Then she briefly told him Anne's\nhistory and the result of the interview with Mrs. Spencer.\n\n\"I wouldn't give a dog I liked to that Blewett woman,\" said Matthew with\nunusual vim.\n\n\"I don't fancy her style myself,\" admitted Marilla, \"but it's that\nor keeping her ourselves, Matthew. And since you seem to want her, I\nsuppose I'm willing--or have to be. I've been thinking over the idea\nuntil I've got kind of used to it. It seems a sort of duty. I've never\nbrought up a child, especially a girl, and I dare say I'll make a\nterrible mess of it. But I'll do my best. So far as I'm concerned,\nMatthew, she may stay.\"\n\nMatthew's shy face was a glow of delight.\n\n\"Well now, I reckoned you'd come to see it in that light, Marilla,\" he\nsaid. \"She's such an interesting little thing.\"\n\n\"It'd be more to the point if you could say she was a useful little\nthing,\" retorted Marilla, \"but I'll make it my business to see she's\ntrained to be that. And mind, Matthew, you're not to go interfering with\nmy methods. Perhaps an old maid doesn't know much about bringing up\na child, but I guess she knows more than an old bachelor. So you just\nleave me to manage her. When I fail it'll be time enough to put your oar\nin.\"\n\n\"There, there, Marilla, you can have your own way,\" said Matthew\nreassuringly. \"Only be as good and kind to her as you can without\nspoiling her. I kind of think she's one of the sort you can do anything\nwith if you only get her to love you.\"\n\nMarilla sniffed, to express her contempt for Matthew's opinions\nconcerning anything feminine, and walked off to the dairy with the\npails.\n\n\"I won't tell her tonight that she can stay,\" she reflected, as she\nstrained the milk into the creamers. \"She'd be so excited that she\nwouldn't sleep a wink. Marilla Cuthbert, you're fairly in for it. Did\nyou ever suppose you'd see the day when you'd be adopting an orphan\ngirl? It's surprising enough; but not so surprising as that Matthew\nshould be at the bottom of it, him that always seemed to have such a\nmortal dread of little girls. Anyhow, we've decided on the experiment\nand goodness only knows what will come of it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. Anne Says Her Prayers\n\n\nWhen Marilla took Anne up to bed that night she said stiffly:\n\n\"Now, Anne, I noticed last night that you threw your clothes all about\nthe floor when you took them off. That is a very untidy habit, and I\ncan't allow it at all. As soon as you take off any article of clothing\nfold it neatly and place it on the chair. I haven't any use at all for\nlittle girls who aren't neat.\"\n\n\"I was so harrowed up in my mind last night that I didn't think about my\nclothes at all,\" said Anne. \"I'll fold them nicely tonight. They always\nmade us do that at the asylum. Half the time, though, I'd forget, I'd be\nin such a hurry to get into bed nice and quiet and imagine things.\"\n\n\"You'll have to remember a little better if you stay here,\" admonished\nMarilla. \"There, that looks something like. Say your prayers now and get\ninto bed.\"\n\n\"I never say any prayers,\" announced Anne.\n\nMarilla looked horrified astonishment.\n\n\"Why, Anne, what do you mean? Were you never taught to say your prayers?\nGod always wants little girls to say their prayers. Don't you know who\nGod is, Anne?\"\n\n\"'God is a spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable, in His being,\nwisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth,'\" responded Anne\npromptly and glibly.\n\nMarilla looked rather relieved.\n\n\"So you do know something then, thank goodness! You're not quite a\nheathen. Where did you learn that?\"\n\n\"Oh, at the asylum Sunday-school. They made us learn the whole\ncatechism. I liked it pretty well. There's something splendid about some\nof the words. 'Infinite, eternal and unchangeable.' Isn't that grand? It\nhas such a roll to it--just like a big organ playing. You couldn't quite\ncall it poetry, I suppose, but it sounds a lot like it, doesn't it?\"\n\n\"We're not talking about poetry, Anne--we are talking about saying your\nprayers. Don't you know it's a terrible wicked thing not to say your\nprayers every night? I'm afraid you are a very bad little girl.\"\n\n\"You'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair,\" said\nAnne reproachfully. \"People who haven't red hair don't know what trouble\nis. Mrs. Thomas told me that God made my hair red ON PURPOSE, and I've\nnever cared about Him since. And anyhow I'd always be too tired at night\nto bother saying prayers. People who have to look after twins can't be\nexpected to say their prayers. Now, do you honestly think they can?\"\n\nMarilla decided that Anne's religious training must be begun at once.\nPlainly there was no time to be lost.\n\n\"You must say your prayers while you are under my roof, Anne.\"\n\n\"Why, of course, if you want me to,\" assented Anne cheerfully. \"I'd do\nanything to oblige you. But you'll have to tell me what to say for this\nonce. After I get into bed I'll imagine out a real nice prayer to say\nalways. I believe that it will be quite interesting, now that I come to\nthink of it.\"\n\n\"You must kneel down,\" said Marilla in embarrassment.\n\nAnne knelt at Marilla's knee and looked up gravely.\n\n\"Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I'll\ntell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field all alone\nor into the deep, deep, woods, and I'd look up into the\nsky--up--up--up--into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no\nend to its blueness. And then I'd just FEEL a prayer. Well, I'm ready.\nWhat am I to say?\"\n\nMarilla felt more embarrassed than ever. She had intended to teach Anne\nthe childish classic, \"Now I lay me down to sleep.\" But she had, as\nI have told you, the glimmerings of a sense of humor--which is simply\nanother name for a sense of fitness of things; and it suddenly occurred\nto her that that simple little prayer, sacred to white-robed childhood\nlisping at motherly knees, was entirely unsuited to this freckled witch\nof a girl who knew and cared nothing about God's love, since she had\nnever had it translated to her through the medium of human love.\n\n\"You're old enough to pray for yourself, Anne,\" she said finally. \"Just\nthank God for your blessings and ask Him humbly for the things you\nwant.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll do my best,\" promised Anne, burying her face in Marilla's\nlap. \"Gracious heavenly Father--that's the way the ministers say it in\nchurch, so I suppose it's all right in private prayer, isn't it?\" she\ninterjected, lifting her head for a moment.\n\n   \"Gracious heavenly Father, I thank Thee for the White\n   Way of Delight and the Lake of Shining Waters and Bonny\n   and the Snow Queen. I'm really extremely grateful for\n   them. And that's all the blessings I can think of just\n   now to thank Thee for. As for the things I want,\n   they're so numerous that it would take a great deal of\n   time to name them all so I will only mention the two\n   most important. Please let me stay at Green Gables;\n   and please let me be good-looking when I grow up.\n   I remain,\n                    \"Yours respectfully,\n                       Anne Shirley.\n\n\"There, did I do all right?\" she asked eagerly, getting up. \"I could\nhave made it much more flowery if I'd had a little more time to think it\nover.\"\n\nPoor Marilla was only preserved from complete collapse by remembering\nthat it was not irreverence, but simply spiritual ignorance on the part\nof Anne that was responsible for this extraordinary petition. She tucked\nthe child up in bed, mentally vowing that she should be taught a prayer\nthe very next day, and was leaving the room with the light when Anne\ncalled her back.\n\n\"I've just thought of it now. I should have said, 'Amen' in place\nof 'yours respectfully,' shouldn't I?--the way the ministers do. I'd\nforgotten it, but I felt a prayer should be finished off in some way, so\nI put in the other. Do you suppose it will make any difference?\"\n\n\"I--I don't suppose it will,\" said Marilla. \"Go to sleep now like a good\nchild. Good night.\"\n\n\"I can only say good night tonight with a clear conscience,\" said Anne,\ncuddling luxuriously down among her pillows.\n\nMarilla retreated to the kitchen, set the candle firmly on the table,\nand glared at Matthew.\n\n\"Matthew Cuthbert, it's about time somebody adopted that child and\ntaught her something. She's next door to a perfect heathen. Will you\nbelieve that she never said a prayer in her life till tonight? I'll send\nher to the manse tomorrow and borrow the Peep of the Day series, that's\nwhat I'll do. And she shall go to Sunday-school just as soon as I can\nget some suitable clothes made for her. I foresee that I shall have\nmy hands full. Well, well, we can't get through this world without our\nshare of trouble. I've had a pretty easy life of it so far, but my time\nhas come at last and I suppose I'll just have to make the best of it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. Anne's Bringing-up Is Begun\n\n\nFor reasons best known to herself, Marilla did not tell Anne that\nshe was to stay at Green Gables until the next afternoon. During the\nforenoon she kept the child busy with various tasks and watched over her\nwith a keen eye while she did them. By noon she had concluded that Anne\nwas smart and obedient, willing to work and quick to learn; her most\nserious shortcoming seemed to be a tendency to fall into daydreams in\nthe middle of a task and forget all about it until such time as she was\nsharply recalled to earth by a reprimand or a catastrophe.\n\nWhen Anne had finished washing the dinner dishes she suddenly confronted\nMarilla with the air and expression of one desperately determined to\nlearn the worst. Her thin little body trembled from head to foot; her\nface flushed and her eyes dilated until they were almost black; she\nclasped her hands tightly and said in an imploring voice:\n\n\"Oh, please, Miss Cuthbert, won't you tell me if you are going to send\nme away or not? I've tried to be patient all the morning, but I really\nfeel that I cannot bear not knowing any longer. It's a dreadful feeling.\nPlease tell me.\"\n\n\"You haven't scalded the dishcloth in clean hot water as I told you to\ndo,\" said Marilla immovably. \"Just go and do it before you ask any more\nquestions, Anne.\"\n\nAnne went and attended to the dishcloth. Then she returned to Marilla\nand fastened imploring eyes of the latter's face. \"Well,\" said Marilla,\nunable to find any excuse for deferring her explanation longer, \"I\nsuppose I might as well tell you. Matthew and I have decided to keep\nyou--that is, if you will try to be a good little girl and show yourself\ngrateful. Why, child, whatever is the matter?\"\n\n\"I'm crying,\" said Anne in a tone of bewilderment. \"I can't think why.\nI'm glad as glad can be. Oh, GLAD doesn't seem the right word at all. I\nwas glad about the White Way and the cherry blossoms--but this! Oh, it's\nsomething more than glad. I'm so happy. I'll try to be so good. It\nwill be uphill work, I expect, for Mrs. Thomas often told me I was\ndesperately wicked. However, I'll do my very best. But can you tell me\nwhy I'm crying?\"\n\n\"I suppose it's because you're all excited and worked up,\" said Marilla\ndisapprovingly. \"Sit down on that chair and try to calm yourself. I'm\nafraid you both cry and laugh far too easily. Yes, you can stay here and\nwe will try to do right by you. You must go to school; but it's only a\nfortnight till vacation so it isn't worth while for you to start before\nit opens again in September.\"\n\n\"What am I to call you?\" asked Anne. \"Shall I always say Miss Cuthbert?\nCan I call you Aunt Marilla?\"\n\n\"No; you'll call me just plain Marilla. I'm not used to being called\nMiss Cuthbert and it would make me nervous.\"\n\n\"It sounds awfully disrespectful to just say Marilla,\" protested Anne.\n\n\"I guess there'll be nothing disrespectful in it if you're careful\nto speak respectfully. Everybody, young and old, in Avonlea calls me\nMarilla except the minister. He says Miss Cuthbert--when he thinks of\nit.\"\n\n\"I'd love to call you Aunt Marilla,\" said Anne wistfully. \"I've never\nhad an aunt or any relation at all--not even a grandmother. It would\nmake me feel as if I really belonged to you. Can't I call you Aunt\nMarilla?\"\n\n\"No. I'm not your aunt and I don't believe in calling people names that\ndon't belong to them.\"\n\n\"But we could imagine you were my aunt.\"\n\n\"I couldn't,\" said Marilla grimly.\n\n\"Do you never imagine things different from what they really are?\" asked\nAnne wide-eyed.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" Anne drew a long breath. \"Oh, Miss--Marilla, how much you miss!\"\n\n\"I don't believe in imagining things different from what they really\nare,\" retorted Marilla. \"When the Lord puts us in certain circumstances\nHe doesn't mean for us to imagine them away. And that reminds me. Go\ninto the sitting room, Anne--be sure your feet are clean and don't\nlet any flies in--and bring me out the illustrated card that's on the\nmantelpiece. The Lord's Prayer is on it and you'll devote your spare\ntime this afternoon to learning it off by heart. There's to be no more\nof such praying as I heard last night.\"\n\n\"I suppose I was very awkward,\" said Anne apologetically, \"but then, you\nsee, I'd never had any practice. You couldn't really expect a person\nto pray very well the first time she tried, could you? I thought out a\nsplendid prayer after I went to bed, just as I promised you I would.\nIt was nearly as long as a minister's and so poetical. But would you\nbelieve it? I couldn't remember one word when I woke up this morning.\nAnd I'm afraid I'll never be able to think out another one as good.\nSomehow, things never are so good when they're thought out a second\ntime. Have you ever noticed that?\"\n\n\"Here is something for you to notice, Anne. When I tell you to do\na thing I want you to obey me at once and not stand stock-still and\ndiscourse about it. Just you go and do as I bid you.\"\n\nAnne promptly departed for the sitting-room across the hall; she failed\nto return; after waiting ten minutes Marilla laid down her knitting\nand marched after her with a grim expression. She found Anne standing\nmotionless before a picture hanging on the wall between the two windows,\nwith her eyes astar with dreams. The white and green light strained\nthrough apple trees and clustering vines outside fell over the rapt\nlittle figure with a half-unearthly radiance.\n\n\"Anne, whatever are you thinking of?\" demanded Marilla sharply.\n\nAnne came back to earth with a start.\n\n\"That,\" she said, pointing to the picture--a rather vivid chromo\nentitled, \"Christ Blessing Little Children\"--\"and I was just imagining I\nwas one of them--that I was the little girl in the blue dress, standing\noff by herself in the corner as if she didn't belong to anybody, like\nme. She looks lonely and sad, don't you think? I guess she hadn't any\nfather or mother of her own. But she wanted to be blessed, too, so she\njust crept shyly up on the outside of the crowd, hoping nobody would\nnotice her--except Him. I'm sure I know just how she felt. Her heart\nmust have beat and her hands must have got cold, like mine did when I\nasked you if I could stay. She was afraid He mightn't notice her. But\nit's likely He did, don't you think? I've been trying to imagine it all\nout--her edging a little nearer all the time until she was quite close\nto Him; and then He would look at her and put His hand on her hair and\noh, such a thrill of joy as would run over her! But I wish the artist\nhadn't painted Him so sorrowful looking. All His pictures are like that,\nif you've noticed. But I don't believe He could really have looked so\nsad or the children would have been afraid of Him.\"\n\n\"Anne,\" said Marilla, wondering why she had not broken into this speech\nlong before, \"you shouldn't talk that way. It's irreverent--positively\nirreverent.\"\n\nAnne's eyes marveled.\n\n\"Why, I felt just as reverent as could be. I'm sure I didn't mean to be\nirreverent.\"\n\n\"Well I don't suppose you did--but it doesn't sound right to talk so\nfamiliarly about such things. And another thing, Anne, when I send you\nafter something you're to bring it at once and not fall into mooning and\nimagining before pictures. Remember that. Take that card and come right\nto the kitchen. Now, sit down in the corner and learn that prayer off by\nheart.\"\n\nAnne set the card up against the jugful of apple blossoms she had\nbrought in to decorate the dinner-table--Marilla had eyed that\ndecoration askance, but had said nothing--propped her chin on her hands,\nand fell to studying it intently for several silent minutes.\n\n\"I like this,\" she announced at length. \"It's beautiful. I've heard it\nbefore--I heard the superintendent of the asylum Sunday school say it\nover once. But I didn't like it then. He had such a cracked voice and\nhe prayed it so mournfully. I really felt sure he thought praying was a\ndisagreeable duty. This isn't poetry, but it makes me feel just the same\nway poetry does. 'Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be Thy name.'\nThat is just like a line of music. Oh, I'm so glad you thought of making\nme learn this, Miss--Marilla.\"\n\n\"Well, learn it and hold your tongue,\" said Marilla shortly.\n\nAnne tipped the vase of apple blossoms near enough to bestow a soft\nkiss on a pink-cupped bud, and then studied diligently for some moments\nlonger.\n\n\"Marilla,\" she demanded presently, \"do you think that I shall ever have\na bosom friend in Avonlea?\"\n\n\"A--a what kind of friend?\"\n\n\"A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know--a really kindred spirit\nto whom I can confide my inmost soul. I've dreamed of meeting her all\nmy life. I never really supposed I would, but so many of my loveliest\ndreams have come true all at once that perhaps this one will, too. Do\nyou think it's possible?\"\n\n\"Diana Barry lives over at Orchard Slope and she's about your age. She's\na very nice little girl, and perhaps she will be a playmate for you when\nshe comes home. She's visiting her aunt over at Carmody just now. You'll\nhave to be careful how you behave yourself, though. Mrs. Barry is a\nvery particular woman. She won't let Diana play with any little girl who\nisn't nice and good.\"\n\nAnne looked at Marilla through the apple blossoms, her eyes aglow with\ninterest.\n\n\"What is Diana like? Her hair isn't red, is it? Oh, I hope not. It's bad\nenough to have red hair myself, but I positively couldn't endure it in a\nbosom friend.\"\n\n\"Diana is a very pretty little girl. She has black eyes and hair and\nrosy cheeks. And she is good and smart, which is better than being\npretty.\"\n\nMarilla was as fond of morals as the Duchess in Wonderland, and was\nfirmly convinced that one should be tacked on to every remark made to a\nchild who was being brought up.\n\nBut Anne waved the moral inconsequently aside and seized only on the\ndelightful possibilities before it.\n\n\"Oh, I'm so glad she's pretty. Next to being beautiful oneself--and\nthat's impossible in my case--it would be best to have a beautiful bosom\nfriend. When I lived with Mrs. Thomas she had a bookcase in her sitting\nroom with glass doors. There weren't any books in it; Mrs. Thomas kept\nher best china and her preserves there--when she had any preserves to\nkeep. One of the doors was broken. Mr. Thomas smashed it one night\nwhen he was slightly intoxicated. But the other was whole and I used to\npretend that my reflection in it was another little girl who lived in\nit. I called her Katie Maurice, and we were very intimate. I used to\ntalk to her by the hour, especially on Sunday, and tell her everything.\nKatie was the comfort and consolation of my life. We used to pretend\nthat the bookcase was enchanted and that if I only knew the spell I\ncould open the door and step right into the room where Katie Maurice\nlived, instead of into Mrs. Thomas' shelves of preserves and china. And\nthen Katie Maurice would have taken me by the hand and led me out into a\nwonderful place, all flowers and sunshine and fairies, and we would have\nlived there happy for ever after. When I went to live with Mrs. Hammond\nit just broke my heart to leave Katie Maurice. She felt it dreadfully,\ntoo, I know she did, for she was crying when she kissed me good-bye\nthrough the bookcase door. There was no bookcase at Mrs. Hammond's. But\njust up the river a little way from the house there was a long green\nlittle valley, and the loveliest echo lived there. It echoed back every\nword you said, even if you didn't talk a bit loud. So I imagined that it\nwas a little girl called Violetta and we were great friends and I loved\nher almost as well as I loved Katie Maurice--not quite, but almost, you\nknow. The night before I went to the asylum I said good-bye to Violetta,\nand oh, her good-bye came back to me in such sad, sad tones. I had\nbecome so attached to her that I hadn't the heart to imagine a bosom\nfriend at the asylum, even if there had been any scope for imagination\nthere.\"\n\n\"I think it's just as well there wasn't,\" said Marilla drily. \"I\ndon't approve of such goings-on. You seem to half believe your own\nimaginations. It will be well for you to have a real live friend to\nput such nonsense out of your head. But don't let Mrs. Barry hear you\ntalking about your Katie Maurices and your Violettas or she'll think you\ntell stories.\"\n\n\"Oh, I won't. I couldn't talk of them to everybody--their memories are\ntoo sacred for that. But I thought I'd like to have you know about them.\nOh, look, here's a big bee just tumbled out of an apple blossom. Just\nthink what a lovely place to live--in an apple blossom! Fancy going to\nsleep in it when the wind was rocking it. If I wasn't a human girl I\nthink I'd like to be a bee and live among the flowers.\"\n\n\"Yesterday you wanted to be a sea gull,\" sniffed Marilla. \"I think you\nare very fickle minded. I told you to learn that prayer and not talk.\nBut it seems impossible for you to stop talking if you've got anybody\nthat will listen to you. So go up to your room and learn it.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know it pretty nearly all now--all but just the last line.\"\n\n\"Well, never mind, do as I tell you. Go to your room and finish learning\nit well, and stay there until I call you down to help me get tea.\"\n\n\"Can I take the apple blossoms with me for company?\" pleaded Anne.\n\n\"No; you don't want your room cluttered up with flowers. You should have\nleft them on the tree in the first place.\"\n\n\"I did feel a little that way, too,\" said Anne. \"I kind of felt I\nshouldn't shorten their lovely lives by picking them--I wouldn't want\nto be picked if I were an apple blossom. But the temptation was\nIRRESISTIBLE. What do you do when you meet with an irresistible\ntemptation?\"\n\n\"Anne, did you hear me tell you to go to your room?\"\n\nAnne sighed, retreated to the east gable, and sat down in a chair by the\nwindow.\n\n\"There--I know this prayer. I learned that last sentence coming\nupstairs. Now I'm going to imagine things into this room so that they'll\nalways stay imagined. The floor is covered with a white velvet carpet\nwith pink roses all over it and there are pink silk curtains at the\nwindows. The walls are hung with gold and silver brocade tapestry. The\nfurniture is mahogany. I never saw any mahogany, but it does sound SO\nluxurious. This is a couch all heaped with gorgeous silken cushions,\npink and blue and crimson and gold, and I am reclining gracefully on it.\nI can see my reflection in that splendid big mirror hanging on the wall.\nI am tall and regal, clad in a gown of trailing white lace, with a\npearl cross on my breast and pearls in my hair. My hair is of midnight\ndarkness and my skin is a clear ivory pallor. My name is the Lady\nCordelia Fitzgerald. No, it isn't--I can't make THAT seem real.\"\n\nShe danced up to the little looking-glass and peered into it. Her\npointed freckled face and solemn gray eyes peered back at her.\n\n\"You're only Anne of Green Gables,\" she said earnestly, \"and I see you,\njust as you are looking now, whenever I try to imagine I'm the Lady\nCordelia. But it's a million times nicer to be Anne of Green Gables than\nAnne of nowhere in particular, isn't it?\"\n\nShe bent forward, kissed her reflection affectionately, and betook\nherself to the open window.\n\n\n\"Dear Snow Queen, good afternoon. And good afternoon dear birches down\nin the hollow. And good afternoon, dear gray house up on the hill. I\nwonder if Diana is to be my bosom friend. I hope she will, and I shall\nlove her very much. But I must never quite forget Katie Maurice\nand Violetta. They would feel so hurt if I did and I'd hate to hurt\nanybody's feelings, even a little bookcase girl's or a little echo\ngirl's. I must be careful to remember them and send them a kiss every\nday.\"\n\nAnne blew a couple of airy kisses from her fingertips past the cherry\nblossoms and then, with her chin in her hands, drifted luxuriously out\non a sea of daydreams.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. Mrs. Rachel Lynde Is Properly Horrified\n\n\nAnne had been a fortnight at Green Gables before Mrs. Lynde arrived to\ninspect her. Mrs. Rachel, to do her justice, was not to blame for this.\nA severe and unseasonable attack of grippe had confined that good lady\nto her house ever since the occasion of her last visit to Green Gables.\nMrs. Rachel was not often sick and had a well-defined contempt for\npeople who were; but grippe, she asserted, was like no other illness on\nearth and could only be interpreted as one of the special visitations\nof Providence. As soon as her doctor allowed her to put her foot\nout-of-doors she hurried up to Green Gables, bursting with curiosity to\nsee Matthew and Marilla's orphan, concerning whom all sorts of stories\nand suppositions had gone abroad in Avonlea.\n\nAnne had made good use of every waking moment of that fortnight. Already\nshe was acquainted with every tree and shrub about the place. She had\ndiscovered that a lane opened out below the apple orchard and ran up\nthrough a belt of woodland; and she had explored it to its furthest end\nin all its delicious vagaries of brook and bridge, fir coppice and wild\ncherry arch, corners thick with fern, and branching byways of maple and\nmountain ash.\n\nShe had made friends with the spring down in the hollow--that wonderful\ndeep, clear icy-cold spring; it was set about with smooth red sandstones\nand rimmed in by great palm-like clumps of water fern; and beyond it was\na log bridge over the brook.\n\nThat bridge led Anne's dancing feet up over a wooded hill beyond, where\nperpetual twilight reigned under the straight, thick-growing firs and\nspruces; the only flowers there were myriads of delicate \"June bells,\"\nthose shyest and sweetest of woodland blooms, and a few pale, aerial\nstarflowers, like the spirits of last year's blossoms. Gossamers\nglimmered like threads of silver among the trees and the fir boughs and\ntassels seemed to utter friendly speech.\n\nAll these raptured voyages of exploration were made in the odd half\nhours which she was allowed for play, and Anne talked Matthew and\nMarilla half-deaf over her discoveries. Not that Matthew complained, to\nbe sure; he listened to it all with a wordless smile of enjoyment on his\nface; Marilla permitted the \"chatter\" until she found herself becoming\ntoo interested in it, whereupon she always promptly quenched Anne by a\ncurt command to hold her tongue.\n\nAnne was out in the orchard when Mrs. Rachel came, wandering at her\nown sweet will through the lush, tremulous grasses splashed with ruddy\nevening sunshine; so that good lady had an excellent chance to talk\nher illness fully over, describing every ache and pulse beat with\nsuch evident enjoyment that Marilla thought even grippe must bring its\ncompensations. When details were exhausted Mrs. Rachel introduced the\nreal reason of her call.\n\n\"I've been hearing some surprising things about you and Matthew.\"\n\n\"I don't suppose you are any more surprised than I am myself,\" said\nMarilla. \"I'm getting over my surprise now.\"\n\n\"It was too bad there was such a mistake,\" said Mrs. Rachel\nsympathetically. \"Couldn't you have sent her back?\"\n\n\"I suppose we could, but we decided not to. Matthew took a fancy to her.\nAnd I must say I like her myself--although I admit she has her faults.\nThe house seems a different place already. She's a real bright little\nthing.\"\n\nMarilla said more than she had intended to say when she began, for she\nread disapproval in Mrs. Rachel's expression.\n\n\"It's a great responsibility you've taken on yourself,\" said that\nlady gloomily, \"especially when you've never had any experience with\nchildren. You don't know much about her or her real disposition, I\nsuppose, and there's no guessing how a child like that will turn out.\nBut I don't want to discourage you I'm sure, Marilla.\"\n\n\"I'm not feeling discouraged,\" was Marilla's dry response, \"when I make\nup my mind to do a thing it stays made up. I suppose you'd like to see\nAnne. I'll call her in.\"\n\nAnne came running in presently, her face sparkling with the delight of\nher orchard rovings; but, abashed at finding the delight herself in\nthe unexpected presence of a stranger, she halted confusedly inside\nthe door. She certainly was an odd-looking little creature in the short\ntight wincey dress she had worn from the asylum, below which her thin\nlegs seemed ungracefully long. Her freckles were more numerous and\nobtrusive than ever; the wind had ruffled her hatless hair into\nover-brilliant disorder; it had never looked redder than at that moment.\n\n\"Well, they didn't pick you for your looks, that's sure and certain,\"\nwas Mrs. Rachel Lynde's emphatic comment. Mrs. Rachel was one of those\ndelightful and popular people who pride themselves on speaking their\nmind without fear or favor. \"She's terrible skinny and homely, Marilla.\nCome here, child, and let me have a look at you. Lawful heart, did\nany one ever see such freckles? And hair as red as carrots! Come here,\nchild, I say.\"\n\nAnne \"came there,\" but not exactly as Mrs. Rachel expected. With one\nbound she crossed the kitchen floor and stood before Mrs. Rachel, her\nface scarlet with anger, her lips quivering, and her whole slender form\ntrembling from head to foot.\n\n\"I hate you,\" she cried in a choked voice, stamping her foot on the\nfloor. \"I hate you--I hate you--I hate you--\" a louder stamp with each\nassertion of hatred. \"How dare you call me skinny and ugly? How dare\nyou say I'm freckled and redheaded? You are a rude, impolite, unfeeling\nwoman!\"\n\n\"Anne!\" exclaimed Marilla in consternation.\n\nBut Anne continued to face Mrs. Rachel undauntedly, head up, eyes\nblazing, hands clenched, passionate indignation exhaling from her like\nan atmosphere.\n\n\"How dare you say such things about me?\" she repeated vehemently. \"How\nwould you like to have such things said about you? How would you like\nto be told that you are fat and clumsy and probably hadn't a spark of\nimagination in you? I don't care if I do hurt your feelings by saying\nso! I hope I hurt them. You have hurt mine worse than they were ever\nhurt before even by Mrs. Thomas' intoxicated husband. And I'll NEVER\nforgive you for it, never, never!\"\n\nStamp! Stamp!\n\n\"Did anybody ever see such a temper!\" exclaimed the horrified Mrs.\nRachel.\n\n\"Anne go to your room and stay there until I come up,\" said Marilla,\nrecovering her powers of speech with difficulty.\n\nAnne, bursting into tears, rushed to the hall door, slammed it until the\ntins on the porch wall outside rattled in sympathy, and fled through the\nhall and up the stairs like a whirlwind. A subdued slam above told that\nthe door of the east gable had been shut with equal vehemence.\n\n\"Well, I don't envy you your job bringing THAT up, Marilla,\" said Mrs.\nRachel with unspeakable solemnity.\n\nMarilla opened her lips to say she knew not what of apology or\ndeprecation. What she did say was a surprise to herself then and ever\nafterwards.\n\n\"You shouldn't have twitted her about her looks, Rachel.\"\n\n\"Marilla Cuthbert, you don't mean to say that you are upholding her in\nsuch a terrible display of temper as we've just seen?\" demanded Mrs.\nRachel indignantly.\n\n\"No,\" said Marilla slowly, \"I'm not trying to excuse her. She's been\nvery naughty and I'll have to give her a talking to about it. But we\nmust make allowances for her. She's never been taught what is right. And\nyou WERE too hard on her, Rachel.\"\n\nMarilla could not help tacking on that last sentence, although she was\nagain surprised at herself for doing it. Mrs. Rachel got up with an air\nof offended dignity.\n\n\"Well, I see that I'll have to be very careful what I say after this,\nMarilla, since the fine feelings of orphans, brought from goodness\nknows where, have to be considered before anything else. Oh, no, I'm not\nvexed--don't worry yourself. I'm too sorry for you to leave any room for\nanger in my mind. You'll have your own troubles with that child. But\nif you'll take my advice--which I suppose you won't do, although I've\nbrought up ten children and buried two--you'll do that 'talking to' you\nmention with a fair-sized birch switch. I should think THAT would be the\nmost effective language for that kind of a child. Her temper matches her\nhair I guess. Well, good evening, Marilla. I hope you'll come down to\nsee me often as usual. But you can't expect me to visit here again in a\nhurry, if I'm liable to be flown at and insulted in such a fashion. It's\nsomething new in MY experience.\"\n\nWhereat Mrs. Rachel swept out and away--if a fat woman who always\nwaddled COULD be said to sweep away--and Marilla with a very solemn face\nbetook herself to the east gable.\n\nOn the way upstairs she pondered uneasily as to what she ought to do.\nShe felt no little dismay over the scene that had just been enacted.\nHow unfortunate that Anne should have displayed such temper before Mrs.\nRachel Lynde, of all people! Then Marilla suddenly became aware of an\nuncomfortable and rebuking consciousness that she felt more humiliation\nover this than sorrow over the discovery of such a serious defect\nin Anne's disposition. And how was she to punish her? The amiable\nsuggestion of the birch switch--to the efficiency of which all of Mrs.\nRachel's own children could have borne smarting testimony--did not\nappeal to Marilla. She did not believe she could whip a child. No,\nsome other method of punishment must be found to bring Anne to a proper\nrealization of the enormity of her offense.\n\nMarilla found Anne face downward on her bed, crying bitterly, quite\noblivious of muddy boots on a clean counterpane.\n\n\"Anne,\" she said not ungently.\n\nNo answer.\n\n\"Anne,\" with greater severity, \"get off that bed this minute and listen\nto what I have to say to you.\"\n\nAnne squirmed off the bed and sat rigidly on a chair beside it, her face\nswollen and tear-stained and her eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor.\n\n\"This is a nice way for you to behave. Anne! Aren't you ashamed of\nyourself?\"\n\n\"She hadn't any right to call me ugly and redheaded,\" retorted Anne,\nevasive and defiant.\n\n\"You hadn't any right to fly into such a fury and talk the way you did\nto her, Anne. I was ashamed of you--thoroughly ashamed of you. I\nwanted you to behave nicely to Mrs. Lynde, and instead of that you have\ndisgraced me. I'm sure I don't know why you should lose your temper like\nthat just because Mrs. Lynde said you were red-haired and homely. You\nsay it yourself often enough.\"\n\n\"Oh, but there's such a difference between saying a thing yourself and\nhearing other people say it,\" wailed Anne. \"You may know a thing is\nso, but you can't help hoping other people don't quite think it is. I\nsuppose you think I have an awful temper, but I couldn't help it. When\nshe said those things something just rose right up in me and choked me.\nI HAD to fly out at her.\"\n\n\"Well, you made a fine exhibition of yourself I must say. Mrs. Lynde\nwill have a nice story to tell about you everywhere--and she'll tell\nit, too. It was a dreadful thing for you to lose your temper like that,\nAnne.\"\n\n\"Just imagine how you would feel if somebody told you to your face that\nyou were skinny and ugly,\" pleaded Anne tearfully.\n\nAn old remembrance suddenly rose up before Marilla. She had been a very\nsmall child when she had heard one aunt say of her to another, \"What a\npity she is such a dark, homely little thing.\" Marilla was every day of\nfifty before the sting had gone out of that memory.\n\n\"I don't say that I think Mrs. Lynde was exactly right in saying what\nshe did to you, Anne,\" she admitted in a softer tone. \"Rachel is too\noutspoken. But that is no excuse for such behavior on your part. She\nwas a stranger and an elderly person and my visitor--all three very good\nreasons why you should have been respectful to her. You were rude and\nsaucy and\"--Marilla had a saving inspiration of punishment--\"you must go\nto her and tell her you are very sorry for your bad temper and ask her\nto forgive you.\"\n\n\"I can never do that,\" said Anne determinedly and darkly. \"You can\npunish me in any way you like, Marilla. You can shut me up in a dark,\ndamp dungeon inhabited by snakes and toads and feed me only on bread and\nwater and I shall not complain. But I cannot ask Mrs. Lynde to forgive\nme.\"\n\n\"We're not in the habit of shutting people up in dark damp dungeons,\"\nsaid Marilla drily, \"especially as they're rather scarce in Avonlea. But\napologize to Mrs. Lynde you must and shall and you'll stay here in your\nroom until you can tell me you're willing to do it.\"\n\n\"I shall have to stay here forever then,\" said Anne mournfully, \"because\nI can't tell Mrs. Lynde I'm sorry I said those things to her. How can\nI? I'm NOT sorry. I'm sorry I've vexed you; but I'm GLAD I told her just\nwhat I did. It was a great satisfaction. I can't say I'm sorry when I'm\nnot, can I? I can't even IMAGINE I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Perhaps your imagination will be in better working order by the\nmorning,\" said Marilla, rising to depart. \"You'll have the night to\nthink over your conduct in and come to a better frame of mind. You said\nyou would try to be a very good girl if we kept you at Green Gables, but\nI must say it hasn't seemed very much like it this evening.\"\n\nLeaving this Parthian shaft to rankle in Anne's stormy bosom, Marilla\ndescended to the kitchen, grievously troubled in mind and vexed in\nsoul. She was as angry with herself as with Anne, because, whenever she\nrecalled Mrs. Rachel's dumbfounded countenance her lips twitched with\namusement and she felt a most reprehensible desire to laugh.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. Anne's Apology\n\n\nMarilla said nothing to Matthew about the affair that evening; but when\nAnne proved still refractory the next morning an explanation had to be\nmade to account for her absence from the breakfast table. Marilla told\nMatthew the whole story, taking pains to impress him with a due sense of\nthe enormity of Anne's behavior.\n\n\"It's a good thing Rachel Lynde got a calling down; she's a meddlesome\nold gossip,\" was Matthew's consolatory rejoinder.\n\n\"Matthew Cuthbert, I'm astonished at you. You know that Anne's behavior\nwas dreadful, and yet you take her part! I suppose you'll be saying next\nthing that she oughtn't to be punished at all!\"\n\n\"Well now--no--not exactly,\" said Matthew uneasily. \"I reckon she\nought to be punished a little. But don't be too hard on her, Marilla.\nRecollect she hasn't ever had anyone to teach her right. You're--you're\ngoing to give her something to eat, aren't you?\"\n\n\"When did you ever hear of me starving people into good behavior?\"\ndemanded Marilla indignantly. \"She'll have her meals regular, and\nI'll carry them up to her myself. But she'll stay up there until she's\nwilling to apologize to Mrs. Lynde, and that's final, Matthew.\"\n\nBreakfast, dinner, and supper were very silent meals--for Anne still\nremained obdurate. After each meal Marilla carried a well-filled tray\nto the east gable and brought it down later on not noticeably depleted.\nMatthew eyed its last descent with a troubled eye. Had Anne eaten\nanything at all?\n\nWhen Marilla went out that evening to bring the cows from the back\npasture, Matthew, who had been hanging about the barns and watching,\nslipped into the house with the air of a burglar and crept upstairs. As\na general thing Matthew gravitated between the kitchen and the little\nbedroom off the hall where he slept; once in a while he ventured\nuncomfortably into the parlor or sitting room when the minister came to\ntea. But he had never been upstairs in his own house since the spring he\nhelped Marilla paper the spare bedroom, and that was four years ago.\n\nHe tiptoed along the hall and stood for several minutes outside the\ndoor of the east gable before he summoned courage to tap on it with his\nfingers and then open the door to peep in.\n\nAnne was sitting on the yellow chair by the window gazing mournfully out\ninto the garden. Very small and unhappy she looked, and Matthew's heart\nsmote him. He softly closed the door and tiptoed over to her.\n\n\"Anne,\" he whispered, as if afraid of being overheard, \"how are you\nmaking it, Anne?\"\n\nAnne smiled wanly.\n\n\"Pretty well. I imagine a good deal, and that helps to pass the time. Of\ncourse, it's rather lonesome. But then, I may as well get used to that.\"\n\nAnne smiled again, bravely facing the long years of solitary\nimprisonment before her.\n\nMatthew recollected that he must say what he had come to say without\nloss of time, lest Marilla return prematurely. \"Well now, Anne, don't\nyou think you'd better do it and have it over with?\" he whispered.\n\"It'll have to be done sooner or later, you know, for Marilla's a\ndreadful deter-mined woman--dreadful determined, Anne. Do it right off,\nI say, and have it over.\"\n\n\"Do you mean apologize to Mrs. Lynde?\"\n\n\"Yes--apologize--that's the very word,\" said Matthew eagerly. \"Just\nsmooth it over so to speak. That's what I was trying to get at.\"\n\n\"I suppose I could do it to oblige you,\" said Anne thoughtfully. \"It\nwould be true enough to say I am sorry, because I AM sorry now. I wasn't\na bit sorry last night. I was mad clear through, and I stayed mad all\nnight. I know I did because I woke up three times and I was just\nfurious every time. But this morning it was over. I wasn't in a temper\nanymore--and it left a dreadful sort of goneness, too. I felt so ashamed\nof myself. But I just couldn't think of going and telling Mrs. Lynde\nso. It would be so humiliating. I made up my mind I'd stay shut up here\nforever rather than do that. But still--I'd do anything for you--if you\nreally want me to--\"\n\n\"Well now, of course I do. It's terrible lonesome downstairs without\nyou. Just go and smooth things over--that's a good girl.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Anne resignedly. \"I'll tell Marilla as soon as she\ncomes in I've repented.\"\n\n\"That's right--that's right, Anne. But don't tell Marilla I said\nanything about it. She might think I was putting my oar in and I\npromised not to do that.\"\n\n\"Wild horses won't drag the secret from me,\" promised Anne solemnly.\n\"How would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow?\"\n\nBut Matthew was gone, scared at his own success. He fled hastily to the\nremotest corner of the horse pasture lest Marilla should suspect what\nhe had been up to. Marilla herself, upon her return to the house, was\nagreeably surprised to hear a plaintive voice calling, \"Marilla\" over\nthe banisters.\n\n\"Well?\" she said, going into the hall.\n\n\"I'm sorry I lost my temper and said rude things, and I'm willing to go\nand tell Mrs. Lynde so.\"\n\n\"Very well.\" Marilla's crispness gave no sign of her relief. She had\nbeen wondering what under the canopy she should do if Anne did not give\nin. \"I'll take you down after milking.\"\n\nAccordingly, after milking, behold Marilla and Anne walking down the\nlane, the former erect and triumphant, the latter drooping and dejected.\nBut halfway down Anne's dejection vanished as if by enchantment. She\nlifted her head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the sunset\nsky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her. Marilla beheld the\nchange disapprovingly. This was no meek penitent such as it behooved her\nto take into the presence of the offended Mrs. Lynde.\n\n\"What are you thinking of, Anne?\" she asked sharply.\n\n\"I'm imagining out what I must say to Mrs. Lynde,\" answered Anne\ndreamily.\n\nThis was satisfactory--or should have been so. But Marilla could not\nrid herself of the notion that something in her scheme of punishment was\ngoing askew. Anne had no business to look so rapt and radiant.\n\nRapt and radiant Anne continued until they were in the very presence\nof Mrs. Lynde, who was sitting knitting by her kitchen window. Then the\nradiance vanished. Mournful penitence appeared on every feature. Before\na word was spoken Anne suddenly went down on her knees before the\nastonished Mrs. Rachel and held out her hands beseechingly.\n\n\"Oh, Mrs. Lynde, I am so extremely sorry,\" she said with a quiver in\nher voice. \"I could never express all my sorrow, no, not if I used up\na whole dictionary. You must just imagine it. I behaved terribly to\nyou--and I've disgraced the dear friends, Matthew and Marilla, who have\nlet me stay at Green Gables although I'm not a boy. I'm a dreadfully\nwicked and ungrateful girl, and I deserve to be punished and cast out\nby respectable people forever. It was very wicked of me to fly into a\ntemper because you told me the truth. It WAS the truth; every word you\nsaid was true. My hair is red and I'm freckled and skinny and ugly.\nWhat I said to you was true, too, but I shouldn't have said it. Oh, Mrs.\nLynde, please, please, forgive me. If you refuse it will be a lifelong\nsorrow on a poor little orphan girl, would you, even if she had a\ndreadful temper? Oh, I am sure you wouldn't. Please say you forgive me,\nMrs. Lynde.\"\n\nAnne clasped her hands together, bowed her head, and waited for the word\nof judgment.\n\nThere was no mistaking her sincerity--it breathed in every tone of her\nvoice. Both Marilla and Mrs. Lynde recognized its unmistakable ring.\nBut the former under-stood in dismay that Anne was actually enjoying\nher valley of humiliation--was reveling in the thoroughness of her\nabasement. Where was the wholesome punishment upon which she, Marilla,\nhad plumed herself? Anne had turned it into a species of positive\npleasure.\n\nGood Mrs. Lynde, not being overburdened with perception, did not see\nthis. She only perceived that Anne had made a very thorough apology and\nall resentment vanished from her kindly, if somewhat officious, heart.\n\n\"There, there, get up, child,\" she said heartily. \"Of course I forgive\nyou. I guess I was a little too hard on you, anyway. But I'm such an\noutspoken person. You just mustn't mind me, that's what. It can't be\ndenied your hair is terrible red; but I knew a girl once--went to school\nwith her, in fact--whose hair was every mite as red as yours when she\nwas young, but when she grew up it darkened to a real handsome auburn. I\nwouldn't be a mite surprised if yours did, too--not a mite.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mrs. Lynde!\" Anne drew a long breath as she rose to her feet. \"You\nhave given me a hope. I shall always feel that you are a benefactor. Oh,\nI could endure anything if I only thought my hair would be a handsome\nauburn when I grew up. It would be so much easier to be good if one's\nhair was a handsome auburn, don't you think? And now may I go out into\nyour garden and sit on that bench under the apple-trees while you and\nMarilla are talking? There is so much more scope for imagination out\nthere.\"\n\n\"Laws, yes, run along, child. And you can pick a bouquet of them white\nJune lilies over in the corner if you like.\"\n\nAs the door closed behind Anne Mrs. Lynde got briskly up to light a\nlamp.\n\n\"She's a real odd little thing. Take this chair, Marilla; it's easier\nthan the one you've got; I just keep that for the hired boy to sit\non. Yes, she certainly is an odd child, but there is something kind of\ntaking about her after all. I don't feel so surprised at you and Matthew\nkeeping her as I did--nor so sorry for you, either. She may turn out all\nright. Of course, she has a queer way of expressing herself--a little\ntoo--well, too kind of forcible, you know; but she'll likely get over\nthat now that she's come to live among civilized folks. And then, her\ntemper's pretty quick, I guess; but there's one comfort, a child that\nhas a quick temper, just blaze up and cool down, ain't never likely to\nbe sly or deceitful. Preserve me from a sly child, that's what. On the\nwhole, Marilla, I kind of like her.\"\n\nWhen Marilla went home Anne came out of the fragrant twilight of the\norchard with a sheaf of white narcissi in her hands.\n\n\"I apologized pretty well, didn't I?\" she said proudly as they went\ndown the lane. \"I thought since I had to do it I might as well do it\nthoroughly.\"\n\n\"You did it thoroughly, all right enough,\" was Marilla's comment.\nMarilla was dismayed at finding herself inclined to laugh over the\nrecollection. She had also an uneasy feeling that she ought to scold\nAnne for apologizing so well; but then, that was ridiculous! She\ncompromised with her conscience by saying severely:\n\n\"I hope you won't have occasion to make many more such apologies. I hope\nyou'll try to control your temper now, Anne.\"\n\n\"That wouldn't be so hard if people wouldn't twit me about my looks,\"\nsaid Anne with a sigh. \"I don't get cross about other things; but I'm\nSO tired of being twitted about my hair and it just makes me boil right\nover. Do you suppose my hair will really be a handsome auburn when I\ngrow up?\"\n\n\"You shouldn't think so much about your looks, Anne. I'm afraid you are\na very vain little girl.\"\n\n\"How can I be vain when I know I'm homely?\" protested Anne. \"I love\npretty things; and I hate to look in the glass and see something that\nisn't pretty. It makes me feel so sorrowful--just as I feel when I look\nat any ugly thing. I pity it because it isn't beautiful.\"\n\n\"Handsome is as handsome does,\" quoted Marilla. \"I've had that said\nto me before, but I have my doubts about it,\" remarked skeptical Anne,\nsniffing at her narcissi. \"Oh, aren't these flowers sweet! It was lovely\nof Mrs. Lynde to give them to me. I have no hard feelings against Mrs.\nLynde now. It gives you a lovely, comfortable feeling to apologize and\nbe forgiven, doesn't it? Aren't the stars bright tonight? If you could\nlive in a star, which one would you pick? I'd like that lovely clear big\none away over there above that dark hill.\"\n\n\"Anne, do hold your tongue,\" said Marilla, thoroughly worn out trying to\nfollow the gyrations of Anne's thoughts.\n\nAnne said no more until they turned into their own lane. A little gypsy\nwind came down it to meet them, laden with the spicy perfume of young\ndew-wet ferns. Far up in the shadows a cheerful light gleamed out\nthrough the trees from the kitchen at Green Gables. Anne suddenly came\nclose to Marilla and slipped her hand into the older woman's hard palm.\n\n\"It's lovely to be going home and know it's home,\" she said. \"I love\nGreen Gables already, and I never loved any place before. No place ever\nseemed like home. Oh, Marilla, I'm so happy. I could pray right now and\nnot find it a bit hard.\"\n\nSomething warm and pleasant welled up in Marilla's heart at touch of\nthat thin little hand in her own--a throb of the maternity she had\nmissed, perhaps. Its very unaccustomedness and sweetness disturbed\nher. She hastened to restore her sensations to their normal calm by\ninculcating a moral.\n\n\"If you'll be a good girl you'll always be happy, Anne. And you should\nnever find it hard to say your prayers.\"\n\n\"Saying one's prayers isn't exactly the same thing as praying,\" said\nAnne meditatively. \"But I'm going to imagine that I'm the wind that is\nblowing up there in those tree tops. When I get tired of the trees I'll\nimagine I'm gently waving down here in the ferns--and then I'll fly over\nto Mrs. Lynde's garden and set the flowers dancing--and then I'll go\nwith one great swoop over the clover field--and then I'll blow over the\nLake of Shining Waters and ripple it all up into little sparkling waves.\nOh, there's so much scope for imagination in a wind! So I'll not talk\nany more just now, Marilla.\"\n\n\"Thanks be to goodness for that,\" breathed Marilla in devout relief.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. Anne's Impressions of Sunday-School\n\n\n\"Well, how do you like them?\" said Marilla.\n\nAnne was standing in the gable room, looking solemnly at three new\ndresses spread out on the bed. One was of snuffy colored gingham which\nMarilla had been tempted to buy from a peddler the preceding summer\nbecause it looked so serviceable; one was of black-and-white checkered\nsateen which she had picked up at a bargain counter in the winter; and\none was a stiff print of an ugly blue shade which she had purchased that\nweek at a Carmody store.\n\nShe had made them up herself, and they were all made alike--plain skirts\nfulled tightly to plain waists, with sleeves as plain as waist and skirt\nand tight as sleeves could be.\n\n\"I'll imagine that I like them,\" said Anne soberly.\n\n\"I don't want you to imagine it,\" said Marilla, offended. \"Oh, I can see\nyou don't like the dresses! What is the matter with them? Aren't they\nneat and clean and new?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then why don't you like them?\"\n\n\"They're--they're not--pretty,\" said Anne reluctantly.\n\n\"Pretty!\" Marilla sniffed. \"I didn't trouble my head about getting\npretty dresses for you. I don't believe in pampering vanity, Anne, I'll\ntell you that right off. Those dresses are good, sensible, serviceable\ndresses, without any frills or furbelows about them, and they're all\nyou'll get this summer. The brown gingham and the blue print will do\nyou for school when you begin to go. The sateen is for church and Sunday\nschool. I'll expect you to keep them neat and clean and not to tear\nthem. I should think you'd be grateful to get most anything after those\nskimpy wincey things you've been wearing.\"\n\n\"Oh, I AM grateful,\" protested Anne. \"But I'd be ever so much\ngratefuller if--if you'd made just one of them with puffed sleeves.\nPuffed sleeves are so fashionable now. It would give me such a thrill,\nMarilla, just to wear a dress with puffed sleeves.\"\n\n\"Well, you'll have to do without your thrill. I hadn't any material\nto waste on puffed sleeves. I think they are ridiculous-looking things\nanyhow. I prefer the plain, sensible ones.\"\n\n\"But I'd rather look ridiculous when everybody else does than plain and\nsensible all by myself,\" persisted Anne mournfully.\n\n\"Trust you for that! Well, hang those dresses carefully up in your\ncloset, and then sit down and learn the Sunday school lesson. I got\na quarterly from Mr. Bell for you and you'll go to Sunday school\ntomorrow,\" said Marilla, disappearing downstairs in high dudgeon.\n\nAnne clasped her hands and looked at the dresses.\n\n\"I did hope there would be a white one with puffed sleeves,\" she\nwhispered disconsolately. \"I prayed for one, but I didn't much expect it\non that account. I didn't suppose God would have time to bother about\na little orphan girl's dress. I knew I'd just have to depend on\nMarilla for it. Well, fortunately I can imagine that one of them is of\nsnow-white muslin with lovely lace frills and three-puffed sleeves.\"\n\nThe next morning warnings of a sick headache prevented Marilla from\ngoing to Sunday-school with Anne.\n\n\"You'll have to go down and call for Mrs. Lynde, Anne,\" she said.\n\"She'll see that you get into the right class. Now, mind you behave\nyourself properly. Stay to preaching afterwards and ask Mrs. Lynde to\nshow you our pew. Here's a cent for collection. Don't stare at people\nand don't fidget. I shall expect you to tell me the text when you come\nhome.\"\n\nAnne started off irreproachable, arrayed in the stiff black-and-white\nsateen, which, while decent as regards length and certainly not open to\nthe charge of skimpiness, contrived to emphasize every corner and angle\nof her thin figure. Her hat was a little, flat, glossy, new sailor, the\nextreme plainness of which had likewise much disappointed Anne, who\nhad permitted herself secret visions of ribbon and flowers. The latter,\nhowever, were supplied before Anne reached the main road, for being\nconfronted halfway down the lane with a golden frenzy of wind-stirred\nbuttercups and a glory of wild roses, Anne promptly and liberally\ngarlanded her hat with a heavy wreath of them. Whatever other people\nmight have thought of the result it satisfied Anne, and she tripped\ngaily down the road, holding her ruddy head with its decoration of pink\nand yellow very proudly.\n\nWhen she had reached Mrs. Lynde's house she found that lady gone.\nNothing daunted, Anne proceeded onward to the church alone. In the porch\nshe found a crowd of little girls, all more or less gaily attired in\nwhites and blues and pinks, and all staring with curious eyes at this\nstranger in their midst, with her extraordinary head adornment. Avonlea\nlittle girls had already heard queer stories about Anne. Mrs. Lynde said\nshe had an awful temper; Jerry Buote, the hired boy at Green Gables,\nsaid she talked all the time to herself or to the trees and flowers\nlike a crazy girl. They looked at her and whispered to each other behind\ntheir quarterlies. Nobody made any friendly advances, then or later\non when the opening exercises were over and Anne found herself in Miss\nRogerson's class.\n\nMiss Rogerson was a middle-aged lady who had taught a Sunday-school\nclass for twenty years. Her method of teaching was to ask the printed\nquestions from the quarterly and look sternly over its edge at the\nparticular little girl she thought ought to answer the question. She\nlooked very often at Anne, and Anne, thanks to Marilla's drilling,\nanswered promptly; but it may be questioned if she understood very much\nabout either question or answer.\n\nShe did not think she liked Miss Rogerson, and she felt very miserable;\nevery other little girl in the class had puffed sleeves. Anne felt that\nlife was really not worth living without puffed sleeves.\n\n\"Well, how did you like Sunday school?\" Marilla wanted to know when Anne\ncame home. Her wreath having faded, Anne had discarded it in the lane,\nso Marilla was spared the knowledge of that for a time.\n\n\"I didn't like it a bit. It was horrid.\"\n\n\"Anne Shirley!\" said Marilla rebukingly.\n\nAnne sat down on the rocker with a long sigh, kissed one of Bonny's\nleaves, and waved her hand to a blossoming fuchsia.\n\n\"They might have been lonesome while I was away,\" she explained. \"And\nnow about the Sunday school. I behaved well, just as you told me. Mrs.\nLynde was gone, but I went right on myself. I went into the church, with\na lot of other little girls, and I sat in the corner of a pew by the\nwindow while the opening exercises went on. Mr. Bell made an awfully\nlong prayer. I would have been dreadfully tired before he got through\nif I hadn't been sitting by that window. But it looked right out on the\nLake of Shining Waters, so I just gazed at that and imagined all sorts\nof splendid things.\"\n\n\"You shouldn't have done anything of the sort. You should have listened\nto Mr. Bell.\"\n\n\"But he wasn't talking to me,\" protested Anne. \"He was talking to God\nand he didn't seem to be very much inter-ested in it, either. I think\nhe thought God was too far off though. There was a long row of white\nbirches hanging over the lake and the sunshine fell down through\nthem, 'way, 'way down, deep into the water. Oh, Marilla, it was like a\nbeautiful dream! It gave me a thrill and I just said, 'Thank you for it,\nGod,' two or three times.\"\n\n\"Not out loud, I hope,\" said Marilla anxiously.\n\n\"Oh, no, just under my breath. Well, Mr. Bell did get through at last\nand they told me to go into the classroom with Miss Rogerson's class.\nThere were nine other girls in it. They all had puffed sleeves. I tried\nto imagine mine were puffed, too, but I couldn't. Why couldn't I? It was\nas easy as could be to imagine they were puffed when I was alone in\nthe east gable, but it was awfully hard there among the others who had\nreally truly puffs.\"\n\n\"You shouldn't have been thinking about your sleeves in Sunday school.\nYou should have been attending to the lesson. I hope you knew it.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes; and I answered a lot of questions. Miss Rogerson asked ever so\nmany. I don't think it was fair for her to do all the asking. There were\nlots I wanted to ask her, but I didn't like to because I didn't think\nshe was a kindred spirit. Then all the other little girls recited a\nparaphrase. She asked me if I knew any. I told her I didn't, but I could\nrecite, 'The Dog at His Master's Grave' if she liked. That's in the\nThird Royal Reader. It isn't a really truly religious piece of poetry,\nbut it's so sad and melancholy that it might as well be. She said it\nwouldn't do and she told me to learn the nineteenth paraphrase for next\nSunday. I read it over in church afterwards and it's splendid. There are\ntwo lines in particular that just thrill me.\n\n   \"'Quick as the slaughtered squadrons fell\n   In Midian's evil day.'\n\n\"I don't know what 'squadrons' means nor 'Midian,' either, but it sounds\nSO tragical. I can hardly wait until next Sunday to recite it.\nI'll practice it all the week. After Sunday school I asked Miss\nRogerson--because Mrs. Lynde was too far away--to show me your pew.\nI sat just as still as I could and the text was Revelations, third\nchapter, second and third verses. It was a very long text. If I was a\nminister I'd pick the short, snappy ones. The sermon was awfully long,\ntoo. I suppose the minister had to match it to the text. I didn't think\nhe was a bit interesting. The trouble with him seems to be that he\nhasn't enough imagination. I didn't listen to him very much. I just let\nmy thoughts run and I thought of the most surprising things.\"\n\nMarilla felt helplessly that all this should be sternly reproved, but\nshe was hampered by the undeniable fact that some of the things Anne had\nsaid, especially about the minister's sermons and Mr. Bell's prayers,\nwere what she herself had really thought deep down in her heart for\nyears, but had never given expression to. It almost seemed to her that\nthose secret, unuttered, critical thoughts had suddenly taken visible\nand accusing shape and form in the person of this outspoken morsel of\nneglected humanity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. A Solemn Vow and Promise\n\n\nIt was not until the next Friday that Marilla heard the story of the\nflower-wreathed hat. She came home from Mrs. Lynde's and called Anne to\naccount.\n\n\"Anne, Mrs. Rachel says you went to church last Sunday with your hat\nrigged out ridiculous with roses and buttercups. What on earth put you\nup to such a caper? A pretty-looking object you must have been!\"\n\n\"Oh. I know pink and yellow aren't becoming to me,\" began Anne.\n\n\"Becoming fiddlesticks! It was putting flowers on your hat at all,\nno matter what color they were, that was ridiculous. You are the most\naggravating child!\"\n\n\"I don't see why it's any more ridiculous to wear flowers on your hat\nthan on your dress,\" protested Anne. \"Lots of little girls there had\nbouquets pinned on their dresses. What's the difference?\"\n\nMarilla was not to be drawn from the safe concrete into dubious paths of\nthe abstract.\n\n\"Don't answer me back like that, Anne. It was very silly of you to do\nsuch a thing. Never let me catch you at such a trick again. Mrs. Rachel\nsays she thought she would sink through the floor when she saw you come\nin all rigged out like that. She couldn't get near enough to tell you\nto take them off till it was too late. She says people talked about it\nsomething dreadful. Of course they would think I had no better sense\nthan to let you go decked out like that.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm so sorry,\" said Anne, tears welling into her eyes. \"I never\nthought you'd mind. The roses and buttercups were so sweet and pretty\nI thought they'd look lovely on my hat. Lots of the little girls had\nartificial flowers on their hats. I'm afraid I'm going to be a dreadful\ntrial to you. Maybe you'd better send me back to the asylum. That would\nbe terrible; I don't think I could endure it; most likely I would go\ninto consumption; I'm so thin as it is, you see. But that would be\nbetter than being a trial to you.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Marilla, vexed at herself for having made the child\ncry. \"I don't want to send you back to the asylum, I'm sure. All I want\nis that you should behave like other little girls and not make yourself\nridiculous. Don't cry any more. I've got some news for you. Diana Barry\ncame home this afternoon. I'm going up to see if I can borrow a skirt\npattern from Mrs. Barry, and if you like you can come with me and get\nacquainted with Diana.\"\n\nAnne rose to her feet, with clasped hands, the tears still glistening on\nher cheeks; the dish towel she had been hemming slipped unheeded to the\nfloor.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, I'm frightened--now that it has come I'm actually\nfrightened. What if she shouldn't like me! It would be the most tragical\ndisappointment of my life.\"\n\n\"Now, don't get into a fluster. And I do wish you wouldn't use such long\nwords. It sounds so funny in a little girl. I guess Diana'll like you\nwell enough. It's her mother you've got to reckon with. If she doesn't\nlike you it won't matter how much Diana does. If she has heard about\nyour outburst to Mrs. Lynde and going to church with buttercups round\nyour hat I don't know what she'll think of you. You must be polite and\nwell behaved, and don't make any of your startling speeches. For pity's\nsake, if the child isn't actually trembling!\"\n\nAnne WAS trembling. Her face was pale and tense.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, you'd be excited, too, if you were going to meet a little\ngirl you hoped to be your bosom friend and whose mother mightn't like\nyou,\" she said as she hastened to get her hat.\n\nThey went over to Orchard Slope by the short cut across the brook and up\nthe firry hill grove. Mrs. Barry came to the kitchen door in answer to\nMarilla's knock. She was a tall black-eyed, black-haired woman, with a\nvery resolute mouth. She had the reputation of being very strict with\nher children.\n\n\"How do you do, Marilla?\" she said cordially. \"Come in. And this is the\nlittle girl you have adopted, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes, this is Anne Shirley,\" said Marilla.\n\n\"Spelled with an E,\" gasped Anne, who, tremulous and excited as she was,\nwas determined there should be no misunderstanding on that important\npoint.\n\nMrs. Barry, not hearing or not comprehending, merely shook hands and\nsaid kindly:\n\n\"How are you?\"\n\n\"I am well in body although considerable rumpled up in spirit, thank you\nma'am,\" said Anne gravely. Then aside to Marilla in an audible whisper,\n\"There wasn't anything startling in that, was there, Marilla?\"\n\nDiana was sitting on the sofa, reading a book which she dropped when the\ncallers entered. She was a very pretty little girl, with her mother's\nblack eyes and hair, and rosy cheeks, and the merry expression which was\nher inheritance from her father.\n\n\"This is my little girl Diana,\" said Mrs. Barry. \"Diana, you might take\nAnne out into the garden and show her your flowers. It will be better\nfor you than straining your eyes over that book. She reads entirely\ntoo much--\" this to Marilla as the little girls went out--\"and I can't\nprevent her, for her father aids and abets her. She's always poring over\na book. I'm glad she has the prospect of a playmate--perhaps it will\ntake her more out-of-doors.\"\n\nOutside in the garden, which was full of mellow sunset light streaming\nthrough the dark old firs to the west of it, stood Anne and Diana,\ngazing bashfully at each other over a clump of gorgeous tiger lilies.\n\nThe Barry garden was a bowery wilderness of flowers which would have\ndelighted Anne's heart at any time less fraught with destiny. It was\nencircled by huge old willows and tall firs, beneath which flourished\nflowers that loved the shade. Prim, right-angled paths neatly bordered\nwith clamshells, intersected it like moist red ribbons and in the beds\nbetween old-fashioned flowers ran riot. There were rosy bleeding-hearts\nand great splendid crimson peonies; white, fragrant narcissi and thorny,\nsweet Scotch roses; pink and blue and white columbines and lilac-tinted\nBouncing Bets; clumps of southernwood and ribbon grass and mint; purple\nAdam-and-Eve, daffodils, and masses of sweet clover white with its\ndelicate, fragrant, feathery sprays; scarlet lightning that shot\nits fiery lances over prim white musk-flowers; a garden it was where\nsunshine lingered and bees hummed, and winds, beguiled into loitering,\npurred and rustled.\n\n\"Oh, Diana,\" said Anne at last, clasping her hands and speaking almost\nin a whisper, \"oh, do you think you can like me a little--enough to be\nmy bosom friend?\"\n\nDiana laughed. Diana always laughed before she spoke.\n\n\"Why, I guess so,\" she said frankly. \"I'm awfully glad you've come to\nlive at Green Gables. It will be jolly to have somebody to play with.\nThere isn't any other girl who lives near enough to play with, and I've\nno sisters big enough.\"\n\n\"Will you swear to be my friend forever and ever?\" demanded Anne\neagerly.\n\nDiana looked shocked.\n\n\"Why it's dreadfully wicked to swear,\" she said rebukingly.\n\n\"Oh no, not my kind of swearing. There are two kinds, you know.\"\n\n\"I never heard of but one kind,\" said Diana doubtfully.\n\n\"There really is another. Oh, it isn't wicked at all. It just means\nvowing and promising solemnly.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't mind doing that,\" agreed Diana, relieved. \"How do you do\nit?\"\n\n\"We must join hands--so,\" said Anne gravely. \"It ought to be over\nrunning water. We'll just imagine this path is running water. I'll\nrepeat the oath first. I solemnly swear to be faithful to my bosom\nfriend, Diana Barry, as long as the sun and moon shall endure. Now you\nsay it and put my name in.\"\n\nDiana repeated the \"oath\" with a laugh fore and aft. Then she said:\n\n\"You're a queer girl, Anne. I heard before that you were queer. But I\nbelieve I'm going to like you real well.\"\n\nWhen Marilla and Anne went home Diana went with them as far as the log\nbridge. The two little girls walked with their arms about each other.\nAt the brook they parted with many promises to spend the next afternoon\ntogether.\n\n\"Well, did you find Diana a kindred spirit?\" asked Marilla as they went\nup through the garden of Green Gables.\n\n\"Oh yes,\" sighed Anne, blissfully unconscious of any sarcasm on\nMarilla's part. \"Oh Marilla, I'm the happiest girl on Prince Edward\nIsland this very moment. I assure you I'll say my prayers with a right\ngood-will tonight. Diana and I are going to build a playhouse in Mr.\nWilliam Bell's birch grove tomorrow. Can I have those broken pieces of\nchina that are out in the woodshed? Diana's birthday is in February and\nmine is in March. Don't you think that is a very strange coincidence?\nDiana is going to lend me a book to read. She says it's perfectly\nsplendid and tremendously exciting. She's going to show me a place back\nin the woods where rice lilies grow. Don't you think Diana has got very\nsoulful eyes? I wish I had soulful eyes. Diana is going to teach me to\nsing a song called 'Nelly in the Hazel Dell.' She's going to give me a\npicture to put up in my room; it's a perfectly beautiful picture, she\nsays--a lovely lady in a pale blue silk dress. A sewing-machine agent\ngave it to her. I wish I had something to give Diana. I'm an inch taller\nthan Diana, but she is ever so much fatter; she says she'd like to be\nthin because it's so much more graceful, but I'm afraid she only said\nit to soothe my feelings. We're going to the shore some day to gather\nshells. We have agreed to call the spring down by the log bridge the\nDryad's Bubble. Isn't that a perfectly elegant name? I read a story\nonce about a spring called that. A dryad is sort of a grown-up fairy, I\nthink.\"\n\n\"Well, all I hope is you won't talk Diana to death,\" said Marilla. \"But\nremember this in all your planning, Anne. You're not going to play all\nthe time nor most of it. You'll have your work to do and it'll have to\nbe done first.\"\n\nAnne's cup of happiness was full, and Matthew caused it to overflow. He\nhad just got home from a trip to the store at Carmody, and he sheepishly\nproduced a small parcel from his pocket and handed it to Anne, with a\ndeprecatory look at Marilla.\n\n\"I heard you say you liked chocolate sweeties, so I got you some,\" he\nsaid.\n\n\"Humph,\" sniffed Marilla. \"It'll ruin her teeth and stomach. There,\nthere, child, don't look so dismal. You can eat those, since Matthew\nhas gone and got them. He'd better have brought you peppermints. They're\nwholesomer. Don't sicken yourself eating all them at once now.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, indeed, I won't,\" said Anne eagerly. \"I'll just eat one\ntonight, Marilla. And I can give Diana half of them, can't I? The\nother half will taste twice as sweet to me if I give some to her. It's\ndelightful to think I have something to give her.\"\n\n\"I will say it for the child,\" said Marilla when Anne had gone to\nher gable, \"she isn't stingy. I'm glad, for of all faults I detest\nstinginess in a child. Dear me, it's only three weeks since she came,\nand it seems as if she'd been here always. I can't imagine the place\nwithout her. Now, don't be looking I told-you-so, Matthew. That's bad\nenough in a woman, but it isn't to be endured in a man. I'm perfectly\nwilling to own up that I'm glad I consented to keep the child and that\nI'm getting fond of her, but don't you rub it in, Matthew Cuthbert.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. The Delights of Anticipation\n\n\n\"It's time Anne was in to do her sewing,\" said Marilla, glancing at the\nclock and then out into the yellow August afternoon where everything\ndrowsed in the heat. \"She stayed playing with Diana more than half an\nhour more'n I gave her leave to; and now she's perched out there on\nthe woodpile talking to Matthew, nineteen to the dozen, when she knows\nperfectly well she ought to be at her work. And of course he's listening\nto her like a perfect ninny. I never saw such an infatuated man.\nThe more she talks and the odder the things she says, the more he's\ndelighted evidently. Anne Shirley, you come right in here this minute,\ndo you hear me!\"\n\nA series of staccato taps on the west window brought Anne flying in from\nthe yard, eyes shining, cheeks faintly flushed with pink, unbraided hair\nstreaming behind her in a torrent of brightness.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla,\" she exclaimed breathlessly, \"there's going to be a\nSunday-school picnic next week--in Mr. Harmon Andrews's field, right\nnear the lake of Shining Waters. And Mrs. Superintendent Bell and Mrs.\nRachel Lynde are going to make ice cream--think of it, Marilla--ICE\nCREAM! And, oh, Marilla, can I go to it?\"\n\n\"Just look at the clock, if you please, Anne. What time did I tell you\nto come in?\"\n\n\"Two o'clock--but isn't it splendid about the picnic, Marilla? Please\ncan I go? Oh, I've never been to a picnic--I've dreamed of picnics, but\nI've never--\"\n\n\"Yes, I told you to come at two o'clock. And it's a quarter to three.\nI'd like to know why you didn't obey me, Anne.\"\n\n\"Why, I meant to, Marilla, as much as could be. But you have no idea\nhow fascinating Idlewild is. And then, of course, I had to tell Matthew\nabout the picnic. Matthew is such a sympathetic listener. Please can I\ngo?\"\n\n\"You'll have to learn to resist the fascination of\nIdle-whatever-you-call-it. When I tell you to come in at a certain time\nI mean that time and not half an hour later. And you needn't stop to\ndiscourse with sympathetic listeners on your way, either. As for the\npicnic, of course you can go. You're a Sunday-school scholar, and it's\nnot likely I'd refuse to let you go when all the other little girls are\ngoing.\"\n\n\"But--but,\" faltered Anne, \"Diana says that everybody must take a basket\nof things to eat. I can't cook, as you know, Marilla, and--and--I don't\nmind going to a picnic without puffed sleeves so much, but I'd feel\nterribly humiliated if I had to go without a basket. It's been preying\non my mind ever since Diana told me.\"\n\n\"Well, it needn't prey any longer. I'll bake you a basket.\"\n\n\"Oh, you dear good Marilla. Oh, you are so kind to me. Oh, I'm so much\nobliged to you.\"\n\nGetting through with her \"ohs\" Anne cast herself into Marilla's arms and\nrapturously kissed her sallow cheek. It was the first time in her whole\nlife that childish lips had voluntarily touched Marilla's face. Again\nthat sudden sensation of startling sweetness thrilled her. She was\nsecretly vastly pleased at Anne's impulsive caress, which was probably\nthe reason why she said brusquely:\n\n\"There, there, never mind your kissing nonsense. I'd sooner see you\ndoing strictly as you're told. As for cooking, I mean to begin giving\nyou lessons in that some of these days. But you're so featherbrained,\nAnne, I've been waiting to see if you'd sober down a little and learn\nto be steady before I begin. You've got to keep your wits about you in\ncooking and not stop in the middle of things to let your thoughts rove\nall over creation. Now, get out your patchwork and have your square done\nbefore teatime.\"\n\n\"I do NOT like patchwork,\" said Anne dolefully, hunting out her\nworkbasket and sitting down before a little heap of red and white\ndiamonds with a sigh. \"I think some kinds of sewing would be nice; but\nthere's no scope for imagination in patchwork. It's just one little seam\nafter another and you never seem to be getting anywhere. But of course\nI'd rather be Anne of Green Gables sewing patchwork than Anne of any\nother place with nothing to do but play. I wish time went as quick\nsewing patches as it does when I'm playing with Diana, though. Oh, we\ndo have such elegant times, Marilla. I have to furnish most of the\nimagination, but I'm well able to do that. Diana is simply perfect in\nevery other way. You know that little piece of land across the brook\nthat runs up between our farm and Mr. Barry's. It belongs to Mr. William\nBell, and right in the corner there is a little ring of white birch\ntrees--the most romantic spot, Marilla. Diana and I have our playhouse\nthere. We call it Idlewild. Isn't that a poetical name? I assure you it\ntook me some time to think it out. I stayed awake nearly a whole night\nbefore I invented it. Then, just as I was dropping off to sleep, it came\nlike an inspiration. Diana was ENRAPTURED when she heard it. We have got\nour house fixed up elegantly. You must come and see it, Marilla--won't\nyou? We have great big stones, all covered with moss, for seats, and\nboards from tree to tree for shelves. And we have all our dishes on\nthem. Of course, they're all broken but it's the easiest thing in the\nworld to imagine that they are whole. There's a piece of a plate with a\nspray of red and yellow ivy on it that is especially beautiful. We keep\nit in the parlor and we have the fairy glass there, too. The fairy glass\nis as lovely as a dream. Diana found it out in the woods behind their\nchicken house. It's all full of rainbows--just little young rainbows\nthat haven't grown big yet--and Diana's mother told her it was broken\noff a hanging lamp they once had. But it's nice to imagine the fairies\nlost it one night when they had a ball, so we call it the fairy glass.\nMatthew is going to make us a table. Oh, we have named that little round\npool over in Mr. Barry's field Willowmere. I got that name out of the\nbook Diana lent me. That was a thrilling book, Marilla. The heroine\nhad five lovers. I'd be satisfied with one, wouldn't you? She was very\nhandsome and she went through great tribulations. She could faint as\neasy as anything. I'd love to be able to faint, wouldn't you, Marilla?\nIt's so romantic. But I'm really very healthy for all I'm so thin. I\nbelieve I'm getting fatter, though. Don't you think I am? I look at my\nelbows every morning when I get up to see if any dimples are coming.\nDiana is having a new dress made with elbow sleeves. She is going to\nwear it to the picnic. Oh, I do hope it will be fine next Wednesday. I\ndon't feel that I could endure the disappointment if anything happened\nto prevent me from getting to the picnic. I suppose I'd live through it,\nbut I'm certain it would be a lifelong sorrow. It wouldn't matter if\nI got to a hundred picnics in after years; they wouldn't make up for\nmissing this one. They're going to have boats on the Lake of Shining\nWaters--and ice cream, as I told you. I have never tasted ice cream.\nDiana tried to explain what it was like, but I guess ice cream is one of\nthose things that are beyond imagination.\"\n\n\"Anne, you have talked even on for ten minutes by the clock,\" said\nMarilla. \"Now, just for curiosity's sake, see if you can hold your\ntongue for the same length of time.\"\n\nAnne held her tongue as desired. But for the rest of the week she talked\npicnic and thought picnic and dreamed picnic. On Saturday it rained and\nshe worked herself up into such a frantic state lest it should keep\non raining until and over Wednesday that Marilla made her sew an extra\npatchwork square by way of steadying her nerves.\n\nOn Sunday Anne confided to Marilla on the way home from church that she\ngrew actually cold all over with excitement when the minister announced\nthe picnic from the pulpit.\n\n\"Such a thrill as went up and down my back, Marilla! I don't think I'd\never really believed until then that there was honestly going to be\na picnic. I couldn't help fearing I'd only imagined it. But when a\nminister says a thing in the pulpit you just have to believe it.\"\n\n\"You set your heart too much on things, Anne,\" said Marilla, with a\nsigh. \"I'm afraid there'll be a great many disappointments in store for\nyou through life.\"\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them,\"\nexclaimed Anne. \"You mayn't get the things themselves; but nothing can\nprevent you from having the fun of looking forward to them. Mrs.\nLynde says, 'Blessed are they who expect nothing for they shall not be\ndisappointed.' But I think it would be worse to expect nothing than to\nbe disappointed.\"\n\nMarilla wore her amethyst brooch to church that day as usual. Marilla\nalways wore her amethyst brooch to church. She would have thought it\nrather sacrilegious to leave it off--as bad as forgetting her Bible or\nher collection dime. That amethyst brooch was Marilla's most treasured\npossession. A seafaring uncle had given it to her mother who in turn\nhad bequeathed it to Marilla. It was an old-fashioned oval, containing\na braid of her mother's hair, surrounded by a border of very fine\namethysts. Marilla knew too little about precious stones to realize how\nfine the amethysts actually were; but she thought them very beautiful\nand was always pleasantly conscious of their violet shimmer at her\nthroat, above her good brown satin dress, even although she could not\nsee it.\n\nAnne had been smitten with delighted admiration when she first saw that\nbrooch.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, it's a perfectly elegant brooch. I don't know how you\ncan pay attention to the sermon or the prayers when you have it on. I\ncouldn't, I know. I think amethysts are just sweet. They are what I used\nto think diamonds were like. Long ago, before I had ever seen a diamond,\nI read about them and I tried to imagine what they would be like. I\nthought they would be lovely glimmering purple stones. When I saw a\nreal diamond in a lady's ring one day I was so disappointed I cried. Of\ncourse, it was very lovely but it wasn't my idea of a diamond. Will you\nlet me hold the brooch for one minute, Marilla? Do you think amethysts\ncan be the souls of good violets?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. Anne's Confession\n\n\nON the Monday evening before the picnic Marilla came down from her room\nwith a troubled face.\n\n\"Anne,\" she said to that small personage, who was shelling peas by the\nspotless table and singing, \"Nelly of the Hazel Dell\" with a vigor and\nexpression that did credit to Diana's teaching, \"did you see anything\nof my amethyst brooch? I thought I stuck it in my pincushion when I came\nhome from church yesterday evening, but I can't find it anywhere.\"\n\n\"I--I saw it this afternoon when you were away at the Aid Society,\" said\nAnne, a little slowly. \"I was passing your door when I saw it on the\ncushion, so I went in to look at it.\"\n\n\"Did you touch it?\" said Marilla sternly.\n\n\"Y-e-e-s,\" admitted Anne, \"I took it up and I pinned it on my breast\njust to see how it would look.\"\n\n\"You had no business to do anything of the sort. It's very wrong in a\nlittle girl to meddle. You shouldn't have gone into my room in the first\nplace and you shouldn't have touched a brooch that didn't belong to you\nin the second. Where did you put it?\"\n\n\"Oh, I put it back on the bureau. I hadn't it on a minute. Truly, I\ndidn't mean to meddle, Marilla. I didn't think about its being wrong to\ngo in and try on the brooch; but I see now that it was and I'll never\ndo it again. That's one good thing about me. I never do the same naughty\nthing twice.\"\n\n\"You didn't put it back,\" said Marilla. \"That brooch isn't anywhere on\nthe bureau. You've taken it out or something, Anne.\"\n\n\"I did put it back,\" said Anne quickly--pertly, Marilla thought. \"I\ndon't just remember whether I stuck it on the pincushion or laid it in\nthe china tray. But I'm perfectly certain I put it back.\"\n\n\"I'll go and have another look,\" said Marilla, determining to be just.\n\"If you put that brooch back it's there still. If it isn't I'll know you\ndidn't, that's all!\"\n\nMarilla went to her room and made a thorough search, not only over the\nbureau but in every other place she thought the brooch might possibly\nbe. It was not to be found and she returned to the kitchen.\n\n\"Anne, the brooch is gone. By your own admission you were the last\nperson to handle it. Now, what have you done with it? Tell me the truth\nat once. Did you take it out and lose it?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't,\" said Anne solemnly, meeting Marilla's angry gaze\nsquarely. \"I never took the brooch out of your room and that is the\ntruth, if I was to be led to the block for it--although I'm not very\ncertain what a block is. So there, Marilla.\"\n\nAnne's \"so there\" was only intended to emphasize her assertion, but\nMarilla took it as a display of defiance.\n\n\"I believe you are telling me a falsehood, Anne,\" she said sharply. \"I\nknow you are. There now, don't say anything more unless you are prepared\nto tell the whole truth. Go to your room and stay there until you are\nready to confess.\"\n\n\"Will I take the peas with me?\" said Anne meekly.\n\n\"No, I'll finish shelling them myself. Do as I bid you.\"\n\nWhen Anne had gone Marilla went about her evening tasks in a very\ndisturbed state of mind. She was worried about her valuable brooch. What\nif Anne had lost it? And how wicked of the child to deny having taken\nit, when anybody could see she must have! With such an innocent face,\ntoo!\n\n\"I don't know what I wouldn't sooner have had happen,\" thought Marilla,\nas she nervously shelled the peas. \"Of course, I don't suppose she meant\nto steal it or anything like that. She's just taken it to play with\nor help along that imagination of hers. She must have taken it, that's\nclear, for there hasn't been a soul in that room since she was in it, by\nher own story, until I went up tonight. And the brooch is gone, there's\nnothing surer. I suppose she has lost it and is afraid to own up for\nfear she'll be punished. It's a dreadful thing to think she tells\nfalsehoods. It's a far worse thing than her fit of temper. It's a\nfearful responsibility to have a child in your house you can't trust.\nSlyness and untruthfulness--that's what she has displayed. I declare I\nfeel worse about that than about the brooch. If she'd only have told the\ntruth about it I wouldn't mind so much.\"\n\nMarilla went to her room at intervals all through the evening and\nsearched for the brooch, without finding it. A bedtime visit to the\neast gable produced no result. Anne persisted in denying that she knew\nanything about the brooch but Marilla was only the more firmly convinced\nthat she did.\n\nShe told Matthew the story the next morning. Matthew was confounded and\npuzzled; he could not so quickly lose faith in Anne but he had to admit\nthat circumstances were against her.\n\n\"You're sure it hasn't fell down behind the bureau?\" was the only\nsuggestion he could offer.\n\n\"I've moved the bureau and I've taken out the drawers and I've looked\nin every crack and cranny\" was Marilla's positive answer. \"The brooch\nis gone and that child has taken it and lied about it. That's the plain,\nugly truth, Matthew Cuthbert, and we might as well look it in the face.\"\n\n\"Well now, what are you going to do about it?\" Matthew asked forlornly,\nfeeling secretly thankful that Marilla and not he had to deal with the\nsituation. He felt no desire to put his oar in this time.\n\n\"She'll stay in her room until she confesses,\" said Marilla grimly,\nremembering the success of this method in the former case. \"Then we'll\nsee. Perhaps we'll be able to find the brooch if she'll only tell\nwhere she took it; but in any case she'll have to be severely punished,\nMatthew.\"\n\n\"Well now, you'll have to punish her,\" said Matthew, reaching for his\nhat. \"I've nothing to do with it, remember. You warned me off yourself.\"\n\nMarilla felt deserted by everyone. She could not even go to Mrs. Lynde\nfor advice. She went up to the east gable with a very serious face and\nleft it with a face more serious still. Anne steadfastly refused to\nconfess. She persisted in asserting that she had not taken the brooch.\nThe child had evidently been crying and Marilla felt a pang of pity\nwhich she sternly repressed. By night she was, as she expressed it,\n\"beat out.\"\n\n\"You'll stay in this room until you confess, Anne. You can make up your\nmind to that,\" she said firmly.\n\n\"But the picnic is tomorrow, Marilla,\" cried Anne. \"You won't keep me\nfrom going to that, will you? You'll just let me out for the afternoon,\nwon't you? Then I'll stay here as long as you like AFTERWARDS\ncheerfully. But I MUST go to the picnic.\"\n\n\"You'll not go to picnics nor anywhere else until you've confessed,\nAnne.\"\n\n\"Oh, Marilla,\" gasped Anne.\n\nBut Marilla had gone out and shut the door.\n\nWednesday morning dawned as bright and fair as if expressly made to\norder for the picnic. Birds sang around Green Gables; the Madonna lilies\nin the garden sent out whiffs of perfume that entered in on viewless\nwinds at every door and window, and wandered through halls and rooms\nlike spirits of benediction. The birches in the hollow waved joyful\nhands as if watching for Anne's usual morning greeting from the east\ngable. But Anne was not at her window. When Marilla took her breakfast\nup to her she found the child sitting primly on her bed, pale and\nresolute, with tight-shut lips and gleaming eyes.\n\n\"Marilla, I'm ready to confess.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" Marilla laid down her tray. Once again her method had succeeded;\nbut her success was very bitter to her. \"Let me hear what you have to\nsay then, Anne.\"\n\n\"I took the amethyst brooch,\" said Anne, as if repeating a lesson she\nhad learned. \"I took it just as you said. I didn't mean to take it when\nI went in. But it did look so beautiful, Marilla, when I pinned it on my\nbreast that I was overcome by an irresistible temptation. I imagined how\nperfectly thrilling it would be to take it to Idlewild and play I was\nthe Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald. It would be so much easier to imagine I\nwas the Lady Cordelia if I had a real amethyst brooch on. Diana and\nI make necklaces of roseberries but what are roseberries compared to\namethysts? So I took the brooch. I thought I could put it back before\nyou came home. I went all the way around by the road to lengthen out the\ntime. When I was going over the bridge across the Lake of Shining Waters\nI took the brooch off to have another look at it. Oh, how it did shine\nin the sunlight! And then, when I was leaning over the bridge, it\njust slipped through my fingers--so--and went down--down--down, all\npurply-sparkling, and sank forevermore beneath the Lake of Shining\nWaters. And that's the best I can do at confessing, Marilla.\"\n\nMarilla felt hot anger surge up into her heart again. This child had\ntaken and lost her treasured amethyst brooch and now sat there calmly\nreciting the details thereof without the least apparent compunction or\nrepentance.\n\n\"Anne, this is terrible,\" she said, trying to speak calmly. \"You are the\nvery wickedest girl I ever heard of.\"\n\n\"Yes, I suppose I am,\" agreed Anne tranquilly. \"And I know I'll have to\nbe punished. It'll be your duty to punish me, Marilla. Won't you please\nget it over right off because I'd like to go to the picnic with nothing\non my mind.\"\n\n\"Picnic, indeed! You'll go to no picnic today, Anne Shirley. That shall\nbe your punishment. And it isn't half severe enough either for what\nyou've done!\"\n\n\"Not go to the picnic!\" Anne sprang to her feet and clutched Marilla's\nhand. \"But you PROMISED me I might! Oh, Marilla, I must go to the\npicnic. That was why I confessed. Punish me any way you like but that.\nOh, Marilla, please, please, let me go to the picnic. Think of the ice\ncream! For anything you know I may never have a chance to taste ice\ncream again.\"\n\nMarilla disengaged Anne's clinging hands stonily.\n\n\"You needn't plead, Anne. You are not going to the picnic and that's\nfinal. No, not a word.\"\n\nAnne realized that Marilla was not to be moved. She clasped her hands\ntogether, gave a piercing shriek, and then flung herself face\ndownward on the bed, crying and writhing in an utter abandonment of\ndisappointment and despair.\n\n\"For the land's sake!\" gasped Marilla, hastening from the room. \"I\nbelieve the child is crazy. No child in her senses would behave as she\ndoes. If she isn't she's utterly bad. Oh dear, I'm afraid Rachel was\nright from the first. But I've put my hand to the plow and I won't look\nback.\"\n\nThat was a dismal morning. Marilla worked fiercely and scrubbed the\nporch floor and the dairy shelves when she could find nothing else to\ndo. Neither the shelves nor the porch needed it--but Marilla did. Then\nshe went out and raked the yard.\n\nWhen dinner was ready she went to the stairs and called Anne. A\ntear-stained face appeared, looking tragically over the banisters.\n\n\"Come down to your dinner, Anne.\"\n\n\"I don't want any dinner, Marilla,\" said Anne, sobbingly. \"I couldn't\neat anything. My heart is broken. You'll feel remorse of conscience\nsomeday, I expect, for breaking it, Marilla, but I forgive you. Remember\nwhen the time comes that I forgive you. But please don't ask me to eat\nanything, especially boiled pork and greens. Boiled pork and greens are\nso unromantic when one is in affliction.\"\n\nExasperated, Marilla returned to the kitchen and poured out her tale\nof woe to Matthew, who, between his sense of justice and his unlawful\nsympathy with Anne, was a miserable man.\n\n\"Well now, she shouldn't have taken the brooch, Marilla, or told stories\nabout it,\" he admitted, mournfully surveying his plateful of unromantic\npork and greens as if he, like Anne, thought it a food unsuited to\ncrises of feeling, \"but she's such a little thing--such an interesting\nlittle thing. Don't you think it's pretty rough not to let her go to the\npicnic when she's so set on it?\"\n\n\"Matthew Cuthbert, I'm amazed at you. I think I've let her off entirely\ntoo easy. And she doesn't appear to realize how wicked she's been at\nall--that's what worries me most. If she'd really felt sorry it wouldn't\nbe so bad. And you don't seem to realize it, neither; you're making\nexcuses for her all the time to yourself--I can see that.\"\n\n\"Well now, she's such a little thing,\" feebly reiterated Matthew. \"And\nthere should be allowances made, Marilla. You know she's never had any\nbringing up.\"\n\n\"Well, she's having it now\" retorted Marilla.\n\nThe retort silenced Matthew if it did not convince him. That dinner was\na very dismal meal. The only cheerful thing about it was Jerry Buote,\nthe hired boy, and Marilla resented his cheerfulness as a personal\ninsult.\n\nWhen her dishes were washed and her bread sponge set and her hens fed\nMarilla remembered that she had noticed a small rent in her best black\nlace shawl when she had taken it off on Monday afternoon on returning\nfrom the Ladies' Aid.\n\nShe would go and mend it. The shawl was in a box in her trunk. As\nMarilla lifted it out, the sunlight, falling through the vines that\nclustered thickly about the window, struck upon something caught in the\nshawl--something that glittered and sparkled in facets of violet light.\nMarilla snatched at it with a gasp. It was the amethyst brooch, hanging\nto a thread of the lace by its catch!\n\n\"Dear life and heart,\" said Marilla blankly, \"what does this mean?\nHere's my brooch safe and sound that I thought was at the bottom of\nBarry's pond. Whatever did that girl mean by saying she took it and lost\nit? I declare I believe Green Gables is bewitched. I remember now that\nwhen I took off my shawl Monday afternoon I laid it on the bureau for a\nminute. I suppose the brooch got caught in it somehow. Well!\"\n\nMarilla betook herself to the east gable, brooch in hand. Anne had cried\nherself out and was sitting dejectedly by the window.\n\n\"Anne Shirley,\" said Marilla solemnly, \"I've just found my brooch\nhanging to my black lace shawl. Now I want to know what that rigmarole\nyou told me this morning meant.\"\n\n\"Why, you said you'd keep me here until I confessed,\" returned Anne\nwearily, \"and so I decided to confess because I was bound to get to the\npicnic. I thought out a confession last night after I went to bed and\nmade it as interesting as I could. And I said it over and over so that I\nwouldn't forget it. But you wouldn't let me go to the picnic after all,\nso all my trouble was wasted.\"\n\nMarilla had to laugh in spite of herself. But her conscience pricked\nher.\n\n\"Anne, you do beat all! But I was wrong--I see that now. I shouldn't\nhave doubted your word when I'd never known you to tell a story.\nOf course, it wasn't right for you to confess to a thing you hadn't\ndone--it was very wrong to do so. But I drove you to it. So if you'll\nforgive me, Anne, I'll forgive you and we'll start square again. And now\nget yourself ready for the picnic.\"\n\nAnne flew up like a rocket.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, isn't it too late?\"\n\n\"No, it's only two o'clock. They won't be more than well gathered yet\nand it'll be an hour before they have tea. Wash your face and comb your\nhair and put on your gingham. I'll fill a basket for you. There's plenty\nof stuff baked in the house. And I'll get Jerry to hitch up the sorrel\nand drive you down to the picnic ground.\"\n\n\"Oh, Marilla,\" exclaimed Anne, flying to the washstand. \"Five minutes\nago I was so miserable I was wishing I'd never been born and now I\nwouldn't change places with an angel!\"\n\nThat night a thoroughly happy, completely tired-out Anne returned to\nGreen Gables in a state of beatification impossible to describe.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, I've had a perfectly scrumptious time. Scrumptious is a\nnew word I learned today. I heard Mary Alice Bell use it. Isn't it very\nexpressive? Everything was lovely. We had a splendid tea and then Mr.\nHarmon Andrews took us all for a row on the Lake of Shining Waters--six\nof us at a time. And Jane Andrews nearly fell overboard. She was leaning\nout to pick water lilies and if Mr. Andrews hadn't caught her by her\nsash just in the nick of time she'd fallen in and prob'ly been drowned.\nI wish it had been me. It would have been such a romantic experience to\nhave been nearly drowned. It would be such a thrilling tale to tell. And\nwe had the ice cream. Words fail me to describe that ice cream. Marilla,\nI assure you it was sublime.\"\n\nThat evening Marilla told the whole story to Matthew over her stocking\nbasket.\n\n\"I'm willing to own up that I made a mistake,\" she concluded candidly,\n\"but I've learned a lesson. I have to laugh when I think of Anne's\n'confession,' although I suppose I shouldn't for it really was a\nfalsehood. But it doesn't seem as bad as the other would have been,\nsomehow, and anyhow I'm responsible for it. That child is hard to\nunderstand in some respects. But I believe she'll turn out all right\nyet. And there's one thing certain, no house will ever be dull that\nshe's in.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. A Tempest in the School Teapot\n\n\n\"What a splendid day!\" said Anne, drawing a long breath. \"Isn't it good\njust to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't born\nyet for missing it. They may have good days, of course, but they can\nnever have this one. And it's splendider still to have such a lovely way\nto go to school by, isn't it?\"\n\n\"It's a lot nicer than going round by the road; that is so dusty\nand hot,\" said Diana practically, peeping into her dinner basket and\nmentally calculating if the three juicy, toothsome, raspberry tarts\nreposing there were divided among ten girls how many bites each girl\nwould have.\n\nThe little girls of Avonlea school always pooled their lunches, and\nto eat three raspberry tarts all alone or even to share them only with\none's best chum would have forever and ever branded as \"awful mean\" the\ngirl who did it. And yet, when the tarts were divided among ten girls\nyou just got enough to tantalize you.\n\nThe way Anne and Diana went to school WAS a pretty one. Anne thought\nthose walks to and from school with Diana couldn't be improved upon\neven by imagination. Going around by the main road would have been so\nunromantic; but to go by Lover's Lane and Willowmere and Violet Vale and\nthe Birch Path was romantic, if ever anything was.\n\nLover's Lane opened out below the orchard at Green Gables and stretched\nfar up into the woods to the end of the Cuthbert farm. It was the way by\nwhich the cows were taken to the back pasture and the wood hauled home\nin winter. Anne had named it Lover's Lane before she had been a month at\nGreen Gables.\n\n\"Not that lovers ever really walk there,\" she explained to Marilla,\n\"but Diana and I are reading a perfectly magnificent book and there's a\nLover's Lane in it. So we want to have one, too. And it's a very pretty\nname, don't you think? So romantic! We can't imagine the lovers into it,\nyou know. I like that lane because you can think out loud there without\npeople calling you crazy.\"\n\nAnne, starting out alone in the morning, went down Lover's Lane as far\nas the brook. Here Diana met her, and the two little girls went on\nup the lane under the leafy arch of maples--\"maples are such sociable\ntrees,\" said Anne; \"they're always rustling and whispering to\nyou\"--until they came to a rustic bridge. Then they left the lane\nand walked through Mr. Barry's back field and past Willowmere. Beyond\nWillowmere came Violet Vale--a little green dimple in the shadow of Mr.\nAndrew Bell's big woods. \"Of course there are no violets there now,\"\nAnne told Marilla, \"but Diana says there are millions of them in spring.\nOh, Marilla, can't you just imagine you see them? It actually takes away\nmy breath. I named it Violet Vale. Diana says she never saw the beat\nof me for hitting on fancy names for places. It's nice to be clever at\nsomething, isn't it? But Diana named the Birch Path. She wanted to, so\nI let her; but I'm sure I could have found something more poetical than\nplain Birch Path. Anybody can think of a name like that. But the Birch\nPath is one of the prettiest places in the world, Marilla.\"\n\nIt was. Other people besides Anne thought so when they stumbled on it.\nIt was a little narrow, twisting path, winding down over a long hill\nstraight through Mr. Bell's woods, where the light came down sifted\nthrough so many emerald screens that it was as flawless as the heart\nof a diamond. It was fringed in all its length with slim young birches,\nwhite stemmed and lissom boughed; ferns and starflowers and wild\nlilies-of-the-valley and scarlet tufts of pigeonberries grew thickly\nalong it; and always there was a delightful spiciness in the air and\nmusic of bird calls and the murmur and laugh of wood winds in the trees\noverhead. Now and then you might see a rabbit skipping across the road\nif you were quiet--which, with Anne and Diana, happened about once in\na blue moon. Down in the valley the path came out to the main road and\nthen it was just up the spruce hill to the school.\n\nThe Avonlea school was a whitewashed building, low in the eaves and\nwide in the windows, furnished inside with comfortable substantial\nold-fashioned desks that opened and shut, and were carved all over their\nlids with the initials and hieroglyphics of three generations of school\nchildren. The schoolhouse was set back from the road and behind it was\na dusky fir wood and a brook where all the children put their bottles of\nmilk in the morning to keep cool and sweet until dinner hour.\n\nMarilla had seen Anne start off to school on the first day of September\nwith many secret misgivings. Anne was such an odd girl. How would she\nget on with the other children? And how on earth would she ever manage\nto hold her tongue during school hours?\n\nThings went better than Marilla feared, however. Anne came home that\nevening in high spirits.\n\n\"I think I'm going to like school here,\" she announced. \"I don't think\nmuch of the master, through. He's all the time curling his mustache\nand making eyes at Prissy Andrews. Prissy is grown up, you know. She's\nsixteen and she's studying for the entrance examination into Queen's\nAcademy at Charlottetown next year. Tillie Boulter says the master is\nDEAD GONE on her. She's got a beautiful complexion and curly brown hair\nand she does it up so elegantly. She sits in the long seat at the back\nand he sits there, too, most of the time--to explain her lessons, he\nsays. But Ruby Gillis says she saw him writing something on her slate\nand when Prissy read it she blushed as red as a beet and giggled; and\nRuby Gillis says she doesn't believe it had anything to do with the\nlesson.\"\n\n\"Anne Shirley, don't let me hear you talking about your teacher in that\nway again,\" said Marilla sharply. \"You don't go to school to criticize\nthe master. I guess he can teach YOU something, and it's your business\nto learn. And I want you to understand right off that you are not to\ncome home telling tales about him. That is something I won't encourage.\nI hope you were a good girl.\"\n\n\"Indeed I was,\" said Anne comfortably. \"It wasn't so hard as you might\nimagine, either. I sit with Diana. Our seat is right by the window and\nwe can look down to the Lake of Shining Waters. There are a lot of nice\ngirls in school and we had scrumptious fun playing at dinnertime. It's\nso nice to have a lot of little girls to play with. But of course I like\nDiana best and always will. I ADORE Diana. I'm dreadfully far behind the\nothers. They're all in the fifth book and I'm only in the fourth. I feel\nthat it's kind of a disgrace. But there's not one of them has such an\nimagination as I have and I soon found that out. We had reading and\ngeography and Canadian history and dictation today. Mr. Phillips said my\nspelling was disgraceful and he held up my slate so that everybody could\nsee it, all marked over. I felt so mortified, Marilla; he might have\nbeen politer to a stranger, I think. Ruby Gillis gave me an apple and\nSophia Sloane lent me a lovely pink card with 'May I see you home?' on\nit. I'm to give it back to her tomorrow. And Tillie Boulter let me wear\nher bead ring all the afternoon. Can I have some of those pearl beads\noff the old pincushion in the garret to make myself a ring? And oh,\nMarilla, Jane Andrews told me that Minnie MacPherson told her that she\nheard Prissy Andrews tell Sara Gillis that I had a very pretty nose.\nMarilla, that is the first compliment I have ever had in my life and you\ncan't imagine what a strange feeling it gave me. Marilla, have I really\na pretty nose? I know you'll tell me the truth.\"\n\n\"Your nose is well enough,\" said Marilla shortly. Secretly she thought\nAnne's nose was a remarkable pretty one; but she had no intention of\ntelling her so.\n\nThat was three weeks ago and all had gone smoothly so far. And now, this\ncrisp September morning, Anne and Diana were tripping blithely down the\nBirch Path, two of the happiest little girls in Avonlea.\n\n\"I guess Gilbert Blythe will be in school today,\" said Diana. \"He's been\nvisiting his cousins over in New Brunswick all summer and he only came\nhome Saturday night. He's AW'FLY handsome, Anne. And he teases the girls\nsomething terrible. He just torments our lives out.\"\n\nDiana's voice indicated that she rather liked having her life tormented\nout than not.\n\n\"Gilbert Blythe?\" said Anne. \"Isn't his name that's written up on the\nporch wall with Julia Bell's and a big 'Take Notice' over them?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Diana, tossing her head, \"but I'm sure he doesn't like Julia\nBell so very much. I've heard him say he studied the multiplication\ntable by her freckles.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't speak about freckles to me,\" implored Anne. \"It isn't\ndelicate when I've got so many. But I do think that writing take-notices\nup on the wall about the boys and girls is the silliest ever. I should\njust like to see anybody dare to write my name up with a boy's. Not, of\ncourse,\" she hastened to add, \"that anybody would.\"\n\nAnne sighed. She didn't want her name written up. But it was a little\nhumiliating to know that there was no danger of it.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Diana, whose black eyes and glossy tresses had played\nsuch havoc with the hearts of Avonlea schoolboys that her name figured\non the porch walls in half a dozen take-notices. \"It's only meant as\na joke. And don't you be too sure your name won't ever be written up.\nCharlie Sloane is DEAD GONE on you. He told his mother--his MOTHER, mind\nyou--that you were the smartest girl in school. That's better than being\ngood looking.\"\n\n\"No, it isn't,\" said Anne, feminine to the core. \"I'd rather be pretty\nthan clever. And I hate Charlie Sloane, I can't bear a boy with goggle\neyes. If anyone wrote my name up with his I'd never GET over it, Diana\nBarry. But it IS nice to keep head of your class.\"\n\n\"You'll have Gilbert in your class after this,\" said Diana, \"and he's\nused to being head of his class, I can tell you. He's only in the fourth\nbook although he's nearly fourteen. Four years ago his father was sick\nand had to go out to Alberta for his health and Gilbert went with him.\nThey were there three years and Gil didn't go to school hardly any\nuntil they came back. You won't find it so easy to keep head after this,\nAnne.\"\n\n\"I'm glad,\" said Anne quickly. \"I couldn't really feel proud of keeping\nhead of little boys and girls of just nine or ten. I got up yesterday\nspelling 'ebullition.' Josie Pye was head and, mind you, she peeped\nin her book. Mr. Phillips didn't see her--he was looking at Prissy\nAndrews--but I did. I just swept her a look of freezing scorn and she\ngot as red as a beet and spelled it wrong after all.\"\n\n\"Those Pye girls are cheats all round,\" said Diana indignantly, as they\nclimbed the fence of the main road. \"Gertie Pye actually went and put\nher milk bottle in my place in the brook yesterday. Did you ever? I\ndon't speak to her now.\"\n\nWhen Mr. Phillips was in the back of the room hearing Prissy Andrews's\nLatin, Diana whispered to Anne,\n\n\"That's Gilbert Blythe sitting right across the aisle from you, Anne.\nJust look at him and see if you don't think he's handsome.\"\n\nAnne looked accordingly. She had a good chance to do so, for the said\nGilbert Blythe was absorbed in stealthily pinning the long yellow braid\nof Ruby Gillis, who sat in front of him, to the back of her seat. He\nwas a tall boy, with curly brown hair, roguish hazel eyes, and a mouth\ntwisted into a teasing smile. Presently Ruby Gillis started up to take\na sum to the master; she fell back into her seat with a little shriek,\nbelieving that her hair was pulled out by the roots. Everybody looked at\nher and Mr. Phillips glared so sternly that Ruby began to cry. Gilbert\nhad whisked the pin out of sight and was studying his history with the\nsoberest face in the world; but when the commotion subsided he looked at\nAnne and winked with inexpressible drollery.\n\n\"I think your Gilbert Blythe IS handsome,\" confided Anne to Diana,\n\"but I think he's very bold. It isn't good manners to wink at a strange\ngirl.\"\n\nBut it was not until the afternoon that things really began to happen.\n\nMr. Phillips was back in the corner explaining a problem in algebra to\nPrissy Andrews and the rest of the scholars were doing pretty much as\nthey pleased eating green apples, whispering, drawing pictures on their\nslates, and driving crickets harnessed to strings, up and down aisle.\nGilbert Blythe was trying to make Anne Shirley look at him and failing\nutterly, because Anne was at that moment totally oblivious not only\nto the very existence of Gilbert Blythe, but of every other scholar in\nAvonlea school itself. With her chin propped on her hands and her eyes\nfixed on the blue glimpse of the Lake of Shining Waters that the west\nwindow afforded, she was far away in a gorgeous dreamland hearing and\nseeing nothing save her own wonderful visions.\n\nGilbert Blythe wasn't used to putting himself out to make a girl look\nat him and meeting with failure. She SHOULD look at him, that red-haired\nShirley girl with the little pointed chin and the big eyes that weren't\nlike the eyes of any other girl in Avonlea school.\n\nGilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne's long red\nbraid, held it out at arm's length and said in a piercing whisper:\n\n\"Carrots! Carrots!\"\n\nThen Anne looked at him with a vengeance!\n\nShe did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright fancies\nfallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant glance at Gilbert\nfrom eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angry\ntears.\n\n\"You mean, hateful boy!\" she exclaimed passionately. \"How dare you!\"\n\nAnd then--thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head and\ncracked it--slate not head--clear across.\n\nAvonlea school always enjoyed a scene. This was an especially enjoyable\none. Everybody said \"Oh\" in horrified delight. Diana gasped. Ruby\nGillis, who was inclined to be hysterical, began to cry. Tommy\nSloane let his team of crickets escape him altogether while he stared\nopen-mouthed at the tableau.\n\nMr. Phillips stalked down the aisle and laid his hand heavily on Anne's\nshoulder.\n\n\"Anne Shirley, what does this mean?\" he said angrily. Anne returned no\nanswer. It was asking too much of flesh and blood to expect her to tell\nbefore the whole school that she had been called \"carrots.\" Gilbert it\nwas who spoke up stoutly.\n\n\"It was my fault Mr. Phillips. I teased her.\"\n\nMr. Phillips paid no heed to Gilbert.\n\n\"I am sorry to see a pupil of mine displaying such a temper and such\na vindictive spirit,\" he said in a solemn tone, as if the mere fact of\nbeing a pupil of his ought to root out all evil passions from the hearts\nof small imperfect mortals. \"Anne, go and stand on the platform in front\nof the blackboard for the rest of the afternoon.\"\n\nAnne would have infinitely preferred a whipping to this punishment under\nwhich her sensitive spirit quivered as from a whiplash. With a white,\nset face she obeyed. Mr. Phillips took a chalk crayon and wrote on the\nblackboard above her head.\n\n\"Ann Shirley has a very bad temper. Ann Shirley must learn to control\nher temper,\" and then read it out loud so that even the primer class,\nwho couldn't read writing, should understand it.\n\nAnne stood there the rest of the afternoon with that legend above her.\nShe did not cry or hang her head. Anger was still too hot in her heart\nfor that and it sustained her amid all her agony of humiliation. With\nresentful eyes and passion-red cheeks she confronted alike Diana's\nsympathetic gaze and Charlie Sloane's indignant nods and Josie Pye's\nmalicious smiles. As for Gilbert Blythe, she would not even look at him.\nShe would NEVER look at him again! She would never speak to him!!\n\nWhen school was dismissed Anne marched out with her red head held high.\nGilbert Blythe tried to intercept her at the porch door.\n\n\"I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair, Anne,\" he whispered\ncontritely. \"Honest I am. Don't be mad for keeps, now.\"\n\nAnne swept by disdainfully, without look or sign of hearing. \"Oh\nhow could you, Anne?\" breathed Diana as they went down the road half\nreproachfully, half admiringly. Diana felt that SHE could never have\nresisted Gilbert's plea.\n\n\"I shall never forgive Gilbert Blythe,\" said Anne firmly. \"And Mr.\nPhillips spelled my name without an e, too. The iron has entered into my\nsoul, Diana.\"\n\nDiana hadn't the least idea what Anne meant but she understood it was\nsomething terrible.\n\n\"You mustn't mind Gilbert making fun of your hair,\" she said soothingly.\n\"Why, he makes fun of all the girls. He laughs at mine because it's\nso black. He's called me a crow a dozen times; and I never heard him\napologize for anything before, either.\"\n\n\"There's a great deal of difference between being called a crow and\nbeing called carrots,\" said Anne with dignity. \"Gilbert Blythe has hurt\nmy feelings EXCRUCIATINGLY, Diana.\"\n\nIt is possible the matter might have blown over without more\nexcruciation if nothing else had happened. But when things begin to\nhappen they are apt to keep on.\n\nAvonlea scholars often spent noon hour picking gum in Mr. Bell's spruce\ngrove over the hill and across his big pasture field. From there they\ncould keep an eye on Eben Wright's house, where the master boarded. When\nthey saw Mr. Phillips emerging therefrom they ran for the schoolhouse;\nbut the distance being about three times longer than Mr. Wright's lane\nthey were very apt to arrive there, breathless and gasping, some three\nminutes too late.\n\nOn the following day Mr. Phillips was seized with one of his spasmodic\nfits of reform and announced before going home to dinner, that he should\nexpect to find all the scholars in their seats when he returned. Anyone\nwho came in late would be punished.\n\nAll the boys and some of the girls went to Mr. Bell's spruce grove as\nusual, fully intending to stay only long enough to \"pick a chew.\" But\nspruce groves are seductive and yellow nuts of gum beguiling; they\npicked and loitered and strayed; and as usual the first thing that\nrecalled them to a sense of the flight of time was Jimmy Glover shouting\nfrom the top of a patriarchal old spruce \"Master's coming.\"\n\nThe girls who were on the ground, started first and managed to reach the\nschoolhouse in time but without a second to spare. The boys, who had to\nwriggle hastily down from the trees, were later; and Anne, who had not\nbeen picking gum at all but was wandering happily in the far end of the\ngrove, waist deep among the bracken, singing softly to herself, with a\nwreath of rice lilies on her hair as if she were some wild divinity\nof the shadowy places, was latest of all. Anne could run like a deer,\nhowever; run she did with the impish result that she overtook the boys\nat the door and was swept into the schoolhouse among them just as Mr.\nPhillips was in the act of hanging up his hat.\n\nMr. Phillips's brief reforming energy was over; he didn't want the\nbother of punishing a dozen pupils; but it was necessary to do something\nto save his word, so he looked about for a scapegoat and found it\nin Anne, who had dropped into her seat, gasping for breath, with a\nforgotten lily wreath hanging askew over one ear and giving her a\nparticularly rakish and disheveled appearance.\n\n\"Anne Shirley, since you seem to be so fond of the boys' company we\nshall indulge your taste for it this afternoon,\" he said sarcastically.\n\"Take those flowers out of your hair and sit with Gilbert Blythe.\"\n\nThe other boys snickered. Diana, turning pale with pity, plucked the\nwreath from Anne's hair and squeezed her hand. Anne stared at the master\nas if turned to stone.\n\n\"Did you hear what I said, Anne?\" queried Mr. Phillips sternly.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said Anne slowly \"but I didn't suppose you really meant it.\"\n\n\"I assure you I did\"--still with the sarcastic inflection which all the\nchildren, and Anne especially, hated. It flicked on the raw. \"Obey me at\nonce.\"\n\nFor a moment Anne looked as if she meant to disobey. Then, realizing\nthat there was no help for it, she rose haughtily, stepped across the\naisle, sat down beside Gilbert Blythe, and buried her face in her arms\non the desk. Ruby Gillis, who got a glimpse of it as it went down,\ntold the others going home from school that she'd \"acksually never seen\nanything like it--it was so white, with awful little red spots in it.\"\n\nTo Anne, this was as the end of all things. It was bad enough to be\nsingled out for punishment from among a dozen equally guilty ones; it\nwas worse still to be sent to sit with a boy, but that that boy should\nbe Gilbert Blythe was heaping insult on injury to a degree utterly\nunbearable. Anne felt that she could not bear it and it would be of\nno use to try. Her whole being seethed with shame and anger and\nhumiliation.\n\nAt first the other scholars looked and whispered and giggled and nudged.\nBut as Anne never lifted her head and as Gilbert worked fractions as if\nhis whole soul was absorbed in them and them only, they soon returned\nto their own tasks and Anne was forgotten. When Mr. Phillips called the\nhistory class out Anne should have gone, but Anne did not move, and\nMr. Phillips, who had been writing some verses \"To Priscilla\" before he\ncalled the class, was thinking about an obstinate rhyme still and never\nmissed her. Once, when nobody was looking, Gilbert took from his desk\na little pink candy heart with a gold motto on it, \"You are sweet,\" and\nslipped it under the curve of Anne's arm. Whereupon Anne arose, took the\npink heart gingerly between the tips of her fingers, dropped it on the\nfloor, ground it to powder beneath her heel, and resumed her position\nwithout deigning to bestow a glance on Gilbert.\n\nWhen school went out Anne marched to her desk, ostentatiously took out\neverything therein, books and writing tablet, pen and ink, testament and\narithmetic, and piled them neatly on her cracked slate.\n\n\"What are you taking all those things home for, Anne?\" Diana wanted to\nknow, as soon as they were out on the road. She had not dared to ask the\nquestion before.\n\n\"I am not coming back to school any more,\" said Anne. Diana gasped and\nstared at Anne to see if she meant it.\n\n\"Will Marilla let you stay home?\" she asked.\n\n\"She'll have to,\" said Anne. \"I'll NEVER go to school to that man\nagain.\"\n\n\"Oh, Anne!\" Diana looked as if she were ready to cry. \"I do think you're\nmean. What shall I do? Mr. Phillips will make me sit with that horrid\nGertie Pye--I know he will because she is sitting alone. Do come back,\nAnne.\"\n\n\"I'd do almost anything in the world for you, Diana,\" said Anne sadly.\n\"I'd let myself be torn limb from limb if it would do you any good. But\nI can't do this, so please don't ask it. You harrow up my very soul.\"\n\n\"Just think of all the fun you will miss,\" mourned Diana. \"We are going\nto build the loveliest new house down by the brook; and we'll be playing\nball next week and you've never played ball, Anne. It's tremendously\nexciting. And we're going to learn a new song--Jane Andrews is\npracticing it up now; and Alice Andrews is going to bring a new Pansy\nbook next week and we're all going to read it out loud, chapter about,\ndown by the brook. And you know you are so fond of reading out loud,\nAnne.\"\n\nNothing moved Anne in the least. Her mind was made up. She would not go\nto school to Mr. Phillips again; she told Marilla so when she got home.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Marilla.\n\n\"It isn't nonsense at all,\" said Anne, gazing at Marilla with solemn,\nreproachful eyes. \"Don't you understand, Marilla? I've been insulted.\"\n\n\"Insulted fiddlesticks! You'll go to school tomorrow as usual.\"\n\n\"Oh, no.\" Anne shook her head gently. \"I'm not going back, Marilla. I'll\nlearn my lessons at home and I'll be as good as I can be and hold my\ntongue all the time if it's possible at all. But I will not go back to\nschool, I assure you.\"\n\nMarilla saw something remarkably like unyielding stubbornness looking\nout of Anne's small face. She understood that she would have trouble in\novercoming it; but she re-solved wisely to say nothing more just then.\n\"I'll run down and see Rachel about it this evening,\" she thought.\n\"There's no use reasoning with Anne now. She's too worked up and I've\nan idea she can be awful stubborn if she takes the notion. Far as I can\nmake out from her story, Mr. Phillips has been carrying matters with a\nrather high hand. But it would never do to say so to her. I'll just talk\nit over with Rachel. She's sent ten children to school and she ought to\nknow something about it. She'll have heard the whole story, too, by this\ntime.\"\n\nMarilla found Mrs. Lynde knitting quilts as industriously and cheerfully\nas usual.\n\n\"I suppose you know what I've come about,\" she said, a little\nshamefacedly.\n\nMrs. Rachel nodded.\n\n\"About Anne's fuss in school, I reckon,\" she said. \"Tillie Boulter was\nin on her way home from school and told me about it.\" \"I don't know\nwhat to do with her,\" said Marilla. \"She declares she won't go back to\nschool. I never saw a child so worked up. I've been expecting trouble\never since she started to school. I knew things were going too smooth to\nlast. She's so high strung. What would you advise, Rachel?\"\n\n\"Well, since you've asked my advice, Marilla,\" said Mrs. Lynde\namiably--Mrs. Lynde dearly loved to be asked for advice--\"I'd just\nhumor her a little at first, that's what I'd do. It's my belief that\nMr. Phillips was in the wrong. Of course, it doesn't do to say so to the\nchildren, you know. And of course he did right to punish her yesterday\nfor giving way to temper. But today it was different. The others who\nwere late should have been punished as well as Anne, that's what. And I\ndon't believe in making the girls sit with the boys for punishment. It\nisn't modest. Tillie Boulter was real indignant. She took Anne's part\nright through and said all the scholars did too. Anne seems real popular\namong them, somehow. I never thought she'd take with them so well.\"\n\n\"Then you really think I'd better let her stay home,\" said Marilla in\namazement.\n\n\"Yes. That is I wouldn't say school to her again until she said it\nherself. Depend upon it, Marilla, she'll cool off in a week or so and\nbe ready enough to go back of her own accord, that's what, while, if\nyou were to make her go back right off, dear knows what freak or tantrum\nshe'd take next and make more trouble than ever. The less fuss made the\nbetter, in my opinion. She won't miss much by not going to school, as\nfar as THAT goes. Mr. Phillips isn't any good at all as a teacher. The\norder he keeps is scandalous, that's what, and he neglects the young\nfry and puts all his time on those big scholars he's getting ready for\nQueen's. He'd never have got the school for another year if his uncle\nhadn't been a trustee--THE trustee, for he just leads the other two\naround by the nose, that's what. I declare, I don't know what education\nin this Island is coming to.\"\n\nMrs. Rachel shook her head, as much as to say if she were only at the\nhead of the educational system of the Province things would be much\nbetter managed.\n\nMarilla took Mrs. Rachel's advice and not another word was said to Anne\nabout going back to school. She learned her lessons at home, did her\nchores, and played with Diana in the chilly purple autumn twilights;\nbut when she met Gilbert Blythe on the road or encountered him in Sunday\nschool she passed him by with an icy contempt that was no whit thawed by\nhis evident desire to appease her. Even Diana's efforts as a peacemaker\nwere of no avail. Anne had evidently made up her mind to hate Gilbert\nBlythe to the end of life.\n\nAs much as she hated Gilbert, however, did she love Diana, with all the\nlove of her passionate little heart, equally intense in its likes and\ndislikes. One evening Marilla, coming in from the orchard with a basket\nof apples, found Anne sitting along by the east window in the twilight,\ncrying bitterly.\n\n\"Whatever's the matter now, Anne?\" she asked.\n\n\"It's about Diana,\" sobbed Anne luxuriously. \"I love Diana so, Marilla.\nI cannot ever live without her. But I know very well when we grow up\nthat Diana will get married and go away and leave me. And oh, what shall\nI do? I hate her husband--I just hate him furiously. I've been imagining\nit all out--the wedding and everything--Diana dressed in snowy garments,\nwith a veil, and looking as beautiful and regal as a queen; and me the\nbridesmaid, with a lovely dress too, and puffed sleeves, but with a\nbreaking heart hid beneath my smiling face. And then bidding Diana\ngoodbye-e-e--\" Here Anne broke down entirely and wept with increasing\nbitterness.\n\nMarilla turned quickly away to hide her twitching face; but it was no\nuse; she collapsed on the nearest chair and burst into such a hearty and\nunusual peal of laughter that Matthew, crossing the yard outside, halted\nin amazement. When had he heard Marilla laugh like that before?\n\n\"Well, Anne Shirley,\" said Marilla as soon as she could speak, \"if you\nmust borrow trouble, for pity's sake borrow it handier home. I should\nthink you had an imagination, sure enough.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. Diana Is Invited to Tea with Tragic Results\n\n\nOCTOBER was a beautiful month at Green Gables, when the birches in the\nhollow turned as golden as sunshine and the maples behind the orchard\nwere royal crimson and the wild cherry trees along the lane put on the\nloveliest shades of dark red and bronzy green, while the fields sunned\nthemselves in aftermaths.\n\nAnne reveled in the world of color about her.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla,\" she exclaimed one Saturday morning, coming dancing in\nwith her arms full of gorgeous boughs, \"I'm so glad I live in a world\nwhere there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from\nSeptember to November, wouldn't it? Look at these maple branches. Don't\nthey give you a thrill--several thrills? I'm going to decorate my room\nwith them.\"\n\n\"Messy things,\" said Marilla, whose aesthetic sense was not noticeably\ndeveloped. \"You clutter up your room entirely too much with out-of-doors\nstuff, Anne. Bedrooms were made to sleep in.\"\n\n\"Oh, and dream in too, Marilla. And you know one can dream so much\nbetter in a room where there are pretty things. I'm going to put these\nboughs in the old blue jug and set them on my table.\"\n\n\"Mind you don't drop leaves all over the stairs then. I'm going on a\nmeeting of the Aid Society at Carmody this afternoon, Anne, and I won't\nlikely be home before dark. You'll have to get Matthew and Jerry their\nsupper, so mind you don't forget to put the tea to draw until you sit\ndown at the table as you did last time.\"\n\n\"It was dreadful of me to forget,\" said Anne apologetically, \"but that\nwas the afternoon I was trying to think of a name for Violet Vale and it\ncrowded other things out. Matthew was so good. He never scolded a bit.\nHe put the tea down himself and said we could wait awhile as well as\nnot. And I told him a lovely fairy story while we were waiting, so\nhe didn't find the time long at all. It was a beautiful fairy story,\nMarilla. I forgot the end of it, so I made up an end for it myself and\nMatthew said he couldn't tell where the join came in.\"\n\n\"Matthew would think it all right, Anne, if you took a notion to get up\nand have dinner in the middle of the night. But you keep your wits about\nyou this time. And--I don't really know if I'm doing right--it may make\nyou more addlepated than ever--but you can ask Diana to come over and\nspend the afternoon with you and have tea here.\"\n\n\"Oh, Marilla!\" Anne clasped her hands. \"How perfectly lovely! You ARE\nable to imagine things after all or else you'd never have understood how\nI've longed for that very thing. It will seem so nice and grown-uppish.\nNo fear of my forgetting to put the tea to draw when I have company. Oh,\nMarilla, can I use the rosebud spray tea set?\"\n\n\"No, indeed! The rosebud tea set! Well, what next? You know I never use\nthat except for the minister or the Aids. You'll put down the old brown\ntea set. But you can open the little yellow crock of cherry preserves.\nIt's time it was being used anyhow--I believe it's beginning to work.\nAnd you can cut some fruit cake and have some of the cookies and snaps.\"\n\n\"I can just imagine myself sitting down at the head of the table and\npouring out the tea,\" said Anne, shutting her eyes ecstatically. \"And\nasking Diana if she takes sugar! I know she doesn't but of course I'll\nask her just as if I didn't know. And then pressing her to take another\npiece of fruit cake and another helping of preserves. Oh, Marilla, it's\na wonderful sensation just to think of it. Can I take her into the spare\nroom to lay off her hat when she comes? And then into the parlor to\nsit?\"\n\n\"No. The sitting room will do for you and your company. But there's a\nbottle half full of raspberry cordial that was left over from the church\nsocial the other night. It's on the second shelf of the sitting-room\ncloset and you and Diana can have it if you like, and a cooky to eat\nwith it along in the afternoon, for I daresay Matthew'll be late coming\nin to tea since he's hauling potatoes to the vessel.\"\n\nAnne flew down to the hollow, past the Dryad's Bubble and up the spruce\npath to Orchard Slope, to ask Diana to tea. As a result just after\nMarilla had driven off to Carmody, Diana came over, dressed in HER\nsecond-best dress and looking exactly as it is proper to look when asked\nout to tea. At other times she was wont to run into the kitchen without\nknocking; but now she knocked primly at the front door. And when Anne,\ndressed in her second best, as primly opened it, both little girls\nshook hands as gravely as if they had never met before. This unnatural\nsolemnity lasted until after Diana had been taken to the east gable to\nlay off her hat and then had sat for ten minutes in the sitting room,\ntoes in position.\n\n\"How is your mother?\" inquired Anne politely, just as if she had not\nseen Mrs. Barry picking apples that morning in excellent health and\nspirits.\n\n\"She is very well, thank you. I suppose Mr. Cuthbert is hauling potatoes\nto the LILY SANDS this afternoon, is he?\" said Diana, who had ridden\ndown to Mr. Harmon Andrews's that morning in Matthew's cart.\n\n\"Yes. Our potato crop is very good this year. I hope your father's crop\nis good too.\"\n\n\"It is fairly good, thank you. Have you picked many of your apples yet?\"\n\n\"Oh, ever so many,\" said Anne forgetting to be dignified and jumping up\nquickly. \"Let's go out to the orchard and get some of the Red Sweetings,\nDiana. Marilla says we can have all that are left on the tree. Marilla\nis a very generous woman. She said we could have fruit cake and cherry\npreserves for tea. But it isn't good manners to tell your company what\nyou are going to give them to eat, so I won't tell you what she said we\ncould have to drink. Only it begins with an R and a C and it's bright\nred color. I love bright red drinks, don't you? They taste twice as good\nas any other color.\"\n\nThe orchard, with its great sweeping boughs that bent to the ground\nwith fruit, proved so delightful that the little girls spent most of the\nafternoon in it, sitting in a grassy corner where the frost had spared\nthe green and the mellow autumn sunshine lingered warmly, eating apples\nand talking as hard as they could. Diana had much to tell Anne of what\nwent on in school. She had to sit with Gertie Pye and she hated\nit; Gertie squeaked her pencil all the time and it just made\nher--Diana's--blood run cold; Ruby Gillis had charmed all her warts\naway, true's you live, with a magic pebble that old Mary Joe from the\nCreek gave her. You had to rub the warts with the pebble and then throw\nit away over your left shoulder at the time of the new moon and the\nwarts would all go. Charlie Sloane's name was written up with Em White's\non the porch wall and Em White was AWFUL MAD about it; Sam Boulter had\n\"sassed\" Mr. Phillips in class and Mr. Phillips whipped him and Sam's\nfather came down to the school and dared Mr. Phillips to lay a hand on\none of his children again; and Mattie Andrews had a new red hood and a\nblue crossover with tassels on it and the airs she put on about it were\nperfectly sickening; and Lizzie Wright didn't speak to Mamie Wilson\nbecause Mamie Wilson's grown-up sister had cut out Lizzie Wright's\ngrown-up sister with her beau; and everybody missed Anne so and wished\nshe's come to school again; and Gilbert Blythe--\n\nBut Anne didn't want to hear about Gilbert Blythe. She jumped up\nhurriedly and said suppose they go in and have some raspberry cordial.\n\nAnne looked on the second shelf of the room pantry but there was no\nbottle of raspberry cordial there. Search revealed it away back on the\ntop shelf. Anne put it on a tray and set it on the table with a tumbler.\n\n\"Now, please help yourself, Diana,\" she said politely. \"I don't believe\nI'll have any just now. I don't feel as if I wanted any after all those\napples.\"\n\nDiana poured herself out a tumblerful, looked at its bright-red hue\nadmiringly, and then sipped it daintily.\n\n\"That's awfully nice raspberry cordial, Anne,\" she said. \"I didn't know\nraspberry cordial was so nice.\"\n\n\"I'm real glad you like it. Take as much as you want. I'm going to\nrun out and stir the fire up. There are so many responsibilities on a\nperson's mind when they're keeping house, isn't there?\"\n\nWhen Anne came back from the kitchen Diana was drinking her second\nglassful of cordial; and, being entreated thereto by Anne, she offered\nno particular objection to the drinking of a third. The tumblerfuls were\ngenerous ones and the raspberry cordial was certainly very nice.\n\n\"The nicest I ever drank,\" said Diana. \"It's ever so much nicer than\nMrs. Lynde's, although she brags of hers so much. It doesn't taste a bit\nlike hers.\"\n\n\"I should think Marilla's raspberry cordial would prob'ly be much nicer\nthan Mrs. Lynde's,\" said Anne loyally. \"Marilla is a famous cook. She is\ntrying to teach me to cook but I assure you, Diana, it is uphill work.\nThere's so little scope for imagination in cookery. You just have to go\nby rules. The last time I made a cake I forgot to put the flour in. I\nwas thinking the loveliest story about you and me, Diana. I thought you\nwere desperately ill with smallpox and everybody deserted you, but I\nwent boldly to your bedside and nursed you back to life; and then I took\nthe smallpox and died and I was buried under those poplar trees in the\ngraveyard and you planted a rosebush by my grave and watered it with\nyour tears; and you never, never forgot the friend of your youth who\nsacrificed her life for you. Oh, it was such a pathetic tale, Diana.\nThe tears just rained down over my cheeks while I mixed the cake. But\nI forgot the flour and the cake was a dismal failure. Flour is so\nessential to cakes, you know. Marilla was very cross and I don't wonder.\nI'm a great trial to her. She was terribly mortified about the pudding\nsauce last week. We had a plum pudding for dinner on Tuesday and there\nwas half the pudding and a pitcherful of sauce left over. Marilla said\nthere was enough for another dinner and told me to set it on the pantry\nshelf and cover it. I meant to cover it just as much as could be, Diana,\nbut when I carried it in I was imagining I was a nun--of course I'm a\nProtestant but I imagined I was a Catholic--taking the veil to bury a\nbroken heart in cloistered seclusion; and I forgot all about covering\nthe pudding sauce. I thought of it next morning and ran to the pantry.\nDiana, fancy if you can my extreme horror at finding a mouse drowned in\nthat pudding sauce! I lifted the mouse out with a spoon and threw it out\nin the yard and then I washed the spoon in three waters. Marilla was out\nmilking and I fully intended to ask her when she came in if I'd give the\nsauce to the pigs; but when she did come in I was imagining that I was\na frost fairy going through the woods turning the trees red and yellow,\nwhichever they wanted to be, so I never thought about the pudding sauce\nagain and Marilla sent me out to pick apples. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Chester\nRoss from Spencervale came here that morning. You know they are very\nstylish people, especially Mrs. Chester Ross. When Marilla called me in\ndinner was all ready and everybody was at the table. I tried to be as\npolite and dignified as I could be, for I wanted Mrs. Chester Ross to\nthink I was a ladylike little girl even if I wasn't pretty. Everything\nwent right until I saw Marilla coming with the plum pudding in one hand\nand the pitcher of pudding sauce WARMED UP, in the other. Diana, that\nwas a terrible moment. I remembered everything and I just stood up in\nmy place and shrieked out 'Marilla, you mustn't use that pudding sauce.\nThere was a mouse drowned in it. I forgot to tell you before.' Oh,\nDiana, I shall never forget that awful moment if I live to be a hundred.\nMrs. Chester Ross just LOOKED at me and I thought I would sink through\nthe floor with mortification. She is such a perfect housekeeper and\nfancy what she must have thought of us. Marilla turned red as fire but\nshe never said a word--then. She just carried that sauce and pudding out\nand brought in some strawberry preserves. She even offered me some, but\nI couldn't swallow a mouthful. It was like heaping coals of fire on\nmy head. After Mrs. Chester Ross went away, Marilla gave me a dreadful\nscolding. Why, Diana, what is the matter?\"\n\nDiana had stood up very unsteadily; then she sat down again, putting her\nhands to her head.\n\n\"I'm--I'm awful sick,\" she said, a little thickly. \"I--I--must go right\nhome.\"\n\n\"Oh, you mustn't dream of going home without your tea,\" cried Anne in\ndistress. \"I'll get it right off--I'll go and put the tea down this very\nminute.\"\n\n\"I must go home,\" repeated Diana, stupidly but determinedly.\n\n\"Let me get you a lunch anyhow,\" implored Anne. \"Let me give you a bit\nof fruit cake and some of the cherry preserves. Lie down on the sofa for\na little while and you'll be better. Where do you feel bad?\"\n\n\"I must go home,\" said Diana, and that was all she would say. In vain\nAnne pleaded.\n\n\"I never heard of company going home without tea,\" she mourned. \"Oh,\nDiana, do you suppose that it's possible you're really taking the\nsmallpox? If you are I'll go and nurse you, you can depend on that. I'll\nnever forsake you. But I do wish you'd stay till after tea. Where do you\nfeel bad?\"\n\n\"I'm awful dizzy,\" said Diana.\n\nAnd indeed, she walked very dizzily. Anne, with tears of disappointment\nin her eyes, got Diana's hat and went with her as far as the Barry\nyard fence. Then she wept all the way back to Green Gables, where she\nsorrowfully put the remainder of the raspberry cordial back into the\npantry and got tea ready for Matthew and Jerry, with all the zest gone\nout of the performance.\n\nThe next day was Sunday and as the rain poured down in torrents from\ndawn till dusk Anne did not stir abroad from Green Gables. Monday\nafternoon Marilla sent her down to Mrs. Lynde's on an errand. In a very\nshort space of time Anne came flying back up the lane with tears rolling\ndown her cheeks. Into the kitchen she dashed and flung herself face\ndownward on the sofa in an agony.\n\n\"Whatever has gone wrong now, Anne?\" queried Marilla in doubt and\ndismay. \"I do hope you haven't gone and been saucy to Mrs. Lynde again.\"\n\nNo answer from Anne save more tears and stormier sobs!\n\n\"Anne Shirley, when I ask you a question I want to be answered. Sit\nright up this very minute and tell me what you are crying about.\"\n\nAnne sat up, tragedy personified.\n\n\"Mrs. Lynde was up to see Mrs. Barry today and Mrs. Barry was in an\nawful state,\" she wailed. \"She says that I set Diana DRUNK Saturday\nand sent her home in a disgraceful condition. And she says I must be a\nthoroughly bad, wicked little girl and she's never, never going to let\nDiana play with me again. Oh, Marilla, I'm just overcome with woe.\"\n\nMarilla stared in blank amazement.\n\n\"Set Diana drunk!\" she said when she found her voice. \"Anne are you or\nMrs. Barry crazy? What on earth did you give her?\"\n\n\"Not a thing but raspberry cordial,\" sobbed Anne. \"I never thought\nraspberry cordial would set people drunk, Marilla--not even if they\ndrank three big tumblerfuls as Diana did. Oh, it sounds so--so--like\nMrs. Thomas's husband! But I didn't mean to set her drunk.\"\n\n\"Drunk fiddlesticks!\" said Marilla, marching to the sitting room pantry.\nThere on the shelf was a bottle which she at once recognized as one\ncontaining some of her three-year-old homemade currant wine for which\nshe was celebrated in Avonlea, although certain of the stricter sort,\nMrs. Barry among them, disapproved strongly of it. And at the same time\nMarilla recollected that she had put the bottle of raspberry cordial\ndown in the cellar instead of in the pantry as she had told Anne.\n\nShe went back to the kitchen with the wine bottle in her hand. Her face\nwas twitching in spite of herself.\n\n\"Anne, you certainly have a genius for getting into trouble. You went\nand gave Diana currant wine instead of raspberry cordial. Didn't you\nknow the difference yourself?\"\n\n\"I never tasted it,\" said Anne. \"I thought it was the cordial. I meant\nto be so--so--hospitable. Diana got awfully sick and had to go home.\nMrs. Barry told Mrs. Lynde she was simply dead drunk. She just laughed\nsilly-like when her mother asked her what was the matter and went to\nsleep and slept for hours. Her mother smelled her breath and knew she\nwas drunk. She had a fearful headache all day yesterday. Mrs. Barry is\nso indignant. She will never believe but what I did it on purpose.\"\n\n\"I should think she would better punish Diana for being so greedy as to\ndrink three glassfuls of anything,\" said Marilla shortly. \"Why, three\nof those big glasses would have made her sick even if it had only been\ncordial. Well, this story will be a nice handle for those folks who are\nso down on me for making currant wine, although I haven't made any for\nthree years ever since I found out that the minister didn't approve. I\njust kept that bottle for sickness. There, there, child, don't cry. I\ncan't see as you were to blame although I'm sorry it happened so.\"\n\n\"I must cry,\" said Anne. \"My heart is broken. The stars in their courses\nfight against me, Marilla. Diana and I are parted forever. Oh, Marilla,\nI little dreamed of this when first we swore our vows of friendship.\"\n\n\"Don't be foolish, Anne. Mrs. Barry will think better of it when she\nfinds you're not to blame. I suppose she thinks you've done it for a\nsilly joke or something of that sort. You'd best go up this evening and\ntell her how it was.\"\n\n\"My courage fails me at the thought of facing Diana's injured mother,\"\nsighed Anne. \"I wish you'd go, Marilla. You're so much more dignified\nthan I am. Likely she'd listen to you quicker than to me.\"\n\n\"Well, I will,\" said Marilla, reflecting that it would probably be the\nwiser course. \"Don't cry any more, Anne. It will be all right.\"\n\nMarilla had changed her mind about it being all right by the time she\ngot back from Orchard Slope. Anne was watching for her coming and flew\nto the porch door to meet her.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, I know by your face that it's been no use,\" she said\nsorrowfully. \"Mrs. Barry won't forgive me?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Barry indeed!\" snapped Marilla. \"Of all the unreasonable women\nI ever saw she's the worst. I told her it was all a mistake and you\nweren't to blame, but she just simply didn't believe me. And she rubbed\nit well in about my currant wine and how I'd always said it couldn't\nhave the least effect on anybody. I just told her plainly that currant\nwine wasn't meant to be drunk three tumblerfuls at a time and that if a\nchild I had to do with was so greedy I'd sober her up with a right good\nspanking.\"\n\nMarilla whisked into the kitchen, grievously disturbed, leaving a very\nmuch distracted little soul in the porch behind her. Presently Anne\nstepped out bareheaded into the chill autumn dusk; very determinedly and\nsteadily she took her way down through the sere clover field over the\nlog bridge and up through the spruce grove, lighted by a pale little\nmoon hanging low over the western woods. Mrs. Barry, coming to the door\nin answer to a timid knock, found a white-lipped eager-eyed suppliant on\nthe doorstep.\n\nHer face hardened. Mrs. Barry was a woman of strong prejudices and\ndislikes, and her anger was of the cold, sullen sort which is always\nhardest to overcome. To do her justice, she really believed Anne had\nmade Diana drunk out of sheer malice prepense, and she was honestly\nanxious to preserve her little daughter from the contamination of\nfurther intimacy with such a child.\n\n\"What do you want?\" she said stiffly.\n\nAnne clasped her hands.\n\n\"Oh, Mrs. Barry, please forgive me. I did not mean to--to--intoxicate\nDiana. How could I? Just imagine if you were a poor little orphan girl\nthat kind people had adopted and you had just one bosom friend in all\nthe world. Do you think you would intoxicate her on purpose? I thought\nit was only raspberry cordial. I was firmly convinced it was raspberry\ncordial. Oh, please don't say that you won't let Diana play with me any\nmore. If you do you will cover my life with a dark cloud of woe.\"\n\nThis speech which would have softened good Mrs. Lynde's heart in a\ntwinkling, had no effect on Mrs. Barry except to irritate her still\nmore. She was suspicious of Anne's big words and dramatic gestures and\nimagined that the child was making fun of her. So she said, coldly and\ncruelly:\n\n\"I don't think you are a fit little girl for Diana to associate with.\nYou'd better go home and behave yourself.\"\n\nAnne's lips quivered.\n\n\"Won't you let me see Diana just once to say farewell?\" she implored.\n\n\"Diana has gone over to Carmody with her father,\" said Mrs. Barry, going\nin and shutting the door.\n\nAnne went back to Green Gables calm with despair.\n\n\"My last hope is gone,\" she told Marilla. \"I went up and saw Mrs. Barry\nmyself and she treated me very insultingly. Marilla, I do NOT think she\nis a well-bred woman. There is nothing more to do except to pray and I\nhaven't much hope that that'll do much good because, Marilla, I do not\nbelieve that God Himself can do very much with such an obstinate person\nas Mrs. Barry.\"\n\n\"Anne, you shouldn't say such things\" rebuked Marilla, striving to\novercome that unholy tendency to laughter which she was dismayed to find\ngrowing upon her. And indeed, when she told the whole story to Matthew\nthat night, she did laugh heartily over Anne's tribulations.\n\nBut when she slipped into the east gable before going to bed and found\nthat Anne had cried herself to sleep an unaccustomed softness crept into\nher face.\n\n\"Poor little soul,\" she murmured, lifting a loose curl of hair from the\nchild's tear-stained face. Then she bent down and kissed the flushed\ncheek on the pillow.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. A New Interest in Life\n\nTHE next afternoon Anne, bending over her patchwork at the kitchen\nwindow, happened to glance out and beheld Diana down by the Dryad's\nBubble beckoning mysteriously. In a trice Anne was out of the house\nand flying down to the hollow, astonishment and hope struggling in\nher expressive eyes. But the hope faded when she saw Diana's dejected\ncountenance.\n\n\"Your mother hasn't relented?\" she gasped.\n\nDiana shook her head mournfully.\n\n\"No; and oh, Anne, she says I'm never to play with you again. I've cried\nand cried and I told her it wasn't your fault, but it wasn't any use. I\nhad ever such a time coaxing her to let me come down and say good-bye to\nyou. She said I was only to stay ten minutes and she's timing me by the\nclock.\"\n\n\"Ten minutes isn't very long to say an eternal farewell in,\" said Anne\ntearfully. \"Oh, Diana, will you promise faithfully never to forget\nme, the friend of your youth, no matter what dearer friends may caress\nthee?\"\n\n\"Indeed I will,\" sobbed Diana, \"and I'll never have another bosom\nfriend--I don't want to have. I couldn't love anybody as I love you.\"\n\n\"Oh, Diana,\" cried Anne, clasping her hands, \"do you LOVE me?\"\n\n\"Why, of course I do. Didn't you know that?\"\n\n\"No.\" Anne drew a long breath. \"I thought you LIKED me of course but I\nnever hoped you LOVED me. Why, Diana, I didn't think anybody could\nlove me. Nobody ever has loved me since I can remember. Oh, this is\nwonderful! It's a ray of light which will forever shine on the darkness\nof a path severed from thee, Diana. Oh, just say it once again.\"\n\n\"I love you devotedly, Anne,\" said Diana stanchly, \"and I always will,\nyou may be sure of that.\"\n\n\"And I will always love thee, Diana,\" said Anne, solemnly extending her\nhand. \"In the years to come thy memory will shine like a star over my\nlonely life, as that last story we read together says. Diana, wilt\nthou give me a lock of thy jet-black tresses in parting to treasure\nforevermore?\"\n\n\"Have you got anything to cut it with?\" queried Diana, wiping away the\ntears which Anne's affecting accents had caused to flow afresh, and\nreturning to practicalities.\n\n\"Yes. I've got my patchwork scissors in my apron pocket fortunately,\"\nsaid Anne. She solemnly clipped one of Diana's curls. \"Fare thee well,\nmy beloved friend. Henceforth we must be as strangers though living side\nby side. But my heart will ever be faithful to thee.\"\n\nAnne stood and watched Diana out of sight, mournfully waving her hand\nto the latter whenever she turned to look back. Then she returned to\nthe house, not a little consoled for the time being by this romantic\nparting.\n\n\"It is all over,\" she informed Marilla. \"I shall never have another\nfriend. I'm really worse off than ever before, for I haven't Katie\nMaurice and Violetta now. And even if I had it wouldn't be the same.\nSomehow, little dream girls are not satisfying after a real friend.\nDiana and I had such an affecting farewell down by the spring. It will\nbe sacred in my memory forever. I used the most pathetic language I\ncould think of and said 'thou' and 'thee.' 'Thou' and 'thee' seem so\nmuch more romantic than 'you.' Diana gave me a lock of her hair and I'm\ngoing to sew it up in a little bag and wear it around my neck all my\nlife. Please see that it is buried with me, for I don't believe I'll\nlive very long. Perhaps when she sees me lying cold and dead before her\nMrs. Barry may feel remorse for what she has done and will let Diana\ncome to my funeral.\"\n\n\"I don't think there is much fear of your dying of grief as long as you\ncan talk, Anne,\" said Marilla unsympathetically.\n\nThe following Monday Anne surprised Marilla by coming down from her room\nwith her basket of books on her arm and hip and her lips primmed up into\na line of determination.\n\n\"I'm going back to school,\" she announced. \"That is all there is left\nin life for me, now that my friend has been ruthlessly torn from me. In\nschool I can look at her and muse over days departed.\"\n\n\"You'd better muse over your lessons and sums,\" said Marilla, concealing\nher delight at this development of the situation. \"If you're going back\nto school I hope we'll hear no more of breaking slates over people's\nheads and such carryings on. Behave yourself and do just what your\nteacher tells you.\"\n\n\"I'll try to be a model pupil,\" agreed Anne dolefully. \"There won't be\nmuch fun in it, I expect. Mr. Phillips said Minnie Andrews was a model\npupil and there isn't a spark of imagination or life in her. She is\njust dull and poky and never seems to have a good time. But I feel so\ndepressed that perhaps it will come easy to me now. I'm going round by\nthe road. I couldn't bear to go by the Birch Path all alone. I should\nweep bitter tears if I did.\"\n\nAnne was welcomed back to school with open arms. Her imagination had\nbeen sorely missed in games, her voice in the singing and her dramatic\nability in the perusal aloud of books at dinner hour. Ruby Gillis\nsmuggled three blue plums over to her during testament reading; Ella May\nMacPherson gave her an enormous yellow pansy cut from the covers of a\nfloral catalogue--a species of desk decoration much prized in Avonlea\nschool. Sophia Sloane offered to teach her a perfectly elegant new\npattern of knit lace, so nice for trimming aprons. Katie Boulter gave\nher a perfume bottle to keep slate water in, and Julia Bell copied\ncarefully on a piece of pale pink paper scalloped on the edges the\nfollowing effusion:\n\n\n  When twilight drops her curtain down\n  And pins it with a star\n  Remember that you have a friend\n  Though she may wander far.\n\n\n\"It's so nice to be appreciated,\" sighed Anne rapturously to Marilla\nthat night.\n\nThe girls were not the only scholars who \"appreciated\" her. When Anne\nwent to her seat after dinner hour--she had been told by Mr. Phillips to\nsit with the model Minnie Andrews--she found on her desk a big luscious\n\"strawberry apple.\" Anne caught it up all ready to take a bite when she\nremembered that the only place in Avonlea where strawberry apples grew\nwas in the old Blythe orchard on the other side of the Lake of Shining\nWaters. Anne dropped the apple as if it were a red-hot coal and\nostentatiously wiped her fingers on her handkerchief. The apple lay\nuntouched on her desk until the next morning, when little Timothy\nAndrews, who swept the school and kindled the fire, annexed it as one\nof his perquisites. Charlie Sloane's slate pencil, gorgeously bedizened\nwith striped red and yellow paper, costing two cents where ordinary\npencils cost only one, which he sent up to her after dinner hour, met\nwith a more favorable reception. Anne was graciously pleased to accept\nit and rewarded the donor with a smile which exalted that infatuated\nyouth straightway into the seventh heaven of delight and caused him to\nmake such fearful errors in his dictation that Mr. Phillips kept him in\nafter school to rewrite it.\n\nBut as,\n\n\n  The Caesar's pageant shorn of Brutus' bust\n  Did but of Rome's best son remind her more,\n\n\nso the marked absence of any tribute or recognition from Diana Barry who\nwas sitting with Gertie Pye embittered Anne's little triumph.\n\n\"Diana might just have smiled at me once, I think,\" she mourned to\nMarilla that night. But the next morning a note most fearfully and\nwonderfully twisted and folded, and a small parcel were passed across to\nAnne.\n\nDear Anne (ran the former)\n\n\nMother says I'm not to play with you or talk to you even in school. It\nisn't my fault and don't be cross at me, because I love you as much\nas ever. I miss you awfully to tell all my secrets to and I don't like\nGertie Pye one bit. I made you one of the new bookmarkers out of red\ntissue paper. They are awfully fashionable now and only three girls in\nschool know how to make them. When you look at it remember\n\nYour true friend\n\nDiana Barry.\n\n\nAnne read the note, kissed the bookmark, and dispatched a prompt reply\nback to the other side of the school.\n\n\nMy own darling Diana:--\n\nOf course I am not cross at you because you have to obey your mother.\nOur spirits can commune. I shall keep your lovely present forever.\nMinnie Andrews is a very nice little girl--although she has no\nimagination--but after having been Diana's busum friend I cannot be\nMinnie's. Please excuse mistakes because my spelling isn't very good\nyet, although much improoved.\n\nYours until death us do part\n\nAnne or Cordelia Shirley.\n\n\nP.S. I shall sleep with your letter under my pillow tonight. A. OR C.S.\n\n\nMarilla pessimistically expected more trouble since Anne had again begun\nto go to school. But none developed. Perhaps Anne caught something of\nthe \"model\" spirit from Minnie Andrews; at least she got on very well\nwith Mr. Phillips thenceforth. She flung herself into her studies heart\nand soul, determined not to be outdone in any class by Gilbert Blythe.\nThe rivalry between them was soon apparent; it was entirely good natured\non Gilbert's side; but it is much to be feared that the same thing\ncannot be said of Anne, who had certainly an unpraiseworthy tenacity for\nholding grudges. She was as intense in her hatreds as in her loves. She\nwould not stoop to admit that she meant to rival Gilbert in schoolwork,\nbecause that would have been to acknowledge his existence which Anne\npersistently ignored; but the rivalry was there and honors fluctuated\nbetween them. Now Gilbert was head of the spelling class; now Anne, with\na toss of her long red braids, spelled him down. One morning Gilbert had\nall his sums done correctly and had his name written on the blackboard\non the roll of honor; the next morning Anne, having wrestled wildly with\ndecimals the entire evening before, would be first. One awful day they\nwere ties and their names were written up together. It was almost as bad\nas a take-notice and Anne's mortification was as evident as Gilbert's\nsatisfaction. When the written examinations at the end of each month\nwere held the suspense was terrible. The first month Gilbert came out\nthree marks ahead. The second Anne beat him by five. But her triumph was\nmarred by the fact that Gilbert congratulated her heartily before the\nwhole school. It would have been ever so much sweeter to her if he had\nfelt the sting of his defeat.\n\nMr. Phillips might not be a very good teacher; but a pupil so inflexibly\ndetermined on learning as Anne was could hardly escape making progress\nunder any kind of teacher. By the end of the term Anne and Gilbert were\nboth promoted into the fifth class and allowed to begin studying the\nelements of \"the branches\"--by which Latin, geometry, French, and\nalgebra were meant. In geometry Anne met her Waterloo.\n\n\"It's perfectly awful stuff, Marilla,\" she groaned. \"I'm sure I'll never\nbe able to make head or tail of it. There is no scope for imagination in\nit at all. Mr. Phillips says I'm the worst dunce he ever saw at it.\nAnd Gil--I mean some of the others are so smart at it. It is extremely\nmortifying, Marilla.\n\n\"Even Diana gets along better than I do. But I don't mind being beaten\nby Diana. Even although we meet as strangers now I still love her with\nan INEXTINGUISHABLE love. It makes me very sad at times to think about\nher. But really, Marilla, one can't stay sad very long in such an\ninteresting world, can one?\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. Anne to the Rescue\n\nALL things great are wound up with all things little. At first glance\nit might not seem that the decision of a certain Canadian Premier to\ninclude Prince Edward Island in a political tour could have much or\nanything to do with the fortunes of little Anne Shirley at Green Gables.\nBut it had.\n\nIt was a January the Premier came, to address his loyal supporters and\nsuch of his nonsupporters as chose to be present at the monster mass\nmeeting held in Charlottetown. Most of the Avonlea people were on\nPremier's side of politics; hence on the night of the meeting nearly\nall the men and a goodly proportion of the women had gone to town thirty\nmiles away. Mrs. Rachel Lynde had gone too. Mrs. Rachel Lynde was a\nred-hot politician and couldn't have believed that the political rally\ncould be carried through without her, although she was on the opposite\nside of politics. So she went to town and took her husband--Thomas would\nbe useful in looking after the horse--and Marilla Cuthbert with her.\nMarilla had a sneaking interest in politics herself, and as she thought\nit might be her only chance to see a real live Premier, she promptly\ntook it, leaving Anne and Matthew to keep house until her return the\nfollowing day.\n\nHence, while Marilla and Mrs. Rachel were enjoying themselves hugely\nat the mass meeting, Anne and Matthew had the cheerful kitchen at Green\nGables all to themselves. A bright fire was glowing in the old-fashioned\nWaterloo stove and blue-white frost crystals were shining on the\nwindowpanes. Matthew nodded over a FARMERS' ADVOCATE on the sofa and\nAnne at the table studied her lessons with grim determination, despite\nsundry wistful glances at the clock shelf, where lay a new book that\nJane Andrews had lent her that day. Jane had assured her that it was\nwarranted to produce any number of thrills, or words to that effect, and\nAnne's fingers tingled to reach out for it. But that would mean Gilbert\nBlythe's triumph on the morrow. Anne turned her back on the clock shelf\nand tried to imagine it wasn't there.\n\n\"Matthew, did you ever study geometry when you went to school?\"\n\n\"Well now, no, I didn't,\" said Matthew, coming out of his doze with a\nstart.\n\n\"I wish you had,\" sighed Anne, \"because then you'd be able to sympathize\nwith me. You can't sympathize properly if you've never studied it. It is\ncasting a cloud over my whole life. I'm such a dunce at it, Matthew.\"\n\n\"Well now, I dunno,\" said Matthew soothingly. \"I guess you're all right\nat anything. Mr. Phillips told me last week in Blair's store at Carmody\nthat you was the smartest scholar in school and was making rapid\nprogress. 'Rapid progress' was his very words. There's them as runs down\nTeddy Phillips and says he ain't much of a teacher, but I guess he's all\nright.\"\n\nMatthew would have thought anyone who praised Anne was \"all right.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I'd get on better with geometry if only he wouldn't change\nthe letters,\" complained Anne. \"I learn the proposition off by heart and\nthen he draws it on the blackboard and puts different letters from what\nare in the book and I get all mixed up. I don't think a teacher should\ntake such a mean advantage, do you? We're studying agriculture now and\nI've found out at last what makes the roads red. It's a great comfort.\nI wonder how Marilla and Mrs. Lynde are enjoying themselves. Mrs. Lynde\nsays Canada is going to the dogs the way things are being run at Ottawa\nand that it's an awful warning to the electors. She says if women were\nallowed to vote we would soon see a blessed change. What way do you\nvote, Matthew?\"\n\n\"Conservative,\" said Matthew promptly. To vote Conservative was part of\nMatthew's religion.\n\n\"Then I'm Conservative too,\" said Anne decidedly. \"I'm glad because\nGil--because some of the boys in school are Grits. I guess Mr. Phillips\nis a Grit too because Prissy Andrews's father is one, and Ruby Gillis\nsays that when a man is courting he always has to agree with the girl's\nmother in religion and her father in politics. Is that true, Matthew?\"\n\n\"Well now, I dunno,\" said Matthew.\n\n\"Did you ever go courting, Matthew?\"\n\n\"Well now, no, I dunno's I ever did,\" said Matthew, who had certainly\nnever thought of such a thing in his whole existence.\n\nAnne reflected with her chin in her hands.\n\n\"It must be rather interesting, don't you think, Matthew? Ruby Gillis\nsays when she grows up she's going to have ever so many beaus on the\nstring and have them all crazy about her; but I think that would be too\nexciting. I'd rather have just one in his right mind. But Ruby Gillis\nknows a great deal about such matters because she has so many big\nsisters, and Mrs. Lynde says the Gillis girls have gone off like hot\ncakes. Mr. Phillips goes up to see Prissy Andrews nearly every evening.\nHe says it is to help her with her lessons but Miranda Sloane is\nstudying for Queen's too, and I should think she needed help a lot more\nthan Prissy because she's ever so much stupider, but he never goes to\nhelp her in the evenings at all. There are a great many things in this\nworld that I can't understand very well, Matthew.\"\n\n\"Well now, I dunno as I comprehend them all myself,\" acknowledged\nMatthew.\n\n\"Well, I suppose I must finish up my lessons. I won't allow myself to\nopen that new book Jane lent me until I'm through. But it's a terrible\ntemptation, Matthew. Even when I turn my back on it I can see it there\njust as plain. Jane said she cried herself sick over it. I love a book\nthat makes me cry. But I think I'll carry that book into the sitting\nroom and lock it in the jam closet and give you the key. And you must\nNOT give it to me, Matthew, until my lessons are done, not even if\nI implore you on my bended knees. It's all very well to say resist\ntemptation, but it's ever so much easier to resist it if you can't get\nthe key. And then shall I run down the cellar and get some russets,\nMatthew? Wouldn't you like some russets?\"\n\n\"Well now, I dunno but what I would,\" said Matthew, who never ate\nrussets but knew Anne's weakness for them.\n\nJust as Anne emerged triumphantly from the cellar with her plateful of\nrussets came the sound of flying footsteps on the icy board walk outside\nand the next moment the kitchen door was flung open and in rushed Diana\nBarry, white faced and breathless, with a shawl wrapped hastily around\nher head. Anne promptly let go of her candle and plate in her surprise,\nand plate, candle, and apples crashed together down the cellar ladder\nand were found at the bottom embedded in melted grease, the next day,\nby Marilla, who gathered them up and thanked mercy the house hadn't been\nset on fire.\n\n\"Whatever is the matter, Diana?\" cried Anne. \"Has your mother relented\nat last?\"\n\n\"Oh, Anne, do come quick,\" implored Diana nervously. \"Minnie May is\nawful sick--she's got croup. Young Mary Joe says--and Father and Mother\nare away to town and there's nobody to go for the doctor. Minnie May is\nawful bad and Young Mary Joe doesn't know what to do--and oh, Anne, I'm\nso scared!\"\n\nMatthew, without a word, reached out for cap and coat, slipped past\nDiana and away into the darkness of the yard.\n\n\"He's gone to harness the sorrel mare to go to Carmody for the doctor,\"\nsaid Anne, who was hurrying on hood and jacket. \"I know it as well as\nif he'd said so. Matthew and I are such kindred spirits I can read his\nthoughts without words at all.\"\n\n\"I don't believe he'll find the doctor at Carmody,\" sobbed Diana. \"I\nknow that Dr. Blair went to town and I guess Dr. Spencer would go too.\nYoung Mary Joe never saw anybody with croup and Mrs. Lynde is away. Oh,\nAnne!\"\n\n\"Don't cry, Di,\" said Anne cheerily. \"I know exactly what to do for\ncroup. You forget that Mrs. Hammond had twins three times. When you look\nafter three pairs of twins you naturally get a lot of experience. They\nall had croup regularly. Just wait till I get the ipecac bottle--you\nmayn't have any at your house. Come on now.\"\n\nThe two little girls hastened out hand in hand and hurried through\nLover's Lane and across the crusted field beyond, for the snow was too\ndeep to go by the shorter wood way. Anne, although sincerely sorry\nfor Minnie May, was far from being insensible to the romance of the\nsituation and to the sweetness of once more sharing that romance with a\nkindred spirit.\n\nThe night was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of snowy\nslope; big stars were shining over the silent fields; here and there the\ndark pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and the\nwind whistling through them. Anne thought it was truly delightful to go\nskimming through all this mystery and loveliness with your bosom friend\nwho had been so long estranged.\n\nMinnie May, aged three, was really very sick. She lay on the kitchen\nsofa feverish and restless, while her hoarse breathing could be heard\nall over the house. Young Mary Joe, a buxom, broad-faced French girl\nfrom the creek, whom Mrs. Barry had engaged to stay with the children\nduring her absence, was helpless and bewildered, quite incapable of\nthinking what to do, or doing it if she thought of it.\n\nAnne went to work with skill and promptness.\n\n\"Minnie May has croup all right; she's pretty bad, but I've seen them\nworse. First we must have lots of hot water. I declare, Diana, there\nisn't more than a cupful in the kettle! There, I've filled it up, and,\nMary Joe, you may put some wood in the stove. I don't want to hurt your\nfeelings but it seems to me you might have thought of this before if\nyou'd any imagination. Now, I'll undress Minnie May and put her to bed\nand you try to find some soft flannel cloths, Diana. I'm going to give\nher a dose of ipecac first of all.\"\n\nMinnie May did not take kindly to the ipecac but Anne had not brought up\nthree pairs of twins for nothing. Down that ipecac went, not only once,\nbut many times during the long, anxious night when the two little girls\nworked patiently over the suffering Minnie May, and Young Mary Joe,\nhonestly anxious to do all she could, kept up a roaring fire and heated\nmore water than would have been needed for a hospital of croupy babies.\n\nIt was three o'clock when Matthew came with a doctor, for he had been\nobliged to go all the way to Spencervale for one. But the pressing need\nfor assistance was past. Minnie May was much better and was sleeping\nsoundly.\n\n\"I was awfully near giving up in despair,\" explained Anne. \"She got\nworse and worse until she was sicker than ever the Hammond twins were,\neven the last pair. I actually thought she was going to choke to death.\nI gave her every drop of ipecac in that bottle and when the last dose\nwent down I said to myself--not to Diana or Young Mary Joe, because I\ndidn't want to worry them any more than they were worried, but I had\nto say it to myself just to relieve my feelings--'This is the last\nlingering hope and I fear, tis a vain one.' But in about three minutes\nshe coughed up the phlegm and began to get better right away. You must\njust imagine my relief, doctor, because I can't express it in words. You\nknow there are some things that cannot be expressed in words.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" nodded the doctor. He looked at Anne as if he were\nthinking some things about her that couldn't be expressed in words.\nLater on, however, he expressed them to Mr. and Mrs. Barry.\n\n\"That little redheaded girl they have over at Cuthbert's is as smart as\nthey make 'em. I tell you she saved that baby's life, for it would have\nbeen too late by the time I got there. She seems to have a skill and\npresence of mind perfectly wonderful in a child of her age. I never saw\nanything like the eyes of her when she was explaining the case to me.\"\n\nAnne had gone home in the wonderful, white-frosted winter morning, heavy\neyed from loss of sleep, but still talking unweariedly to Matthew as\nthey crossed the long white field and walked under the glittering fairy\narch of the Lover's Lane maples.\n\n\"Oh, Matthew, isn't it a wonderful morning? The world looks like\nsomething God had just imagined for His own pleasure, doesn't it? Those\ntrees look as if I could blow them away with a breath--pouf! I'm so glad\nI live in a world where there are white frosts, aren't you? And I'm so\nglad Mrs. Hammond had three pairs of twins after all. If she hadn't I\nmightn't have known what to do for Minnie May. I'm real sorry I was\never cross with Mrs. Hammond for having twins. But, oh, Matthew, I'm so\nsleepy. I can't go to school. I just know I couldn't keep my eyes open\nand I'd be so stupid. But I hate to stay home, for Gil--some of\nthe others will get head of the class, and it's so hard to get up\nagain--although of course the harder it is the more satisfaction you\nhave when you do get up, haven't you?\"\n\n\"Well now, I guess you'll manage all right,\" said Matthew, looking at\nAnne's white little face and the dark shadows under her eyes. \"You just\ngo right to bed and have a good sleep. I'll do all the chores.\"\n\nAnne accordingly went to bed and slept so long and soundly that it\nwas well on in the white and rosy winter afternoon when she awoke and\ndescended to the kitchen where Marilla, who had arrived home in the\nmeantime, was sitting knitting.\n\n\"Oh, did you see the Premier?\" exclaimed Anne at once. \"What did he look\nlike Marilla?\"\n\n\"Well, he never got to be Premier on account of his looks,\" said\nMarilla. \"Such a nose as that man had! But he can speak. I was proud of\nbeing a Conservative. Rachel Lynde, of course, being a Liberal, had no\nuse for him. Your dinner is in the oven, Anne, and you can get yourself\nsome blue plum preserve out of the pantry. I guess you're hungry.\nMatthew has been telling me about last night. I must say it was\nfortunate you knew what to do. I wouldn't have had any idea myself, for\nI never saw a case of croup. There now, never mind talking till you've\nhad your dinner. I can tell by the look of you that you're just full up\nwith speeches, but they'll keep.\"\n\nMarilla had something to tell Anne, but she did not tell it just then\nfor she knew if she did Anne's consequent excitement would lift her\nclear out of the region of such material matters as appetite or dinner.\nNot until Anne had finished her saucer of blue plums did Marilla say:\n\n\"Mrs. Barry was here this afternoon, Anne. She wanted to see you, but I\nwouldn't wake you up. She says you saved Minnie May's life, and she is\nvery sorry she acted as she did in that affair of the currant wine. She\nsays she knows now you didn't mean to set Diana drunk, and she hopes\nyou'll forgive her and be good friends with Diana again. You're to go\nover this evening if you like for Diana can't stir outside the door\non account of a bad cold she caught last night. Now, Anne Shirley, for\npity's sake don't fly up into the air.\"\n\nThe warning seemed not unnecessary, so uplifted and aerial was Anne's\nexpression and attitude as she sprang to her feet, her face irradiated\nwith the flame of her spirit.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, can I go right now--without washing my dishes? I'll wash\nthem when I come back, but I cannot tie myself down to anything so\nunromantic as dishwashing at this thrilling moment.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, run along,\" said Marilla indulgently. \"Anne Shirley--are you\ncrazy? Come back this instant and put something on you. I might as well\ncall to the wind. She's gone without a cap or wrap. Look at her tearing\nthrough the orchard with her hair streaming. It'll be a mercy if she\ndoesn't catch her death of cold.\"\n\nAnne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowy\nplaces. Afar in the southwest was the great shimmering, pearl-like\nsparkle of an evening star in a sky that was pale golden and ethereal\nrose over gleaming white spaces and dark glens of spruce. The tinkles\nof sleigh bells among the snowy hills came like elfin chimes through\nthe frosty air, but their music was not sweeter than the song in Anne's\nheart and on her lips.\n\n\"You see before you a perfectly happy person, Marilla,\" she announced.\n\"I'm perfectly happy--yes, in spite of my red hair. Just at present I\nhave a soul above red hair. Mrs. Barry kissed me and cried and said she\nwas so sorry and she could never repay me. I felt fearfully embarrassed,\nMarilla, but I just said as politely as I could, 'I have no hard\nfeelings for you, Mrs. Barry. I assure you once for all that I did not\nmean to intoxicate Diana and henceforth I shall cover the past with the\nmantle of oblivion.' That was a pretty dignified way of speaking wasn't\nit, Marilla?\"\n\n\"I felt that I was heaping coals of fire on Mrs. Barry's head. And Diana\nand I had a lovely afternoon. Diana showed me a new fancy crochet stitch\nher aunt over at Carmody taught her. Not a soul in Avonlea knows it but\nus, and we pledged a solemn vow never to reveal it to anyone else. Diana\ngave me a beautiful card with a wreath of roses on it and a verse of\npoetry:\n\n\n      \"If you love me as I love you\n      Nothing but death can part us two.\n\n\n\"And that is true, Marilla. We're going to ask Mr. Phillips to let us sit\ntogether in school again, and Gertie Pye can go with Minnie Andrews. We\nhad an elegant tea. Mrs. Barry had the very best china set out, Marilla,\njust as if I was real company. I can't tell you what a thrill it gave\nme. Nobody ever used their very best china on my account before. And we\nhad fruit cake and pound cake and doughnuts and two kinds of preserves,\nMarilla. And Mrs. Barry asked me if I took tea and said 'Pa, why don't\nyou pass the biscuits to Anne?' It must be lovely to be grown up,\nMarilla, when just being treated as if you were is so nice.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" said Marilla, with a brief sigh.\n\n\"Well, anyway, when I am grown up,\" said Anne decidedly, \"I'm always\ngoing to talk to little girls as if they were too, and I'll never laugh\nwhen they use big words. I know from sorrowful experience how that hurts\none's feelings. After tea Diana and I made taffy. The taffy wasn't very\ngood, I suppose because neither Diana nor I had ever made any before.\nDiana left me to stir it while she buttered the plates and I forgot and\nlet it burn; and then when we set it out on the platform to cool the cat\nwalked over one plate and that had to be thrown away. But the making of\nit was splendid fun. Then when I came home Mrs. Barry asked me to come\nover as often as I could and Diana stood at the window and threw kisses\nto me all the way down to Lover's Lane. I assure you, Marilla, that I\nfeel like praying tonight and I'm going to think out a special brand-new\nprayer in honor of the occasion.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX. A Concert a Catastrophe and a Confession\n\n\"MARILLA, can I go over to see Diana just for a minute?\" asked Anne,\nrunning breathlessly down from the east gable one February evening.\n\n\"I don't see what you want to be traipsing about after dark for,\" said\nMarilla shortly. \"You and Diana walked home from school together and\nthen stood down there in the snow for half an hour more, your tongues\ngoing the whole blessed time, clickety-clack. So I don't think you're\nvery badly off to see her again.\"\n\n\"But she wants to see me,\" pleaded Anne. \"She has something very\nimportant to tell me.\"\n\n\"How do you know she has?\"\n\n\"Because she just signaled to me from her window. We have arranged a\nway to signal with our candles and cardboard. We set the candle on the\nwindow sill and make flashes by passing the cardboard back and forth. So\nmany flashes mean a certain thing. It was my idea, Marilla.\"\n\n\"I'll warrant you it was,\" said Marilla emphatically. \"And the next\nthing you'll be setting fire to the curtains with your signaling\nnonsense.\"\n\n\"Oh, we're very careful, Marilla. And it's so interesting. Two flashes\nmean, 'Are you there?' Three mean 'yes' and four 'no.' Five mean, 'Come\nover as soon as possible, because I have something important to reveal.'\nDiana has just signaled five flashes, and I'm really suffering to know\nwhat it is.\"\n\n\"Well, you needn't suffer any longer,\" said Marilla sarcastically. \"You\ncan go, but you're to be back here in just ten minutes, remember that.\"\n\nAnne did remember it and was back in the stipulated time, although\nprobably no mortal will ever know just what it cost her to confine the\ndiscussion of Diana's important communication within the limits of ten\nminutes. But at least she had made good use of them.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, what do you think? You know tomorrow is Diana's birthday.\nWell, her mother told her she could ask me to go home with her from\nschool and stay all night with her. And her cousins are coming over from\nNewbridge in a big pung sleigh to go to the Debating Club concert at\nthe hall tomorrow night. And they are going to take Diana and me to the\nconcert--if you'll let me go, that is. You will, won't you, Marilla? Oh,\nI feel so excited.\"\n\n\"You can calm down then, because you're not going. You're better at home\nin your own bed, and as for that club concert, it's all nonsense, and\nlittle girls should not be allowed to go out to such places at all.\"\n\n\"I'm sure the Debating Club is a most respectable affair,\" pleaded Anne.\n\n\"I'm not saying it isn't. But you're not going to begin gadding about\nto concerts and staying out all hours of the night. Pretty doings for\nchildren. I'm surprised at Mrs. Barry's letting Diana go.\"\n\n\"But it's such a very special occasion,\" mourned Anne, on the verge of\ntears. \"Diana has only one birthday in a year. It isn't as if birthdays\nwere common things, Marilla. Prissy Andrews is going to recite 'Curfew\nMust Not Ring Tonight.' That is such a good moral piece, Marilla, I'm\nsure it would do me lots of good to hear it. And the choir are going to\nsing four lovely pathetic songs that are pretty near as good as hymns.\nAnd oh, Marilla, the minister is going to take part; yes, indeed, he is;\nhe's going to give an address. That will be just about the same thing as\na sermon. Please, mayn't I go, Marilla?\"\n\n\"You heard what I said, Anne, didn't you? Take off your boots now and go\nto bed. It's past eight.\"\n\n\"There's just one more thing, Marilla,\" said Anne, with the air of\nproducing the last shot in her locker. \"Mrs. Barry told Diana that we\nmight sleep in the spare-room bed. Think of the honor of your little\nAnne being put in the spare-room bed.\"\n\n\"It's an honor you'll have to get along without. Go to bed, Anne, and\ndon't let me hear another word out of you.\"\n\nWhen Anne, with tears rolling over her cheeks, had gone sorrowfully\nupstairs, Matthew, who had been apparently sound asleep on the lounge\nduring the whole dialogue, opened his eyes and said decidedly:\n\n\"Well now, Marilla, I think you ought to let Anne go.\"\n\n\"I don't then,\" retorted Marilla. \"Who's bringing this child up,\nMatthew, you or me?\"\n\n\"Well now, you,\" admitted Matthew.\n\n\"Don't interfere then.\"\n\n\"Well now, I ain't interfering. It ain't interfering to have your own\nopinion. And my opinion is that you ought to let Anne go.\"\n\n\"You'd think I ought to let Anne go to the moon if she took the notion,\nI've no doubt\" was Marilla's amiable rejoinder. \"I might have let her\nspend the night with Diana, if that was all. But I don't approve of this\nconcert plan. She'd go there and catch cold like as not, and have her\nhead filled up with nonsense and excitement. It would unsettle her for\na week. I understand that child's disposition and what's good for it\nbetter than you, Matthew.\"\n\n\"I think you ought to let Anne go,\" repeated Matthew firmly. Argument\nwas not his strong point, but holding fast to his opinion certainly was.\nMarilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took refuge in silence. The\nnext morning, when Anne was washing the breakfast dishes in the pantry,\nMatthew paused on his way out to the barn to say to Marilla again:\n\n\"I think you ought to let Anne go, Marilla.\"\n\nFor a moment Marilla looked things not lawful to be uttered. Then she\nyielded to the inevitable and said tartly:\n\n\"Very well, she can go, since nothing else'll please you.\"\n\nAnne flew out of the pantry, dripping dishcloth in hand.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, Marilla, say those blessed words again.\"\n\n\"I guess once is enough to say them. This is Matthew's doings and I\nwash my hands of it. If you catch pneumonia sleeping in a strange bed or\ncoming out of that hot hall in the middle of the night, don't blame me,\nblame Matthew. Anne Shirley, you're dripping greasy water all over the\nfloor. I never saw such a careless child.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know I'm a great trial to you, Marilla,\" said Anne repentantly.\n\"I make so many mistakes. But then just think of all the mistakes I\ndon't make, although I might. I'll get some sand and scrub up the spots\nbefore I go to school. Oh, Marilla, my heart was just set on going to\nthat concert. I never was to a concert in my life, and when the other\ngirls talk about them in school I feel so out of it. You didn't know\njust how I felt about it, but you see Matthew did. Matthew understands\nme, and it's so nice to be understood, Marilla.\"\n\nAnne was too excited to do herself justice as to lessons that morning in\nschool. Gilbert Blythe spelled her down in class and left her clear out\nof sight in mental arithmetic. Anne's consequent humiliation was\nless than it might have been, however, in view of the concert and the\nspare-room bed. She and Diana talked so constantly about it all day that\nwith a stricter teacher than Mr. Phillips dire disgrace must inevitably\nhave been their portion.\n\nAnne felt that she could not have borne it if she had not been going\nto the concert, for nothing else was discussed that day in school. The\nAvonlea Debating Club, which met fortnightly all winter, had had several\nsmaller free entertainments; but this was to be a big affair, admission\nten cents, in aid of the library. The Avonlea young people had been\npracticing for weeks, and all the scholars were especially interested in\nit by reason of older brothers and sisters who were going to take part.\nEverybody in school over nine years of age expected to go, except Carrie\nSloane, whose father shared Marilla's opinions about small girls going\nout to night concerts. Carrie Sloane cried into her grammar all the\nafternoon and felt that life was not worth living.\n\nFor Anne the real excitement began with the dismissal of school and\nincreased therefrom in crescendo until it reached to a crash of positive\necstasy in the concert itself. They had a \"perfectly elegant tea;\" and\nthen came the delicious occupation of dressing in Diana's little room\nupstairs. Diana did Anne's front hair in the new pompadour style and\nAnne tied Diana's bows with the especial knack she possessed; and they\nexperimented with at least half a dozen different ways of arranging\ntheir back hair. At last they were ready, cheeks scarlet and eyes\nglowing with excitement.\n\nTrue, Anne could not help a little pang when she contrasted her plain\nblack tam and shapeless, tight-sleeved, homemade gray-cloth coat with\nDiana's jaunty fur cap and smart little jacket. But she remembered in\ntime that she had an imagination and could use it.\n\nThen Diana's cousins, the Murrays from Newbridge, came; they all crowded\ninto the big pung sleigh, among straw and furry robes. Anne reveled in\nthe drive to the hall, slipping along over the satin-smooth roads with\nthe snow crisping under the runners. There was a magnificent sunset, and\nthe snowy hills and deep-blue water of the St. Lawrence Gulf seemed to\nrim in the splendor like a huge bowl of pearl and sapphire brimmed with\nwine and fire. Tinkles of sleigh bells and distant laughter, that seemed\nlike the mirth of wood elves, came from every quarter.\n\n\"Oh, Diana,\" breathed Anne, squeezing Diana's mittened hand under the\nfur robe, \"isn't it all like a beautiful dream? Do I really look the\nsame as usual? I feel so different that it seems to me it must show in\nmy looks.\"\n\n\"You look awfully nice,\" said Diana, who having just received a\ncompliment from one of her cousins, felt that she ought to pass it on.\n\"You've got the loveliest color.\"\n\nThe program that night was a series of \"thrills\" for at least one\nlistener in the audience, and, as Anne assured Diana, every succeeding\nthrill was thrillier than the last. When Prissy Andrews, attired in\na new pink-silk waist with a string of pearls about her smooth white\nthroat and real carnations in her hair--rumor whispered that the master\nhad sent all the way to town for them for her--\"climbed the slimy\nladder, dark without one ray of light,\" Anne shivered in luxurious\nsympathy; when the choir sang \"Far Above the Gentle Daisies\" Anne gazed\nat the ceiling as if it were frescoed with angels; when Sam Sloane\nproceeded to explain and illustrate \"How Sockery Set a Hen\" Anne laughed\nuntil people sitting near her laughed too, more out of sympathy with her\nthan with amusement at a selection that was rather threadbare even in\nAvonlea; and when Mr. Phillips gave Mark Antony's oration over the\ndead body of Caesar in the most heart-stirring tones--looking at Prissy\nAndrews at the end of every sentence--Anne felt that she could rise and\nmutiny on the spot if but one Roman citizen led the way.\n\nOnly one number on the program failed to interest her. When Gilbert\nBlythe recited \"Bingen on the Rhine\" Anne picked up Rhoda Murray's\nlibrary book and read it until he had finished, when she sat rigidly\nstiff and motionless while Diana clapped her hands until they tingled.\n\nIt was eleven when they got home, sated with dissipation, but with the\nexceeding sweet pleasure of talking it all over still to come. Everybody\nseemed asleep and the house was dark and silent. Anne and Diana tiptoed\ninto the parlor, a long narrow room out of which the spare room opened.\nIt was pleasantly warm and dimly lighted by the embers of a fire in the\ngrate.\n\n\"Let's undress here,\" said Diana. \"It's so nice and warm.\"\n\n\"Hasn't it been a delightful time?\" sighed Anne rapturously. \"It must\nbe splendid to get up and recite there. Do you suppose we will ever be\nasked to do it, Diana?\"\n\n\"Yes, of course, someday. They're always wanting the big scholars to\nrecite. Gilbert Blythe does often and he's only two years older than us.\nOh, Anne, how could you pretend not to listen to him? When he came to\nthe line,\n\n\n           \"THERE'S ANOTHER, not A SISTER,\n\n\nhe looked right down at you.\"\n\n\"Diana,\" said Anne with dignity, \"you are my bosom friend, but I cannot\nallow even you to speak to me of that person. Are you ready for bed?\nLet's run a race and see who'll get to the bed first.\"\n\nThe suggestion appealed to Diana. The two little white-clad figures flew\ndown the long room, through the spare-room door, and bounded on the bed\nat the same moment. And then--something--moved beneath them, there was a\ngasp and a cry--and somebody said in muffled accents:\n\n\"Merciful goodness!\"\n\nAnne and Diana were never able to tell just how they got off that bed\nand out of the room. They only knew that after one frantic rush they\nfound themselves tiptoeing shiveringly upstairs.\n\n\"Oh, who was it--WHAT was it?\" whispered Anne, her teeth chattering with\ncold and fright.\n\n\"It was Aunt Josephine,\" said Diana, gasping with laughter. \"Oh, Anne,\nit was Aunt Josephine, however she came to be there. Oh, and I know she\nwill be furious. It's dreadful--it's really dreadful--but did you ever\nknow anything so funny, Anne?\"\n\n\"Who is your Aunt Josephine?\"\n\n\"She's father's aunt and she lives in Charlottetown. She's awfully\nold--seventy anyhow--and I don't believe she was EVER a little girl. We\nwere expecting her out for a visit, but not so soon. She's awfully prim\nand proper and she'll scold dreadfully about this, I know. Well, we'll\nhave to sleep with Minnie May--and you can't think how she kicks.\"\n\nMiss Josephine Barry did not appear at the early breakfast the next\nmorning. Mrs. Barry smiled kindly at the two little girls.\n\n\"Did you have a good time last night? I tried to stay awake until you\ncame home, for I wanted to tell you Aunt Josephine had come and that you\nwould have to go upstairs after all, but I was so tired I fell asleep. I\nhope you didn't disturb your aunt, Diana.\"\n\nDiana preserved a discreet silence, but she and Anne exchanged furtive\nsmiles of guilty amusement across the table. Anne hurried home after\nbreakfast and so remained in blissful ignorance of the disturbance which\npresently resulted in the Barry household until the late afternoon, when\nshe went down to Mrs. Lynde's on an errand for Marilla.\n\n\"So you and Diana nearly frightened poor old Miss Barry to death last\nnight?\" said Mrs. Lynde severely, but with a twinkle in her eye. \"Mrs.\nBarry was here a few minutes ago on her way to Carmody. She's feeling\nreal worried over it. Old Miss Barry was in a terrible temper when she\ngot up this morning--and Josephine Barry's temper is no joke, I can tell\nyou that. She wouldn't speak to Diana at all.\"\n\n\"It wasn't Diana's fault,\" said Anne contritely. \"It was mine. I\nsuggested racing to see who would get into bed first.\"\n\n\"I knew it!\" said Mrs. Lynde, with the exultation of a correct guesser.\n\"I knew that idea came out of your head. Well, it's made a nice lot of\ntrouble, that's what. Old Miss Barry came out to stay for a month, but\nshe declares she won't stay another day and is going right back to town\ntomorrow, Sunday and all as it is. She'd have gone today if they could\nhave taken her. She had promised to pay for a quarter's music lessons\nfor Diana, but now she is determined to do nothing at all for such a\ntomboy. Oh, I guess they had a lively time of it there this morning. The\nBarrys must feel cut up. Old Miss Barry is rich and they'd like to keep\non the good side of her. Of course, Mrs. Barry didn't say just that to\nme, but I'm a pretty good judge of human nature, that's what.\"\n\n\"I'm such an unlucky girl,\" mourned Anne. \"I'm always getting into\nscrapes myself and getting my best friends--people I'd shed my heart's\nblood for--into them too. Can you tell me why it is so, Mrs. Lynde?\"\n\n\"It's because you're too heedless and impulsive, child, that's what. You\nnever stop to think--whatever comes into your head to say or do you say\nor do it without a moment's reflection.\"\n\n\"Oh, but that's the best of it,\" protested Anne. \"Something just flashes\ninto your mind, so exciting, and you must out with it. If you stop to\nthink it over you spoil it all. Haven't you never felt that yourself,\nMrs. Lynde?\"\n\nNo, Mrs. Lynde had not. She shook her head sagely.\n\n\"You must learn to think a little, Anne, that's what. The proverb you\nneed to go by is 'Look before you leap'--especially into spare-room\nbeds.\"\n\nMrs. Lynde laughed comfortably over her mild joke, but Anne remained\npensive. She saw nothing to laugh at in the situation, which to her\neyes appeared very serious. When she left Mrs. Lynde's she took her way\nacross the crusted fields to Orchard Slope. Diana met her at the kitchen\ndoor.\n\n\"Your Aunt Josephine was very cross about it, wasn't she?\" whispered\nAnne.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Diana, stifling a giggle with an apprehensive glance\nover her shoulder at the closed sitting-room door. \"She was fairly\ndancing with rage, Anne. Oh, how she scolded. She said I was the\nworst-behaved girl she ever saw and that my parents ought to be ashamed\nof the way they had brought me up. She says she won't stay and I'm sure\nI don't care. But Father and Mother do.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you tell them it was my fault?\" demanded Anne.\n\n\"It's likely I'd do such a thing, isn't it?\" said Diana with just scorn.\n\"I'm no telltale, Anne Shirley, and anyhow I was just as much to blame\nas you.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm going in to tell her myself,\" said Anne resolutely.\n\nDiana stared.\n\n\"Anne Shirley, you'd never! why--she'll eat you alive!\"\n\n\"Don't frighten me any more than I am frightened,\" implored Anne. \"I'd\nrather walk up to a cannon's mouth. But I've got to do it, Diana. It\nwas my fault and I've got to confess. I've had practice in confessing,\nfortunately.\"\n\n\"Well, she's in the room,\" said Diana. \"You can go in if you want to. I\nwouldn't dare. And I don't believe you'll do a bit of good.\"\n\nWith this encouragement Anne bearded the lion in its den--that is to\nsay, walked resolutely up to the sitting-room door and knocked faintly.\nA sharp \"Come in\" followed.\n\nMiss Josephine Barry, thin, prim, and rigid, was knitting fiercely by\nthe fire, her wrath quite unappeased and her eyes snapping through her\ngold-rimmed glasses. She wheeled around in her chair, expecting to see\nDiana, and beheld a white-faced girl whose great eyes were brimmed up\nwith a mixture of desperate courage and shrinking terror.\n\n\"Who are you?\" demanded Miss Josephine Barry, without ceremony.\n\n\"I'm Anne of Green Gables,\" said the small visitor tremulously, clasping\nher hands with her characteristic gesture, \"and I've come to confess, if\nyou please.\"\n\n\"Confess what?\"\n\n\"That it was all my fault about jumping into bed on you last night. I\nsuggested it. Diana would never have thought of such a thing, I am sure.\nDiana is a very ladylike girl, Miss Barry. So you must see how unjust it\nis to blame her.\"\n\n\"Oh, I must, hey? I rather think Diana did her share of the jumping at\nleast. Such carryings on in a respectable house!\"\n\n\"But we were only in fun,\" persisted Anne. \"I think you ought to forgive\nus, Miss Barry, now that we've apologized. And anyhow, please forgive\nDiana and let her have her music lessons. Diana's heart is set on her\nmusic lessons, Miss Barry, and I know too well what it is to set your\nheart on a thing and not get it. If you must be cross with anyone, be\ncross with me. I've been so used in my early days to having people cross\nat me that I can endure it much better than Diana can.\"\n\nMuch of the snap had gone out of the old lady's eyes by this time\nand was replaced by a twinkle of amused interest. But she still said\nseverely:\n\n\"I don't think it is any excuse for you that you were only in fun.\nLittle girls never indulged in that kind of fun when I was young. You\ndon't know what it is to be awakened out of a sound sleep, after a long\nand arduous journey, by two great girls coming bounce down on you.\"\n\n\"I don't KNOW, but I can IMAGINE,\" said Anne eagerly. \"I'm sure it must\nhave been very disturbing. But then, there is our side of it too. Have\nyou any imagination, Miss Barry? If you have, just put yourself in\nour place. We didn't know there was anybody in that bed and you nearly\nscared us to death. It was simply awful the way we felt. And then we\ncouldn't sleep in the spare room after being promised. I suppose you are\nused to sleeping in spare rooms. But just imagine what you would feel\nlike if you were a little orphan girl who had never had such an honor.\"\n\nAll the snap had gone by this time. Miss Barry actually laughed--a\nsound which caused Diana, waiting in speechless anxiety in the kitchen\noutside, to give a great gasp of relief.\n\n\"I'm afraid my imagination is a little rusty--it's so long since I used\nit,\" she said. \"I dare say your claim to sympathy is just as strong as\nmine. It all depends on the way we look at it. Sit down here and tell me\nabout yourself.\"\n\n\"I am very sorry I can't,\" said Anne firmly. \"I would like to, because\nyou seem like an interesting lady, and you might even be a kindred\nspirit although you don't look very much like it. But it is my duty to\ngo home to Miss Marilla Cuthbert. Miss Marilla Cuthbert is a very kind\nlady who has taken me to bring up properly. She is doing her best, but\nit is very discouraging work. You must not blame her because I jumped on\nthe bed. But before I go I do wish you would tell me if you will forgive\nDiana and stay just as long as you meant to in Avonlea.\"\n\n\"I think perhaps I will if you will come over and talk to me\noccasionally,\" said Miss Barry.\n\nThat evening Miss Barry gave Diana a silver bangle bracelet and told the\nsenior members of the household that she had unpacked her valise.\n\n\"I've made up my mind to stay simply for the sake of getting better\nacquainted with that Anne-girl,\" she said frankly. \"She amuses me, and\nat my time of life an amusing person is a rarity.\"\n\nMarilla's only comment when she heard the story was, \"I told you so.\"\nThis was for Matthew's benefit.\n\nMiss Barry stayed her month out and over. She was a more agreeable guest\nthan usual, for Anne kept her in good humor. They became firm friends.\n\nWhen Miss Barry went away she said:\n\n\"Remember, you Anne-girl, when you come to town you're to visit me and\nI'll put you in my very sparest spare-room bed to sleep.\"\n\n\"Miss Barry was a kindred spirit, after all,\" Anne confided to Marilla.\n\"You wouldn't think so to look at her, but she is. You don't find it\nright out at first, as in Matthew's case, but after a while you come\nto see it. Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's\nsplendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX. A Good Imagination Gone Wrong\n\n\nSpring had come once more to Green Gables--the beautiful capricious,\nreluctant Canadian spring, lingering along through April and May in a\nsuccession of sweet, fresh, chilly days, with pink sunsets and miracles\nof resurrection and growth. The maples in Lover's Lane were red budded\nand little curly ferns pushed up around the Dryad's Bubble. Away up in\nthe barrens, behind Mr. Silas Sloane's place, the Mayflowers blossomed\nout, pink and white stars of sweetness under their brown leaves. All the\nschool girls and boys had one golden afternoon gathering them, coming\nhome in the clear, echoing twilight with arms and baskets full of\nflowery spoil.\n\n\"I'm so sorry for people who live in lands where there are no\nMayflowers,\" said Anne. \"Diana says perhaps they have something better,\nbut there couldn't be anything better than Mayflowers, could there,\nMarilla? And Diana says if they don't know what they are like they don't\nmiss them. But I think that is the saddest thing of all. I think it\nwould be TRAGIC, Marilla, not to know what Mayflowers are like and NOT\nto miss them. Do you know what I think Mayflowers are, Marilla? I think\nthey must be the souls of the flowers that died last summer and this\nis their heaven. But we had a splendid time today, Marilla. We had our\nlunch down in a big mossy hollow by an old well--such a ROMANTIC spot.\nCharlie Sloane dared Arty Gillis to jump over it, and Arty did because\nhe wouldn't take a dare. Nobody would in school. It is very FASHIONABLE\nto dare. Mr. Phillips gave all the Mayflowers he found to Prissy Andrews\nand I heard him to say 'sweets to the sweet.' He got that out of a\nbook, I know; but it shows he has some imagination. I was offered some\nMayflowers too, but I rejected them with scorn. I can't tell you the\nperson's name because I have vowed never to let it cross my lips. We\nmade wreaths of the Mayflowers and put them on our hats; and when the\ntime came to go home we marched in procession down the road, two by two,\nwith our bouquets and wreaths, singing 'My Home on the Hill.' Oh, it was\nso thrilling, Marilla. All Mr. Silas Sloane's folks rushed out to see us\nand everybody we met on the road stopped and stared after us. We made a\nreal sensation.\"\n\n\"Not much wonder! Such silly doings!\" was Marilla's response.\n\nAfter the Mayflowers came the violets, and Violet Vale was empurpled\nwith them. Anne walked through it on her way to school with reverent\nsteps and worshiping eyes, as if she trod on holy ground.\n\n\"Somehow,\" she told Diana, \"when I'm going through here I don't really\ncare whether Gil--whether anybody gets ahead of me in class or not. But\nwhen I'm up in school it's all different and I care as much as ever.\nThere's such a lot of different Annes in me. I sometimes think that is\nwhy I'm such a troublesome person. If I was just the one Anne it would\nbe ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so\ninteresting.\"\n\nOne June evening, when the orchards were pink blossomed again, when the\nfrogs were singing silverly sweet in the marshes about the head of the\nLake of Shining Waters, and the air was full of the savor of clover\nfields and balsamic fir woods, Anne was sitting by her gable window.\nShe had been studying her lessons, but it had grown too dark to see the\nbook, so she had fallen into wide-eyed reverie, looking out past the\nboughs of the Snow Queen, once more bestarred with its tufts of blossom.\n\nIn all essential respects the little gable chamber was unchanged. The\nwalls were as white, the pincushion as hard, the chairs as stiffly\nand yellowly upright as ever. Yet the whole character of the room was\naltered. It was full of a new vital, pulsing personality that seemed to\npervade it and to be quite independent of schoolgirl books and dresses\nand ribbons, and even of the cracked blue jug full of apple blossoms\non the table. It was as if all the dreams, sleeping and waking, of its\nvivid occupant had taken a visible although unmaterial form and had\ntapestried the bare room with splendid filmy tissues of rainbow and\nmoonshine. Presently Marilla came briskly in with some of Anne's freshly\nironed school aprons. She hung them over a chair and sat down with\na short sigh. She had had one of her headaches that afternoon, and\nalthough the pain had gone she felt weak and \"tuckered out,\" as she\nexpressed it. Anne looked at her with eyes limpid with sympathy.\n\n\"I do truly wish I could have had the headache in your place, Marilla. I\nwould have endured it joyfully for your sake.\"\n\n\"I guess you did your part in attending to the work and letting me\nrest,\" said Marilla. \"You seem to have got on fairly well and made fewer\nmistakes than usual. Of course it wasn't exactly necessary to starch\nMatthew's handkerchiefs! And most people when they put a pie in the oven\nto warm up for dinner take it out and eat it when it gets hot instead of\nleaving it to be burned to a crisp. But that doesn't seem to be your way\nevidently.\"\n\nHeadaches always left Marilla somewhat sarcastic.\n\n\"Oh, I'm so sorry,\" said Anne penitently. \"I never thought about that\npie from the moment I put it in the oven till now, although I felt\nINSTINCTIVELY that there was something missing on the dinner table. I\nwas firmly resolved, when you left me in charge this morning, not to\nimagine anything, but keep my thoughts on facts. I did pretty well until\nI put the pie in, and then an irresistible temptation came to me to\nimagine I was an enchanted princess shut up in a lonely tower with a\nhandsome knight riding to my rescue on a coal-black steed. So that\nis how I came to forget the pie. I didn't know I starched the\nhandkerchiefs. All the time I was ironing I was trying to think of a\nname for a new island Diana and I have discovered up the brook. It's the\nmost ravishing spot, Marilla. There are two maple trees on it and the\nbrook flows right around it. At last it struck me that it would be\nsplendid to call it Victoria Island because we found it on the Queen's\nbirthday. Both Diana and I are very loyal. But I'm sorry about that pie\nand the handkerchiefs. I wanted to be extra good today because it's an\nanniversary. Do you remember what happened this day last year, Marilla?\"\n\n\"No, I can't think of anything special.\"\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, it was the day I came to Green Gables. I shall never\nforget it. It was the turning point in my life. Of course it wouldn't\nseem so important to you. I've been here for a year and I've been so\nhappy. Of course, I've had my troubles, but one can live down troubles.\nAre you sorry you kept me, Marilla?\"\n\n\"No, I can't say I'm sorry,\" said Marilla, who sometimes wondered how\nshe could have lived before Anne came to Green Gables, \"no, not exactly\nsorry. If you've finished your lessons, Anne, I want you to run over and\nask Mrs. Barry if she'll lend me Diana's apron pattern.\"\n\n\"Oh--it's--it's too dark,\" cried Anne.\n\n\"Too dark? Why, it's only twilight. And goodness knows you've gone over\noften enough after dark.\"\n\n\"I'll go over early in the morning,\" said Anne eagerly. \"I'll get up at\nsunrise and go over, Marilla.\"\n\n\"What has got into your head now, Anne Shirley? I want that pattern to\ncut out your new apron this evening. Go at once and be smart too.\"\n\n\"I'll have to go around by the road, then,\" said Anne, taking up her hat\nreluctantly.\n\n\"Go by the road and waste half an hour! I'd like to catch you!\"\n\n\"I can't go through the Haunted Wood, Marilla,\" cried Anne desperately.\n\nMarilla stared.\n\n\"The Haunted Wood! Are you crazy? What under the canopy is the Haunted\nWood?\"\n\n\"The spruce wood over the brook,\" said Anne in a whisper.\n\n\"Fiddlesticks! There is no such thing as a haunted wood anywhere. Who\nhas been telling you such stuff?\"\n\n\"Nobody,\" confessed Anne. \"Diana and I just imagined the wood was\nhaunted. All the places around here are so--so--COMMONPLACE. We just got\nthis up for our own amusement. We began it in April. A haunted wood is\nso very romantic, Marilla. We chose the spruce grove because it's so\ngloomy. Oh, we have imagined the most harrowing things. There's a white\nlady walks along the brook just about this time of the night and wrings\nher hands and utters wailing cries. She appears when there is to be a\ndeath in the family. And the ghost of a little murdered child haunts the\ncorner up by Idlewild; it creeps up behind you and lays its cold fingers\non your hand--so. Oh, Marilla, it gives me a shudder to think of it. And\nthere's a headless man stalks up and down the path and skeletons glower\nat you between the boughs. Oh, Marilla, I wouldn't go through the\nHaunted Wood after dark now for anything. I'd be sure that white things\nwould reach out from behind the trees and grab me.\"\n\n\"Did ever anyone hear the like!\" ejaculated Marilla, who had\nlistened in dumb amazement. \"Anne Shirley, do you mean to tell me you\nbelieve all that wicked nonsense of your own imagination?\"\n\n\"Not believe EXACTLY,\" faltered Anne. \"At least, I don't believe it in\ndaylight. But after dark, Marilla, it's different. That is when ghosts\nwalk.\"\n\n\"There are no such things as ghosts, Anne.\"\n\n\"Oh, but there are, Marilla,\" cried Anne eagerly. \"I know people who\nhave seen them. And they are respectable people. Charlie Sloane says\nthat his grandmother saw his grandfather driving home the cows one night\nafter he'd been buried for a year. You know Charlie Sloane's grandmother\nwouldn't tell a story for anything. She's a very religious woman. And\nMrs. Thomas's father was pursued home one night by a lamb of fire with\nits head cut off hanging by a strip of skin. He said he knew it was the\nspirit of his brother and that it was a warning he would die within nine\ndays. He didn't, but he died two years after, so you see it was really\ntrue. And Ruby Gillis says--\"\n\n\"Anne Shirley,\" interrupted Marilla firmly, \"I never want to hear you\ntalking in this fashion again. I've had my doubts about that imagination\nof yours right along, and if this is going to be the outcome of it, I\nwon't countenance any such doings. You'll go right over to Barry's, and\nyou'll go through that spruce grove, just for a lesson and a warning to\nyou. And never let me hear a word out of your head about haunted woods\nagain.\"\n\nAnne might plead and cry as she liked--and did, for her terror was very\nreal. Her imagination had run away with her and she held the spruce\ngrove in mortal dread after nightfall. But Marilla was inexorable. She\nmarched the shrinking ghost-seer down to the spring and ordered her\nto proceed straightaway over the bridge and into the dusky retreats of\nwailing ladies and headless specters beyond.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, how can you be so cruel?\" sobbed Anne. \"What would you\nfeel like if a white thing did snatch me up and carry me off?\"\n\n\"I'll risk it,\" said Marilla unfeelingly. \"You know I always mean what I\nsay. I'll cure you of imagining ghosts into places. March, now.\"\n\nAnne marched. That is, she stumbled over the bridge and went shuddering\nup the horrible dim path beyond. Anne never forgot that walk. Bitterly\ndid she repent the license she had given to her imagination. The goblins\nof her fancy lurked in every shadow about her, reaching out their cold,\nfleshless hands to grasp the terrified small girl who had called them\ninto being. A white strip of birch bark blowing up from the hollow over\nthe brown floor of the grove made her heart stand still. The long-drawn\nwail of two old boughs rubbing against each other brought out the\nperspiration in beads on her forehead. The swoop of bats in the darkness\nover her was as the wings of unearthly creatures. When she reached Mr.\nWilliam Bell's field she fled across it as if pursued by an army of\nwhite things, and arrived at the Barry kitchen door so out of breath\nthat she could hardly gasp out her request for the apron pattern.\nDiana was away so that she had no excuse to linger. The dreadful\nreturn journey had to be faced. Anne went back over it with shut eyes,\npreferring to take the risk of dashing her brains out among the boughs\nto that of seeing a white thing. When she finally stumbled over the log\nbridge she drew one long shivering breath of relief.\n\n\"Well, so nothing caught you?\" said Marilla unsympathetically.\n\n\"Oh, Mar--Marilla,\" chattered Anne, \"I'll b-b-be contt-tented with\nc-c-commonplace places after this.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI. A New Departure in Flavorings\n\n\n\"Dear me, there is nothing but meetings and partings in this world, as\nMrs. Lynde says,\" remarked Anne plaintively, putting her slate and books\ndown on the kitchen table on the last day of June and wiping her red\neyes with a very damp handkerchief. \"Wasn't it fortunate, Marilla, that\nI took an extra handkerchief to school today? I had a presentiment that\nit would be needed.\"\n\n\"I never thought you were so fond of Mr. Phillips that you'd require two\nhandkerchiefs to dry your tears just because he was going away,\" said\nMarilla.\n\n\"I don't think I was crying because I was really so very fond of him,\"\nreflected Anne. \"I just cried because all the others did. It was\nRuby Gillis started it. Ruby Gillis has always declared she hated Mr.\nPhillips, but just as soon as he got up to make his farewell speech she\nburst into tears. Then all the girls began to cry, one after the other.\nI tried to hold out, Marilla. I tried to remember the time Mr. Phillips\nmade me sit with Gil--with a, boy; and the time he spelled my name\nwithout an e on the blackboard; and how he said I was the worst dunce\nhe ever saw at geometry and laughed at my spelling; and all the times he\nhad been so horrid and sarcastic; but somehow I couldn't, Marilla, and I\njust had to cry too. Jane Andrews has been talking for a month about how\nglad she'd be when Mr. Phillips went away and she declared she'd never\nshed a tear. Well, she was worse than any of us and had to borrow a\nhandkerchief from her brother--of course the boys didn't cry--because\nshe hadn't brought one of her own, not expecting to need it. Oh,\nMarilla, it was heartrending. Mr. Phillips made such a beautiful\nfarewell speech beginning, 'The time has come for us to part.' It was\nvery affecting. And he had tears in his eyes too, Marilla. Oh, I felt\ndreadfully sorry and remorseful for all the times I'd talked in school\nand drawn pictures of him on my slate and made fun of him and Prissy.\nI can tell you I wished I'd been a model pupil like Minnie Andrews. She\nhadn't anything on her conscience. The girls cried all the way home from\nschool. Carrie Sloane kept saying every few minutes, 'The time has come\nfor us to part,' and that would start us off again whenever we were in\nany danger of cheering up. I do feel dreadfully sad, Marilla. But one\ncan't feel quite in the depths of despair with two months' vacation\nbefore them, can they, Marilla? And besides, we met the new minister and\nhis wife coming from the station. For all I was feeling so bad about Mr.\nPhillips going away I couldn't help taking a little interest in a new\nminister, could I? His wife is very pretty. Not exactly regally lovely,\nof course--it wouldn't do, I suppose, for a minister to have a regally\nlovely wife, because it might set a bad example. Mrs. Lynde says the\nminister's wife over at Newbridge sets a very bad example because she\ndresses so fashionably. Our new minister's wife was dressed in blue\nmuslin with lovely puffed sleeves and a hat trimmed with roses.\nJane Andrews said she thought puffed sleeves were too worldly for\na minister's wife, but I didn't make any such uncharitable remark,\nMarilla, because I know what it is to long for puffed sleeves. Besides,\nshe's only been a minister's wife for a little while, so one should\nmake allowances, shouldn't they? They are going to board with Mrs. Lynde\nuntil the manse is ready.\"\n\nIf Marilla, in going down to Mrs. Lynde's that evening, was actuated by\nany motive save her avowed one of returning the quilting frames she had\nborrowed the preceding winter, it was an amiable weakness shared by most\nof the Avonlea people. Many a thing Mrs. Lynde had lent, sometimes\nnever expecting to see it again, came home that night in charge of the\nborrowers thereof. A new minister, and moreover a minister with a wife,\nwas a lawful object of curiosity in a quiet little country settlement\nwhere sensations were few and far between.\n\nOld Mr. Bentley, the minister whom Anne had found lacking in\nimagination, had been pastor of Avonlea for eighteen years. He was a\nwidower when he came, and a widower he remained, despite the fact that\ngossip regularly married him to this, that, or the other one, every year\nof his sojourn. In the preceding February he had resigned his charge and\ndeparted amid the regrets of his people, most of whom had the affection\nborn of long intercourse for their good old minister in spite of his\nshortcomings as an orator. Since then the Avonlea church had enjoyed a\nvariety of religious dissipation in listening to the many and various\ncandidates and \"supplies\" who came Sunday after Sunday to preach on\ntrial. These stood or fell by the judgment of the fathers and mothers\nin Israel; but a certain small, red-haired girl who sat meekly in the\ncorner of the old Cuthbert pew also had her opinions about them and\ndiscussed the same in full with Matthew, Marilla always declining from\nprinciple to criticize ministers in any shape or form.\n\n\"I don't think Mr. Smith would have done, Matthew\" was Anne's final\nsumming up. \"Mrs. Lynde says his delivery was so poor, but I think his\nworst fault was just like Mr. Bentley's--he had no imagination. And Mr.\nTerry had too much; he let it run away with him just as I did mine in\nthe matter of the Haunted Wood. Besides, Mrs. Lynde says his theology\nwasn't sound. Mr. Gresham was a very good man and a very religious man,\nbut he told too many funny stories and made the people laugh in church;\nhe was undignified, and you must have some dignity about a minister,\nmustn't you, Matthew? I thought Mr. Marshall was decidedly attractive;\nbut Mrs. Lynde says he isn't married, or even engaged, because she made\nspecial inquiries about him, and she says it would never do to have\na young unmarried minister in Avonlea, because he might marry in the\ncongregation and that would make trouble. Mrs. Lynde is a very farseeing\nwoman, isn't she, Matthew? I'm very glad they've called Mr. Allan. I\nliked him because his sermon was interesting and he prayed as if he\nmeant it and not just as if he did it because he was in the habit of it.\nMrs. Lynde says he isn't perfect, but she says she supposes we couldn't\nexpect a perfect minister for seven hundred and fifty dollars a year,\nand anyhow his theology is sound because she questioned him thoroughly\non all the points of doctrine. And she knows his wife's people and they\nare most respectable and the women are all good housekeepers. Mrs. Lynde\nsays that sound doctrine in the man and good housekeeping in the woman\nmake an ideal combination for a minister's family.\"\n\nThe new minister and his wife were a young, pleasant-faced couple, still\non their honeymoon, and full of all good and beautiful enthusiasms for\ntheir chosen lifework. Avonlea opened its heart to them from the start.\nOld and young liked the frank, cheerful young man with his high ideals,\nand the bright, gentle little lady who assumed the mistress-ship of the\nmanse. With Mrs. Allan Anne fell promptly and wholeheartedly in love.\nShe had discovered another kindred spirit.\n\n\"Mrs. Allan is perfectly lovely,\" she announced one Sunday afternoon.\n\"She's taken our class and she's a splendid teacher. She said right away\nshe didn't think it was fair for the teacher to ask all the questions,\nand you know, Marilla, that is exactly what I've always thought. She\nsaid we could ask her any question we liked and I asked ever so many.\nI'm good at asking questions, Marilla.\"\n\n\"I believe you\" was Marilla's emphatic comment.\n\n\"Nobody else asked any except Ruby Gillis, and she asked if there was\nto be a Sunday-school picnic this summer. I didn't think that was a\nvery proper question to ask because it hadn't any connection with the\nlesson--the lesson was about Daniel in the lions' den--but Mrs. Allan\njust smiled and said she thought there would be. Mrs. Allan has a\nlovely smile; she has such EXQUISITE dimples in her cheeks. I wish I had\ndimples in my cheeks, Marilla. I'm not half so skinny as I was when I\ncame here, but I have no dimples yet. If I had perhaps I could influence\npeople for good. Mrs. Allan said we ought always to try to influence\nother people for good. She talked so nice about everything. I never knew\nbefore that religion was such a cheerful thing. I always thought it\nwas kind of melancholy, but Mrs. Allan's isn't, and I'd like to be a\nChristian if I could be one like her. I wouldn't want to be one like Mr.\nSuperintendent Bell.\"\n\n\"It's very naughty of you to speak so about Mr. Bell,\" said Marilla\nseverely. \"Mr. Bell is a real good man.\"\n\n\"Oh, of course he's good,\" agreed Anne, \"but he doesn't seem to get any\ncomfort out of it. If I could be good I'd dance and sing all day because\nI was glad of it. I suppose Mrs. Allan is too old to dance and sing and\nof course it wouldn't be dignified in a minister's wife. But I can just\nfeel she's glad she's a Christian and that she'd be one even if she\ncould get to heaven without it.\"\n\n\"I suppose we must have Mr. and Mrs. Allan up to tea someday soon,\" said\nMarilla reflectively. \"They've been most everywhere but here. Let me\nsee. Next Wednesday would be a good time to have them. But don't say a\nword to Matthew about it, for if he knew they were coming he'd find some\nexcuse to be away that day. He'd got so used to Mr. Bentley he didn't\nmind him, but he's going to find it hard to get acquainted with a new\nminister, and a new minister's wife will frighten him to death.\"\n\n\"I'll be as secret as the dead,\" assured Anne. \"But oh, Marilla, will\nyou let me make a cake for the occasion? I'd love to do something for\nMrs. Allan, and you know I can make a pretty good cake by this time.\"\n\n\"You can make a layer cake,\" promised Marilla.\n\nMonday and Tuesday great preparations went on at Green Gables.\nHaving the minister and his wife to tea was a serious and important\nundertaking, and Marilla was determined not to be eclipsed by any of\nthe Avonlea housekeepers. Anne was wild with excitement and delight. She\ntalked it all over with Diana Tuesday night in the twilight, as they\nsat on the big red stones by the Dryad's Bubble and made rainbows in the\nwater with little twigs dipped in fir balsam.\n\n\"Everything is ready, Diana, except my cake which I'm to make in the\nmorning, and the baking-powder biscuits which Marilla will make just\nbefore teatime. I assure you, Diana, that Marilla and I have had a busy\ntwo days of it. It's such a responsibility having a minister's family to\ntea. I never went through such an experience before. You should just see\nour pantry. It's a sight to behold. We're going to have jellied chicken\nand cold tongue. We're to have two kinds of jelly, red and yellow, and\nwhipped cream and lemon pie, and cherry pie, and three kinds of cookies,\nand fruit cake, and Marilla's famous yellow plum preserves that she\nkeeps especially for ministers, and pound cake and layer cake, and\nbiscuits as aforesaid; and new bread and old both, in case the minister\nis dyspeptic and can't eat new. Mrs. Lynde says ministers are dyspeptic,\nbut I don't think Mr. Allan has been a minister long enough for it to\nhave had a bad effect on him. I just grow cold when I think of my layer\ncake. Oh, Diana, what if it shouldn't be good! I dreamed last night that\nI was chased all around by a fearful goblin with a big layer cake for a\nhead.\"\n\n\"It'll be good, all right,\" assured Diana, who was a very comfortable\nsort of friend. \"I'm sure that piece of the one you made that we had for\nlunch in Idlewild two weeks ago was perfectly elegant.\"\n\n\"Yes; but cakes have such a terrible habit of turning out bad just\nwhen you especially want them to be good,\" sighed Anne, setting a\nparticularly well-balsamed twig afloat. \"However, I suppose I shall\njust have to trust to Providence and be careful to put in the flour. Oh,\nlook, Diana, what a lovely rainbow! Do you suppose the dryad will come\nout after we go away and take it for a scarf?\"\n\n\"You know there is no such thing as a dryad,\" said Diana. Diana's mother\nhad found out about the Haunted Wood and had been decidedly angry over\nit. As a result Diana had abstained from any further imitative flights\nof imagination and did not think it prudent to cultivate a spirit of\nbelief even in harmless dryads.\n\n\"But it's so easy to imagine there is,\" said Anne. \"Every night before\nI go to bed, I look out of my window and wonder if the dryad is really\nsitting here, combing her locks with the spring for a mirror. Sometimes\nI look for her footprints in the dew in the morning. Oh, Diana, don't\ngive up your faith in the dryad!\"\n\nWednesday morning came. Anne got up at sunrise because she was too\nexcited to sleep. She had caught a severe cold in the head by reason of\nher dabbling in the spring on the preceding evening; but nothing short\nof absolute pneumonia could have quenched her interest in culinary\nmatters that morning. After breakfast she proceeded to make her cake.\nWhen she finally shut the oven door upon it she drew a long breath.\n\n\"I'm sure I haven't forgotten anything this time, Marilla. But do you\nthink it will rise? Just suppose perhaps the baking powder isn't good? I\nused it out of the new can. And Mrs. Lynde says you can never be sure of\ngetting good baking powder nowadays when everything is so adulterated.\nMrs. Lynde says the Government ought to take the matter up, but she says\nwe'll never see the day when a Tory Government will do it. Marilla, what\nif that cake doesn't rise?\"\n\n\"We'll have plenty without it\" was Marilla's unimpassioned way of\nlooking at the subject.\n\nThe cake did rise, however, and came out of the oven as light and\nfeathery as golden foam. Anne, flushed with delight, clapped it together\nwith layers of ruby jelly and, in imagination, saw Mrs. Allan eating it\nand possibly asking for another piece!\n\n\"You'll be using the best tea set, of course, Marilla,\" she said. \"Can I\nfix the table with ferns and wild roses?\"\n\n\"I think that's all nonsense,\" sniffed Marilla. \"In my opinion it's the\neatables that matter and not flummery decorations.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Barry had HER table decorated,\" said Anne, who was not entirely\nguiltless of the wisdom of the serpent, \"and the minister paid her an\nelegant compliment. He said it was a feast for the eye as well as the\npalate.\"\n\n\"Well, do as you like,\" said Marilla, who was quite determined not to\nbe surpassed by Mrs. Barry or anybody else. \"Only mind you leave enough\nroom for the dishes and the food.\"\n\nAnne laid herself out to decorate in a manner and after a fashion that\nshould leave Mrs. Barry's nowhere. Having abundance of roses and ferns\nand a very artistic taste of her own, she made that tea table such a\nthing of beauty that when the minister and his wife sat down to it they\nexclaimed in chorus over it loveliness.\n\n\"It's Anne's doings,\" said Marilla, grimly just; and Anne felt that Mrs.\nAllan's approving smile was almost too much happiness for this world.\n\nMatthew was there, having been inveigled into the party only goodness\nand Anne knew how. He had been in such a state of shyness and\nnervousness that Marilla had given him up in despair, but Anne took him\nin hand so successfully that he now sat at the table in his best clothes\nand white collar and talked to the minister not uninterestingly.\nHe never said a word to Mrs. Allan, but that perhaps was not to be\nexpected.\n\nAll went merry as a marriage bell until Anne's layer cake was passed.\nMrs. Allan, having already been helped to a bewildering variety,\ndeclined it. But Marilla, seeing the disappointment on Anne's face, said\nsmilingly:\n\n\"Oh, you must take a piece of this, Mrs. Allan. Anne made it on purpose\nfor you.\"\n\n\"In that case I must sample it,\" laughed Mrs. Allan, helping herself to\na plump triangle, as did also the minister and Marilla.\n\nMrs. Allan took a mouthful of hers and a most peculiar expression\ncrossed her face; not a word did she say, however, but steadily ate away\nat it. Marilla saw the expression and hastened to taste the cake.\n\n\"Anne Shirley!\" she exclaimed, \"what on earth did you put into that\ncake?\"\n\n\"Nothing but what the recipe said, Marilla,\" cried Anne with a look of\nanguish. \"Oh, isn't it all right?\"\n\n\"All right! It's simply horrible. Mr. Allan, don't try to eat it. Anne,\ntaste it yourself. What flavoring did you use?\"\n\n\"Vanilla,\" said Anne, her face scarlet with mortification after tasting\nthe cake. \"Only vanilla. Oh, Marilla, it must have been the baking\npowder. I had my suspicions of that bak--\"\n\n\"Baking powder fiddlesticks! Go and bring me the bottle of vanilla you\nused.\"\n\nAnne fled to the pantry and returned with a small bottle partially\nfilled with a brown liquid and labeled yellowly, \"Best Vanilla.\"\n\nMarilla took it, uncorked it, smelled it.\n\n\"Mercy on us, Anne, you've flavored that cake with ANODYNE LINIMENT. I\nbroke the liniment bottle last week and poured what was left into an\nold empty vanilla bottle. I suppose it's partly my fault--I should have\nwarned you--but for pity's sake why couldn't you have smelled it?\"\n\nAnne dissolved into tears under this double disgrace.\n\n\"I couldn't--I had such a cold!\" and with this she fairly fled to the\ngable chamber, where she cast herself on the bed and wept as one who\nrefuses to be comforted.\n\nPresently a light step sounded on the stairs and somebody entered the\nroom.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla,\" sobbed Anne, without looking up, \"I'm disgraced forever.\nI shall never be able to live this down. It will get out--things always\ndo get out in Avonlea. Diana will ask me how my cake turned out and I\nshall have to tell her the truth. I shall always be pointed at as the\ngirl who flavored a cake with anodyne liniment. Gil--the boys in school\nwill never get over laughing at it. Oh, Marilla, if you have a spark\nof Christian pity don't tell me that I must go down and wash the dishes\nafter this. I'll wash them when the minister and his wife are gone, but\nI cannot ever look Mrs. Allan in the face again. Perhaps she'll think I\ntried to poison her. Mrs. Lynde says she knows an orphan girl who tried\nto poison her benefactor. But the liniment isn't poisonous. It's meant\nto be taken internally--although not in cakes. Won't you tell Mrs. Allan\nso, Marilla?\"\n\n\"Suppose you jump up and tell her so yourself,\" said a merry voice.\n\nAnne flew up, to find Mrs. Allan standing by her bed, surveying her with\nlaughing eyes.\n\n\"My dear little girl, you mustn't cry like this,\" she said, genuinely\ndisturbed by Anne's tragic face. \"Why, it's all just a funny mistake\nthat anybody might make.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, it takes me to make such a mistake,\" said Anne forlornly. \"And\nI wanted to have that cake so nice for you, Mrs. Allan.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know, dear. And I assure you I appreciate your kindness and\nthoughtfulness just as much as if it had turned out all right. Now,\nyou mustn't cry any more, but come down with me and show me your flower\ngarden. Miss Cuthbert tells me you have a little plot all your own. I\nwant to see it, for I'm very much interested in flowers.\"\n\nAnne permitted herself to be led down and comforted, reflecting that it\nwas really providential that Mrs. Allan was a kindred spirit. Nothing\nmore was said about the liniment cake, and when the guests went away\nAnne found that she had enjoyed the evening more than could have been\nexpected, considering that terrible incident. Nevertheless, she sighed\ndeeply.\n\n\"Marilla, isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no\nmistakes in it yet?\"\n\n\"I'll warrant you'll make plenty in it,\" said Marilla. \"I never saw your\nbeat for making mistakes, Anne.\"\n\n\"Yes, and well I know it,\" admitted Anne mournfully. \"But have you ever\nnoticed one encouraging thing about me, Marilla? I never make the same\nmistake twice.\"\n\n\"I don't know as that's much benefit when you're always making new\nones.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't you see, Marilla? There must be a limit to the mistakes one\nperson can make, and when I get to the end of them, then I'll be through\nwith them. That's a very comforting thought.\"\n\n\"Well, you'd better go and give that cake to the pigs,\" said Marilla.\n\"It isn't fit for any human to eat, not even Jerry Boute.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII. Anne is Invited Out to Tea\n\n\n\"And what are your eyes popping out of your head about. Now?\" asked\nMarilla, when Anne had just come in from a run to the post office. \"Have\nyou discovered another kindred spirit?\" Excitement hung around Anne like\na garment, shone in her eyes, kindled in every feature. She had come\ndancing up the lane, like a wind-blown sprite, through the mellow\nsunshine and lazy shadows of the August evening.\n\n\"No, Marilla, but oh, what do you think? I am invited to tea at the\nmanse tomorrow afternoon! Mrs. Allan left the letter for me at the post\noffice. Just look at it, Marilla. 'Miss Anne Shirley, Green Gables.'\nThat is the first time I was ever called 'Miss.' Such a thrill as it\ngave me! I shall cherish it forever among my choicest treasures.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Allan told me she meant to have all the members of her\nSunday-school class to tea in turn,\" said Marilla, regarding the\nwonderful event very coolly. \"You needn't get in such a fever over it.\nDo learn to take things calmly, child.\"\n\nFor Anne to take things calmly would have been to change her nature. All\n\"spirit and fire and dew,\" as she was, the pleasures and pains of life\ncame to her with trebled intensity. Marilla felt this and was vaguely\ntroubled over it, realizing that the ups and downs of existence would\nprobably bear hardly on this impulsive soul and not sufficiently\nunderstanding that the equally great capacity for delight might more\nthan compensate. Therefore Marilla conceived it to be her duty to drill\nAnne into a tranquil uniformity of disposition as impossible and alien\nto her as to a dancing sunbeam in one of the brook shallows. She did not\nmake much headway, as she sorrowfully admitted to herself. The downfall\nof some dear hope or plan plunged Anne into \"deeps of affliction.\" The\nfulfillment thereof exalted her to dizzy realms of delight. Marilla had\nalmost begun to despair of ever fashioning this waif of the world into\nher model little girl of demure manners and prim deportment. Neither\nwould she have believed that she really liked Anne much better as she\nwas.\n\nAnne went to bed that night speechless with misery because Matthew had\nsaid the wind was round northeast and he feared it would be a rainy day\ntomorrow. The rustle of the poplar leaves about the house worried her,\nit sounded so like pattering raindrops, and the full, faraway roar of\nthe gulf, to which she listened delightedly at other times, loving its\nstrange, sonorous, haunting rhythm, now seemed like a prophecy of storm\nand disaster to a small maiden who particularly wanted a fine day. Anne\nthought that the morning would never come.\n\nBut all things have an end, even nights before the day on which you are\ninvited to take tea at the manse. The morning, in spite of Matthew's\npredictions, was fine and Anne's spirits soared to their highest.\n\"Oh, Marilla, there is something in me today that makes me just love\neverybody I see,\" she exclaimed as she washed the breakfast dishes.\n\"You don't know how good I feel! Wouldn't it be nice if it could last? I\nbelieve I could be a model child if I were just invited out to tea every\nday. But oh, Marilla, it's a solemn occasion too. I feel so anxious.\nWhat if I shouldn't behave properly? You know I never had tea at a\nmanse before, and I'm not sure that I know all the rules of etiquette,\nalthough I've been studying the rules given in the Etiquette Department\nof the Family Herald ever since I came here. I'm so afraid I'll do\nsomething silly or forget to do something I should do. Would it be\ngood manners to take a second helping of anything if you wanted to VERY\nmuch?\"\n\n\"The trouble with you, Anne, is that you're thinking too much about\nyourself. You should just think of Mrs. Allan and what would be nicest\nand most agreeable to her,\" said Marilla, hitting for once in her life\non a very sound and pithy piece of advice. Anne instantly realized this.\n\n\"You are right, Marilla. I'll try not to think about myself at all.\"\n\nAnne evidently got through her visit without any serious breach of\n\"etiquette,\" for she came home through the twilight, under a great,\nhigh-sprung sky gloried over with trails of saffron and rosy cloud, in\na beatified state of mind and told Marilla all about it happily, sitting\non the big red-sandstone slab at the kitchen door with her tired curly\nhead in Marilla's gingham lap.\n\nA cool wind was blowing down over the long harvest fields from the rims\nof firry western hills and whistling through the poplars. One clear star\nhung over the orchard and the fireflies were flitting over in Lover's\nLane, in and out among the ferns and rustling boughs. Anne watched them\nas she talked and somehow felt that wind and stars and fireflies were\nall tangled up together into something unutterably sweet and enchanting.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, I've had a most FASCINATING time. I feel that I have not\nlived in vain and I shall always feel like that even if I should never\nbe invited to tea at a manse again. When I got there Mrs. Allan met me\nat the door. She was dressed in the sweetest dress of pale-pink organdy,\nwith dozens of frills and elbow sleeves, and she looked just like a\nseraph. I really think I'd like to be a minister's wife when I grow up,\nMarilla. A minister mightn't mind my red hair because he wouldn't be\nthinking of such worldly things. But then of course one would have to\nbe naturally good and I'll never be that, so I suppose there's no use in\nthinking about it. Some people are naturally good, you know, and others\nare not. I'm one of the others. Mrs. Lynde says I'm full of original\nsin. No matter how hard I try to be good I can never make such a success\nof it as those who are naturally good. It's a good deal like geometry,\nI expect. But don't you think the trying so hard ought to count for\nsomething? Mrs. Allan is one of the naturally good people. I love her\npassionately. You know there are some people, like Matthew and Mrs.\nAllan that you can love right off without any trouble. And there are\nothers, like Mrs. Lynde, that you have to try very hard to love. You\nknow you OUGHT to love them because they know so much and are such\nactive workers in the church, but you have to keep reminding yourself of\nit all the time or else you forget. There was another little girl at the\nmanse to tea, from the White Sands Sunday school. Her name was Laurette\nBradley, and she was a very nice little girl. Not exactly a kindred\nspirit, you know, but still very nice. We had an elegant tea, and I\nthink I kept all the rules of etiquette pretty well. After tea Mrs.\nAllan played and sang and she got Lauretta and me to sing too.\nMrs. Allan says I have a good voice and she says I must sing in the\nSunday-school choir after this. You can't think how I was thrilled at\nthe mere thought. I've longed so to sing in the Sunday-school choir,\nas Diana does, but I feared it was an honor I could never aspire to.\nLauretta had to go home early because there is a big concert in the\nWhite Sands Hotel tonight and her sister is to recite at it. Lauretta\nsays that the Americans at the hotel give a concert every fortnight in\naid of the Charlottetown hospital, and they ask lots of the White\nSands people to recite. Lauretta said she expected to be asked herself\nsomeday. I just gazed at her in awe. After she had gone Mrs. Allan and I\nhad a heart-to-heart talk. I told her everything--about Mrs. Thomas and\nthe twins and Katie Maurice and Violetta and coming to Green Gables and\nmy troubles over geometry. And would you believe it, Marilla? Mrs.\nAllan told me she was a dunce at geometry too. You don't know how that\nencouraged me. Mrs. Lynde came to the manse just before I left, and what\ndo you think, Marilla? The trustees have hired a new teacher and it's\na lady. Her name is Miss Muriel Stacy. Isn't that a romantic name? Mrs.\nLynde says they've never had a female teacher in Avonlea before and she\nthinks it is a dangerous innovation. But I think it will be splendid\nto have a lady teacher, and I really don't see how I'm going to live\nthrough the two weeks before school begins. I'm so impatient to see\nher.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. Anne Comes to Grief in an Affair of Honor\n\n\nAnne had to live through more than two weeks, as it happened. Almost a\nmonth having elapsed since the liniment cake episode, it was high time\nfor her to get into fresh trouble of some sort, little mistakes, such as\nabsentmindedly emptying a pan of skim milk into a basket of yarn balls\nin the pantry instead of into the pigs' bucket, and walking clean over\nthe edge of the log bridge into the brook while wrapped in imaginative\nreverie, not really being worth counting.\n\nA week after the tea at the manse Diana Barry gave a party.\n\n\"Small and select,\" Anne assured Marilla. \"Just the girls in our class.\"\n\nThey had a very good time and nothing untoward happened until after tea,\nwhen they found themselves in the Barry garden, a little tired of all\ntheir games and ripe for any enticing form of mischief which might\npresent itself. This presently took the form of \"daring.\"\n\nDaring was the fashionable amusement among the Avonlea small fry just\nthen. It had begun among the boys, but soon spread to the girls, and all\nthe silly things that were done in Avonlea that summer because the doers\nthereof were \"dared\" to do them would fill a book by themselves.\n\nFirst of all Carrie Sloane dared Ruby Gillis to climb to a certain point\nin the huge old willow tree before the front door; which Ruby Gillis,\nalbeit in mortal dread of the fat green caterpillars with which said\ntree was infested and with the fear of her mother before her eyes if she\nshould tear her new muslin dress, nimbly did, to the discomfiture of the\naforesaid Carrie Sloane. Then Josie Pye dared Jane Andrews to hop on her\nleft leg around the garden without stopping once or putting her right\nfoot to the ground; which Jane Andrews gamely tried to do, but gave out\nat the third corner and had to confess herself defeated.\n\nJosie's triumph being rather more pronounced than good taste permitted,\nAnne Shirley dared her to walk along the top of the board fence which\nbounded the garden to the east. Now, to \"walk\" board fences requires\nmore skill and steadiness of head and heel than one might suppose who\nhas never tried it. But Josie Pye, if deficient in some qualities\nthat make for popularity, had at least a natural and inborn gift, duly\ncultivated, for walking board fences. Josie walked the Barry fence with\nan airy unconcern which seemed to imply that a little thing like that\nwasn't worth a \"dare.\" Reluctant admiration greeted her exploit, for\nmost of the other girls could appreciate it, having suffered many things\nthemselves in their efforts to walk fences. Josie descended from her\nperch, flushed with victory, and darted a defiant glance at Anne.\n\nAnne tossed her red braids.\n\n\"I don't think it's such a very wonderful thing to walk a little, low,\nboard fence,\" she said. \"I knew a girl in Marysville who could walk the\nridgepole of a roof.\"\n\n\"I don't believe it,\" said Josie flatly. \"I don't believe anybody could\nwalk a ridgepole. YOU couldn't, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Couldn't I?\" cried Anne rashly.\n\n\"Then I dare you to do it,\" said Josie defiantly. \"I dare you to climb\nup there and walk the ridgepole of Mr. Barry's kitchen roof.\"\n\nAnne turned pale, but there was clearly only one thing to be done. She\nwalked toward the house, where a ladder was leaning against the kitchen\nroof. All the fifth-class girls said, \"Oh!\" partly in excitement, partly\nin dismay.\n\n\"Don't you do it, Anne,\" entreated Diana. \"You'll fall off and be\nkilled. Never mind Josie Pye. It isn't fair to dare anybody to do\nanything so dangerous.\"\n\n\"I must do it. My honor is at stake,\" said Anne solemnly. \"I shall walk\nthat ridgepole, Diana, or perish in the attempt. If I am killed you are\nto have my pearl bead ring.\"\n\nAnne climbed the ladder amid breathless silence, gained the ridgepole,\nbalanced herself uprightly on that precarious footing, and started to\nwalk along it, dizzily conscious that she was uncomfortably high up\nin the world and that walking ridgepoles was not a thing in which your\nimagination helped you out much. Nevertheless, she managed to take\nseveral steps before the catastrophe came. Then she swayed, lost her\nbalance, stumbled, staggered, and fell, sliding down over the sun-baked\nroof and crashing off it through the tangle of Virginia creeper\nbeneath--all before the dismayed circle below could give a simultaneous,\nterrified shriek.\n\nIf Anne had tumbled off the roof on the side up which she had ascended\nDiana would probably have fallen heir to the pearl bead ring then and\nthere. Fortunately she fell on the other side, where the roof extended\ndown over the porch so nearly to the ground that a fall therefrom was\na much less serious thing. Nevertheless, when Diana and the other\ngirls had rushed frantically around the house--except Ruby Gillis, who\nremained as if rooted to the ground and went into hysterics--they found\nAnne lying all white and limp among the wreck and ruin of the Virginia\ncreeper.\n\n\"Anne, are you killed?\" shrieked Diana, throwing herself on her knees\nbeside her friend. \"Oh, Anne, dear Anne, speak just one word to me and\ntell me if you're killed.\"\n\nTo the immense relief of all the girls, and especially of Josie Pye,\nwho, in spite of lack of imagination, had been seized with horrible\nvisions of a future branded as the girl who was the cause of Anne\nShirley's early and tragic death, Anne sat dizzily up and answered\nuncertainly:\n\n\"No, Diana, I am not killed, but I think I am rendered unconscious.\"\n\n\"Where?\" sobbed Carrie Sloane. \"Oh, where, Anne?\" Before Anne could\nanswer Mrs. Barry appeared on the scene. At sight of her Anne tried to\nscramble to her feet, but sank back again with a sharp little cry of\npain.\n\n\"What's the matter? Where have you hurt yourself?\" demanded Mrs. Barry.\n\n\"My ankle,\" gasped Anne. \"Oh, Diana, please find your father and ask him\nto take me home. I know I can never walk there. And I'm sure I couldn't\nhop so far on one foot when Jane couldn't even hop around the garden.\"\n\nMarilla was out in the orchard picking a panful of summer apples when\nshe saw Mr. Barry coming over the log bridge and up the slope, with Mrs.\nBarry beside him and a whole procession of little girls trailing after\nhim. In his arms he carried Anne, whose head lay limply against his\nshoulder.\n\nAt that moment Marilla had a revelation. In the sudden stab of fear that\npierced her very heart she realized what Anne had come to mean to her.\nShe would have admitted that she liked Anne--nay, that she was very fond\nof Anne. But now she knew as she hurried wildly down the slope that Anne\nwas dearer to her than anything else on earth.\n\n\"Mr. Barry, what has happened to her?\" she gasped, more white and shaken\nthan the self-contained, sensible Marilla had been for many years.\n\nAnne herself answered, lifting her head.\n\n\"Don't be very frightened, Marilla. I was walking the ridgepole and I\nfell off. I expect I have sprained my ankle. But, Marilla, I might have\nbroken my neck. Let us look on the bright side of things.\"\n\n\"I might have known you'd go and do something of the sort when I let you\ngo to that party,\" said Marilla, sharp and shrewish in her very relief.\n\"Bring her in here, Mr. Barry, and lay her on the sofa. Mercy me, the\nchild has gone and fainted!\"\n\nIt was quite true. Overcome by the pain of her injury, Anne had one more\nof her wishes granted to her. She had fainted dead away.\n\nMatthew, hastily summoned from the harvest field, was straightway\ndispatched for the doctor, who in due time came, to discover that the\ninjury was more serious than they had supposed. Anne's ankle was broken.\n\nThat night, when Marilla went up to the east gable, where a white-faced\ngirl was lying, a plaintive voice greeted her from the bed.\n\n\"Aren't you very sorry for me, Marilla?\"\n\n\"It was your own fault,\" said Marilla, twitching down the blind and\nlighting a lamp.\n\n\"And that is just why you should be sorry for me,\" said Anne, \"because\nthe thought that it is all my own fault is what makes it so hard. If I\ncould blame it on anybody I would feel so much better. But what would\nyou have done, Marilla, if you had been dared to walk a ridgepole?\"\n\n\"I'd have stayed on good firm ground and let them dare away. Such\nabsurdity!\" said Marilla.\n\nAnne sighed.\n\n\"But you have such strength of mind, Marilla. I haven't. I just felt\nthat I couldn't bear Josie Pye's scorn. She would have crowed over me\nall my life. And I think I have been punished so much that you needn't\nbe very cross with me, Marilla. It's not a bit nice to faint, after all.\nAnd the doctor hurt me dreadfully when he was setting my ankle. I won't\nbe able to go around for six or seven weeks and I'll miss the new lady\nteacher. She won't be new any more by the time I'm able to go to school.\nAnd Gil--everybody will get ahead of me in class. Oh, I am an afflicted\nmortal. But I'll try to bear it all bravely if only you won't be cross\nwith me, Marilla.\"\n\n\"There, there, I'm not cross,\" said Marilla. \"You're an unlucky child,\nthere's no doubt about that; but as you say, you'll have the suffering\nof it. Here now, try and eat some supper.\"\n\n\"Isn't it fortunate I've got such an imagination?\" said Anne. \"It will\nhelp me through splendidly, I expect. What do people who haven't any\nimagination do when they break their bones, do you suppose, Marilla?\"\n\nAnne had good reason to bless her imagination many a time and oft during\nthe tedious seven weeks that followed. But she was not solely dependent\non it. She had many visitors and not a day passed without one or more of\nthe schoolgirls dropping in to bring her flowers and books and tell her\nall the happenings in the juvenile world of Avonlea.\n\n\"Everybody has been so good and kind, Marilla,\" sighed Anne happily,\non the day when she could first limp across the floor. \"It isn't very\npleasant to be laid up; but there is a bright side to it, Marilla. You\nfind out how many friends you have. Why, even Superintendent Bell came\nto see me, and he's really a very fine man. Not a kindred spirit, of\ncourse; but still I like him and I'm awfully sorry I ever criticized his\nprayers. I believe now he really does mean them, only he has got into\nthe habit of saying them as if he didn't. He could get over that if he'd\ntake a little trouble. I gave him a good broad hint. I told him how hard\nI tried to make my own little private prayers interesting. He told me\nall about the time he broke his ankle when he was a boy. It does seem\nso strange to think of Superintendent Bell ever being a boy. Even my\nimagination has its limits, for I can't imagine THAT. When I try to\nimagine him as a boy I see him with gray whiskers and spectacles, just\nas he looks in Sunday school, only small. Now, it's so easy to imagine\nMrs. Allan as a little girl. Mrs. Allan has been to see me fourteen\ntimes. Isn't that something to be proud of, Marilla? When a minister's\nwife has so many claims on her time! She is such a cheerful person to\nhave visit you, too. She never tells you it's your own fault and she\nhopes you'll be a better girl on account of it. Mrs. Lynde always told\nme that when she came to see me; and she said it in a kind of way that\nmade me feel she might hope I'd be a better girl but didn't really\nbelieve I would. Even Josie Pye came to see me. I received her as\npolitely as I could, because I think she was sorry she dared me to walk\na ridgepole. If I had been killed she would had to carry a dark burden\nof remorse all her life. Diana has been a faithful friend. She's been\nover every day to cheer my lonely pillow. But oh, I shall be so glad\nwhen I can go to school for I've heard such exciting things about the\nnew teacher. The girls all think she is perfectly sweet. Diana says she\nhas the loveliest fair curly hair and such fascinating eyes. She dresses\nbeautifully, and her sleeve puffs are bigger than anybody else's in\nAvonlea. Every other Friday afternoon she has recitations and everybody\nhas to say a piece or take part in a dialogue. Oh, it's just glorious to\nthink of it. Josie Pye says she hates it but that is just because Josie\nhas so little imagination. Diana and Ruby Gillis and Jane Andrews are\npreparing a dialogue, called 'A Morning Visit,' for next Friday. And the\nFriday afternoons they don't have recitations Miss Stacy takes them\nall to the woods for a 'field' day and they study ferns and flowers\nand birds. And they have physical culture exercises every morning and\nevening. Mrs. Lynde says she never heard of such goings on and it all\ncomes of having a lady teacher. But I think it must be splendid and I\nbelieve I shall find that Miss Stacy is a kindred spirit.\"\n\n\"There's one thing plain to be seen, Anne,\" said Marilla, \"and that is\nthat your fall off the Barry roof hasn't injured your tongue at all.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. Miss Stacy and Her Pupils Get Up a Concert\n\n\nIt was October again when Anne was ready to go back to school--a\nglorious October, all red and gold, with mellow mornings when the\nvalleys were filled with delicate mists as if the spirit of autumn had\npoured them in for the sun to drain--amethyst, pearl, silver, rose, and\nsmoke-blue. The dews were so heavy that the fields glistened like cloth\nof silver and there were such heaps of rustling leaves in the hollows of\nmany-stemmed woods to run crisply through. The Birch Path was a canopy\nof yellow and the ferns were sear and brown all along it. There was a\ntang in the very air that inspired the hearts of small maidens tripping,\nunlike snails, swiftly and willingly to school; and it WAS jolly to\nbe back again at the little brown desk beside Diana, with Ruby Gillis\nnodding across the aisle and Carrie Sloane sending up notes and Julia\nBell passing a \"chew\" of gum down from the back seat. Anne drew a long\nbreath of happiness as she sharpened her pencil and arranged her picture\ncards in her desk. Life was certainly very interesting.\n\nIn the new teacher she found another true and helpful friend. Miss Stacy\nwas a bright, sympathetic young woman with the happy gift of winning and\nholding the affections of her pupils and bringing out the best that was\nin them mentally and morally. Anne expanded like a flower under this\nwholesome influence and carried home to the admiring Matthew and the\ncritical Marilla glowing accounts of schoolwork and aims.\n\n\"I love Miss Stacy with my whole heart, Marilla. She is so ladylike\nand she has such a sweet voice. When she pronounces my name I feel\nINSTINCTIVELY that she's spelling it with an E. We had recitations\nthis afternoon. I just wish you could have been there to hear me recite\n'Mary, Queen of Scots.' I just put my whole soul into it. Ruby Gillis\ntold me coming home that the way I said the line, 'Now for my father's\narm,' she said, 'my woman's heart farewell,' just made her blood run\ncold.\"\n\n\"Well now, you might recite it for me some of these days, out in the\nbarn,\" suggested Matthew.\n\n\"Of course I will,\" said Anne meditatively, \"but I won't be able to do\nit so well, I know. It won't be so exciting as it is when you have a\nwhole schoolful before you hanging breathlessly on your words. I know I\nwon't be able to make your blood run cold.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Lynde says it made HER blood run cold to see the boys climbing to\nthe very tops of those big trees on Bell's hill after crows' nests last\nFriday,\" said Marilla. \"I wonder at Miss Stacy for encouraging it.\"\n\n\"But we wanted a crow's nest for nature study,\" explained Anne. \"That\nwas on our field afternoon. Field afternoons are splendid, Marilla.\nAnd Miss Stacy explains everything so beautifully. We have to write\ncompositions on our field afternoons and I write the best ones.\"\n\n\"It's very vain of you to say so then. You'd better let your teacher say\nit.\"\n\n\"But she DID say it, Marilla. And indeed I'm not vain about it. How can\nI be, when I'm such a dunce at geometry? Although I'm really beginning\nto see through it a little, too. Miss Stacy makes it so clear. Still,\nI'll never be good at it and I assure you it is a humbling reflection.\nBut I love writing compositions. Mostly Miss Stacy lets us choose\nour own subjects; but next week we are to write a composition on some\nremarkable person. It's hard to choose among so many remarkable people\nwho have lived. Mustn't it be splendid to be remarkable and have\ncompositions written about you after you're dead? Oh, I would dearly\nlove to be remarkable. I think when I grow up I'll be a trained nurse\nand go with the Red Crosses to the field of battle as a messenger of\nmercy. That is, if I don't go out as a foreign missionary. That would\nbe very romantic, but one would have to be very good to be a missionary,\nand that would be a stumbling block. We have physical culture exercises\nevery day, too. They make you graceful and promote digestion.\"\n\n\"Promote fiddlesticks!\" said Marilla, who honestly thought it was all\nnonsense.\n\nBut all the field afternoons and recitation Fridays and physical culture\ncontortions paled before a project which Miss Stacy brought forward in\nNovember. This was that the scholars of Avonlea school should get up\na concert and hold it in the hall on Christmas Night, for the laudable\npurpose of helping to pay for a schoolhouse flag. The pupils one and\nall taking graciously to this plan, the preparations for a program\nwere begun at once. And of all the excited performers-elect none was so\nexcited as Anne Shirley, who threw herself into the undertaking heart\nand soul, hampered as she was by Marilla's disapproval. Marilla thought\nit all rank foolishness.\n\n\"It's just filling your heads up with nonsense and taking time that\nought to be put on your lessons,\" she grumbled. \"I don't approve of\nchildren's getting up concerts and racing about to practices. It makes\nthem vain and forward and fond of gadding.\"\n\n\"But think of the worthy object,\" pleaded Anne. \"A flag will cultivate a\nspirit of patriotism, Marilla.\"\n\n\"Fudge! There's precious little patriotism in the thoughts of any of\nyou. All you want is a good time.\"\n\n\"Well, when you can combine patriotism and fun, isn't it all right? Of\ncourse it's real nice to be getting up a concert. We're going to have\nsix choruses and Diana is to sing a solo. I'm in two dialogues--'The\nSociety for the Suppression of Gossip' and 'The Fairy Queen.' The boys\nare going to have a dialogue too. And I'm to have two recitations,\nMarilla. I just tremble when I think of it, but it's a nice thrilly kind\nof tremble. And we're to have a tableau at the last--'Faith, Hope and\nCharity.' Diana and Ruby and I are to be in it, all draped in white with\nflowing hair. I'm to be Hope, with my hands clasped--so--and my eyes\nuplifted. I'm going to practice my recitations in the garret. Don't be\nalarmed if you hear me groaning. I have to groan heartrendingly in one\nof them, and it's really hard to get up a good artistic groan, Marilla.\nJosie Pye is sulky because she didn't get the part she wanted in\nthe dialogue. She wanted to be the fairy queen. That would have been\nridiculous, for who ever heard of a fairy queen as fat as Josie? Fairy\nqueens must be slender. Jane Andrews is to be the queen and I am to be\none of her maids of honor. Josie says she thinks a red-haired fairy is\njust as ridiculous as a fat one, but I do not let myself mind what Josie\nsays. I'm to have a wreath of white roses on my hair and Ruby Gillis\nis going to lend me her slippers because I haven't any of my own. It's\nnecessary for fairies to have slippers, you know. You couldn't imagine\na fairy wearing boots, could you? Especially with copper toes? We are\ngoing to decorate the hall with creeping spruce and fir mottoes with\npink tissue-paper roses in them. And we are all to march in two by two\nafter the audience is seated, while Emma White plays a march on the\norgan. Oh, Marilla, I know you are not so enthusiastic about it as I am,\nbut don't you hope your little Anne will distinguish herself?\"\n\n\"All I hope is that you'll behave yourself. I'll be heartily glad when\nall this fuss is over and you'll be able to settle down. You are simply\ngood for nothing just now with your head stuffed full of dialogues and\ngroans and tableaus. As for your tongue, it's a marvel it's not clean\nworn out.\"\n\nAnne sighed and betook herself to the back yard, over which a young new\nmoon was shining through the leafless poplar boughs from an apple-green\nwestern sky, and where Matthew was splitting wood. Anne perched herself\non a block and talked the concert over with him, sure of an appreciative\nand sympathetic listener in this instance at least.\n\n\"Well now, I reckon it's going to be a pretty good concert. And I\nexpect you'll do your part fine,\" he said, smiling down into her eager,\nvivacious little face. Anne smiled back at him. Those two were the best\nof friends and Matthew thanked his stars many a time and oft that he had\nnothing to do with bringing her up. That was Marilla's exclusive duty;\nif it had been his he would have been worried over frequent conflicts\nbetween inclination and said duty. As it was, he was free to, \"spoil\nAnne\"--Marilla's phrasing--as much as he liked. But it was not such a\nbad arrangement after all; a little \"appreciation\" sometimes does quite\nas much good as all the conscientious \"bringing up\" in the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV. Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves\n\n\nMatthew was having a bad ten minutes of it. He had come into the\nkitchen, in the twilight of a cold, gray December evening, and had sat\ndown in the woodbox corner to take off his heavy boots, unconscious of\nthe fact that Anne and a bevy of her schoolmates were having a practice\nof \"The Fairy Queen\" in the sitting room. Presently they came trooping\nthrough the hall and out into the kitchen, laughing and chattering\ngaily. They did not see Matthew, who shrank bashfully back into the\nshadows beyond the woodbox with a boot in one hand and a bootjack in the\nother, and he watched them shyly for the aforesaid ten minutes as they\nput on caps and jackets and talked about the dialogue and the concert.\nAnne stood among them, bright eyed and animated as they; but Matthew\nsuddenly became conscious that there was something about her different\nfrom her mates. And what worried Matthew was that the difference\nimpressed him as being something that should not exist. Anne had a\nbrighter face, and bigger, starrier eyes, and more delicate features\nthan the other; even shy, unobservant Matthew had learned to take note\nof these things; but the difference that disturbed him did not consist\nin any of these respects. Then in what did it consist?\n\nMatthew was haunted by this question long after the girls had gone, arm\nin arm, down the long, hard-frozen lane and Anne had betaken herself\nto her books. He could not refer it to Marilla, who, he felt, would be\nquite sure to sniff scornfully and remark that the only difference she\nsaw between Anne and the other girls was that they sometimes kept their\ntongues quiet while Anne never did. This, Matthew felt, would be no\ngreat help.\n\nHe had recourse to his pipe that evening to help him study it out, much\nto Marilla's disgust. After two hours of smoking and hard reflection\nMatthew arrived at a solution of his problem. Anne was not dressed like\nthe other girls!\n\nThe more Matthew thought about the matter the more he was convinced that\nAnne never had been dressed like the other girls--never since she had\ncome to Green Gables. Marilla kept her clothed in plain, dark dresses,\nall made after the same unvarying pattern. If Matthew knew there was\nsuch a thing as fashion in dress it was as much as he did; but he was\nquite sure that Anne's sleeves did not look at all like the sleeves the\nother girls wore. He recalled the cluster of little girls he had seen\naround her that evening--all gay in waists of red and blue and pink\nand white--and he wondered why Marilla always kept her so plainly and\nsoberly gowned.\n\nOf course, it must be all right. Marilla knew best and Marilla was\nbringing her up. Probably some wise, inscrutable motive was to be served\nthereby. But surely it would do no harm to let the child have one pretty\ndress--something like Diana Barry always wore. Matthew decided that\nhe would give her one; that surely could not be objected to as an\nunwarranted putting in of his oar. Christmas was only a fortnight off.\nA nice new dress would be the very thing for a present. Matthew, with a\nsigh of satisfaction, put away his pipe and went to bed, while Marilla\nopened all the doors and aired the house.\n\nThe very next evening Matthew betook himself to Carmody to buy the\ndress, determined to get the worst over and have done with it. It would\nbe, he felt assured, no trifling ordeal. There were some things Matthew\ncould buy and prove himself no mean bargainer; but he knew he would be\nat the mercy of shopkeepers when it came to buying a girl's dress.\n\nAfter much cogitation Matthew resolved to go to Samuel Lawson's store\ninstead of William Blair's. To be sure, the Cuthberts always had gone to\nWilliam Blair's; it was almost as much a matter of conscience with them\nas to attend the Presbyterian church and vote Conservative. But William\nBlair's two daughters frequently waited on customers there and Matthew\nheld them in absolute dread. He could contrive to deal with them when he\nknew exactly what he wanted and could point it out; but in such a matter\nas this, requiring explanation and consultation, Matthew felt that he\nmust be sure of a man behind the counter. So he would go to Lawson's,\nwhere Samuel or his son would wait on him.\n\nAlas! Matthew did not know that Samuel, in the recent expansion of his\nbusiness, had set up a lady clerk also; she was a niece of his wife's\nand a very dashing young person indeed, with a huge, drooping pompadour,\nbig, rolling brown eyes, and a most extensive and bewildering smile. She\nwas dressed with exceeding smartness and wore several bangle bracelets\nthat glittered and rattled and tinkled with every movement of her hands.\nMatthew was covered with confusion at finding her there at all; and\nthose bangles completely wrecked his wits at one fell swoop.\n\n\"What can I do for you this evening, Mr. Cuthbert?\" Miss Lucilla Harris\ninquired, briskly and ingratiatingly, tapping the counter with both\nhands.\n\n\"Have you any--any--any--well now, say any garden rakes?\" stammered\nMatthew.\n\nMiss Harris looked somewhat surprised, as well she might, to hear a man\ninquiring for garden rakes in the middle of December.\n\n\"I believe we have one or two left over,\" she said, \"but they're\nupstairs in the lumber room. I'll go and see.\" During her absence\nMatthew collected his scattered senses for another effort.\n\nWhen Miss Harris returned with the rake and cheerfully inquired:\n\"Anything else tonight, Mr. Cuthbert?\" Matthew took his courage in\nboth hands and replied: \"Well now, since you suggest it, I might as\nwell--take--that is--look at--buy some--some hayseed.\"\n\nMiss Harris had heard Matthew Cuthbert called odd. She now concluded\nthat he was entirely crazy.\n\n\"We only keep hayseed in the spring,\" she explained loftily. \"We've none\non hand just now.\"\n\n\"Oh, certainly--certainly--just as you say,\" stammered unhappy\nMatthew, seizing the rake and making for the door. At the threshold he\nrecollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back.\nWhile Miss Harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers for\na final desperate attempt.\n\n\"Well now--if it isn't too much trouble--I might as well--that is--I'd\nlike to look at--at--some sugar.\"\n\n\"White or brown?\" queried Miss Harris patiently.\n\n\"Oh--well now--brown,\" said Matthew feebly.\n\n\"There's a barrel of it over there,\" said Miss Harris, shaking her\nbangles at it. \"It's the only kind we have.\"\n\n\"I'll--I'll take twenty pounds of it,\" said Matthew, with beads of\nperspiration standing on his forehead.\n\nMatthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again. It had\nbeen a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought, for\ncommitting the heresy of going to a strange store. When he reached\nhome he hid the rake in the tool house, but the sugar he carried in to\nMarilla.\n\n\"Brown sugar!\" exclaimed Marilla. \"Whatever possessed you to get so\nmuch? You know I never use it except for the hired man's porridge or\nblack fruit cake. Jerry's gone and I've made my cake long ago. It's not\ngood sugar, either--it's coarse and dark--William Blair doesn't usually\nkeep sugar like that.\"\n\n\"I--I thought it might come in handy sometime,\" said Matthew, making\ngood his escape.\n\nWhen Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was\nrequired to cope with the situation. Marilla was out of the question.\nMatthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once.\nRemained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would Matthew\nhave dared to ask advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly, and that\ngood lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man's hands.\n\n\"Pick out a dress for you to give Anne? To be sure I will. I'm going to\nCarmody tomorrow and I'll attend to it. Have you something particular in\nmind? No? Well, I'll just go by my own judgment then. I believe a nice\nrich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has some new gloria\nin that's real pretty. Perhaps you'd like me to make it up for her, too,\nseeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would probably get wind of it\nbefore the time and spoil the surprise? Well, I'll do it. No, it isn't\na mite of trouble. I like sewing. I'll make it to fit my niece, Jenny\nGillis, for she and Anne are as like as two peas as far as figure goes.\"\n\n\"Well now, I'm much obliged,\" said Matthew, \"and--and--I dunno--but I'd\nlike--I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what they used\nto be. If it wouldn't be asking too much I--I'd like them made in the\nnew way.\"\n\n\"Puffs? Of course. You needn't worry a speck more about it, Matthew.\nI'll make it up in the very latest fashion,\" said Mrs. Lynde. To herself\nshe added when Matthew had gone:\n\n\"It'll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something\ndecent for once. The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous,\nthat's what, and I've ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times. I've\nheld my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn't want advice and she\nthinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for all\nshe's an old maid. But that's always the way. Folks that has brought up\nchildren know that there's no hard and fast method in the world that'll\nsuit every child. But them as never have think it's all as plain and\neasy as Rule of Three--just set your three terms down so fashion, and\nthe sum'll work out correct. But flesh and blood don't come under the\nhead of arithmetic and that's where Marilla Cuthbert makes her mistake.\nI suppose she's trying to cultivate a spirit of humility in Anne by\ndressing her as she does; but it's more likely to cultivate envy and\ndiscontent. I'm sure the child must feel the difference between her\nclothes and the other girls'. But to think of Matthew taking notice of\nit! That man is waking up after being asleep for over sixty years.\"\n\nMarilla knew all the following fortnight that Matthew had something on\nhis mind, but what it was she could not guess, until Christmas Eve, when\nMrs. Lynde brought up the new dress. Marilla behaved pretty well on the\nwhole, although it is very likely she distrusted Mrs. Lynde's diplomatic\nexplanation that she had made the dress because Matthew was afraid Anne\nwould find out about it too soon if Marilla made it.\n\n\"So this is what Matthew has been looking so mysterious over and\ngrinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?\" she said a little\nstiffly but tolerantly. \"I knew he was up to some foolishness. Well, I\nmust say I don't think Anne needed any more dresses. I made her three\ngood, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer\nextravagance. There's enough material in those sleeves alone to make a\nwaist, I declare there is. You'll just pamper Anne's vanity, Matthew,\nand she's as vain as a peacock now. Well, I hope she'll be satisfied\nat last, for I know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves ever\nsince they came in, although she never said a word after the first. The\npuffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right along; they're\nas big as balloons now. Next year anybody who wears them will have to go\nthrough a door sideways.\"\n\nChristmas morning broke on a beautiful white world. It had been a very\nmild December and people had looked forward to a green Christmas; but\njust enough snow fell softly in the night to transfigure Avonlea. Anne\npeeped out from her frosted gable window with delighted eyes. The firs\nin the Haunted Wood were all feathery and wonderful; the birches\nand wild cherry trees were outlined in pearl; the plowed fields were\nstretches of snowy dimples; and there was a crisp tang in the air that\nwas glorious. Anne ran downstairs singing until her voice reechoed\nthrough Green Gables.\n\n\"Merry Christmas, Marilla! Merry Christmas, Matthew! Isn't it a lovely\nChristmas? I'm so glad it's white. Any other kind of Christmas doesn't\nseem real, does it? I don't like green Christmases. They're not\ngreen--they're just nasty faded browns and grays. What makes people call\nthem green? Why--why--Matthew, is that for me? Oh, Matthew!\"\n\nMatthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and\nheld it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to be\ncontemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene\nout of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air.\n\nAnne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how pretty\nit was--a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt\nwith dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in the\nmost fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck.\nBut the sleeves--they were the crowning glory! Long elbow cuffs, and\nabove them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of\nbrown-silk ribbon.\n\n\"That's a Christmas present for you, Anne,\" said Matthew shyly.\n\"Why--why--Anne, don't you like it? Well now--well now.\"\n\nFor Anne's eyes had suddenly filled with tears.\n\n\"Like it! Oh, Matthew!\" Anne laid the dress over a chair and clasped\nher hands. \"Matthew, it's perfectly exquisite. Oh, I can never thank you\nenough. Look at those sleeves! Oh, it seems to me this must be a happy\ndream.\"\n\n\"Well, well, let us have breakfast,\" interrupted Marilla. \"I must say,\nAnne, I don't think you needed the dress; but since Matthew has got it\nfor you, see that you take good care of it. There's a hair ribbon Mrs.\nLynde left for you. It's brown, to match the dress. Come now, sit in.\"\n\n\"I don't see how I'm going to eat breakfast,\" said Anne rapturously.\n\"Breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment. I'd rather\nfeast my eyes on that dress. I'm so glad that puffed sleeves are still\nfashionable. It did seem to me that I'd never get over it if they went\nout before I had a dress with them. I'd never have felt quite satisfied,\nyou see. It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give me the ribbon too. I feel\nthat I ought to be a very good girl indeed. It's at times like this I'm\nsorry I'm not a model little girl; and I always resolve that I will\nbe in future. But somehow it's hard to carry out your resolutions when\nirresistible temptations come. Still, I really will make an extra effort\nafter this.\"\n\nWhen the commonplace breakfast was over Diana appeared, crossing the\nwhite log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimson\nulster. Anne flew down the slope to meet her.\n\n\"Merry Christmas, Diana! And oh, it's a wonderful Christmas. I've\nsomething splendid to show you. Matthew has given me the loveliest\ndress, with SUCH sleeves. I couldn't even imagine any nicer.\"\n\n\"I've got something more for you,\" said Diana breathlessly. \"Here--this\nbox. Aunt Josephine sent us out a big box with ever so many things in\nit--and this is for you. I'd have brought it over last night, but it\ndidn't come until after dark, and I never feel very comfortable coming\nthrough the Haunted Wood in the dark now.\"\n\nAnne opened the box and peeped in. First a card with \"For the Anne-girl\nand Merry Christmas,\" written on it; and then, a pair of the daintiest\nlittle kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and glistening\nbuckles.\n\n\"Oh,\" said Anne, \"Diana, this is too much. I must be dreaming.\"\n\n\"I call it providential,\" said Diana. \"You won't have to borrow Ruby's\nslippers now, and that's a blessing, for they're two sizes too big for\nyou, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling. Josie Pye would\nbe delighted. Mind you, Rob Wright went home with Gertie Pye from the\npractice night before last. Did you ever hear anything equal to that?\"\n\nAll the Avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for the\nhall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held.\n\nThe concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success. The\nlittle hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, but\nAnne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, in\nthe shape of Josie Pye, dared not deny.\n\n\"Oh, hasn't it been a brilliant evening?\" sighed Anne, when it was all\nover and she and Diana were walking home together under a dark, starry\nsky.\n\n\"Everything went off very well,\" said Diana practically. \"I guess we\nmust have made as much as ten dollars. Mind you, Mr. Allan is going to\nsend an account of it to the Charlottetown papers.\"\n\n\"Oh, Diana, will we really see our names in print? It makes me thrill to\nthink of it. Your solo was perfectly elegant, Diana. I felt prouder than\nyou did when it was encored. I just said to myself, 'It is my dear bosom\nfriend who is so honored.'\"\n\n\"Well, your recitations just brought down the house, Anne. That sad one\nwas simply splendid.\"\n\n\"Oh, I was so nervous, Diana. When Mr. Allan called out my name I really\ncannot tell how I ever got up on that platform. I felt as if a million\neyes were looking at me and through me, and for one dreadful moment I\nwas sure I couldn't begin at all. Then I thought of my lovely puffed\nsleeves and took courage. I knew that I must live up to those sleeves,\nDiana. So I started in, and my voice seemed to be coming from ever so\nfar away. I just felt like a parrot. It's providential that I practiced\nthose recitations so often up in the garret, or I'd never have been able\nto get through. Did I groan all right?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed, you groaned lovely,\" assured Diana.\n\n\"I saw old Mrs. Sloane wiping away tears when I sat down. It was\nsplendid to think I had touched somebody's heart. It's so romantic\nto take part in a concert, isn't it? Oh, it's been a very memorable\noccasion indeed.\"\n\n\"Wasn't the boys' dialogue fine?\" said Diana. \"Gilbert Blythe was just\nsplendid. Anne, I do think it's awful mean the way you treat Gil. Wait\ntill I tell you. When you ran off the platform after the fairy dialogue\none of your roses fell out of your hair. I saw Gil pick it up and put\nit in his breast pocket. There now. You're so romantic that I'm sure you\nought to be pleased at that.\"\n\n\"It's nothing to me what that person does,\" said Anne loftily. \"I simply\nnever waste a thought on him, Diana.\"\n\nThat night Marilla and Matthew, who had been out to a concert for the\nfirst time in twenty years, sat for a while by the kitchen fire after\nAnne had gone to bed.\n\n\"Well now, I guess our Anne did as well as any of them,\" said Matthew\nproudly.\n\n\"Yes, she did,\" admitted Marilla. \"She's a bright child, Matthew. And\nshe looked real nice too. I've been kind of opposed to this concert\nscheme, but I suppose there's no real harm in it after all. Anyhow, I\nwas proud of Anne tonight, although I'm not going to tell her so.\"\n\n\"Well now, I was proud of her and I did tell her so 'fore she went\nupstairs,\" said Matthew. \"We must see what we can do for her some of\nthese days, Marilla. I guess she'll need something more than Avonlea\nschool by and by.\"\n\n\"There's time enough to think of that,\" said Marilla. \"She's only\nthirteen in March. Though tonight it struck me she was growing quite a\nbig girl. Mrs. Lynde made that dress a mite too long, and it makes Anne\nlook so tall. She's quick to learn and I guess the best thing we can do\nfor her will be to send her to Queen's after a spell. But nothing need\nbe said about that for a year or two yet.\"\n\n\"Well now, it'll do no harm to be thinking it over off and on,\" said\nMatthew. \"Things like that are all the better for lots of thinking\nover.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. The Story Club Is Formed\n\n\nJunior Avonlea found it hard to settle down to humdrum existence\nagain. To Anne in particular things seemed fearfully flat, stale, and\nunprofitable after the goblet of excitement she had been sipping for\nweeks. Could she go back to the former quiet pleasures of those faraway\ndays before the concert? At first, as she told Diana, she did not really\nthink she could.\n\n\"I'm positively certain, Diana, that life can never be quite the\nsame again as it was in those olden days,\" she said mournfully, as if\nreferring to a period of at least fifty years back. \"Perhaps after a\nwhile I'll get used to it, but I'm afraid concerts spoil people for\neveryday life. I suppose that is why Marilla disapproves of them.\nMarilla is such a sensible woman. It must be a great deal better to be\nsensible; but still, I don't believe I'd really want to be a sensible\nperson, because they are so unromantic. Mrs. Lynde says there is no\ndanger of my ever being one, but you can never tell. I feel just now\nthat I may grow up to be sensible yet. But perhaps that is only because\nI'm tired. I simply couldn't sleep last night for ever so long. I just\nlay awake and imagined the concert over and over again. That's one\nsplendid thing about such affairs--it's so lovely to look back to them.\"\n\nEventually, however, Avonlea school slipped back into its old groove\nand took up its old interests. To be sure, the concert left traces. Ruby\nGillis and Emma White, who had quarreled over a point of precedence in\ntheir platform seats, no longer sat at the same desk, and a promising\nfriendship of three years was broken up. Josie Pye and Julia Bell did\nnot \"speak\" for three months, because Josie Pye had told Bessie Wright\nthat Julia Bell's bow when she got up to recite made her think of a\nchicken jerking its head, and Bessie told Julia. None of the Sloanes\nwould have any dealings with the Bells, because the Bells had declared\nthat the Sloanes had too much to do in the program, and the Sloanes had\nretorted that the Bells were not capable of doing the little they had to\ndo properly. Finally, Charlie Sloane fought Moody Spurgeon MacPherson,\nbecause Moody Spurgeon had said that Anne Shirley put on airs about\nher recitations, and Moody Spurgeon was \"licked\"; consequently Moody\nSpurgeon's sister, Ella May, would not \"speak\" to Anne Shirley all the\nrest of the winter. With the exception of these trifling frictions, work\nin Miss Stacy's little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness.\n\nThe winter weeks slipped by. It was an unusually mild winter, with so\nlittle snow that Anne and Diana could go to school nearly every day by\nway of the Birch Path. On Anne's birthday they were tripping lightly\ndown it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter, for Miss\nStacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on \"A\nWinter's Walk in the Woods,\" and it behooved them to be observant.\n\n\"Just think, Diana, I'm thirteen years old today,\" remarked Anne in an\nawed voice. \"I can scarcely realize that I'm in my teens. When I woke\nthis morning it seemed to me that everything must be different. You've\nbeen thirteen for a month, so I suppose it doesn't seem such a novelty\nto you as it does to me. It makes life seem so much more interesting.\nIn two more years I'll be really grown up. It's a great comfort to think\nthat I'll be able to use big words then without being laughed at.\"\n\n\"Ruby Gillis says she means to have a beau as soon as she's fifteen,\"\nsaid Diana.\n\n\"Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing but beaus,\" said Anne disdainfully.\n\"She's actually delighted when anyone writes her name up in a\ntake-notice for all she pretends to be so mad. But I'm afraid that is an\nuncharitable speech. Mrs. Allan says we should never make uncharitable\nspeeches; but they do slip out so often before you think, don't they? I\nsimply can't talk about Josie Pye without making an uncharitable speech,\nso I never mention her at all. You may have noticed that. I'm trying to\nbe as much like Mrs. Allan as I possibly can, for I think she's perfect.\nMr. Allan thinks so too. Mrs. Lynde says he just worships the ground she\ntreads on and she doesn't really think it right for a minister to\nset his affections so much on a mortal being. But then, Diana, even\nministers are human and have their besetting sins just like everybody\nelse. I had such an interesting talk with Mrs. Allan about besetting\nsins last Sunday afternoon. There are just a few things it's proper\nto talk about on Sundays and that is one of them. My besetting sin is\nimagining too much and forgetting my duties. I'm striving very hard\nto overcome it and now that I'm really thirteen perhaps I'll get on\nbetter.\"\n\n\"In four more years we'll be able to put our hair up,\" said Diana.\n\"Alice Bell is only sixteen and she is wearing hers up, but I think\nthat's ridiculous. I shall wait until I'm seventeen.\"\n\n\"If I had Alice Bell's crooked nose,\" said Anne decidedly, \"I\nwouldn't--but there! I won't say what I was going to because it was\nextremely uncharitable. Besides, I was comparing it with my own nose and\nthat's vanity. I'm afraid I think too much about my nose ever since I\nheard that compliment about it long ago. It really is a great comfort to\nme. Oh, Diana, look, there's a rabbit. That's something to remember for\nour woods composition. I really think the woods are just as lovely in\nwinter as in summer. They're so white and still, as if they were asleep\nand dreaming pretty dreams.\"\n\n\"I won't mind writing that composition when its time comes,\" sighed\nDiana. \"I can manage to write about the woods, but the one we're to\nhand in Monday is terrible. The idea of Miss Stacy telling us to write a\nstory out of our own heads!\"\n\n\"Why, it's as easy as wink,\" said Anne.\n\n\"It's easy for you because you have an imagination,\" retorted Diana,\n\"but what would you do if you had been born without one? I suppose you\nhave your composition all done?\"\n\nAnne nodded, trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failing\nmiserably.\n\n\"I wrote it last Monday evening. It's called 'The Jealous Rival; or In\nDeath Not Divided.' I read it to Marilla and she said it was stuff and\nnonsense. Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine. That is\nthe kind of critic I like. It's a sad, sweet story. I just cried like\na child while I was writing it. It's about two beautiful maidens called\nCordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour who lived in the same village\nand were devotedly attached to each other. Cordelia was a regal brunette\nwith a coronet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes. Geraldine was\na queenly blonde with hair like spun gold and velvety purple eyes.\"\n\n\"I never saw anybody with purple eyes,\" said Diana dubiously.\n\n\"Neither did I. I just imagined them. I wanted something out of the\ncommon. Geraldine had an alabaster brow too. I've found out what an\nalabaster brow is. That is one of the advantages of being thirteen. You\nknow so much more than you did when you were only twelve.\"\n\n\"Well, what became of Cordelia and Geraldine?\" asked Diana, who was\nbeginning to feel rather interested in their fate.\n\n\"They grew in beauty side by side until they were sixteen. Then Bertram\nDeVere came to their native village and fell in love with the fair\nGeraldine. He saved her life when her horse ran away with her in a\ncarriage, and she fainted in his arms and he carried her home three\nmiles; because, you understand, the carriage was all smashed up. I found\nit rather hard to imagine the proposal because I had no experience to\ngo by. I asked Ruby Gillis if she knew anything about how men proposed\nbecause I thought she'd likely be an authority on the subject, having so\nmany sisters married. Ruby told me she was hid in the hall pantry when\nMalcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan. She said Malcolm told Susan\nthat his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said, 'What\ndo you say, darling pet, if we get hitched this fall?' And Susan said,\n'Yes--no--I don't know--let me see'--and there they were, engaged as\nquick as that. But I didn't think that sort of a proposal was a very\nromantic one, so in the end I had to imagine it out as well as I could.\nI made it very flowery and poetical and Bertram went on his knees,\nalthough Ruby Gillis says it isn't done nowadays. Geraldine accepted\nhim in a speech a page long. I can tell you I took a lot of trouble\nwith that speech. I rewrote it five times and I look upon it as my\nmasterpiece. Bertram gave her a diamond ring and a ruby necklace\nand told her they would go to Europe for a wedding tour, for he was\nimmensely wealthy. But then, alas, shadows began to darken over their\npath. Cordelia was secretly in love with Bertram herself and when\nGeraldine told her about the engagement she was simply furious,\nespecially when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring. All her\naffection for Geraldine turned to bitter hate and she vowed that she\nshould never marry Bertram. But she pretended to be Geraldine's friend\nthe same as ever. One evening they were standing on the bridge over a\nrushing turbulent stream and Cordelia, thinking they were alone, pushed\nGeraldine over the brink with a wild, mocking, 'Ha, ha, ha.' But Bertram\nsaw it all and he at once plunged into the current, exclaiming, 'I\nwill save thee, my peerless Geraldine.' But alas, he had forgotten he\ncouldn't swim, and they were both drowned, clasped in each other's arms.\nTheir bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards. They were buried in the\none grave and their funeral was most imposing, Diana. It's so much\nmore romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding. As for\nCordelia, she went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunatic\nasylum. I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime.\"\n\n\"How perfectly lovely!\" sighed Diana, who belonged to Matthew's school\nof critics. \"I don't see how you can make up such thrilling things out\nof your own head, Anne. I wish my imagination was as good as yours.\"\n\n\"It would be if you'd only cultivate it,\" said Anne cheeringly. \"I've\njust thought of a plan, Diana. Let you and me have a story club all our\nown and write stories for practice. I'll help you along until you can\ndo them by yourself. You ought to cultivate your imagination, you know.\nMiss Stacy says so. Only we must take the right way. I told her about\nthe Haunted Wood, but she said we went the wrong way about it in that.\"\n\nThis was how the story club came into existence. It was limited to Diana\nand Anne at first, but soon it was extended to include Jane Andrews\nand Ruby Gillis and one or two others who felt that their imaginations\nneeded cultivating. No boys were allowed in it--although Ruby Gillis\nopined that their admission would make it more exciting--and each member\nhad to produce one story a week.\n\n\"It's extremely interesting,\" Anne told Marilla. \"Each girl has to read\nher story out loud and then we talk it over. We are going to keep them\nall sacredly and have them to read to our descendants. We each write\nunder a nom-de-plume. Mine is Rosamond Montmorency. All the girls\ndo pretty well. Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental. She puts too much\nlovemaking into her stories and you know too much is worse than too\nlittle. Jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so silly\nwhen she had to read it out loud. Jane's stories are extremely sensible.\nThen Diana puts too many murders into hers. She says most of the time\nshe doesn't know what to do with the people so she kills them off to get\nrid of them. I mostly always have to tell them what to write about, but\nthat isn't hard for I've millions of ideas.\"\n\n\"I think this story-writing business is the foolishest yet,\" scoffed\nMarilla. \"You'll get a pack of nonsense into your heads and waste time\nthat should be put on your lessons. Reading stories is bad enough but\nwriting them is worse.\"\n\n\"But we're so careful to put a moral into them all, Marilla,\" explained\nAnne. \"I insist upon that. All the good people are rewarded and all\nthe bad ones are suitably punished. I'm sure that must have a wholesome\neffect. The moral is the great thing. Mr. Allan says so. I read one of\nmy stories to him and Mrs. Allan and they both agreed that the moral was\nexcellent. Only they laughed in the wrong places. I like it better when\npeople cry. Jane and Ruby almost always cry when I come to the pathetic\nparts. Diana wrote her Aunt Josephine about our club and her Aunt\nJosephine wrote back that we were to send her some of our stories. So\nwe copied out four of our very best and sent them. Miss Josephine Barry\nwrote back that she had never read anything so amusing in her life. That\nkind of puzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic and almost\neverybody died. But I'm glad Miss Barry liked them. It shows our club\nis doing some good in the world. Mrs. Allan says that ought to be our\nobject in everything. I do really try to make it my object but I forget\nso often when I'm having fun. I hope I shall be a little like Mrs. Allan\nwhen I grow up. Do you think there is any prospect of it, Marilla?\"\n\n\"I shouldn't say there was a great deal\" was Marilla's encouraging\nanswer. \"I'm sure Mrs. Allan was never such a silly, forgetful little\ngirl as you are.\"\n\n\"No; but she wasn't always so good as she is now either,\" said Anne\nseriously. \"She told me so herself--that is, she said she was a dreadful\nmischief when she was a girl and was always getting into scrapes. I felt\nso encouraged when I heard that. Is it very wicked of me, Marilla,\nto feel encouraged when I hear that other people have been bad and\nmischievous? Mrs. Lynde says it is. Mrs. Lynde says she always feels\nshocked when she hears of anyone ever having been naughty, no matter how\nsmall they were. Mrs. Lynde says she once heard a minister confess that\nwhen he was a boy he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt's pantry\nand she never had any respect for that minister again. Now, I wouldn't\nhave felt that way. I'd have thought that it was real noble of him to\nconfess it, and I'd have thought what an encouraging thing it would be\nfor small boys nowadays who do naughty things and are sorry for them\nto know that perhaps they may grow up to be ministers in spite of it.\nThat's how I'd feel, Marilla.\"\n\n\"The way I feel at present, Anne,\" said Marilla, \"is that it's high time\nyou had those dishes washed. You've taken half an hour longer than\nyou should with all your chattering. Learn to work first and talk\nafterwards.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII. Vanity and Vexation of Spirit\n\n\nMarilla, walking home one late April evening from an Aid meeting,\nrealized that the winter was over and gone with the thrill of delight\nthat spring never fails to bring to the oldest and saddest as well as to\nthe youngest and merriest. Marilla was not given to subjective analysis\nof her thoughts and feelings. She probably imagined that she was\nthinking about the Aids and their missionary box and the new carpet\nfor the vestry room, but under these reflections was a harmonious\nconsciousness of red fields smoking into pale-purply mists in the\ndeclining sun, of long, sharp-pointed fir shadows falling over the\nmeadow beyond the brook, of still, crimson-budded maples around a\nmirrorlike wood pool, of a wakening in the world and a stir of hidden\npulses under the gray sod. The spring was abroad in the land and\nMarilla's sober, middle-aged step was lighter and swifter because of its\ndeep, primal gladness.\n\nHer eyes dwelt affectionately on Green Gables, peering through its\nnetwork of trees and reflecting the sunlight back from its windows in\nseveral little coruscations of glory. Marilla, as she picked her steps\nalong the damp lane, thought that it was really a satisfaction to know\nthat she was going home to a briskly snapping wood fire and a table\nnicely spread for tea, instead of to the cold comfort of old Aid meeting\nevenings before Anne had come to Green Gables.\n\nConsequently, when Marilla entered her kitchen and found the fire black\nout, with no sign of Anne anywhere, she felt justly disappointed and\nirritated. She had told Anne to be sure and have tea ready at five\no'clock, but now she must hurry to take off her second-best dress and\nprepare the meal herself against Matthew's return from plowing.\n\n\"I'll settle Miss Anne when she comes home,\" said Marilla grimly, as\nshe shaved up kindlings with a carving knife and with more vim than was\nstrictly necessary. Matthew had come in and was waiting patiently for\nhis tea in his corner. \"She's gadding off somewhere with Diana, writing\nstories or practicing dialogues or some such tomfoolery, and never\nthinking once about the time or her duties. She's just got to be pulled\nup short and sudden on this sort of thing. I don't care if Mrs. Allan\ndoes say she's the brightest and sweetest child she ever knew. She may\nbe bright and sweet enough, but her head is full of nonsense and there's\nnever any knowing what shape it'll break out in next. Just as soon as\nshe grows out of one freak she takes up with another. But there! Here I\nam saying the very thing I was so riled with Rachel Lynde for saying at\nthe Aid today. I was real glad when Mrs. Allan spoke up for Anne, for\nif she hadn't I know I'd have said something too sharp to Rachel before\neverybody. Anne's got plenty of faults, goodness knows, and far be it\nfrom me to deny it. But I'm bringing her up and not Rachel Lynde, who'd\npick faults in the Angel Gabriel himself if he lived in Avonlea. Just\nthe same, Anne has no business to leave the house like this when I told\nher she was to stay home this afternoon and look after things. I must\nsay, with all her faults, I never found her disobedient or untrustworthy\nbefore and I'm real sorry to find her so now.\"\n\n\"Well now, I dunno,\" said Matthew, who, being patient and wise and,\nabove all, hungry, had deemed it best to let Marilla talk her wrath\nout unhindered, having learned by experience that she got through\nwith whatever work was on hand much quicker if not delayed by untimely\nargument. \"Perhaps you're judging her too hasty, Marilla. Don't call her\nuntrustworthy until you're sure she has disobeyed you. Mebbe it can all\nbe explained--Anne's a great hand at explaining.\"\n\n\"She's not here when I told her to stay,\" retorted Marilla. \"I reckon\nshe'll find it hard to explain THAT to my satisfaction. Of course I knew\nyou'd take her part, Matthew. But I'm bringing her up, not you.\"\n\nIt was dark when supper was ready, and still no sign of Anne, coming\nhurriedly over the log bridge or up Lover's Lane, breathless and\nrepentant with a sense of neglected duties. Marilla washed and put away\nthe dishes grimly. Then, wanting a candle to light her way down the\ncellar, she went up to the east gable for the one that generally stood\non Anne's table. Lighting it, she turned around to see Anne herself\nlying on the bed, face downward among the pillows.\n\n\"Mercy on us,\" said astonished Marilla, \"have you been asleep, Anne?\"\n\n\"No,\" was the muffled reply.\n\n\"Are you sick then?\" demanded Marilla anxiously, going over to the bed.\n\nAnne cowered deeper into her pillows as if desirous of hiding herself\nforever from mortal eyes.\n\n\"No. But please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me. I'm in the\ndepths of despair and I don't care who gets head in class or writes the\nbest composition or sings in the Sunday-school choir any more. Little\nthings like that are of no importance now because I don't suppose I'll\never be able to go anywhere again. My career is closed. Please, Marilla,\ngo away and don't look at me.\"\n\n\"Did anyone ever hear the like?\" the mystified Marilla wanted to know.\n\"Anne Shirley, whatever is the matter with you? What have you done? Get\nright up this minute and tell me. This minute, I say. There now, what is\nit?\"\n\nAnne had slid to the floor in despairing obedience.\n\n\"Look at my hair, Marilla,\" she whispered.\n\nAccordingly, Marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizingly at\nAnne's hair, flowing in heavy masses down her back. It certainly had a\nvery strange appearance.\n\n\"Anne Shirley, what have you done to your hair? Why, it's GREEN!\"\n\nGreen it might be called, if it were any earthly color--a queer,\ndull, bronzy green, with streaks here and there of the original red\nto heighten the ghastly effect. Never in all her life had Marilla seen\nanything so grotesque as Anne's hair at that moment.\n\n\"Yes, it's green,\" moaned Anne. \"I thought nothing could be as bad as\nred hair. But now I know it's ten times worse to have green hair. Oh,\nMarilla, you little know how utterly wretched I am.\"\n\n\"I little know how you got into this fix, but I mean to find out,\" said\nMarilla. \"Come right down to the kitchen--it's too cold up here--and\ntell me just what you've done. I've been expecting something queer for\nsome time. You haven't got into any scrape for over two months, and I\nwas sure another one was due. Now, then, what did you do to your hair?\"\n\n\"I dyed it.\"\n\n\"Dyed it! Dyed your hair! Anne Shirley, didn't you know it was a wicked\nthing to do?\"\n\n\"Yes, I knew it was a little wicked,\" admitted Anne. \"But I thought it\nwas worth while to be a little wicked to get rid of red hair. I counted\nthe cost, Marilla. Besides, I meant to be extra good in other ways to\nmake up for it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Marilla sarcastically, \"if I'd decided it was worth while\nto dye my hair I'd have dyed it a decent color at least. I wouldn't have\ndyed it green.\"\n\n\"But I didn't mean to dye it green, Marilla,\" protested Anne dejectedly.\n\"If I was wicked I meant to be wicked to some purpose. He said it would\nturn my hair a beautiful raven black--he positively assured me that it\nwould. How could I doubt his word, Marilla? I know what it feels like\nto have your word doubted. And Mrs. Allan says we should never suspect\nanyone of not telling us the truth unless we have proof that they're\nnot. I have proof now--green hair is proof enough for anybody. But I\nhadn't then and I believed every word he said IMPLICITLY.\"\n\n\"Who said? Who are you talking about?\"\n\n\"The peddler that was here this afternoon. I bought the dye from him.\"\n\n\"Anne Shirley, how often have I told you never to let one of those\nItalians in the house! I don't believe in encouraging them to come\naround at all.\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't let him in the house. I remembered what you told me, and I\nwent out, carefully shut the door, and looked at his things on the step.\nBesides, he wasn't an Italian--he was a German Jew. He had a big box\nfull of very interesting things and he told me he was working hard to\nmake enough money to bring his wife and children out from Germany. He\nspoke so feelingly about them that it touched my heart. I wanted to buy\nsomething from him to help him in such a worthy object. Then all at once\nI saw the bottle of hair dye. The peddler said it was warranted to dye\nany hair a beautiful raven black and wouldn't wash off. In a trice I\nsaw myself with beautiful raven-black hair and the temptation was\nirresistible. But the price of the bottle was seventy-five cents and I\nhad only fifty cents left out of my chicken money. I think the peddler\nhad a very kind heart, for he said that, seeing it was me, he'd sell it\nfor fifty cents and that was just giving it away. So I bought it, and as\nsoon as he had gone I came up here and applied it with an old hairbrush\nas the directions said. I used up the whole bottle, and oh, Marilla,\nwhen I saw the dreadful color it turned my hair I repented of being\nwicked, I can tell you. And I've been repenting ever since.\"\n\n\"Well, I hope you'll repent to good purpose,\" said Marilla severely,\n\"and that you've got your eyes opened to where your vanity has led you,\nAnne. Goodness knows what's to be done. I suppose the first thing is to\ngive your hair a good washing and see if that will do any good.\"\n\nAccordingly, Anne washed her hair, scrubbing it vigorously with soap and\nwater, but for all the difference it made she might as well have been\nscouring its original red. The peddler had certainly spoken the truth\nwhen he declared that the dye wouldn't wash off, however his veracity\nmight be impeached in other respects.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, what shall I do?\" questioned Anne in tears. \"I can never\nlive this down. People have pretty well forgotten my other mistakes--the\nliniment cake and setting Diana drunk and flying into a temper with\nMrs. Lynde. But they'll never forget this. They will think I am not\nrespectable. Oh, Marilla, 'what a tangled web we weave when first we\npractice to deceive.' That is poetry, but it is true. And oh, how Josie\nPye will laugh! Marilla, I CANNOT face Josie Pye. I am the unhappiest\ngirl in Prince Edward Island.\"\n\nAnne's unhappiness continued for a week. During that time she went\nnowhere and shampooed her hair every day. Diana alone of outsiders knew\nthe fatal secret, but she promised solemnly never to tell, and it may\nbe stated here and now that she kept her word. At the end of the week\nMarilla said decidedly:\n\n\"It's no use, Anne. That is fast dye if ever there was any. Your hair\nmust be cut off; there is no other way. You can't go out with it looking\nlike that.\"\n\nAnne's lips quivered, but she realized the bitter truth of Marilla's\nremarks. With a dismal sigh she went for the scissors.\n\n\"Please cut it off at once, Marilla, and have it over. Oh, I feel that\nmy heart is broken. This is such an unromantic affliction. The girls in\nbooks lose their hair in fevers or sell it to get money for some good\ndeed, and I'm sure I wouldn't mind losing my hair in some such fashion\nhalf so much. But there is nothing comforting in having your hair cut\noff because you've dyed it a dreadful color, is there? I'm going to weep\nall the time you're cutting it off, if it won't interfere. It seems such\na tragic thing.\"\n\nAnne wept then, but later on, when she went upstairs and looked in the\nglass, she was calm with despair. Marilla had done her work thoroughly\nand it had been necessary to shingle the hair as closely as possible.\nThe result was not becoming, to state the case as mildly as may be. Anne\npromptly turned her glass to the wall.\n\n\"I'll never, never look at myself again until my hair grows,\" she\nexclaimed passionately.\n\nThen she suddenly righted the glass.\n\n\"Yes, I will, too. I'd do penance for being wicked that way. I'll look\nat myself every time I come to my room and see how ugly I am. And I\nwon't try to imagine it away, either. I never thought I was vain about\nmy hair, of all things, but now I know I was, in spite of its being\nred, because it was so long and thick and curly. I expect something will\nhappen to my nose next.\"\n\nAnne's clipped head made a sensation in school on the following Monday,\nbut to her relief nobody guessed the real reason for it, not even Josie\nPye, who, however, did not fail to inform Anne that she looked like a\nperfect scarecrow.\n\n\"I didn't say anything when Josie said that to me,\" Anne confided\nthat evening to Marilla, who was lying on the sofa after one of her\nheadaches, \"because I thought it was part of my punishment and I ought\nto bear it patiently. It's hard to be told you look like a scarecrow\nand I wanted to say something back. But I didn't. I just swept her one\nscornful look and then I forgave her. It makes you feel very virtuous\nwhen you forgive people, doesn't it? I mean to devote all my energies\nto being good after this and I shall never try to be beautiful again. Of\ncourse it's better to be good. I know it is, but it's sometimes so hard\nto believe a thing even when you know it. I do really want to be good,\nMarilla, like you and Mrs. Allan and Miss Stacy, and grow up to be a\ncredit to you. Diana says when my hair begins to grow to tie a black\nvelvet ribbon around my head with a bow at one side. She says she\nthinks it will be very becoming. I will call it a snood--that sounds so\nromantic. But am I talking too much, Marilla? Does it hurt your head?\"\n\n\"My head is better now. It was terrible bad this afternoon, though.\nThese headaches of mine are getting worse and worse. I'll have to see\na doctor about them. As for your chatter, I don't know that I mind\nit--I've got so used to it.\"\n\nWhich was Marilla's way of saying that she liked to hear it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII. An Unfortunate Lily Maid\n\n\n\"OF course you must be Elaine, Anne,\" said Diana. \"I could never have\nthe courage to float down there.\"\n\n\"Nor I,\" said Ruby Gillis, with a shiver. \"I don't mind floating down\nwhen there's two or three of us in the flat and we can sit up. It's fun\nthen. But to lie down and pretend I was dead--I just couldn't. I'd die\nreally of fright.\"\n\n\"Of course it would be romantic,\" conceded Jane Andrews, \"but I know I\ncouldn't keep still. I'd be popping up every minute or so to see where I\nwas and if I wasn't drifting too far out. And you know, Anne, that would\nspoil the effect.\"\n\n\"But it's so ridiculous to have a redheaded Elaine,\" mourned Anne. \"I'm\nnot afraid to float down and I'd love to be Elaine. But it's ridiculous\njust the same. Ruby ought to be Elaine because she is so fair and has\nsuch lovely long golden hair--Elaine had 'all her bright hair streaming\ndown,' you know. And Elaine was the lily maid. Now, a red-haired person\ncannot be a lily maid.\"\n\n\"Your complexion is just as fair as Ruby's,\" said Diana earnestly, \"and\nyour hair is ever so much darker than it used to be before you cut it.\"\n\n\"Oh, do you really think so?\" exclaimed Anne, flushing sensitively with\ndelight. \"I've sometimes thought it was myself--but I never dared to ask\nanyone for fear she would tell me it wasn't. Do you think it could be\ncalled auburn now, Diana?\"\n\n\"Yes, and I think it is real pretty,\" said Diana, looking admiringly at\nthe short, silky curls that clustered over Anne's head and were held in\nplace by a very jaunty black velvet ribbon and bow.\n\nThey were standing on the bank of the pond, below Orchard Slope, where\na little headland fringed with birches ran out from the bank; at its tip\nwas a small wooden platform built out into the water for the convenience\nof fishermen and duck hunters. Ruby and Jane were spending the midsummer\nafternoon with Diana, and Anne had come over to play with them.\n\nAnne and Diana had spent most of their playtime that summer on and about\nthe pond. Idlewild was a thing of the past, Mr. Bell having ruthlessly\ncut down the little circle of trees in his back pasture in the spring.\nAnne had sat among the stumps and wept, not without an eye to the\nromance of it; but she was speedily consoled, for, after all, as she and\nDiana said, big girls of thirteen, going on fourteen, were too old for\nsuch childish amusements as playhouses, and there were more fascinating\nsports to be found about the pond. It was splendid to fish for trout\nover the bridge and the two girls learned to row themselves about in the\nlittle flat-bottomed dory Mr. Barry kept for duck shooting.\n\nIt was Anne's idea that they dramatize Elaine. They had studied\nTennyson's poem in school the preceding winter, the Superintendent of\nEducation having prescribed it in the English course for the Prince\nEdward Island schools. They had analyzed and parsed it and torn it to\npieces in general until it was a wonder there was any meaning at all\nleft in it for them, but at least the fair lily maid and Lancelot and\nGuinevere and King Arthur had become very real people to them, and Anne\nwas devoured by secret regret that she had not been born in Camelot.\nThose days, she said, were so much more romantic than the present.\n\nAnne's plan was hailed with enthusiasm. The girls had discovered that if\nthe flat were pushed off from the landing place it would drift down\nwith the current under the bridge and finally strand itself on another\nheadland lower down which ran out at a curve in the pond. They had often\ngone down like this and nothing could be more convenient for playing\nElaine.\n\n\"Well, I'll be Elaine,\" said Anne, yielding reluctantly, for, although\nshe would have been delighted to play the principal character, yet\nher artistic sense demanded fitness for it and this, she felt, her\nlimitations made impossible. \"Ruby, you must be King Arthur and Jane\nwill be Guinevere and Diana must be Lancelot. But first you must be the\nbrothers and the father. We can't have the old dumb servitor because\nthere isn't room for two in the flat when one is lying down. We must\npall the barge all its length in blackest samite. That old black shawl\nof your mother's will be just the thing, Diana.\"\n\nThe black shawl having been procured, Anne spread it over the flat and\nthen lay down on the bottom, with closed eyes and hands folded over her\nbreast.\n\n\"Oh, she does look really dead,\" whispered Ruby Gillis nervously,\nwatching the still, white little face under the flickering shadows of\nthe birches. \"It makes me feel frightened, girls. Do you suppose it's\nreally right to act like this? Mrs. Lynde says that all play-acting is\nabominably wicked.\"\n\n\"Ruby, you shouldn't talk about Mrs. Lynde,\" said Anne severely. \"It\nspoils the effect because this is hundreds of years before Mrs. Lynde\nwas born. Jane, you arrange this. It's silly for Elaine to be talking\nwhen she's dead.\"\n\nJane rose to the occasion. Cloth of gold for coverlet there was none,\nbut an old piano scarf of yellow Japanese crepe was an excellent\nsubstitute. A white lily was not obtainable just then, but the effect of\na tall blue iris placed in one of Anne's folded hands was all that could\nbe desired.\n\n\"Now, she's all ready,\" said Jane. \"We must kiss her quiet brows\nand, Diana, you say, 'Sister, farewell forever,' and Ruby, you say,\n'Farewell, sweet sister,' both of you as sorrowfully as you possibly\ncan. Anne, for goodness sake smile a little. You know Elaine 'lay as\nthough she smiled.' That's better. Now push the flat off.\"\n\nThe flat was accordingly pushed off, scraping roughly over an old\nembedded stake in the process. Diana and Jane and Ruby only waited long\nenough to see it caught in the current and headed for the bridge before\nscampering up through the woods, across the road, and down to the lower\nheadland where, as Lancelot and Guinevere and the King, they were to be\nin readiness to receive the lily maid.\n\nFor a few minutes Anne, drifting slowly down, enjoyed the romance of her\nsituation to the full. Then something happened not at all romantic. The\nflat began to leak. In a very few moments it was necessary for Elaine\nto scramble to her feet, pick up her cloth of gold coverlet and pall\nof blackest samite and gaze blankly at a big crack in the bottom of her\nbarge through which the water was literally pouring. That sharp stake at\nthe landing had torn off the strip of batting nailed on the flat. Anne\ndid not know this, but it did not take her long to realize that she was\nin a dangerous plight. At this rate the flat would fill and sink long\nbefore it could drift to the lower headland. Where were the oars? Left\nbehind at the landing!\n\nAnne gave one gasping little scream which nobody ever heard; she was\nwhite to the lips, but she did not lose her self-possession. There was\none chance--just one.\n\n\"I was horribly frightened,\" she told Mrs. Allan the next day, \"and it\nseemed like years while the flat was drifting down to the bridge and the\nwater rising in it every moment. I prayed, Mrs. Allan, most earnestly,\nbut I didn't shut my eyes to pray, for I knew the only way God could\nsave me was to let the flat float close enough to one of the bridge\npiles for me to climb up on it. You know the piles are just old tree\ntrunks and there are lots of knots and old branch stubs on them. It was\nproper to pray, but I had to do my part by watching out and right well\nI knew it. I just said, 'Dear God, please take the flat close to a pile\nand I'll do the rest,' over and over again. Under such circumstances you\ndon't think much about making a flowery prayer. But mine was answered,\nfor the flat bumped right into a pile for a minute and I flung the scarf\nand the shawl over my shoulder and scrambled up on a big providential\nstub. And there I was, Mrs. Allan, clinging to that slippery old pile\nwith no way of getting up or down. It was a very unromantic position,\nbut I didn't think about that at the time. You don't think much about\nromance when you have just escaped from a watery grave. I said a\ngrateful prayer at once and then I gave all my attention to holding on\ntight, for I knew I should probably have to depend on human aid to get\nback to dry land.\"\n\nThe flat drifted under the bridge and then promptly sank in midstream.\nRuby, Jane, and Diana, already awaiting it on the lower headland, saw it\ndisappear before their very eyes and had not a doubt but that Anne\nhad gone down with it. For a moment they stood still, white as sheets,\nfrozen with horror at the tragedy; then, shrieking at the tops of\ntheir voices, they started on a frantic run up through the woods, never\npausing as they crossed the main road to glance the way of the bridge.\nAnne, clinging desperately to her precarious foothold, saw their flying\nforms and heard their shrieks. Help would soon come, but meanwhile her\nposition was a very uncomfortable one.\n\nThe minutes passed by, each seeming an hour to the unfortunate lily\nmaid. Why didn't somebody come? Where had the girls gone? Suppose they\nhad fainted, one and all! Suppose nobody ever came! Suppose she grew so\ntired and cramped that she could hold on no longer! Anne looked at the\nwicked green depths below her, wavering with long, oily shadows, and\nshivered. Her imagination began to suggest all manner of gruesome\npossibilities to her.\n\nThen, just as she thought she really could not endure the ache in her\narms and wrists another moment, Gilbert Blythe came rowing under the\nbridge in Harmon Andrews's dory!\n\nGilbert glanced up and, much to his amazement, beheld a little white\nscornful face looking down upon him with big, frightened but also\nscornful gray eyes.\n\n\"Anne Shirley! How on earth did you get there?\" he exclaimed.\n\nWithout waiting for an answer he pulled close to the pile and extended\nhis hand. There was no help for it; Anne, clinging to Gilbert Blythe's\nhand, scrambled down into the dory, where she sat, drabbled and furious,\nin the stern with her arms full of dripping shawl and wet crepe. It was\ncertainly extremely difficult to be dignified under the circumstances!\n\n\"What has happened, Anne?\" asked Gilbert, taking up his oars. \"We were\nplaying Elaine\" explained Anne frigidly, without even looking at her\nrescuer, \"and I had to drift down to Camelot in the barge--I mean the\nflat. The flat began to leak and I climbed out on the pile. The girls\nwent for help. Will you be kind enough to row me to the landing?\"\n\nGilbert obligingly rowed to the landing and Anne, disdaining assistance,\nsprang nimbly on shore.\n\n\"I'm very much obliged to you,\" she said haughtily as she turned away.\nBut Gilbert had also sprung from the boat and now laid a detaining hand\non her arm.\n\n\"Anne,\" he said hurriedly, \"look here. Can't we be good friends? I'm\nawfully sorry I made fun of your hair that time. I didn't mean to vex\nyou and I only meant it for a joke. Besides, it's so long ago. I think\nyour hair is awfully pretty now--honest I do. Let's be friends.\"\n\nFor a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakened\nconsciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy,\nhalf-eager expression in Gilbert's hazel eyes was something that was\nvery good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. But the\nbitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering\ndetermination. That scene of two years before flashed back into her\nrecollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert had\ncalled her \"carrots\" and had brought about her disgrace before the whole\nschool. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be as\nlaughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time\nseemingly. She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him!\n\n\"No,\" she said coldly, \"I shall never be friends with you, Gilbert\nBlythe; and I don't want to be!\"\n\n\"All right!\" Gilbert sprang into his skiff with an angry color in his\ncheeks. \"I'll never ask you to be friends again, Anne Shirley. And I\ndon't care either!\"\n\nHe pulled away with swift defiant strokes, and Anne went up the steep,\nferny little path under the maples. She held her head very high, but\nshe was conscious of an odd feeling of regret. She almost wished she had\nanswered Gilbert differently. Of course, he had insulted her terribly,\nbut still--! Altogether, Anne rather thought it would be a relief to\nsit down and have a good cry. She was really quite unstrung, for the\nreaction from her fright and cramped clinging was making itself felt.\n\nHalfway up the path she met Jane and Diana rushing back to the pond in\na state narrowly removed from positive frenzy. They had found nobody at\nOrchard Slope, both Mr. and Mrs. Barry being away. Here Ruby Gillis had\nsuccumbed to hysterics, and was left to recover from them as best she\nmight, while Jane and Diana flew through the Haunted Wood and across the\nbrook to Green Gables. There they had found nobody either, for Marilla\nhad gone to Carmody and Matthew was making hay in the back field.\n\n\"Oh, Anne,\" gasped Diana, fairly falling on the former's neck\nand weeping with relief and delight, \"oh, Anne--we thought--you\nwere--drowned--and we felt like murderers--because we had made--you\nbe--Elaine. And Ruby is in hysterics--oh, Anne, how did you escape?\"\n\n\"I climbed up on one of the piles,\" explained Anne wearily, \"and Gilbert\nBlythe came along in Mr. Andrews's dory and brought me to land.\"\n\n\"Oh, Anne, how splendid of him! Why, it's so romantic!\" said Jane,\nfinding breath enough for utterance at last. \"Of course you'll speak to\nhim after this.\"\n\n\"Of course I won't,\" flashed Anne, with a momentary return of her old\nspirit. \"And I don't want ever to hear the word 'romantic' again, Jane\nAndrews. I'm awfully sorry you were so frightened, girls. It is all my\nfault. I feel sure I was born under an unlucky star. Everything I do\ngets me or my dearest friends into a scrape. We've gone and lost your\nfather's flat, Diana, and I have a presentiment that we'll not be\nallowed to row on the pond any more.\"\n\nAnne's presentiment proved more trustworthy than presentiments are apt\nto do. Great was the consternation in the Barry and Cuthbert households\nwhen the events of the afternoon became known.\n\n\"Will you ever have any sense, Anne?\" groaned Marilla.\n\n\"Oh, yes, I think I will, Marilla,\" returned Anne optimistically. A good\ncry, indulged in the grateful solitude of the east gable, had soothed\nher nerves and restored her to her wonted cheerfulness. \"I think my\nprospects of becoming sensible are brighter now than ever.\"\n\n\"I don't see how,\" said Marilla.\n\n\"Well,\" explained Anne, \"I've learned a new and valuable lesson today.\nEver since I came to Green Gables I've been making mistakes, and each\nmistake has helped to cure me of some great shortcoming. The affair of\nthe amethyst brooch cured me of meddling with things that didn't belong\nto me. The Haunted Wood mistake cured me of letting my imagination run\naway with me. The liniment cake mistake cured me of carelessness in\ncooking. Dyeing my hair cured me of vanity. I never think about my hair\nand nose now--at least, very seldom. And today's mistake is going to\ncure me of being too romantic. I have come to the conclusion that it is\nno use trying to be romantic in Avonlea. It was probably easy enough in\ntowered Camelot hundreds of years ago, but romance is not appreciated\nnow. I feel quite sure that you will soon see a great improvement in me\nin this respect, Marilla.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I hope so,\" said Marilla skeptically.\n\nBut Matthew, who had been sitting mutely in his corner, laid a hand on\nAnne's shoulder when Marilla had gone out.\n\n\"Don't give up all your romance, Anne,\" he whispered shyly, \"a little\nof it is a good thing--not too much, of course--but keep a little of it,\nAnne, keep a little of it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX. An Epoch in Anne's Life\n\n\nAnne was bringing the cows home from the back pasture by way of Lover's\nLane. It was a September evening and all the gaps and clearings in the\nwoods were brimmed up with ruby sunset light. Here and there the lane\nwas splashed with it, but for the most part it was already quite shadowy\nbeneath the maples, and the spaces under the firs were filled with a\nclear violet dusk like airy wine. The winds were out in their tops, and\nthere is no sweeter music on earth than that which the wind makes in the\nfir trees at evening.\n\nThe cows swung placidly down the lane, and Anne followed them dreamily,\nrepeating aloud the battle canto from MARMION--which had also been part\nof their English course the preceding winter and which Miss Stacy had\nmade them learn off by heart--and exulting in its rushing lines and the\nclash of spears in its imagery. When she came to the lines\n\n\n       The stubborn spearsmen still made good\n       Their dark impenetrable wood,\n\n\nshe stopped in ecstasy to shut her eyes that she might the better fancy\nherself one of that heroic ring. When she opened them again it was to\nbehold Diana coming through the gate that led into the Barry field and\nlooking so important that Anne instantly divined there was news to be\ntold. But betray too eager curiosity she would not.\n\n\"Isn't this evening just like a purple dream, Diana? It makes me so glad\nto be alive. In the mornings I always think the mornings are best; but\nwhen evening comes I think it's lovelier still.\"\n\n\"It's a very fine evening,\" said Diana, \"but oh, I have such news, Anne.\nGuess. You can have three guesses.\"\n\n\"Charlotte Gillis is going to be married in the church after all and\nMrs. Allan wants us to decorate it,\" cried Anne.\n\n\"No. Charlotte's beau won't agree to that, because nobody ever has been\nmarried in the church yet, and he thinks it would seem too much like a\nfuneral. It's too mean, because it would be such fun. Guess again.\"\n\n\"Jane's mother is going to let her have a birthday party?\"\n\nDiana shook her head, her black eyes dancing with merriment.\n\n\"I can't think what it can be,\" said Anne in despair, \"unless it's that\nMoody Spurgeon MacPherson saw you home from prayer meeting last night.\nDid he?\"\n\n\"I should think not,\" exclaimed Diana indignantly. \"I wouldn't be likely\nto boast of it if he did, the horrid creature! I knew you couldn't guess\nit. Mother had a letter from Aunt Josephine today, and Aunt Josephine\nwants you and me to go to town next Tuesday and stop with her for the\nExhibition. There!\"\n\n\"Oh, Diana,\" whispered Anne, finding it necessary to lean up against a\nmaple tree for support, \"do you really mean it? But I'm afraid Marilla\nwon't let me go. She will say that she can't encourage gadding about.\nThat was what she said last week when Jane invited me to go with them\nin their double-seated buggy to the American concert at the White Sands\nHotel. I wanted to go, but Marilla said I'd be better at home learning\nmy lessons and so would Jane. I was bitterly disappointed, Diana. I felt\nso heartbroken that I wouldn't say my prayers when I went to bed. But I\nrepented of that and got up in the middle of the night and said them.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you,\" said Diana, \"we'll get Mother to ask Marilla. She'll be\nmore likely to let you go then; and if she does we'll have the time\nof our lives, Anne. I've never been to an Exhibition, and it's so\naggravating to hear the other girls talking about their trips. Jane and\nRuby have been twice, and they're going this year again.\"\n\n\"I'm not going to think about it at all until I know whether I can go\nor not,\" said Anne resolutely. \"If I did and then was disappointed, it\nwould be more than I could bear. But in case I do go I'm very glad my\nnew coat will be ready by that time. Marilla didn't think I needed a new\ncoat. She said my old one would do very well for another winter and\nthat I ought to be satisfied with having a new dress. The dress is very\npretty, Diana--navy blue and made so fashionably. Marilla always makes\nmy dresses fashionably now, because she says she doesn't intend to have\nMatthew going to Mrs. Lynde to make them. I'm so glad. It is ever so\nmuch easier to be good if your clothes are fashionable. At least, it is\neasier for me. I suppose it doesn't make such a difference to naturally\ngood people. But Matthew said I must have a new coat, so Marilla\nbought a lovely piece of blue broadcloth, and it's being made by a real\ndressmaker over at Carmody. It's to be done Saturday night, and I'm\ntrying not to imagine myself walking up the church aisle on Sunday in\nmy new suit and cap, because I'm afraid it isn't right to imagine such\nthings. But it just slips into my mind in spite of me. My cap is so\npretty. Matthew bought it for me the day we were over at Carmody. It is\none of those little blue velvet ones that are all the rage, with gold\ncord and tassels. Your new hat is elegant, Diana, and so becoming. When\nI saw you come into church last Sunday my heart swelled with pride to\nthink you were my dearest friend. Do you suppose it's wrong for us to\nthink so much about our clothes? Marilla says it is very sinful. But it\nis such an interesting subject, isn't it?\"\n\nMarilla agreed to let Anne go to town, and it was arranged that\nMr. Barry should take the girls in on the following Tuesday. As\nCharlottetown was thirty miles away and Mr. Barry wished to go and\nreturn the same day, it was necessary to make a very early start. But\nAnne counted it all joy, and was up before sunrise on Tuesday morning.\nA glance from her window assured her that the day would be fine, for\nthe eastern sky behind the firs of the Haunted Wood was all silvery\nand cloudless. Through the gap in the trees a light was shining in the\nwestern gable of Orchard Slope, a token that Diana was also up.\n\nAnne was dressed by the time Matthew had the fire on and had the\nbreakfast ready when Marilla came down, but for her own part was much\ntoo excited to eat. After breakfast the jaunty new cap and jacket were\ndonned, and Anne hastened over the brook and up through the firs to\nOrchard Slope. Mr. Barry and Diana were waiting for her, and they were\nsoon on the road.\n\nIt was a long drive, but Anne and Diana enjoyed every minute of it. It\nwas delightful to rattle along over the moist roads in the early red\nsunlight that was creeping across the shorn harvest fields. The air was\nfresh and crisp, and little smoke-blue mists curled through the valleys\nand floated off from the hills. Sometimes the road went through woods\nwhere maples were beginning to hang out scarlet banners; sometimes it\ncrossed rivers on bridges that made Anne's flesh cringe with the old,\nhalf-delightful fear; sometimes it wound along a harbor shore and passed\nby a little cluster of weather-gray fishing huts; again it mounted to\nhills whence a far sweep of curving upland or misty-blue sky could be\nseen; but wherever it went there was much of interest to discuss. It was\nalmost noon when they reached town and found their way to \"Beechwood.\"\nIt was quite a fine old mansion, set back from the street in a seclusion\nof green elms and branching beeches. Miss Barry met them at the door\nwith a twinkle in her sharp black eyes.\n\n\"So you've come to see me at last, you Anne-girl,\" she said. \"Mercy,\nchild, how you have grown! You're taller than I am, I declare. And\nyou're ever so much better looking than you used to be, too. But I dare\nsay you know that without being told.\"\n\n\"Indeed I didn't,\" said Anne radiantly. \"I know I'm not so freckled as\nI used to be, so I've much to be thankful for, but I really hadn't dared\nto hope there was any other improvement. I'm so glad you think there is,\nMiss Barry.\" Miss Barry's house was furnished with \"great magnificence,\"\nas Anne told Marilla afterward. The two little country girls were rather\nabashed by the splendor of the parlor where Miss Barry left them when\nshe went to see about dinner.\n\n\"Isn't it just like a palace?\" whispered Diana. \"I never was in Aunt\nJosephine's house before, and I'd no idea it was so grand. I just wish\nJulia Bell could see this--she puts on such airs about her mother's\nparlor.\"\n\n\"Velvet carpet,\" sighed Anne luxuriously, \"and silk curtains! I've\ndreamed of such things, Diana. But do you know I don't believe I feel\nvery comfortable with them after all. There are so many things in this\nroom and all so splendid that there is no scope for imagination. That is\none consolation when you are poor--there are so many more things you can\nimagine about.\"\n\nTheir sojourn in town was something that Anne and Diana dated from for\nyears. From first to last it was crowded with delights.\n\nOn Wednesday Miss Barry took them to the Exhibition grounds and kept\nthem there all day.\n\n\"It was splendid,\" Anne related to Marilla later on. \"I never imagined\nanything so interesting. I don't really know which department was the\nmost interesting. I think I liked the horses and the flowers and the\nfancywork best. Josie Pye took first prize for knitted lace. I was\nreal glad she did. And I was glad that I felt glad, for it shows I'm\nimproving, don't you think, Marilla, when I can rejoice in Josie's\nsuccess? Mr. Harmon Andrews took second prize for Gravenstein apples\nand Mr. Bell took first prize for a pig. Diana said she thought it was\nridiculous for a Sunday-school superintendent to take a prize in pigs,\nbut I don't see why. Do you? She said she would always think of it after\nthis when he was praying so solemnly. Clara Louise MacPherson took a\nprize for painting, and Mrs. Lynde got first prize for homemade butter\nand cheese. So Avonlea was pretty well represented, wasn't it? Mrs.\nLynde was there that day, and I never knew how much I really liked her\nuntil I saw her familiar face among all those strangers. There\nwere thousands of people there, Marilla. It made me feel dreadfully\ninsignificant. And Miss Barry took us up to the grandstand to see\nthe horse races. Mrs. Lynde wouldn't go; she said horse racing was an\nabomination and, she being a church member, thought it her bounden duty\nto set a good example by staying away. But there were so many there I\ndon't believe Mrs. Lynde's absence would ever be noticed. I don't think,\nthough, that I ought to go very often to horse races, because they ARE\nawfully fascinating. Diana got so excited that she offered to bet me\nten cents that the red horse would win. I didn't believe he would, but\nI refused to bet, because I wanted to tell Mrs. Allan all about\neverything, and I felt sure it wouldn't do to tell her that. It's always\nwrong to do anything you can't tell the minister's wife. It's as good as\nan extra conscience to have a minister's wife for your friend. And I was\nvery glad I didn't bet, because the red horse DID win, and I would have\nlost ten cents. So you see that virtue was its own reward. We saw a man\ngo up in a balloon. I'd love to go up in a balloon, Marilla; it would\nbe simply thrilling; and we saw a man selling fortunes. You paid him ten\ncents and a little bird picked out your fortune for you. Miss Barry gave\nDiana and me ten cents each to have our fortunes told. Mine was that I\nwould marry a dark-complected man who was very wealthy, and I would go\nacross water to live. I looked carefully at all the dark men I saw after\nthat, but I didn't care much for any of them, and anyhow I suppose\nit's too early to be looking out for him yet. Oh, it was a\nnever-to-be-forgotten day, Marilla. I was so tired I couldn't sleep at\nnight. Miss Barry put us in the spare room, according to promise. It\nwas an elegant room, Marilla, but somehow sleeping in a spare room isn't\nwhat I used to think it was. That's the worst of growing up, and I'm\nbeginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were a\nchild don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them.\"\n\nThursday the girls had a drive in the park, and in the evening Miss\nBarry took them to a concert in the Academy of Music, where a noted\nprima donna was to sing. To Anne the evening was a glittering vision of\ndelight.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, it was beyond description. I was so excited I couldn't\neven talk, so you may know what it was like. I just sat in enraptured\nsilence. Madame Selitsky was perfectly beautiful, and wore white satin\nand diamonds. But when she began to sing I never thought about anything\nelse. Oh, I can't tell you how I felt. But it seemed to me that it could\nnever be hard to be good any more. I felt like I do when I look up to\nthe stars. Tears came into my eyes, but, oh, they were such happy tears.\nI was so sorry when it was all over, and I told Miss Barry I didn't see\nhow I was ever to return to common life again. She said she thought if\nwe went over to the restaurant across the street and had an ice cream\nit might help me. That sounded so prosaic; but to my surprise I found\nit true. The ice cream was delicious, Marilla, and it was so lovely and\ndissipated to be sitting there eating it at eleven o'clock at night.\nDiana said she believed she was born for city life. Miss Barry asked\nme what my opinion was, but I said I would have to think it over very\nseriously before I could tell her what I really thought. So I thought it\nover after I went to bed. That is the best time to think things out. And\nI came to the conclusion, Marilla, that I wasn't born for city life and\nthat I was glad of it. It's nice to be eating ice cream at brilliant\nrestaurants at eleven o'clock at night once in a while; but as a regular\nthing I'd rather be in the east gable at eleven, sound asleep, but kind\nof knowing even in my sleep that the stars were shining outside and that\nthe wind was blowing in the firs across the brook. I told Miss Barry\nso at breakfast the next morning and she laughed. Miss Barry generally\nlaughed at anything I said, even when I said the most solemn things. I\ndon't think I liked it, Marilla, because I wasn't trying to be funny.\nBut she is a most hospitable lady and treated us royally.\"\n\nFriday brought going-home time, and Mr. Barry drove in for the girls.\n\n\"Well, I hope you've enjoyed yourselves,\" said Miss Barry, as she bade\nthem good-bye.\n\n\"Indeed we have,\" said Diana.\n\n\"And you, Anne-girl?\"\n\n\"I've enjoyed every minute of the time,\" said Anne, throwing her arms\nimpulsively about the old woman's neck and kissing her wrinkled cheek.\nDiana would never have dared to do such a thing and felt rather aghast\nat Anne's freedom. But Miss Barry was pleased, and she stood on her\nveranda and watched the buggy out of sight. Then she went back into her\nbig house with a sigh. It seemed very lonely, lacking those fresh young\nlives. Miss Barry was a rather selfish old lady, if the truth must\nbe told, and had never cared much for anybody but herself. She valued\npeople only as they were of service to her or amused her. Anne had\namused her, and consequently stood high in the old lady's good graces.\nBut Miss Barry found herself thinking less about Anne's quaint speeches\nthan of her fresh enthusiasms, her transparent emotions, her little\nwinning ways, and the sweetness of her eyes and lips.\n\n\"I thought Marilla Cuthbert was an old fool when I heard she'd adopted\na girl out of an orphan asylum,\" she said to herself, \"but I guess she\ndidn't make much of a mistake after all. If I'd a child like Anne in the\nhouse all the time I'd be a better and happier woman.\"\n\nAnne and Diana found the drive home as pleasant as the drive\nin--pleasanter, indeed, since there was the delightful consciousness of\nhome waiting at the end of it. It was sunset when they passed through\nWhite Sands and turned into the shore road. Beyond, the Avonlea hills\ncame out darkly against the saffron sky. Behind them the moon was rising\nout of the sea that grew all radiant and transfigured in her light.\nEvery little cove along the curving road was a marvel of dancing\nripples. The waves broke with a soft swish on the rocks below them, and\nthe tang of the sea was in the strong, fresh air.\n\n\"Oh, but it's good to be alive and to be going home,\" breathed Anne.\n\nWhen she crossed the log bridge over the brook the kitchen light of\nGreen Gables winked her a friendly welcome back, and through the open\ndoor shone the hearth fire, sending out its warm red glow athwart the\nchilly autumn night. Anne ran blithely up the hill and into the kitchen,\nwhere a hot supper was waiting on the table.\n\n\"So you've got back?\" said Marilla, folding up her knitting.\n\n\"Yes, and oh, it's so good to be back,\" said Anne joyously. \"I could\nkiss everything, even to the clock. Marilla, a broiled chicken! You\ndon't mean to say you cooked that for me!\"\n\n\"Yes, I did,\" said Marilla. \"I thought you'd be hungry after such\na drive and need something real appetizing. Hurry and take off your\nthings, and we'll have supper as soon as Matthew comes in. I'm glad\nyou've got back, I must say. It's been fearful lonesome here without\nyou, and I never put in four longer days.\"\n\nAfter supper Anne sat before the fire between Matthew and Marilla, and\ngave them a full account of her visit.\n\n\"I've had a splendid time,\" she concluded happily, \"and I feel that it\nmarks an epoch in my life. But the best of it all was the coming home.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX. The Queens Class Is Organized\n\n\nMarilla laid her knitting on her lap and leaned back in her chair. Her\neyes were tired, and she thought vaguely that she must see about having\nher glasses changed the next time she went to town, for her eyes had\ngrown tired very often of late.\n\nIt was nearly dark, for the full November twilight had fallen around\nGreen Gables, and the only light in the kitchen came from the dancing\nred flames in the stove.\n\nAnne was curled up Turk-fashion on the hearthrug, gazing into that\njoyous glow where the sunshine of a hundred summers was being distilled\nfrom the maple cordwood. She had been reading, but her book had slipped\nto the floor, and now she was dreaming, with a smile on her parted lips.\nGlittering castles in Spain were shaping themselves out of the mists and\nrainbows of her lively fancy; adventures wonderful and enthralling\nwere happening to her in cloudland--adventures that always turned out\ntriumphantly and never involved her in scrapes like those of actual\nlife.\n\nMarilla looked at her with a tenderness that would never have been\nsuffered to reveal itself in any clearer light than that soft mingling\nof fireshine and shadow. The lesson of a love that should display itself\neasily in spoken word and open look was one Marilla could never learn.\nBut she had learned to love this slim, gray-eyed girl with an affection\nall the deeper and stronger from its very undemonstrativeness. Her love\nmade her afraid of being unduly indulgent, indeed. She had an uneasy\nfeeling that it was rather sinful to set one's heart so intensely on any\nhuman creature as she had set hers on Anne, and perhaps she performed a\nsort of unconscious penance for this by being stricter and more critical\nthan if the girl had been less dear to her. Certainly Anne herself had\nno idea how Marilla loved her. She sometimes thought wistfully that\nMarilla was very hard to please and distinctly lacking in sympathy\nand understanding. But she always checked the thought reproachfully,\nremembering what she owed to Marilla.\n\n\"Anne,\" said Marilla abruptly, \"Miss Stacy was here this afternoon when\nyou were out with Diana.\"\n\nAnne came back from her other world with a start and a sigh.\n\n\"Was she? Oh, I'm so sorry I wasn't in. Why didn't you call me, Marilla?\nDiana and I were only over in the Haunted Wood. It's lovely in the woods\nnow. All the little wood things--the ferns and the satin leaves and the\ncrackerberries--have gone to sleep, just as if somebody had tucked them\naway until spring under a blanket of leaves. I think it was a little\ngray fairy with a rainbow scarf that came tiptoeing along the last\nmoonlight night and did it. Diana wouldn't say much about that, though.\nDiana has never forgotten the scolding her mother gave her about\nimagining ghosts into the Haunted Wood. It had a very bad effect on\nDiana's imagination. It blighted it. Mrs. Lynde says Myrtle Bell is a\nblighted being. I asked Ruby Gillis why Myrtle was blighted, and Ruby\nsaid she guessed it was because her young man had gone back on her. Ruby\nGillis thinks of nothing but young men, and the older she gets the worse\nshe is. Young men are all very well in their place, but it doesn't do to\ndrag them into everything, does it? Diana and I are thinking seriously\nof promising each other that we will never marry but be nice old maids\nand live together forever. Diana hasn't quite made up her mind though,\nbecause she thinks perhaps it would be nobler to marry some wild,\ndashing, wicked young man and reform him. Diana and I talk a great deal\nabout serious subjects now, you know. We feel that we are so much older\nthan we used to be that it isn't becoming to talk of childish matters.\nIt's such a solemn thing to be almost fourteen, Marilla. Miss Stacy took\nall us girls who are in our teens down to the brook last Wednesday, and\ntalked to us about it. She said we couldn't be too careful what habits\nwe formed and what ideals we acquired in our teens, because by the time\nwe were twenty our characters would be developed and the foundation laid\nfor our whole future life. And she said if the foundation was shaky we\ncould never build anything really worth while on it. Diana and I talked\nthe matter over coming home from school. We felt extremely solemn,\nMarilla. And we decided that we would try to be very careful indeed and\nform respectable habits and learn all we could and be as sensible as\npossible, so that by the time we were twenty our characters would be\nproperly developed. It's perfectly appalling to think of being twenty,\nMarilla. It sounds so fearfully old and grown up. But why was Miss Stacy\nhere this afternoon?\"\n\n\"That is what I want to tell you, Anne, if you'll ever give me a chance\nto get a word in edgewise. She was talking about you.\"\n\n\"About me?\" Anne looked rather scared. Then she flushed and exclaimed:\n\n\"Oh, I know what she was saying. I meant to tell you, Marilla, honestly\nI did, but I forgot. Miss Stacy caught me reading Ben Hur in school\nyesterday afternoon when I should have been studying my Canadian\nhistory. Jane Andrews lent it to me. I was reading it at dinner hour,\nand I had just got to the chariot race when school went in. I was simply\nwild to know how it turned out--although I felt sure Ben Hur must win,\nbecause it wouldn't be poetical justice if he didn't--so I spread the\nhistory open on my desk lid and then tucked Ben Hur between the desk and\nmy knee. I just looked as if I were studying Canadian history, you know,\nwhile all the while I was reveling in Ben Hur. I was so interested in it\nthat I never noticed Miss Stacy coming down the aisle until all at\nonce I just looked up and there she was looking down at me, so\nreproachful-like. I can't tell you how ashamed I felt, Marilla,\nespecially when I heard Josie Pye giggling. Miss Stacy took Ben Hur\naway, but she never said a word then. She kept me in at recess and\ntalked to me. She said I had done very wrong in two respects. First, I\nwas wasting the time I ought to have put on my studies; and secondly,\nI was deceiving my teacher in trying to make it appear I was reading a\nhistory when it was a storybook instead. I had never realized until that\nmoment, Marilla, that what I was doing was deceitful. I was shocked. I\ncried bitterly, and asked Miss Stacy to forgive me and I'd never do such\na thing again; and I offered to do penance by never so much as looking\nat Ben Hur for a whole week, not even to see how the chariot race turned\nout. But Miss Stacy said she wouldn't require that, and she forgave me\nfreely. So I think it wasn't very kind of her to come up here to you\nabout it after all.\"\n\n\"Miss Stacy never mentioned such a thing to me, Anne, and its only your\nguilty conscience that's the matter with you. You have no business to be\ntaking storybooks to school. You read too many novels anyhow. When I was\na girl I wasn't so much as allowed to look at a novel.\"\n\n\"Oh, how can you call Ben Hur a novel when it's really such a religious\nbook?\" protested Anne. \"Of course it's a little too exciting to be\nproper reading for Sunday, and I only read it on weekdays. And I never\nread ANY book now unless either Miss Stacy or Mrs. Allan thinks it is a\nproper book for a girl thirteen and three-quarters to read. Miss Stacy\nmade me promise that. She found me reading a book one day called, The\nLurid Mystery of the Haunted Hall. It was one Ruby Gillis had lent me,\nand, oh, Marilla, it was so fascinating and creepy. It just curdled the\nblood in my veins. But Miss Stacy said it was a very silly, unwholesome\nbook, and she asked me not to read any more of it or any like it. I\ndidn't mind promising not to read any more like it, but it was AGONIZING\nto give back that book without knowing how it turned out. But my love\nfor Miss Stacy stood the test and I did. It's really wonderful, Marilla,\nwhat you can do when you're truly anxious to please a certain person.\"\n\n\"Well, I guess I'll light the lamp and get to work,\" said Marilla. \"I\nsee plainly that you don't want to hear what Miss Stacy had to say.\nYou're more interested in the sound of your own tongue than in anything\nelse.\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed, Marilla, I do want to hear it,\" cried Anne contritely. \"I\nwon't say another word--not one. I know I talk too much, but I am really\ntrying to overcome it, and although I say far too much, yet if you only\nknew how many things I want to say and don't, you'd give me some credit\nfor it. Please tell me, Marilla.\"\n\n\"Well, Miss Stacy wants to organize a class among her advanced students\nwho mean to study for the entrance examination into Queen's. She intends\nto give them extra lessons for an hour after school. And she came to ask\nMatthew and me if we would like to have you join it. What do you think\nabout it yourself, Anne? Would you like to go to Queen's and pass for a\nteacher?\"\n\n\"Oh, Marilla!\" Anne straightened to her knees and clasped her hands.\n\"It's been the dream of my life--that is, for the last six months, ever\nsince Ruby and Jane began to talk of studying for the Entrance. But I\ndidn't say anything about it, because I supposed it would be perfectly\nuseless. I'd love to be a teacher. But won't it be dreadfully expensive?\nMr. Andrews says it cost him one hundred and fifty dollars to put Prissy\nthrough, and Prissy wasn't a dunce in geometry.\"\n\n\"I guess you needn't worry about that part of it. When Matthew and I\ntook you to bring up we resolved we would do the best we could for you\nand give you a good education. I believe in a girl being fitted to earn\nher own living whether she ever has to or not. You'll always have a home\nat Green Gables as long as Matthew and I are here, but nobody knows what\nis going to happen in this uncertain world, and it's just as well to be\nprepared. So you can join the Queen's class if you like, Anne.\"\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, thank you.\" Anne flung her arms about Marilla's waist and\nlooked up earnestly into her face. \"I'm extremely grateful to you and\nMatthew. And I'll study as hard as I can and do my very best to be a\ncredit to you. I warn you not to expect much in geometry, but I think I\ncan hold my own in anything else if I work hard.\"\n\n\"I dare say you'll get along well enough. Miss Stacy says you are bright\nand diligent.\" Not for worlds would Marilla have told Anne just what\nMiss Stacy had said about her; that would have been to pamper vanity.\n\"You needn't rush to any extreme of killing yourself over your books.\nThere is no hurry. You won't be ready to try the Entrance for a year and\na half yet. But it's well to begin in time and be thoroughly grounded,\nMiss Stacy says.\"\n\n\"I shall take more interest than ever in my studies now,\" said Anne\nblissfully, \"because I have a purpose in life. Mr. Allan says everybody\nshould have a purpose in life and pursue it faithfully. Only he says\nwe must first make sure that it is a worthy purpose. I would call it a\nworthy purpose to want to be a teacher like Miss Stacy, wouldn't you,\nMarilla? I think it's a very noble profession.\"\n\nThe Queen's class was organized in due time. Gilbert Blythe, Anne\nShirley, Ruby Gillis, Jane Andrews, Josie Pye, Charlie Sloane, and Moody\nSpurgeon MacPherson joined it. Diana Barry did not, as her parents\ndid not intend to send her to Queen's. This seemed nothing short of a\ncalamity to Anne. Never, since the night on which Minnie May had had the\ncroup, had she and Diana been separated in anything. On the evening when\nthe Queen's class first remained in school for the extra lessons and\nAnne saw Diana go slowly out with the others, to walk home alone through\nthe Birch Path and Violet Vale, it was all the former could do to keep\nher seat and refrain from rushing impulsively after her chum. A lump\ncame into her throat, and she hastily retired behind the pages of her\nuplifted Latin grammar to hide the tears in her eyes. Not for worlds\nwould Anne have had Gilbert Blythe or Josie Pye see those tears.\n\n\"But, oh, Marilla, I really felt that I had tasted the bitterness of\ndeath, as Mr. Allan said in his sermon last Sunday, when I saw Diana go\nout alone,\" she said mournfully that night. \"I thought how splendid it\nwould have been if Diana had only been going to study for the Entrance,\ntoo. But we can't have things perfect in this imperfect world, as Mrs.\nLynde says. Mrs. Lynde isn't exactly a comforting person sometimes, but\nthere's no doubt she says a great many very true things. And I think the\nQueen's class is going to be extremely interesting. Jane and Ruby\nare just going to study to be teachers. That is the height of their\nambition. Ruby says she will only teach for two years after she gets\nthrough, and then she intends to be married. Jane says she will devote\nher whole life to teaching, and never, never marry, because you are paid\na salary for teaching, but a husband won't pay you anything, and growls\nif you ask for a share in the egg and butter money. I expect Jane speaks\nfrom mournful experience, for Mrs. Lynde says that her father is a\nperfect old crank, and meaner than second skimmings. Josie Pye says she\nis just going to college for education's sake, because she won't have to\nearn her own living; she says of course it is different with orphans who\nare living on charity--THEY have to hustle. Moody Spurgeon is going to\nbe a minister. Mrs. Lynde says he couldn't be anything else with a name\nlike that to live up to. I hope it isn't wicked of me, Marilla, but\nreally the thought of Moody Spurgeon being a minister makes me laugh.\nHe's such a funny-looking boy with that big fat face, and his little\nblue eyes, and his ears sticking out like flaps. But perhaps he will\nbe more intellectual looking when he grows up. Charlie Sloane says he's\ngoing to go into politics and be a member of Parliament, but Mrs. Lynde\nsays he'll never succeed at that, because the Sloanes are all honest\npeople, and it's only rascals that get on in politics nowadays.\"\n\n\"What is Gilbert Blythe going to be?\" queried Marilla, seeing that Anne\nwas opening her Caesar.\n\n\"I don't happen to know what Gilbert Blythe's ambition in life is--if he\nhas any,\" said Anne scornfully.\n\nThere was open rivalry between Gilbert and Anne now. Previously the\nrivalry had been rather onesided, but there was no longer any doubt that\nGilbert was as determined to be first in class as Anne was. He was\na foeman worthy of her steel. The other members of the class tacitly\nacknowledged their superiority, and never dreamed of trying to compete\nwith them.\n\nSince the day by the pond when she had refused to listen to his plea\nfor forgiveness, Gilbert, save for the aforesaid determined rivalry,\nhad evinced no recognition whatever of the existence of Anne Shirley. He\ntalked and jested with the other girls, exchanged books and puzzles with\nthem, discussed lessons and plans, sometimes walked home with one or the\nother of them from prayer meeting or Debating Club. But Anne Shirley\nhe simply ignored, and Anne found out that it is not pleasant to be\nignored. It was in vain that she told herself with a toss of her head\nthat she did not care. Deep down in her wayward, feminine little heart\nshe knew that she did care, and that if she had that chance of the Lake\nof Shining Waters again she would answer very differently. All at\nonce, as it seemed, and to her secret dismay, she found that the old\nresentment she had cherished against him was gone--gone just when she\nmost needed its sustaining power. It was in vain that she recalled every\nincident and emotion of that memorable occasion and tried to feel\nthe old satisfying anger. That day by the pond had witnessed its last\nspasmodic flicker. Anne realized that she had forgiven and forgotten\nwithout knowing it. But it was too late.\n\nAnd at least neither Gilbert nor anybody else, not even Diana, should\never suspect how sorry she was and how much she wished she hadn't been\nso proud and horrid! She determined to \"shroud her feelings in deepest\noblivion,\" and it may be stated here and now that she did it, so\nsuccessfully that Gilbert, who possibly was not quite so indifferent as\nhe seemed, could not console himself with any belief that Anne felt his\nretaliatory scorn. The only poor comfort he had was that she snubbed\nCharlie Sloane, unmercifully, continually, and undeservedly.\n\nOtherwise the winter passed away in a round of pleasant duties and\nstudies. For Anne the days slipped by like golden beads on the necklace\nof the year. She was happy, eager, interested; there were lessons to be\nlearned and honor to be won; delightful books to read; new pieces to be\npracticed for the Sunday-school choir; pleasant Saturday afternoons at\nthe manse with Mrs. Allan; and then, almost before Anne realized it,\nspring had come again to Green Gables and all the world was abloom once\nmore.\n\nStudies palled just a wee bit then; the Queen's class, left behind in\nschool while the others scattered to green lanes and leafy wood cuts and\nmeadow byways, looked wistfully out of the windows and discovered that\nLatin verbs and French exercises had somehow lost the tang and zest they\nhad possessed in the crisp winter months. Even Anne and Gilbert lagged\nand grew indifferent. Teacher and taught were alike glad when the term\nwas ended and the glad vacation days stretched rosily before them.\n\n\"But you've done good work this past year,\" Miss Stacy told them on the\nlast evening, \"and you deserve a good, jolly vacation. Have the best\ntime you can in the out-of-door world and lay in a good stock of health\nand vitality and ambition to carry you through next year. It will be the\ntug of war, you know--the last year before the Entrance.\"\n\n\"Are you going to be back next year, Miss Stacy?\" asked Josie Pye.\n\nJosie Pye never scrupled to ask questions; in this instance the rest of\nthe class felt grateful to her; none of them would have dared to ask\nit of Miss Stacy, but all wanted to, for there had been alarming rumors\nrunning at large through the school for some time that Miss Stacy was\nnot coming back the next year--that she had been offered a position\nin the grade school of her own home district and meant to accept. The\nQueen's class listened in breathless suspense for her answer.\n\n\"Yes, I think I will,\" said Miss Stacy. \"I thought of taking another\nschool, but I have decided to come back to Avonlea. To tell the truth,\nI've grown so interested in my pupils here that I found I couldn't leave\nthem. So I'll stay and see you through.\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" said Moody Spurgeon. Moody Spurgeon had never been so carried\naway by his feelings before, and he blushed uncomfortably every time he\nthought about it for a week.\n\n\"Oh, I'm so glad,\" said Anne, with shining eyes. \"Dear Stacy, it would\nbe perfectly dreadful if you didn't come back. I don't believe I could\nhave the heart to go on with my studies at all if another teacher came\nhere.\"\n\nWhen Anne got home that night she stacked all her textbooks away in an\nold trunk in the attic, locked it, and threw the key into the blanket\nbox.\n\n\"I'm not even going to look at a schoolbook in vacation,\" she told\nMarilla. \"I've studied as hard all the term as I possibly could and I've\npored over that geometry until I know every proposition in the first\nbook off by heart, even when the letters ARE changed. I just feel tired\nof everything sensible and I'm going to let my imagination run riot for\nthe summer. Oh, you needn't be alarmed, Marilla. I'll only let it run\nriot within reasonable limits. But I want to have a real good jolly time\nthis summer, for maybe it's the last summer I'll be a little girl. Mrs.\nLynde says that if I keep stretching out next year as I've done this\nI'll have to put on longer skirts. She says I'm all running to legs and\neyes. And when I put on longer skirts I shall feel that I have to live\nup to them and be very dignified. It won't even do to believe in fairies\nthen, I'm afraid; so I'm going to believe in them with all my whole\nheart this summer. I think we're going to have a very gay vacation. Ruby\nGillis is going to have a birthday party soon and there's the Sunday\nschool picnic and the missionary concert next month. And Mr. Barry says\nthat some evening he'll take Diana and me over to the White Sands Hotel\nand have dinner there. They have dinner there in the evening, you know.\nJane Andrews was over once last summer and she says it was a dazzling\nsight to see the electric lights and the flowers and all the lady guests\nin such beautiful dresses. Jane says it was her first glimpse into high\nlife and she'll never forget it to her dying day.\"\n\nMrs. Lynde came up the next afternoon to find out why Marilla had not\nbeen at the Aid meeting on Thursday. When Marilla was not at Aid meeting\npeople knew there was something wrong at Green Gables.\n\n\"Matthew had a bad spell with his heart Thursday,\" Marilla explained,\n\"and I didn't feel like leaving him. Oh, yes, he's all right again now,\nbut he takes them spells oftener than he used to and I'm anxious about\nhim. The doctor says he must be careful to avoid excitement. That's easy\nenough, for Matthew doesn't go about looking for excitement by any means\nand never did, but he's not to do any very heavy work either and you\nmight as well tell Matthew not to breathe as not to work. Come and lay\noff your things, Rachel. You'll stay to tea?\"\n\n\"Well, seeing you're so pressing, perhaps I might as well, stay\" said\nMrs. Rachel, who had not the slightest intention of doing anything else.\n\nMrs. Rachel and Marilla sat comfortably in the parlor while Anne got the\ntea and made hot biscuits that were light and white enough to defy even\nMrs. Rachel's criticism.\n\n\"I must say Anne has turned out a real smart girl,\" admitted Mrs.\nRachel, as Marilla accompanied her to the end of the lane at sunset.\n\"She must be a great help to you.\"\n\n\"She is,\" said Marilla, \"and she's real steady and reliable now. I used\nto be afraid she'd never get over her featherbrained ways, but she has\nand I wouldn't be afraid to trust her in anything now.\"\n\n\"I never would have thought she'd have turned out so well that first day\nI was here three years ago,\" said Mrs. Rachel. \"Lawful heart, shall I\never forget that tantrum of hers! When I went home that night I says to\nThomas, says I, 'Mark my words, Thomas, Marilla Cuthbert'll live to\nrue the step she's took.' But I was mistaken and I'm real glad of it. I\nain't one of those kind of people, Marilla, as can never be brought to\nown up that they've made a mistake. No, that never was my way, thank\ngoodness. I did make a mistake in judging Anne, but it weren't no\nwonder, for an odder, unexpecteder witch of a child there never was in\nthis world, that's what. There was no ciphering her out by the rules\nthat worked with other children. It's nothing short of wonderful how\nshe's improved these three years, but especially in looks. She's a real\npretty girl got to be, though I can't say I'm overly partial to that\npale, big-eyed style myself. I like more snap and color, like Diana\nBarry has or Ruby Gillis. Ruby Gillis's looks are real showy. But\nsomehow--I don't know how it is but when Anne and them are together,\nthough she ain't half as handsome, she makes them look kind of common\nand overdone--something like them white June lilies she calls narcissus\nalongside of the big, red peonies, that's what.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI. Where the Brook and River Meet\n\n\nAnne had her \"good\" summer and enjoyed it wholeheartedly. She and Diana\nfairly lived outdoors, reveling in all the delights that Lover's Lane\nand the Dryad's Bubble and Willowmere and Victoria Island afforded.\nMarilla offered no objections to Anne's gypsyings. The Spencervale\ndoctor who had come the night Minnie May had the croup met Anne at the\nhouse of a patient one afternoon early in vacation, looked her over\nsharply, screwed up his mouth, shook his head, and sent a message to\nMarilla Cuthbert by another person. It was:\n\n\"Keep that redheaded girl of yours in the open air all summer and don't\nlet her read books until she gets more spring into her step.\"\n\nThis message frightened Marilla wholesomely. She read Anne's death\nwarrant by consumption in it unless it was scrupulously obeyed. As a\nresult, Anne had the golden summer of her life as far as freedom and\nfrolic went. She walked, rowed, berried, and dreamed to her heart's\ncontent; and when September came she was bright-eyed and alert, with a\nstep that would have satisfied the Spencervale doctor and a heart full\nof ambition and zest once more.\n\n\"I feel just like studying with might and main,\" she declared as she\nbrought her books down from the attic. \"Oh, you good old friends, I'm\nglad to see your honest faces once more--yes, even you, geometry. I've\nhad a perfectly beautiful summer, Marilla, and now I'm rejoicing as a\nstrong man to run a race, as Mr. Allan said last Sunday. Doesn't Mr.\nAllan preach magnificent sermons? Mrs. Lynde says he is improving every\nday and the first thing we know some city church will gobble him up\nand then we'll be left and have to turn to and break in another green\npreacher. But I don't see the use of meeting trouble halfway, do you,\nMarilla? I think it would be better just to enjoy Mr. Allan while we\nhave him. If I were a man I think I'd be a minister. They can have\nsuch an influence for good, if their theology is sound; and it must be\nthrilling to preach splendid sermons and stir your hearers' hearts. Why\ncan't women be ministers, Marilla? I asked Mrs. Lynde that and she was\nshocked and said it would be a scandalous thing. She said there might\nbe female ministers in the States and she believed there was, but thank\ngoodness we hadn't got to that stage in Canada yet and she hoped we\nnever would. But I don't see why. I think women would make splendid\nministers. When there is a social to be got up or a church tea or\nanything else to raise money the women have to turn to and do the work.\nI'm sure Mrs. Lynde can pray every bit as well as Superintendent Bell\nand I've no doubt she could preach too with a little practice.\"\n\n\"Yes, I believe she could,\" said Marilla dryly. \"She does plenty of\nunofficial preaching as it is. Nobody has much of a chance to go wrong\nin Avonlea with Rachel to oversee them.\"\n\n\"Marilla,\" said Anne in a burst of confidence, \"I want to tell you\nsomething and ask you what you think about it. It has worried me\nterribly--on Sunday afternoons, that is, when I think specially about\nsuch matters. I do really want to be good; and when I'm with you or Mrs.\nAllan or Miss Stacy I want it more than ever and I want to do just what\nwould please you and what you would approve of. But mostly when I'm with\nMrs. Lynde I feel desperately wicked and as if I wanted to go and do the\nvery thing she tells me I oughtn't to do. I feel irresistibly tempted\nto do it. Now, what do you think is the reason I feel like that? Do you\nthink it's because I'm really bad and unregenerate?\"\n\nMarilla looked dubious for a moment. Then she laughed.\n\n\"If you are I guess I am too, Anne, for Rachel often has that very\neffect on me. I sometimes think she'd have more of an influence for\ngood, as you say yourself, if she didn't keep nagging people to do\nright. There should have been a special commandment against nagging.\nBut there, I shouldn't talk so. Rachel is a good Christian woman and she\nmeans well. There isn't a kinder soul in Avonlea and she never shirks\nher share of work.\"\n\n\"I'm very glad you feel the same,\" said Anne decidedly. \"It's so\nencouraging. I shan't worry so much over that after this. But I dare say\nthere'll be other things to worry me. They keep coming up new all the\ntime--things to perplex you, you know. You settle one question and\nthere's another right after. There are so many things to be thought over\nand decided when you're beginning to grow up. It keeps me busy all the\ntime thinking them over and deciding what is right. It's a serious thing\nto grow up, isn't it, Marilla? But when I have such good friends as\nyou and Matthew and Mrs. Allan and Miss Stacy I ought to grow up\nsuccessfully, and I'm sure it will be my own fault if I don't. I feel\nit's a great responsibility because I have only the one chance. If I\ndon't grow up right I can't go back and begin over again. I've grown two\ninches this summer, Marilla. Mr. Gillis measured me at Ruby's party. I'm\nso glad you made my new dresses longer. That dark-green one is so pretty\nand it was sweet of you to put on the flounce. Of course I know it\nwasn't really necessary, but flounces are so stylish this fall and Josie\nPye has flounces on all her dresses. I know I'll be able to study better\nbecause of mine. I shall have such a comfortable feeling deep down in my\nmind about that flounce.\"\n\n\"It's worth something to have that,\" admitted Marilla.\n\nMiss Stacy came back to Avonlea school and found all her pupils eager\nfor work once more. Especially did the Queen's class gird up their loins\nfor the fray, for at the end of the coming year, dimly shadowing their\npathway already, loomed up that fateful thing known as \"the Entrance,\"\nat the thought of which one and all felt their hearts sink into their\nvery shoes. Suppose they did not pass! That thought was doomed to\nhaunt Anne through the waking hours of that winter, Sunday afternoons\ninclusive, to the almost entire exclusion of moral and theological\nproblems. When Anne had bad dreams she found herself staring miserably\nat pass lists of the Entrance exams, where Gilbert Blythe's name was\nblazoned at the top and in which hers did not appear at all.\n\nBut it was a jolly, busy, happy swift-flying winter. Schoolwork was\nas interesting, class rivalry as absorbing, as of yore. New worlds of\nthought, feeling, and ambition, fresh, fascinating fields of unexplored\nknowledge seemed to be opening out before Anne's eager eyes.\n\n\n      \"Hills peeped o'er hill and Alps on Alps arose.\"\n\n\nMuch of all this was due to Miss Stacy's tactful, careful, broadminded\nguidance. She led her class to think and explore and discover for\nthemselves and encouraged straying from the old beaten paths to a degree\nthat quite shocked Mrs. Lynde and the school trustees, who viewed all\ninnovations on established methods rather dubiously.\n\nApart from her studies Anne expanded socially, for Marilla, mindful of\nthe Spencervale doctor's dictum, no longer vetoed occasional outings.\nThe Debating Club flourished and gave several concerts; there were one\nor two parties almost verging on grown-up affairs; there were sleigh\ndrives and skating frolics galore.\n\nBetween times Anne grew, shooting up so rapidly that Marilla was\nastonished one day, when they were standing side by side, to find the\ngirl was taller than herself.\n\n\"Why, Anne, how you've grown!\" she said, almost unbelievingly. A sigh\nfollowed on the words. Marilla felt a queer regret over Anne's inches.\nThe child she had learned to love had vanished somehow and here was this\ntall, serious-eyed girl of fifteen, with the thoughtful brows and the\nproudly poised little head, in her place. Marilla loved the girl as much\nas she had loved the child, but she was conscious of a queer sorrowful\nsense of loss. And that night, when Anne had gone to prayer meeting\nwith Diana, Marilla sat alone in the wintry twilight and indulged in the\nweakness of a cry. Matthew, coming in with a lantern, caught her at it\nand gazed at her in such consternation that Marilla had to laugh through\nher tears.\n\n\"I was thinking about Anne,\" she explained. \"She's got to be such a big\ngirl--and she'll probably be away from us next winter. I'll miss her\nterrible.\"\n\n\"She'll be able to come home often,\" comforted Matthew, to whom Anne was\nas yet and always would be the little, eager girl he had brought home\nfrom Bright River on that June evening four years before. \"The branch\nrailroad will be built to Carmody by that time.\"\n\n\"It won't be the same thing as having her here all the time,\" sighed\nMarilla gloomily, determined to enjoy her luxury of grief uncomforted.\n\"But there--men can't understand these things!\"\n\nThere were other changes in Anne no less real than the physical change.\nFor one thing, she became much quieter. Perhaps she thought all the\nmore and dreamed as much as ever, but she certainly talked less. Marilla\nnoticed and commented on this also.\n\n\"You don't chatter half as much as you used to, Anne, nor use half as\nmany big words. What has come over you?\"\n\nAnne colored and laughed a little, as she dropped her book and looked\ndreamily out of the window, where big fat red buds were bursting out on\nthe creeper in response to the lure of the spring sunshine.\n\n\"I don't know--I don't want to talk as much,\" she said, denting her\nchin thoughtfully with her forefinger. \"It's nicer to think dear, pretty\nthoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures. I don't like to\nhave them laughed at or wondered over. And somehow I don't want to use\nbig words any more. It's almost a pity, isn't it, now that I'm really\ngrowing big enough to say them if I did want to. It's fun to be almost\ngrown up in some ways, but it's not the kind of fun I expected, Marilla.\nThere's so much to learn and do and think that there isn't time for big\nwords. Besides, Miss Stacy says the short ones are much stronger and\nbetter. She makes us write all our essays as simply as possible. It was\nhard at first. I was so used to crowding in all the fine big words I\ncould think of--and I thought of any number of them. But I've got used\nto it now and I see it's so much better.\"\n\n\"What has become of your story club? I haven't heard you speak of it for\na long time.\"\n\n\"The story club isn't in existence any longer. We hadn't time for\nit--and anyhow I think we had got tired of it. It was silly to be\nwriting about love and murder and elopements and mysteries. Miss Stacy\nsometimes has us write a story for training in composition, but she\nwon't let us write anything but what might happen in Avonlea in our own\nlives, and she criticizes it very sharply and makes us criticize our own\ntoo. I never thought my compositions had so many faults until I began to\nlook for them myself. I felt so ashamed I wanted to give up altogether,\nbut Miss Stacy said I could learn to write well if I only trained myself\nto be my own severest critic. And so I am trying to.\"\n\n\"You've only two more months before the Entrance,\" said Marilla. \"Do you\nthink you'll be able to get through?\"\n\nAnne shivered.\n\n\"I don't know. Sometimes I think I'll be all right--and then I get\nhorribly afraid. We've studied hard and Miss Stacy has drilled us\nthoroughly, but we mayn't get through for all that. We've each got a\nstumbling block. Mine is geometry of course, and Jane's is Latin, and\nRuby and Charlie's is algebra, and Josie's is arithmetic. Moody Spurgeon\nsays he feels it in his bones that he is going to fail in English\nhistory. Miss Stacy is going to give us examinations in June just as\nhard as we'll have at the Entrance and mark us just as strictly, so\nwe'll have some idea. I wish it was all over, Marilla. It haunts me.\nSometimes I wake up in the night and wonder what I'll do if I don't\npass.\"\n\n\"Why, go to school next year and try again,\" said Marilla unconcernedly.\n\n\"Oh, I don't believe I'd have the heart for it. It would be such a\ndisgrace to fail, especially if Gil--if the others passed. And I get so\nnervous in an examination that I'm likely to make a mess of it. I wish I\nhad nerves like Jane Andrews. Nothing rattles her.\"\n\nAnne sighed and, dragging her eyes from the witcheries of the spring\nworld, the beckoning day of breeze and blue, and the green things\nupspringing in the garden, buried herself resolutely in her book.\nThere would be other springs, but if she did not succeed in passing the\nEntrance, Anne felt convinced that she would never recover sufficiently\nto enjoy them.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII. The Pass List Is Out\n\n\nWith the end of June came the close of the term and the close of Miss\nStacy's rule in Avonlea school. Anne and Diana walked home that\nevening feeling very sober indeed. Red eyes and damp handkerchiefs bore\nconvincing testimony to the fact that Miss Stacy's farewell words must\nhave been quite as touching as Mr. Phillips's had been under similar\ncircumstances three years before. Diana looked back at the schoolhouse\nfrom the foot of the spruce hill and sighed deeply.\n\n\"It does seem as if it was the end of everything, doesn't it?\" she said\ndismally.\n\n\"You oughtn't to feel half as badly as I do,\" said Anne, hunting vainly\nfor a dry spot on her handkerchief. \"You'll be back again next winter,\nbut I suppose I've left the dear old school forever--if I have good\nluck, that is.\"\n\n\"It won't be a bit the same. Miss Stacy won't be there, nor you nor Jane\nnor Ruby probably. I shall have to sit all alone, for I couldn't bear\nto have another deskmate after you. Oh, we have had jolly times, haven't\nwe, Anne? It's dreadful to think they're all over.\"\n\nTwo big tears rolled down by Diana's nose.\n\n\"If you would stop crying I could,\" said Anne imploringly. \"Just as\nsoon as I put away my hanky I see you brimming up and that starts me off\nagain. As Mrs. Lynde says, 'If you can't be cheerful, be as cheerful as\nyou can.' After all, I dare say I'll be back next year. This is one\nof the times I KNOW I'm not going to pass. They're getting alarmingly\nfrequent.\"\n\n\"Why, you came out splendidly in the exams Miss Stacy gave.\"\n\n\"Yes, but those exams didn't make me nervous. When I think of the real\nthing you can't imagine what a horrid cold fluttery feeling comes round\nmy heart. And then my number is thirteen and Josie Pye says it's so\nunlucky. I am NOT superstitious and I know it can make no difference.\nBut still I wish it wasn't thirteen.\"\n\n\"I do wish I was going in with you,\" said Diana. \"Wouldn't we have\na perfectly elegant time? But I suppose you'll have to cram in the\nevenings.\"\n\n\"No; Miss Stacy has made us promise not to open a book at all. She says\nit would only tire and confuse us and we are to go out walking and not\nthink about the exams at all and go to bed early. It's good advice, but\nI expect it will be hard to follow; good advice is apt to be, I think.\nPrissy Andrews told me that she sat up half the night every night of her\nEntrance week and crammed for dear life; and I had determined to sit up\nAT LEAST as long as she did. It was so kind of your Aunt Josephine to\nask me to stay at Beechwood while I'm in town.\"\n\n\"You'll write to me while you're in, won't you?\"\n\n\"I'll write Tuesday night and tell you how the first day goes,\" promised\nAnne.\n\n\"I'll be haunting the post office Wednesday,\" vowed Diana.\n\nAnne went to town the following Monday and on Wednesday Diana haunted\nthe post office, as agreed, and got her letter.\n\n\n\"Dearest Diana\" [wrote Anne],\n\n\"Here it is Tuesday night and I'm writing this in the library at\nBeechwood. Last night I was horribly lonesome all alone in my room and\nwished so much you were with me. I couldn't \"cram\" because I'd promised\nMiss Stacy not to, but it was as hard to keep from opening my history\nas it used to be to keep from reading a story before my lessons were\nlearned.\n\n\"This morning Miss Stacy came for me and we went to the Academy, calling\nfor Jane and Ruby and Josie on our way. Ruby asked me to feel her hands\nand they were as cold as ice. Josie said I looked as if I hadn't slept\na wink and she didn't believe I was strong enough to stand the grind\nof the teacher's course even if I did get through. There are times and\nseasons even yet when I don't feel that I've made any great headway in\nlearning to like Josie Pye!\n\n\"When we reached the Academy there were scores of students there from\nall over the Island. The first person we saw was Moody Spurgeon sitting\non the steps and muttering away to himself. Jane asked him what on earth\nhe was doing and he said he was repeating the multiplication table over\nand over to steady his nerves and for pity's sake not to interrupt\nhim, because if he stopped for a moment he got frightened and forgot\neverything he ever knew, but the multiplication table kept all his facts\nfirmly in their proper place!\n\n\"When we were assigned to our rooms Miss Stacy had to leave us. Jane and\nI sat together and Jane was so composed that I envied her. No need of\nthe multiplication table for good, steady, sensible Jane! I wondered if\nI looked as I felt and if they could hear my heart thumping clear\nacross the room. Then a man came in and began distributing the English\nexamination sheets. My hands grew cold then and my head fairly whirled\naround as I picked it up. Just one awful moment--Diana, I felt exactly\nas I did four years ago when I asked Marilla if I might stay at Green\nGables--and then everything cleared up in my mind and my heart began\nbeating again--I forgot to say that it had stopped altogether!--for I\nknew I could do something with THAT paper anyhow.\n\n\"At noon we went home for dinner and then back again for history in\nthe afternoon. The history was a pretty hard paper and I got dreadfully\nmixed up in the dates. Still, I think I did fairly well today. But oh,\nDiana, tomorrow the geometry exam comes off and when I think of it\nit takes every bit of determination I possess to keep from opening my\nEuclid. If I thought the multiplication table would help me any I would\nrecite it from now till tomorrow morning.\n\n\"I went down to see the other girls this evening. On my way I met Moody\nSpurgeon wandering distractedly around. He said he knew he had failed in\nhistory and he was born to be a disappointment to his parents and he\nwas going home on the morning train; and it would be easier to be a\ncarpenter than a minister, anyhow. I cheered him up and persuaded him to\nstay to the end because it would be unfair to Miss Stacy if he didn't.\nSometimes I have wished I was born a boy, but when I see Moody Spurgeon\nI'm always glad I'm a girl and not his sister.\n\n\"Ruby was in hysterics when I reached their boardinghouse; she had just\ndiscovered a fearful mistake she had made in her English paper. When\nshe recovered we went uptown and had an ice cream. How we wished you had\nbeen with us.\n\n\"Oh, Diana, if only the geometry examination were over! But there, as\nMrs. Lynde would say, the sun will go on rising and setting whether I\nfail in geometry or not. That is true but not especially comforting. I\nthink I'd rather it didn't go on if I failed!\n\n\"Yours devotedly,\n\n\"Anne\"\n\n\nThe geometry examination and all the others were over in due time and\nAnne arrived home on Friday evening, rather tired but with an air of\nchastened triumph about her. Diana was over at Green Gables when she\narrived and they met as if they had been parted for years.\n\n\"You old darling, it's perfectly splendid to see you back again. It\nseems like an age since you went to town and oh, Anne, how did you get\nalong?\"\n\n\"Pretty well, I think, in everything but the geometry. I don't know\nwhether I passed in it or not and I have a creepy, crawly presentiment\nthat I didn't. Oh, how good it is to be back! Green Gables is the\ndearest, loveliest spot in the world.\"\n\n\"How did the others do?\"\n\n\"The girls say they know they didn't pass, but I think they did pretty\nwell. Josie says the geometry was so easy a child of ten could do it!\nMoody Spurgeon still thinks he failed in history and Charlie says he\nfailed in algebra. But we don't really know anything about it and won't\nuntil the pass list is out. That won't be for a fortnight. Fancy living\na fortnight in such suspense! I wish I could go to sleep and never wake\nup until it is over.\"\n\nDiana knew it would be useless to ask how Gilbert Blythe had fared, so\nshe merely said:\n\n\"Oh, you'll pass all right. Don't worry.\"\n\n\"I'd rather not pass at all than not come out pretty well up on the\nlist,\" flashed Anne, by which she meant--and Diana knew she meant--that\nsuccess would be incomplete and bitter if she did not come out ahead of\nGilbert Blythe.\n\nWith this end in view Anne had strained every nerve during the\nexaminations. So had Gilbert. They had met and passed each other on the\nstreet a dozen times without any sign of recognition and every time Anne\nhad held her head a little higher and wished a little more earnestly\nthat she had made friends with Gilbert when he asked her, and vowed a\nlittle more determinedly to surpass him in the examination. She knew\nthat all Avonlea junior was wondering which would come out first; she\neven knew that Jimmy Glover and Ned Wright had a bet on the question\nand that Josie Pye had said there was no doubt in the world that Gilbert\nwould be first; and she felt that her humiliation would be unbearable if\nshe failed.\n\nBut she had another and nobler motive for wishing to do well. She wanted\nto \"pass high\" for the sake of Matthew and Marilla--especially Matthew.\nMatthew had declared to her his conviction that she \"would beat the\nwhole Island.\" That, Anne felt, was something it would be foolish to\nhope for even in the wildest dreams. But she did hope fervently that she\nwould be among the first ten at least, so that she might see Matthew's\nkindly brown eyes gleam with pride in her achievement. That, she\nfelt, would be a sweet reward indeed for all her hard work and patient\ngrubbing among unimaginative equations and conjugations.\n\nAt the end of the fortnight Anne took to \"haunting\" the post office\nalso, in the distracted company of Jane, Ruby, and Josie, opening the\nCharlottetown dailies with shaking hands and cold, sinkaway feelings\nas bad as any experienced during the Entrance week. Charlie and Gilbert\nwere not above doing this too, but Moody Spurgeon stayed resolutely\naway.\n\n\"I haven't got the grit to go there and look at a paper in cold blood,\"\nhe told Anne. \"I'm just going to wait until somebody comes and tells me\nsuddenly whether I've passed or not.\"\n\nWhen three weeks had gone by without the pass list appearing Anne began\nto feel that she really couldn't stand the strain much longer. Her\nappetite failed and her interest in Avonlea doings languished.\nMrs. Lynde wanted to know what else you could expect with a Tory\nsuperintendent of education at the head of affairs, and Matthew, noting\nAnne's paleness and indifference and the lagging steps that bore her\nhome from the post office every afternoon, began seriously to wonder if\nhe hadn't better vote Grit at the next election.\n\nBut one evening the news came. Anne was sitting at her open window,\nfor the time forgetful of the woes of examinations and the cares of the\nworld, as she drank in the beauty of the summer dusk, sweet-scented with\nflower breaths from the garden below and sibilant and rustling from the\nstir of poplars. The eastern sky above the firs was flushed faintly pink\nfrom the reflection of the west, and Anne was wondering dreamily if the\nspirit of color looked like that, when she saw Diana come flying\ndown through the firs, over the log bridge, and up the slope, with a\nfluttering newspaper in her hand.\n\nAnne sprang to her feet, knowing at once what that paper contained. The\npass list was out! Her head whirled and her heart beat until it hurt\nher. She could not move a step. It seemed an hour to her before Diana\ncame rushing along the hall and burst into the room without even\nknocking, so great was her excitement.\n\n\"Anne, you've passed,\" she cried, \"passed the VERY FIRST--you and\nGilbert both--you're ties--but your name is first. Oh, I'm so proud!\"\n\nDiana flung the paper on the table and herself on Anne's bed, utterly\nbreathless and incapable of further speech. Anne lighted the lamp,\noversetting the match safe and using up half a dozen matches before her\nshaking hands could accomplish the task. Then she snatched up the paper.\nYes, she had passed--there was her name at the very top of a list of two\nhundred! That moment was worth living for.\n\n\"You did just splendidly, Anne,\" puffed Diana, recovering sufficiently\nto sit up and speak, for Anne, starry eyed and rapt, had not uttered a\nword. \"Father brought the paper home from Bright River not ten minutes\nago--it came out on the afternoon train, you know, and won't be here\ntill tomorrow by mail--and when I saw the pass list I just rushed over\nlike a wild thing. You've all passed, every one of you, Moody Spurgeon\nand all, although he's conditioned in history. Jane and Ruby did pretty\nwell--they're halfway up--and so did Charlie. Josie just scraped through\nwith three marks to spare, but you'll see she'll put on as many airs as\nif she'd led. Won't Miss Stacy be delighted? Oh, Anne, what does it feel\nlike to see your name at the head of a pass list like that? If it were\nme I know I'd go crazy with joy. I am pretty near crazy as it is, but\nyou're as calm and cool as a spring evening.\"\n\n\"I'm just dazzled inside,\" said Anne. \"I want to say a hundred things,\nand I can't find words to say them in. I never dreamed of this--yes, I\ndid too, just once! I let myself think ONCE, 'What if I should come out\nfirst?' quakingly, you know, for it seemed so vain and presumptuous to\nthink I could lead the Island. Excuse me a minute, Diana. I must run\nright out to the field to tell Matthew. Then we'll go up the road and\ntell the good news to the others.\"\n\nThey hurried to the hayfield below the barn where Matthew was coiling\nhay, and, as luck would have it, Mrs. Lynde was talking to Marilla at\nthe lane fence.\n\n\"Oh, Matthew,\" exclaimed Anne, \"I've passed and I'm first--or one of the\nfirst! I'm not vain, but I'm thankful.\"\n\n\"Well now, I always said it,\" said Matthew, gazing at the pass list\ndelightedly. \"I knew you could beat them all easy.\"\n\n\"You've done pretty well, I must say, Anne,\" said Marilla, trying to\nhide her extreme pride in Anne from Mrs. Rachel's critical eye. But that\ngood soul said heartily:\n\n\"I just guess she has done well, and far be it from me to be backward in\nsaying it. You're a credit to your friends, Anne, that's what, and we're\nall proud of you.\"\n\nThat night Anne, who had wound up the delightful evening with a serious\nlittle talk with Mrs. Allan at the manse, knelt sweetly by her open\nwindow in a great sheen of moonshine and murmured a prayer of gratitude\nand aspiration that came straight from her heart. There was in it\nthankfulness for the past and reverent petition for the future; and when\nshe slept on her white pillow her dreams were as fair and bright and\nbeautiful as maidenhood might desire.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII. The Hotel Concert\n\n\n\"Put on your white organdy, by all means, Anne,\" advised Diana\ndecidedly.\n\nThey were together in the east gable chamber; outside it was only\ntwilight--a lovely yellowish-green twilight with a clear-blue cloudless\nsky. A big round moon, slowly deepening from her pallid luster into\nburnished silver, hung over the Haunted Wood; the air was full of sweet\nsummer sounds--sleepy birds twittering, freakish breezes, faraway\nvoices and laughter. But in Anne's room the blind was drawn and the lamp\nlighted, for an important toilet was being made.\n\nThe east gable was a very different place from what it had been on that\nnight four years before, when Anne had felt its bareness penetrate to\nthe marrow of her spirit with its inhospitable chill. Changes had crept\nin, Marilla conniving at them resignedly, until it was as sweet and\ndainty a nest as a young girl could desire.\n\nThe velvet carpet with the pink roses and the pink silk curtains of\nAnne's early visions had certainly never materialized; but her dreams\nhad kept pace with her growth, and it is not probable she lamented\nthem. The floor was covered with a pretty matting, and the curtains that\nsoftened the high window and fluttered in the vagrant breezes were of\npale-green art muslin. The walls, hung not with gold and silver brocade\ntapestry, but with a dainty apple-blossom paper, were adorned with a few\ngood pictures given Anne by Mrs. Allan. Miss Stacy's photograph occupied\nthe place of honor, and Anne made a sentimental point of keeping fresh\nflowers on the bracket under it. Tonight a spike of white lilies faintly\nperfumed the room like the dream of a fragrance. There was no \"mahogany\nfurniture,\" but there was a white-painted bookcase filled with books, a\ncushioned wicker rocker, a toilet table befrilled with white muslin,\na quaint, gilt-framed mirror with chubby pink Cupids and purple grapes\npainted over its arched top, that used to hang in the spare room, and a\nlow white bed.\n\nAnne was dressing for a concert at the White Sands Hotel. The guests had\ngot it up in aid of the Charlottetown hospital, and had hunted out all\nthe available amateur talent in the surrounding districts to help it\nalong. Bertha Sampson and Pearl Clay of the White Sands Baptist choir\nhad been asked to sing a duet; Milton Clark of Newbridge was to give a\nviolin solo; Winnie Adella Blair of Carmody was to sing a Scotch ballad;\nand Laura Spencer of Spencervale and Anne Shirley of Avonlea were to\nrecite.\n\nAs Anne would have said at one time, it was \"an epoch in her life,\" and\nshe was deliciously athrill with the excitement of it. Matthew was in\nthe seventh heaven of gratified pride over the honor conferred on his\nAnne and Marilla was not far behind, although she would have died rather\nthan admit it, and said she didn't think it was very proper for a lot\nof young folks to be gadding over to the hotel without any responsible\nperson with them.\n\nAnne and Diana were to drive over with Jane Andrews and her brother\nBilly in their double-seated buggy; and several other Avonlea girls and\nboys were going too. There was a party of visitors expected out from\ntown, and after the concert a supper was to be given to the performers.\n\n\"Do you really think the organdy will be best?\" queried Anne anxiously.\n\"I don't think it's as pretty as my blue-flowered muslin--and it\ncertainly isn't so fashionable.\"\n\n \"But it suits you ever so much better,\" said Diana. \"It's so soft\nand frilly and clinging. The muslin is stiff, and makes you look too\ndressed up. But the organdy seems as if it grew on you.\"\n\nAnne sighed and yielded. Diana was beginning to have a reputation for\nnotable taste in dressing, and her advice on such subjects was much\nsought after. She was looking very pretty herself on this particular\nnight in a dress of the lovely wild-rose pink, from which Anne was\nforever debarred; but she was not to take any part in the concert, so\nher appearance was of minor importance. All her pains were bestowed upon\nAnne, who, she vowed, must, for the credit of Avonlea, be dressed and\ncombed and adorned to the Queen's taste.\n\n\"Pull out that frill a little more--so; here, let me tie your sash; now\nfor your slippers. I'm going to braid your hair in two thick braids,\nand tie them halfway up with big white bows--no, don't pull out a single\ncurl over your forehead--just have the soft part. There is no way you do\nyour hair suits you so well, Anne, and Mrs. Allan says you look like a\nMadonna when you part it so. I shall fasten this little white house rose\njust behind your ear. There was just one on my bush, and I saved it for\nyou.\"\n\n\"Shall I put my pearl beads on?\" asked Anne. \"Matthew brought me a\nstring from town last week, and I know he'd like to see them on me.\"\n\nDiana pursed up her lips, put her black head on one side critically,\nand finally pronounced in favor of the beads, which were thereupon tied\naround Anne's slim milk-white throat.\n\n\"There's something so stylish about you, Anne,\" said Diana, with\nunenvious admiration. \"You hold your head with such an air. I suppose\nit's your figure. I am just a dumpling. I've always been afraid of it,\nand now I know it is so. Well, I suppose I shall just have to resign\nmyself to it.\"\n\n\"But you have such dimples,\" said Anne, smiling affectionately into the\npretty, vivacious face so near her own. \"Lovely dimples, like little\ndents in cream. I have given up all hope of dimples. My dimple-dream\nwill never come true; but so many of my dreams have that I mustn't\ncomplain. Am I all ready now?\"\n\n\"All ready,\" assured Diana, as Marilla appeared in the doorway, a gaunt\nfigure with grayer hair than of yore and no fewer angles, but with a\nmuch softer face. \"Come right in and look at our elocutionist, Marilla.\nDoesn't she look lovely?\"\n\nMarilla emitted a sound between a sniff and a grunt.\n\n\"She looks neat and proper. I like that way of fixing her hair. But I\nexpect she'll ruin that dress driving over there in the dust and dew\nwith it, and it looks most too thin for these damp nights. Organdy's the\nmost unserviceable stuff in the world anyhow, and I told Matthew so when\nhe got it. But there is no use in saying anything to Matthew nowadays.\nTime was when he would take my advice, but now he just buys things for\nAnne regardless, and the clerks at Carmody know they can palm anything\noff on him. Just let them tell him a thing is pretty and fashionable,\nand Matthew plunks his money down for it. Mind you keep your skirt clear\nof the wheel, Anne, and put your warm jacket on.\"\n\nThen Marilla stalked downstairs, thinking proudly how sweet Anne looked,\nwith that\n\n\n     \"One moonbeam from the forehead to the crown\"\n\n\nand regretting that she could not go to the concert herself to hear her\ngirl recite.\n\n\"I wonder if it IS too damp for my dress,\" said Anne anxiously.\n\n\"Not a bit of it,\" said Diana, pulling up the window blind. \"It's a\nperfect night, and there won't be any dew. Look at the moonlight.\"\n\n\"I'm so glad my window looks east into the sunrising,\" said Anne, going\nover to Diana. \"It's so splendid to see the morning coming up over those\nlong hills and glowing through those sharp fir tops. It's new every\nmorning, and I feel as if I washed my very soul in that bath of earliest\nsunshine. Oh, Diana, I love this little room so dearly. I don't know how\nI'll get along without it when I go to town next month.\"\n\n\"Don't speak of your going away tonight,\" begged Diana. \"I don't want to\nthink of it, it makes me so miserable, and I do want to have a good time\nthis evening. What are you going to recite, Anne? And are you nervous?\"\n\n\"Not a bit. I've recited so often in public I don't mind at all now.\nI've decided to give 'The Maiden's Vow.' It's so pathetic. Laura Spencer\nis going to give a comic recitation, but I'd rather make people cry than\nlaugh.\"\n\n\"What will you recite if they encore you?\"\n\n\"They won't dream of encoring me,\" scoffed Anne, who was not without her\nown secret hopes that they would, and already visioned herself telling\nMatthew all about it at the next morning's breakfast table. \"There are\nBilly and Jane now--I hear the wheels. Come on.\"\n\nBilly Andrews insisted that Anne should ride on the front seat with him,\nso she unwillingly climbed up. She would have much preferred to sit\nback with the girls, where she could have laughed and chattered to her\nheart's content. There was not much of either laughter or chatter\nin Billy. He was a big, fat, stolid youth of twenty, with a round,\nexpressionless face, and a painful lack of conversational gifts. But he\nadmired Anne immensely, and was puffed up with pride over the prospect\nof driving to White Sands with that slim, upright figure beside him.\n\nAnne, by dint of talking over her shoulder to the girls and occasionally\npassing a sop of civility to Billy--who grinned and chuckled and never\ncould think of any reply until it was too late--contrived to enjoy the\ndrive in spite of all. It was a night for enjoyment. The road was full\nof buggies, all bound for the hotel, and laughter, silver clear, echoed\nand reechoed along it. When they reached the hotel it was a blaze of\nlight from top to bottom. They were met by the ladies of the concert\ncommittee, one of whom took Anne off to the performers' dressing room\nwhich was filled with the members of a Charlottetown Symphony Club,\namong whom Anne felt suddenly shy and frightened and countrified. Her\ndress, which, in the east gable, had seemed so dainty and pretty, now\nseemed simple and plain--too simple and plain, she thought, among all\nthe silks and laces that glistened and rustled around her. What were her\npearl beads compared to the diamonds of the big, handsome lady near her?\nAnd how poor her one wee white rose must look beside all the hothouse\nflowers the others wore! Anne laid her hat and jacket away, and shrank\nmiserably into a corner. She wished herself back in the white room at\nGreen Gables.\n\nIt was still worse on the platform of the big concert hall of the hotel,\nwhere she presently found herself. The electric lights dazzled her eyes,\nthe perfume and hum bewildered her. She wished she were sitting down\nin the audience with Diana and Jane, who seemed to be having a splendid\ntime away at the back. She was wedged in between a stout lady in pink\nsilk and a tall, scornful-looking girl in a white-lace dress. The stout\nlady occasionally turned her head squarely around and surveyed Anne\nthrough her eyeglasses until Anne, acutely sensitive of being so\nscrutinized, felt that she must scream aloud; and the white-lace girl\nkept talking audibly to her next neighbor about the \"country bumpkins\"\nand \"rustic belles\" in the audience, languidly anticipating \"such fun\"\nfrom the displays of local talent on the program. Anne believed that she\nwould hate that white-lace girl to the end of life.\n\nUnfortunately for Anne, a professional elocutionist was staying at the\nhotel and had consented to recite. She was a lithe, dark-eyed woman in a\nwonderful gown of shimmering gray stuff like woven moonbeams, with gems\non her neck and in her dark hair. She had a marvelously flexible voice\nand wonderful power of expression; the audience went wild over her\nselection. Anne, forgetting all about herself and her troubles for the\ntime, listened with rapt and shining eyes; but when the recitation ended\nshe suddenly put her hands over her face. She could never get up and\nrecite after that--never. Had she ever thought she could recite? Oh, if\nshe were only back at Green Gables!\n\nAt this unpropitious moment her name was called. Somehow Anne--who did\nnot notice the rather guilty little start of surprise the white-lace\ngirl gave, and would not have understood the subtle compliment implied\ntherein if she had--got on her feet, and moved dizzily out to the front.\nShe was so pale that Diana and Jane, down in the audience, clasped each\nother's hands in nervous sympathy.\n\nAnne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright. Often as\nshe had recited in public, she had never before faced such an audience\nas this, and the sight of it paralyzed her energies completely.\nEverything was so strange, so brilliant, so bewildering--the rows of\nladies in evening dress, the critical faces, the whole atmosphere of\nwealth and culture about her. Very different this from the plain benches\nat the Debating Club, filled with the homely, sympathetic faces of\nfriends and neighbors. These people, she thought, would be merciless\ncritics. Perhaps, like the white-lace girl, they anticipated amusement\nfrom her \"rustic\" efforts. She felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed and\nmiserable. Her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, a horrible faintness\ncame over her; not a word could she utter, and the next moment she would\nhave fled from the platform despite the humiliation which, she felt,\nmust ever after be her portion if she did so.\n\nBut suddenly, as her dilated, frightened eyes gazed out over the\naudience, she saw Gilbert Blythe away at the back of the room, bending\nforward with a smile on his face--a smile which seemed to Anne at once\ntriumphant and taunting. In reality it was nothing of the kind. Gilbert\nwas merely smiling with appreciation of the whole affair in general and\nof the effect produced by Anne's slender white form and spiritual face\nagainst a background of palms in particular. Josie Pye, whom he had\ndriven over, sat beside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant\nand taunting. But Anne did not see Josie, and would not have cared if\nshe had. She drew a long breath and flung her head up proudly, courage\nand determination tingling over her like an electric shock. She WOULD\nNOT fail before Gilbert Blythe--he should never be able to laugh at her,\nnever, never! Her fright and nervousness vanished; and she began her\nrecitation, her clear, sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner of\nthe room without a tremor or a break. Self-possession was fully restored\nto her, and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessness\nshe recited as she had never done before. When she finished there were\nbursts of honest applause. Anne, stepping back to her seat, blushing\nwith shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken\nby the stout lady in pink silk.\n\n\"My dear, you did splendidly,\" she puffed. \"I've been crying like a\nbaby, actually I have. There, they're encoring you--they're bound to\nhave you back!\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't go,\" said Anne confusedly. \"But yet--I must, or Matthew\nwill be disappointed. He said they would encore me.\"\n\n\"Then don't disappoint Matthew,\" said the pink lady, laughing.\n\nSmiling, blushing, limpid eyed, Anne tripped back and gave a quaint,\nfunny little selection that captivated her audience still further. The\nrest of the evening was quite a little triumph for her.\n\nWhen the concert was over, the stout, pink lady--who was the wife of\nan American millionaire--took her under her wing, and introduced her\nto everybody; and everybody was very nice to her. The professional\nelocutionist, Mrs. Evans, came and chatted with her, telling her that\nshe had a charming voice and \"interpreted\" her selections beautifully.\nEven the white-lace girl paid her a languid little compliment. They had\nsupper in the big, beautifully decorated dining room; Diana and Jane\nwere invited to partake of this, also, since they had come with Anne,\nbut Billy was nowhere to be found, having decamped in mortal fear\nof some such invitation. He was in waiting for them, with the team,\nhowever, when it was all over, and the three girls came merrily out into\nthe calm, white moonshine radiance. Anne breathed deeply, and looked\ninto the clear sky beyond the dark boughs of the firs.\n\nOh, it was good to be out again in the purity and silence of the night!\nHow great and still and wonderful everything was, with the murmur of the\nsea sounding through it and the darkling cliffs beyond like grim giants\nguarding enchanted coasts.\n\n\"Hasn't it been a perfectly splendid time?\" sighed Jane, as they drove\naway. \"I just wish I was a rich American and could spend my summer at\na hotel and wear jewels and low-necked dresses and have ice cream and\nchicken salad every blessed day. I'm sure it would be ever so much\nmore fun than teaching school. Anne, your recitation was simply great,\nalthough I thought at first you were never going to begin. I think it\nwas better than Mrs. Evans's.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, don't say things like that, Jane,\" said Anne quickly, \"because\nit sounds silly. It couldn't be better than Mrs. Evans's, you know, for\nshe is a professional, and I'm only a schoolgirl, with a little knack\nof reciting. I'm quite satisfied if the people just liked mine pretty\nwell.\"\n\n\"I've a compliment for you, Anne,\" said Diana. \"At least I think it\nmust be a compliment because of the tone he said it in. Part of it\nwas anyhow. There was an American sitting behind Jane and me--such a\nromantic-looking man, with coal-black hair and eyes. Josie Pye says he\nis a distinguished artist, and that her mother's cousin in Boston is\nmarried to a man that used to go to school with him. Well, we heard\nhim say--didn't we, Jane?--'Who is that girl on the platform with the\nsplendid Titian hair? She has a face I should like to paint.' There now,\nAnne. But what does Titian hair mean?\"\n\n\"Being interpreted it means plain red, I guess,\" laughed Anne. \"Titian\nwas a very famous artist who liked to paint red-haired women.\"\n\n\"DID you see all the diamonds those ladies wore?\" sighed Jane. \"They\nwere simply dazzling. Wouldn't you just love to be rich, girls?\"\n\n\"We ARE rich,\" said Anne staunchly. \"Why, we have sixteen years to our\ncredit, and we're happy as queens, and we've all got imaginations, more\nor less. Look at that sea, girls--all silver and shadow and vision of\nthings not seen. We couldn't enjoy its loveliness any more if we had\nmillions of dollars and ropes of diamonds. You wouldn't change into any\nof those women if you could. Would you want to be that white-lace girl\nand wear a sour look all your life, as if you'd been born turning up\nyour nose at the world? Or the pink lady, kind and nice as she is, so\nstout and short that you'd really no figure at all? Or even Mrs. Evans,\nwith that sad, sad look in her eyes? She must have been dreadfully\nunhappy sometime to have such a look. You KNOW you wouldn't, Jane\nAndrews!\"\n\n\"I DON'T know--exactly,\" said Jane unconvinced. \"I think diamonds would\ncomfort a person for a good deal.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't want to be anyone but myself, even if I go uncomforted by\ndiamonds all my life,\" declared Anne. \"I'm quite content to be Anne of\nGreen Gables, with my string of pearl beads. I know Matthew gave me as\nmuch love with them as ever went with Madame the Pink Lady's jewels.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV. A Queen's Girl\n\n\nThe next three weeks were busy ones at Green Gables, for Anne was\ngetting ready to go to Queen's, and there was much sewing to be done,\nand many things to be talked over and arranged. Anne's outfit was\nample and pretty, for Matthew saw to that, and Marilla for once made\nno objections whatever to anything he purchased or suggested. More--one\nevening she went up to the east gable with her arms full of a delicate\npale green material.\n\n\"Anne, here's something for a nice light dress for you. I don't suppose\nyou really need it; you've plenty of pretty waists; but I thought maybe\nyou'd like something real dressy to wear if you were asked out anywhere\nof an evening in town, to a party or anything like that. I hear that\nJane and Ruby and Josie have got 'evening dresses,' as they call them,\nand I don't mean you shall be behind them. I got Mrs. Allan to help me\npick it in town last week, and we'll get Emily Gillis to make it for\nyou. Emily has got taste, and her fits aren't to be equaled.\"\n\n\"Oh, Marilla, it's just lovely,\" said Anne. \"Thank you so much. I don't\nbelieve you ought to be so kind to me--it's making it harder every day\nfor me to go away.\"\n\nThe green dress was made up with as many tucks and frills and shirrings\nas Emily's taste permitted. Anne put it on one evening for Matthew's\nand Marilla's benefit, and recited \"The Maiden's Vow\" for them in the\nkitchen. As Marilla watched the bright, animated face and graceful\nmotions her thoughts went back to the evening Anne had arrived at Green\nGables, and memory recalled a vivid picture of the odd, frightened child\nin her preposterous yellowish-brown wincey dress, the heartbreak looking\nout of her tearful eyes. Something in the memory brought tears to\nMarilla's own eyes.\n\n\"I declare, my recitation has made you cry, Marilla,\" said Anne gaily\nstooping over Marilla's chair to drop a butterfly kiss on that lady's\ncheek. \"Now, I call that a positive triumph.\"\n\n\"No, I wasn't crying over your piece,\" said Marilla, who would have\nscorned to be betrayed into such weakness by any poetry stuff. \"I just\ncouldn't help thinking of the little girl you used to be, Anne. And\nI was wishing you could have stayed a little girl, even with all your\nqueer ways. You've grown up now and you're going away; and you look so\ntall and stylish and so--so--different altogether in that dress--as if\nyou didn't belong in Avonlea at all--and I just got lonesome thinking it\nall over.\"\n\n\"Marilla!\" Anne sat down on Marilla's gingham lap, took Marilla's lined\nface between her hands, and looked gravely and tenderly into Marilla's\neyes. \"I'm not a bit changed--not really. I'm only just pruned down and\nbranched out. The real ME--back here--is just the same. It won't make a\nbit of difference where I go or how much I change outwardly; at heart I\nshall always be your little Anne, who will love you and Matthew and dear\nGreen Gables more and better every day of her life.\"\n\nAnne laid her fresh young cheek against Marilla's faded one, and reached\nout a hand to pat Matthew's shoulder. Marilla would have given much just\nthen to have possessed Anne's power of putting her feelings into words;\nbut nature and habit had willed it otherwise, and she could only put her\narms close about her girl and hold her tenderly to her heart, wishing\nthat she need never let her go.\n\nMatthew, with a suspicious moisture in his eyes, got up and went\nout-of-doors. Under the stars of the blue summer night he walked\nagitatedly across the yard to the gate under the poplars.\n\n\"Well now, I guess she ain't been much spoiled,\" he muttered, proudly.\n\"I guess my putting in my oar occasional never did much harm after all.\nShe's smart and pretty, and loving, too, which is better than all the\nrest. She's been a blessing to us, and there never was a luckier mistake\nthan what Mrs. Spencer made--if it WAS luck. I don't believe it was any\nsuch thing. It was Providence, because the Almighty saw we needed her, I\nreckon.\"\n\nThe day finally came when Anne must go to town. She and Matthew drove\nin one fine September morning, after a tearful parting with Diana and an\nuntearful practical one--on Marilla's side at least--with Marilla. But\nwhen Anne had gone Diana dried her tears and went to a beach picnic at\nWhite Sands with some of her Carmody cousins, where she contrived\nto enjoy herself tolerably well; while Marilla plunged fiercely into\nunnecessary work and kept at it all day long with the bitterest kind of\nheartache--the ache that burns and gnaws and cannot wash itself away\nin ready tears. But that night, when Marilla went to bed, acutely and\nmiserably conscious that the little gable room at the end of the\nhall was untenanted by any vivid young life and unstirred by any soft\nbreathing, she buried her face in her pillow, and wept for her girl in\na passion of sobs that appalled her when she grew calm enough to reflect\nhow very wicked it must be to take on so about a sinful fellow creature.\n\nAnne and the rest of the Avonlea scholars reached town just in time to\nhurry off to the Academy. That first day passed pleasantly enough in a\nwhirl of excitement, meeting all the new students, learning to know the\nprofessors by sight and being assorted and organized into classes. Anne\nintended taking up the Second Year work being advised to do so by Miss\nStacy; Gilbert Blythe elected to do the same. This meant getting a\nFirst Class teacher's license in one year instead of two, if they were\nsuccessful; but it also meant much more and harder work. Jane, Ruby,\nJosie, Charlie, and Moody Spurgeon, not being troubled with the\nstirrings of ambition, were content to take up the Second Class work.\nAnne was conscious of a pang of loneliness when she found herself in\na room with fifty other students, not one of whom she knew, except the\ntall, brown-haired boy across the room; and knowing him in the fashion\nshe did, did not help her much, as she reflected pessimistically.\nYet she was undeniably glad that they were in the same class; the old\nrivalry could still be carried on, and Anne would hardly have known what\nto do if it had been lacking.\n\n\"I wouldn't feel comfortable without it,\" she thought. \"Gilbert looks\nawfully determined. I suppose he's making up his mind, here and now, to\nwin the medal. What a splendid chin he has! I never noticed it before.\nI do wish Jane and Ruby had gone in for First Class, too. I suppose I\nwon't feel so much like a cat in a strange garret when I get acquainted,\nthough. I wonder which of the girls here are going to be my friends.\nIt's really an interesting speculation. Of course I promised Diana that\nno Queen's girl, no matter how much I liked her, should ever be as dear\nto me as she is; but I've lots of second-best affections to bestow. I\nlike the look of that girl with the brown eyes and the crimson waist.\nShe looks vivid and red-rosy; there's that pale, fair one gazing out of\nthe window. She has lovely hair, and looks as if she knew a thing or two\nabout dreams. I'd like to know them both--know them well--well enough to\nwalk with my arm about their waists, and call them nicknames. But just\nnow I don't know them and they don't know me, and probably don't want to\nknow me particularly. Oh, it's lonesome!\"\n\nIt was lonesomer still when Anne found herself alone in her hall bedroom\nthat night at twilight. She was not to board with the other girls, who\nall had relatives in town to take pity on them. Miss Josephine Barry\nwould have liked to board her, but Beechwood was so far from the\nAcademy that it was out of the question; so Miss Barry hunted up a\nboarding-house, assuring Matthew and Marilla that it was the very place\nfor Anne.\n\n\"The lady who keeps it is a reduced gentlewoman,\" explained Miss Barry.\n\"Her husband was a British officer, and she is very careful what sort\nof boarders she takes. Anne will not meet with any objectionable persons\nunder her roof. The table is good, and the house is near the Academy, in\na quiet neighborhood.\"\n\nAll this might be quite true, and indeed, proved to be so, but it did\nnot materially help Anne in the first agony of homesickness that seized\nupon her. She looked dismally about her narrow little room, with its\ndull-papered, pictureless walls, its small iron bedstead and empty\nbook-case; and a horrible choke came into her throat as she thought of\nher own white room at Green Gables, where she would have the pleasant\nconsciousness of a great green still outdoors, of sweet peas growing in\nthe garden, and moonlight falling on the orchard, of the brook below the\nslope and the spruce boughs tossing in the night wind beyond it, of a\nvast starry sky, and the light from Diana's window shining out through\nthe gap in the trees. Here there was nothing of this; Anne knew that\noutside of her window was a hard street, with a network of telephone\nwires shutting out the sky, the tramp of alien feet, and a thousand\nlights gleaming on stranger faces. She knew that she was going to cry,\nand fought against it.\n\n\"I WON'T cry. It's silly--and weak--there's the third tear splashing\ndown by my nose. There are more coming! I must think of something funny\nto stop them. But there's nothing funny except what is connected with\nAvonlea, and that only makes things worse--four--five--I'm going home\nnext Friday, but that seems a hundred years away. Oh, Matthew is nearly\nhome by now--and Marilla is at the gate, looking down the lane for\nhim--six--seven--eight--oh, there's no use in counting them! They're\ncoming in a flood presently. I can't cheer up--I don't WANT to cheer up.\nIt's nicer to be miserable!\"\n\nThe flood of tears would have come, no doubt, had not Josie Pye appeared\nat that moment. In the joy of seeing a familiar face Anne forgot that\nthere had never been much love lost between her and Josie. As a part of\nAvonlea life even a Pye was welcome.\n\n\"I'm so glad you came up,\" Anne said sincerely.\n\n\"You've been crying,\" remarked Josie, with aggravating pity. \"I suppose\nyou're homesick--some people have so little self-control in that\nrespect. I've no intention of being homesick, I can tell you. Town's too\njolly after that poky old Avonlea. I wonder how I ever existed there so\nlong. You shouldn't cry, Anne; it isn't becoming, for your nose and eyes\nget red, and then you seem ALL red. I'd a perfectly scrumptious time in\nthe Academy today. Our French professor is simply a duck. His moustache\nwould give you kerwollowps of the heart. Have you anything eatable\naround, Anne? I'm literally starving. Ah, I guessed likely Marilla'd\nload you up with cake. That's why I called round. Otherwise I'd have\ngone to the park to hear the band play with Frank Stockley. He boards\nsame place as I do, and he's a sport. He noticed you in class today, and\nasked me who the red-headed girl was. I told him you were an orphan that\nthe Cuthberts had adopted, and nobody knew very much about what you'd\nbeen before that.\"\n\nAnne was wondering if, after all, solitude and tears were not more\nsatisfactory than Josie Pye's companionship when Jane and Ruby appeared,\neach with an inch of Queen's color ribbon--purple and scarlet--pinned\nproudly to her coat. As Josie was not \"speaking\" to Jane just then she\nhad to subside into comparative harmlessness.\n\n\"Well,\" said Jane with a sigh, \"I feel as if I'd lived many moons since\nthe morning. I ought to be home studying my Virgil--that horrid old\nprofessor gave us twenty lines to start in on tomorrow. But I simply\ncouldn't settle down to study tonight. Anne, methinks I see the\ntraces of tears. If you've been crying DO own up. It will restore my\nself-respect, for I was shedding tears freely before Ruby came along. I\ndon't mind being a goose so much if somebody else is goosey, too. Cake?\nYou'll give me a teeny piece, won't you? Thank you. It has the real\nAvonlea flavor.\"\n\nRuby, perceiving the Queen's calendar lying on the table, wanted to know\nif Anne meant to try for the gold medal.\n\nAnne blushed and admitted she was thinking of it.\n\n\"Oh, that reminds me,\" said Josie, \"Queen's is to get one of the Avery\nscholarships after all. The word came today. Frank Stockley told me--his\nuncle is one of the board of governors, you know. It will be announced\nin the Academy tomorrow.\"\n\nAn Avery scholarship! Anne felt her heart beat more quickly, and the\nhorizons of her ambition shifted and broadened as if by magic. Before\nJosie had told the news Anne's highest pinnacle of aspiration had been\na teacher's provincial license, First Class, at the end of the year, and\nperhaps the medal! But now in one moment Anne saw herself winning\nthe Avery scholarship, taking an Arts course at Redmond College, and\ngraduating in a gown and mortar board, before the echo of Josie's words\nhad died away. For the Avery scholarship was in English, and Anne felt\nthat here her foot was on native heath.\n\nA wealthy manufacturer of New Brunswick had died and left part of his\nfortune to endow a large number of scholarships to be distributed\namong the various high schools and academies of the Maritime Provinces,\naccording to their respective standings. There had been much doubt\nwhether one would be allotted to Queen's, but the matter was settled at\nlast, and at the end of the year the graduate who made the highest mark\nin English and English Literature would win the scholarship--two hundred\nand fifty dollars a year for four years at Redmond College. No wonder\nthat Anne went to bed that night with tingling cheeks!\n\n\"I'll win that scholarship if hard work can do it,\" she resolved.\n\"Wouldn't Matthew be proud if I got to be a B.A.? Oh, it's delightful to\nhave ambitions. I'm so glad I have such a lot. And there never seems to\nbe any end to them--that's the best of it. Just as soon as you attain\nto one ambition you see another one glittering higher up still. It does\nmake life so interesting.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV. The Winter at Queen's\n\n\nAnne's homesickness wore off, greatly helped in the wearing by her\nweekend visits home. As long as the open weather lasted the Avonlea\nstudents went out to Carmody on the new branch railway every Friday\nnight. Diana and several other Avonlea young folks were generally on\nhand to meet them and they all walked over to Avonlea in a merry party.\nAnne thought those Friday evening gypsyings over the autumnal hills in\nthe crisp golden air, with the homelights of Avonlea twinkling beyond,\nwere the best and dearest hours in the whole week.\n\nGilbert Blythe nearly always walked with Ruby Gillis and carried her\nsatchel for her. Ruby was a very handsome young lady, now thinking\nherself quite as grown up as she really was; she wore her skirts as long\nas her mother would let her and did her hair up in town, though she had\nto take it down when she went home. She had large, bright-blue eyes,\na brilliant complexion, and a plump showy figure. She laughed a great\ndeal, was cheerful and good-tempered, and enjoyed the pleasant things of\nlife frankly.\n\n\"But I shouldn't think she was the sort of girl Gilbert would like,\"\nwhispered Jane to Anne. Anne did not think so either, but she would not\nhave said so for the Avery scholarship. She could not help thinking,\ntoo, that it would be very pleasant to have such a friend as Gilbert\nto jest and chatter with and exchange ideas about books and studies and\nambitions. Gilbert had ambitions, she knew, and Ruby Gillis did not seem\nthe sort of person with whom such could be profitably discussed.\n\nThere was no silly sentiment in Anne's ideas concerning Gilbert. Boys\nwere to her, when she thought about them at all, merely possible good\ncomrades. If she and Gilbert had been friends she would not have cared\nhow many other friends he had nor with whom he walked. She had a genius\nfor friendship; girl friends she had in plenty; but she had a vague\nconsciousness that masculine friendship might also be a good thing\nto round out one's conceptions of companionship and furnish broader\nstandpoints of judgment and comparison. Not that Anne could have put her\nfeelings on the matter into just such clear definition. But she thought\nthat if Gilbert had ever walked home with her from the train, over the\ncrisp fields and along the ferny byways, they might have had many and\nmerry and interesting conversations about the new world that was opening\naround them and their hopes and ambitions therein. Gilbert was a clever\nyoung fellow, with his own thoughts about things and a determination to\nget the best out of life and put the best into it. Ruby Gillis told Jane\nAndrews that she didn't understand half the things Gilbert Blythe said;\nhe talked just like Anne Shirley did when she had a thoughtful fit on\nand for her part she didn't think it any fun to be bothering about books\nand that sort of thing when you didn't have to. Frank Stockley had lots\nmore dash and go, but then he wasn't half as good-looking as Gilbert and\nshe really couldn't decide which she liked best!\n\nIn the Academy Anne gradually drew a little circle of friends about\nher, thoughtful, imaginative, ambitious students like herself. With the\n\"rose-red\" girl, Stella Maynard, and the \"dream girl,\" Priscilla Grant,\nshe soon became intimate, finding the latter pale spiritual-looking\nmaiden to be full to the brim of mischief and pranks and fun, while the\nvivid, black-eyed Stella had a heartful of wistful dreams and fancies,\nas aerial and rainbow-like as Anne's own.\n\nAfter the Christmas holidays the Avonlea students gave up going home\non Fridays and settled down to hard work. By this time all the Queen's\nscholars had gravitated into their own places in the ranks and\nthe various classes had assumed distinct and settled shadings of\nindividuality. Certain facts had become generally accepted. It was\nadmitted that the medal contestants had practically narrowed down\nto three--Gilbert Blythe, Anne Shirley, and Lewis Wilson; the Avery\nscholarship was more doubtful, any one of a certain six being a possible\nwinner. The bronze medal for mathematics was considered as good as\nwon by a fat, funny little up-country boy with a bumpy forehead and a\npatched coat.\n\nRuby Gillis was the handsomest girl of the year at the Academy; in the\nSecond Year classes Stella Maynard carried off the palm for beauty, with\nsmall but critical minority in favor of Anne Shirley. Ethel Marr was\nadmitted by all competent judges to have the most stylish modes\nof hair-dressing, and Jane Andrews--plain, plodding, conscientious\nJane--carried off the honors in the domestic science course. Even Josie\nPye attained a certain preeminence as the sharpest-tongued young lady in\nattendance at Queen's. So it may be fairly stated that Miss Stacy's old\npupils held their own in the wider arena of the academical course.\n\nAnne worked hard and steadily. Her rivalry with Gilbert was as intense\nas it had ever been in Avonlea school, although it was not known in the\nclass at large, but somehow the bitterness had gone out of it. Anne no\nlonger wished to win for the sake of defeating Gilbert; rather, for the\nproud consciousness of a well-won victory over a worthy foeman. It\nwould be worth while to win, but she no longer thought life would be\ninsupportable if she did not.\n\nIn spite of lessons the students found opportunities for pleasant times.\nAnne spent many of her spare hours at Beechwood and generally ate her\nSunday dinners there and went to church with Miss Barry. The latter was,\nas she admitted, growing old, but her black eyes were not dim nor the\nvigor of her tongue in the least abated. But she never sharpened the\nlatter on Anne, who continued to be a prime favorite with the critical\nold lady.\n\n\"That Anne-girl improves all the time,\" she said. \"I get tired of other\ngirls--there is such a provoking and eternal sameness about them. Anne\nhas as many shades as a rainbow and every shade is the prettiest while\nit lasts. I don't know that she is as amusing as she was when she was\na child, but she makes me love her and I like people who make me love\nthem. It saves me so much trouble in making myself love them.\"\n\nThen, almost before anybody realized it, spring had come; out in\nAvonlea the Mayflowers were peeping pinkly out on the sere barrens where\nsnow-wreaths lingered; and the \"mist of green\" was on the woods and in\nthe valleys. But in Charlottetown harassed Queen's students thought and\ntalked only of examinations.\n\n\"It doesn't seem possible that the term is nearly over,\" said Anne.\n\"Why, last fall it seemed so long to look forward to--a whole winter\nof studies and classes. And here we are, with the exams looming up next\nweek. Girls, sometimes I feel as if those exams meant everything, but\nwhen I look at the big buds swelling on those chestnut trees and\nthe misty blue air at the end of the streets they don't seem half so\nimportant.\"\n\nJane and Ruby and Josie, who had dropped in, did not take this view\nof it. To them the coming examinations were constantly very important\nindeed--far more important than chestnut buds or Maytime hazes. It was\nall very well for Anne, who was sure of passing at least, to have her\nmoments of belittling them, but when your whole future depended on\nthem--as the girls truly thought theirs did--you could not regard them\nphilosophically.\n\n\"I've lost seven pounds in the last two weeks,\" sighed Jane. \"It's no\nuse to say don't worry. I WILL worry. Worrying helps you some--it\nseems as if you were doing something when you're worrying. It would be\ndreadful if I failed to get my license after going to Queen's all winter\nand spending so much money.\"\n\n\"_I_ don't care,\" said Josie Pye. \"If I don't pass this year I'm coming\nback next. My father can afford to send me. Anne, Frank Stockley says\nthat Professor Tremaine said Gilbert Blythe was sure to get the medal\nand that Emily Clay would likely win the Avery scholarship.\"\n\n\"That may make me feel badly tomorrow, Josie,\" laughed Anne, \"but just\nnow I honestly feel that as long as I know the violets are coming out\nall purple down in the hollow below Green Gables and that little ferns\nare poking their heads up in Lovers' Lane, it's not a great deal of\ndifference whether I win the Avery or not. I've done my best and I begin\nto understand what is meant by the 'joy of the strife.' Next to trying\nand winning, the best thing is trying and failing. Girls, don't talk\nabout exams! Look at that arch of pale green sky over those houses\nand picture to yourself what it must look like over the purply-dark\nbeech-woods back of Avonlea.\"\n\n\"What are you going to wear for commencement, Jane?\" asked Ruby\npractically.\n\nJane and Josie both answered at once and the chatter drifted into a side\neddy of fashions. But Anne, with her elbows on the window sill, her soft\ncheek laid against her clasped hands, and her eyes filled with visions,\nlooked out unheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious dome\nof sunset sky and wove her dreams of a possible future from the golden\ntissue of youth's own optimism. All the Beyond was hers with its\npossibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years--each year a rose of\npromise to be woven into an immortal chaplet.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI. The Glory and the Dream\n\n\nOn the morning when the final results of all the examinations were to be\nposted on the bulletin board at Queen's, Anne and Jane walked down the\nstreet together. Jane was smiling and happy; examinations were over\nand she was comfortably sure she had made a pass at least; further\nconsiderations troubled Jane not at all; she had no soaring ambitions\nand consequently was not affected with the unrest attendant thereon. For\nwe pay a price for everything we get or take in this world; and although\nambitions are well worth having, they are not to be cheaply won, but\nexact their dues of work and self-denial, anxiety and discouragement.\nAnne was pale and quiet; in ten more minutes she would know who had\nwon the medal and who the Avery. Beyond those ten minutes there did not\nseem, just then, to be anything worth being called Time.\n\n\"Of course you'll win one of them anyhow,\" said Jane, who couldn't\nunderstand how the faculty could be so unfair as to order it otherwise.\n\n\"I have not hope of the Avery,\" said Anne. \"Everybody says Emily Clay\nwill win it. And I'm not going to march up to that bulletin board and\nlook at it before everybody. I haven't the moral courage. I'm going\nstraight to the girls' dressing room. You must read the announcements\nand then come and tell me, Jane. And I implore you in the name of our\nold friendship to do it as quickly as possible. If I have failed just\nsay so, without trying to break it gently; and whatever you do DON'T\nsympathize with me. Promise me this, Jane.\"\n\nJane promised solemnly; but, as it happened, there was no necessity for\nsuch a promise. When they went up the entrance steps of Queen's they\nfound the hall full of boys who were carrying Gilbert Blythe around on\ntheir shoulders and yelling at the tops of their voices, \"Hurrah for\nBlythe, Medalist!\"\n\nFor a moment Anne felt one sickening pang of defeat and disappointment.\nSo she had failed and Gilbert had won! Well, Matthew would be sorry--he\nhad been so sure she would win.\n\nAnd then!\n\nSomebody called out:\n\n\"Three cheers for Miss Shirley, winner of the Avery!\"\n\n\"Oh, Anne,\" gasped Jane, as they fled to the girls' dressing room amid\nhearty cheers. \"Oh, Anne I'm so proud! Isn't it splendid?\"\n\nAnd then the girls were around them and Anne was the center of a\nlaughing, congratulating group. Her shoulders were thumped and her hands\nshaken vigorously. She was pushed and pulled and hugged and among it all\nshe managed to whisper to Jane:\n\n\"Oh, won't Matthew and Marilla be pleased! I must write the news home\nright away.\"\n\nCommencement was the next important happening. The exercises were held\nin the big assembly hall of the Academy. Addresses were given, essays\nread, songs sung, the public award of diplomas, prizes and medals made.\n\nMatthew and Marilla were there, with eyes and ears for only one student\non the platform--a tall girl in pale green, with faintly flushed\ncheeks and starry eyes, who read the best essay and was pointed out and\nwhispered about as the Avery winner.\n\n\"Reckon you're glad we kept her, Marilla?\" whispered Matthew, speaking\nfor the first time since he had entered the hall, when Anne had finished\nher essay.\n\n\"It's not the first time I've been glad,\" retorted Marilla. \"You do like\nto rub things in, Matthew Cuthbert.\"\n\nMiss Barry, who was sitting behind them, leaned forward and poked\nMarilla in the back with her parasol.\n\n\"Aren't you proud of that Anne-girl? I am,\" she said.\n\nAnne went home to Avonlea with Matthew and Marilla that evening. She had\nnot been home since April and she felt that she could not wait another\nday. The apple blossoms were out and the world was fresh and young.\nDiana was at Green Gables to meet her. In her own white room, where\nMarilla had set a flowering house rose on the window sill, Anne looked\nabout her and drew a long breath of happiness.\n\n\"Oh, Diana, it's so good to be back again. It's so good to see those\npointed firs coming out against the pink sky--and that white orchard and\nthe old Snow Queen. Isn't the breath of the mint delicious? And that tea\nrose--why, it's a song and a hope and a prayer all in one. And it's GOOD\nto see you again, Diana!\"\n\n\"I thought you liked that Stella Maynard better than me,\" said\nDiana reproachfully. \"Josie Pye told me you did. Josie said you were\nINFATUATED with her.\"\n\nAnne laughed and pelted Diana with the faded \"June lilies\" of her\nbouquet.\n\n\"Stella Maynard is the dearest girl in the world except one and you are\nthat one, Diana,\" she said. \"I love you more than ever--and I've so many\nthings to tell you. But just now I feel as if it were joy enough to sit\nhere and look at you. I'm tired, I think--tired of being studious and\nambitious. I mean to spend at least two hours tomorrow lying out in the\norchard grass, thinking of absolutely nothing.\"\n\n\"You've done splendidly, Anne. I suppose you won't be teaching now that\nyou've won the Avery?\"\n\n\"No. I'm going to Redmond in September. Doesn't it seem wonderful? I'll\nhave a brand new stock of ambition laid in by that time after three\nglorious, golden months of vacation. Jane and Ruby are going to teach.\nIsn't it splendid to think we all got through even to Moody Spurgeon and\nJosie Pye?\"\n\n\"The Newbridge trustees have offered Jane their school already,\" said\nDiana. \"Gilbert Blythe is going to teach, too. He has to. His father\ncan't afford to send him to college next year, after all, so he means\nto earn his own way through. I expect he'll get the school here if Miss\nAmes decides to leave.\"\n\nAnne felt a queer little sensation of dismayed surprise. She had not\nknown this; she had expected that Gilbert would be going to Redmond\nalso. What would she do without their inspiring rivalry? Would not\nwork, even at a coeducational college with a real degree in prospect, be\nrather flat without her friend the enemy?\n\nThe next morning at breakfast it suddenly struck Anne that Matthew was\nnot looking well. Surely he was much grayer than he had been a year\nbefore.\n\n\"Marilla,\" she said hesitatingly when he had gone out, \"is Matthew quite\nwell?\"\n\n\"No, he isn't,\" said Marilla in a troubled tone. \"He's had some real\nbad spells with his heart this spring and he won't spare himself a mite.\nI've been real worried about him, but he's some better this while back\nand we've got a good hired man, so I'm hoping he'll kind of rest and\npick up. Maybe he will now you're home. You always cheer him up.\"\n\nAnne leaned across the table and took Marilla's face in her hands.\n\n\"You are not looking as well yourself as I'd like to see you, Marilla.\nYou look tired. I'm afraid you've been working too hard. You must take\na rest, now that I'm home. I'm just going to take this one day off to\nvisit all the dear old spots and hunt up my old dreams, and then it will\nbe your turn to be lazy while I do the work.\"\n\nMarilla smiled affectionately at her girl.\n\n\"It's not the work--it's my head. I've got a pain so often now--behind\nmy eyes. Doctor Spencer's been fussing with glasses, but they don't do\nme any good. There is a distinguished oculist coming to the Island the\nlast of June and the doctor says I must see him. I guess I'll have to.\nI can't read or sew with any comfort now. Well, Anne, you've done real\nwell at Queen's I must say. To take First Class License in one year and\nwin the Avery scholarship--well, well, Mrs. Lynde says pride goes before\na fall and she doesn't believe in the higher education of women at all;\nshe says it unfits them for woman's true sphere. I don't believe a word\nof it. Speaking of Rachel reminds me--did you hear anything about the\nAbbey Bank lately, Anne?\"\n\n\"I heard it was shaky,\" answered Anne. \"Why?\"\n\n\"That is what Rachel said. She was up here one day last week and said\nthere was some talk about it. Matthew felt real worried. All we have\nsaved is in that bank--every penny. I wanted Matthew to put it in the\nSavings Bank in the first place, but old Mr. Abbey was a great friend of\nfather's and he'd always banked with him. Matthew said any bank with him\nat the head of it was good enough for anybody.\"\n\n\"I think he has only been its nominal head for many years,\" said\nAnne. \"He is a very old man; his nephews are really at the head of the\ninstitution.\"\n\n\"Well, when Rachel told us that, I wanted Matthew to draw our money\nright out and he said he'd think of it. But Mr. Russell told him\nyesterday that the bank was all right.\"\n\nAnne had her good day in the companionship of the outdoor world. She\nnever forgot that day; it was so bright and golden and fair, so free\nfrom shadow and so lavish of blossom. Anne spent some of its rich hours\nin the orchard; she went to the Dryad's Bubble and Willowmere and Violet\nVale; she called at the manse and had a satisfying talk with Mrs. Allan;\nand finally in the evening she went with Matthew for the cows, through\nLovers' Lane to the back pasture. The woods were all gloried through\nwith sunset and the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hill\ngaps in the west. Matthew walked slowly with bent head; Anne, tall and\nerect, suited her springing step to his.\n\n\"You've been working too hard today, Matthew,\" she said reproachfully.\n\"Why won't you take things easier?\"\n\n\"Well now, I can't seem to,\" said Matthew, as he opened the yard gate\nto let the cows through. \"It's only that I'm getting old, Anne, and keep\nforgetting it. Well, well, I've always worked pretty hard and I'd rather\ndrop in harness.\"\n\n\"If I had been the boy you sent for,\" said Anne wistfully, \"I'd be able\nto help you so much now and spare you in a hundred ways. I could find it\nin my heart to wish I had been, just for that.\"\n\n\"Well now, I'd rather have you than a dozen boys, Anne,\" said Matthew\npatting her hand. \"Just mind you that--rather than a dozen boys. Well\nnow, I guess it wasn't a boy that took the Avery scholarship, was it? It\nwas a girl--my girl--my girl that I'm proud of.\"\n\nHe smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard. Anne took the\nmemory of it with her when she went to her room that night and sat for a\nlong while at her open window, thinking of the past and dreaming of the\nfuture. Outside the Snow Queen was mistily white in the moonshine;\nthe frogs were singing in the marsh beyond Orchard Slope. Anne always\nremembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night.\nIt was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is\never quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has\nbeen laid upon it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII. The Reaper Whose Name Is Death\n\n\n\"Matthew--Matthew--what is the matter? Matthew, are you sick?\"\n\nIt was Marilla who spoke, alarm in every jerky word. Anne came through\nthe hall, her hands full of white narcissus,--it was long before Anne\ncould love the sight or odor of white narcissus again,--in time to hear\nher and to see Matthew standing in the porch doorway, a folded paper\nin his hand, and his face strangely drawn and gray. Anne dropped her\nflowers and sprang across the kitchen to him at the same moment as\nMarilla. They were both too late; before they could reach him Matthew\nhad fallen across the threshold.\n\n\"He's fainted,\" gasped Marilla. \"Anne, run for Martin--quick, quick!\nHe's at the barn.\"\n\nMartin, the hired man, who had just driven home from the post office,\nstarted at once for the doctor, calling at Orchard Slope on his way to\nsend Mr. and Mrs. Barry over. Mrs. Lynde, who was there on an errand,\ncame too. They found Anne and Marilla distractedly trying to restore\nMatthew to consciousness.\n\nMrs. Lynde pushed them gently aside, tried his pulse, and then laid her\near over his heart. She looked at their anxious faces sorrowfully and\nthe tears came into her eyes.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla,\" she said gravely. \"I don't think--we can do anything for\nhim.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Lynde, you don't think--you can't think Matthew is--is--\" Anne\ncould not say the dreadful word; she turned sick and pallid.\n\n\"Child, yes, I'm afraid of it. Look at his face. When you've seen that\nlook as often as I have you'll know what it means.\"\n\nAnne looked at the still face and there beheld the seal of the Great\nPresence.\n\nWhen the doctor came he said that death had been instantaneous and\nprobably painless, caused in all likelihood by some sudden shock. The\nsecret of the shock was discovered to be in the paper Matthew had held\nand which Martin had brought from the office that morning. It contained\nan account of the failure of the Abbey Bank.\n\nThe news spread quickly through Avonlea, and all day friends and\nneighbors thronged Green Gables and came and went on errands of kindness\nfor the dead and living. For the first time shy, quiet Matthew Cuthbert\nwas a person of central importance; the white majesty of death had\nfallen on him and set him apart as one crowned.\n\nWhen the calm night came softly down over Green Gables the old house was\nhushed and tranquil. In the parlor lay Matthew Cuthbert in his coffin,\nhis long gray hair framing his placid face on which there was a little\nkindly smile as if he but slept, dreaming pleasant dreams. There were\nflowers about him--sweet old-fashioned flowers which his mother had\nplanted in the homestead garden in her bridal days and for which Matthew\nhad always had a secret, wordless love. Anne had gathered them and\nbrought them to him, her anguished, tearless eyes burning in her white\nface. It was the last thing she could do for him.\n\nThe Barrys and Mrs. Lynde stayed with them that night. Diana, going to\nthe east gable, where Anne was standing at her window, said gently:\n\n\"Anne dear, would you like to have me sleep with you tonight?\"\n\n\"Thank you, Diana.\" Anne looked earnestly into her friend's face. \"I\nthink you won't misunderstand me when I say I want to be alone. I'm not\nafraid. I haven't been alone one minute since it happened--and I want to\nbe. I want to be quite silent and quiet and try to realize it. I can't\nrealize it. Half the time it seems to me that Matthew can't be dead; and\nthe other half it seems as if he must have been dead for a long time and\nI've had this horrible dull ache ever since.\"\n\nDiana did not quite understand. Marilla's impassioned grief, breaking\nall the bounds of natural reserve and lifelong habit in its stormy rush,\nshe could comprehend better than Anne's tearless agony. But she went\naway kindly, leaving Anne alone to keep her first vigil with sorrow.\n\nAnne hoped that the tears would come in solitude. It seemed to her a\nterrible thing that she could not shed a tear for Matthew, whom she had\nloved so much and who had been so kind to her, Matthew who had walked\nwith her last evening at sunset and was now lying in the dim room below\nwith that awful peace on his brow. But no tears came at first, even when\nshe knelt by her window in the darkness and prayed, looking up to the\nstars beyond the hills--no tears, only the same horrible dull ache of\nmisery that kept on aching until she fell asleep, worn out with the\nday's pain and excitement.\n\nIn the night she awakened, with the stillness and the darkness about\nher, and the recollection of the day came over her like a wave of\nsorrow. She could see Matthew's face smiling at her as he had smiled\nwhen they parted at the gate that last evening--she could hear his voice\nsaying, \"My girl--my girl that I'm proud of.\" Then the tears came and\nAnne wept her heart out. Marilla heard her and crept in to comfort her.\n\n\"There--there--don't cry so, dearie. It can't bring him back.\nIt--it--isn't right to cry so. I knew that today, but I couldn't help\nit then. He'd always been such a good, kind brother to me--but God knows\nbest.\"\n\n\"Oh, just let me cry, Marilla,\" sobbed Anne. \"The tears don't hurt me\nlike that ache did. Stay here for a little while with me and keep your\narm round me--so. I couldn't have Diana stay, she's good and kind and\nsweet--but it's not her sorrow--she's outside of it and she couldn't\ncome close enough to my heart to help me. It's our sorrow--yours and\nmine. Oh, Marilla, what will we do without him?\"\n\n\"We've got each other, Anne. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't\nhere--if you'd never come. Oh, Anne, I know I've been kind of strict and\nharsh with you maybe--but you mustn't think I didn't love you as well as\nMatthew did, for all that. I want to tell you now when I can. It's never\nbeen easy for me to say things out of my heart, but at times like this\nit's easier. I love you as dear as if you were my own flesh and blood\nand you've been my joy and comfort ever since you came to Green Gables.\"\n\nTwo days afterwards they carried Matthew Cuthbert over his homestead\nthreshold and away from the fields he had tilled and the orchards he had\nloved and the trees he had planted; and then Avonlea settled back to its\nusual placidity and even at Green Gables affairs slipped into their old\ngroove and work was done and duties fulfilled with regularity as before,\nalthough always with the aching sense of \"loss in all familiar things.\"\nAnne, new to grief, thought it almost sad that it could be so--that\nthey COULD go on in the old way without Matthew. She felt something like\nshame and remorse when she discovered that the sunrises behind the firs\nand the pale pink buds opening in the garden gave her the old inrush of\ngladness when she saw them--that Diana's visits were pleasant to her\nand that Diana's merry words and ways moved her to laughter and\nsmiles--that, in brief, the beautiful world of blossom and love and\nfriendship had lost none of its power to please her fancy and thrill her\nheart, that life still called to her with many insistent voices.\n\n\"It seems like disloyalty to Matthew, somehow, to find pleasure in\nthese things now that he has gone,\" she said wistfully to Mrs. Allan\none evening when they were together in the manse garden. \"I miss him so\nmuch--all the time--and yet, Mrs. Allan, the world and life seem very\nbeautiful and interesting to me for all. Today Diana said something\nfunny and I found myself laughing. I thought when it happened I could\nnever laugh again. And it somehow seems as if I oughtn't to.\"\n\n\"When Matthew was here he liked to hear you laugh and he liked to know\nthat you found pleasure in the pleasant things around you,\" said Mrs.\nAllan gently. \"He is just away now; and he likes to know it just the\nsame. I am sure we should not shut our hearts against the healing\ninfluences that nature offers us. But I can understand your feeling.\nI think we all experience the same thing. We resent the thought that\nanything can please us when someone we love is no longer here to share\nthe pleasure with us, and we almost feel as if we were unfaithful to our\nsorrow when we find our interest in life returning to us.\"\n\n\"I was down to the graveyard to plant a rosebush on Matthew's grave\nthis afternoon,\" said Anne dreamily. \"I took a slip of the little white\nScotch rosebush his mother brought out from Scotland long ago; Matthew\nalways liked those roses the best--they were so small and sweet on\ntheir thorny stems. It made me feel glad that I could plant it by his\ngrave--as if I were doing something that must please him in taking it\nthere to be near him. I hope he has roses like them in heaven. Perhaps\nthe souls of all those little white roses that he has loved so many\nsummers were all there to meet him. I must go home now. Marilla is all\nalone and she gets lonely at twilight.\"\n\n\"She will be lonelier still, I fear, when you go away again to college,\"\nsaid Mrs. Allan.\n\nAnne did not reply; she said good night and went slowly back to green\nGables. Marilla was sitting on the front door-steps and Anne sat down\nbeside her. The door was open behind them, held back by a big pink conch\nshell with hints of sea sunsets in its smooth inner convolutions.\n\nAnne gathered some sprays of pale-yellow honeysuckle and put them in\nher hair. She liked the delicious hint of fragrance, as some aerial\nbenediction, above her every time she moved.\n\n\"Doctor Spencer was here while you were away,\" Marilla said. \"He says\nthat the specialist will be in town tomorrow and he insists that I must\ngo in and have my eyes examined. I suppose I'd better go and have it\nover. I'll be more than thankful if the man can give me the right kind\nof glasses to suit my eyes. You won't mind staying here alone while I'm\naway, will you? Martin will have to drive me in and there's ironing and\nbaking to do.\"\n\n\"I shall be all right. Diana will come over for company for me. I shall\nattend to the ironing and baking beautifully--you needn't fear that I'll\nstarch the handkerchiefs or flavor the cake with liniment.\"\n\nMarilla laughed.\n\n\"What a girl you were for making mistakes in them days, Anne. You were\nalways getting into scrapes. I did use to think you were possessed. Do\nyou mind the time you dyed your hair?\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed. I shall never forget it,\" smiled Anne, touching the heavy\nbraid of hair that was wound about her shapely head. \"I laugh a little\nnow sometimes when I think what a worry my hair used to be to me--but I\ndon't laugh MUCH, because it was a very real trouble then. I did suffer\nterribly over my hair and my freckles. My freckles are really gone; and\npeople are nice enough to tell me my hair is auburn now--all but Josie\nPye. She informed me yesterday that she really thought it was redder\nthan ever, or at least my black dress made it look redder, and she asked\nme if people who had red hair ever got used to having it. Marilla, I've\nalmost decided to give up trying to like Josie Pye. I've made what I\nwould once have called a heroic effort to like her, but Josie Pye won't\nBE liked.\"\n\n\"Josie is a Pye,\" said Marilla sharply, \"so she can't help being\ndisagreeable. I suppose people of that kind serve some useful purpose in\nsociety, but I must say I don't know what it is any more than I know the\nuse of thistles. Is Josie going to teach?\"\n\n\"No, she is going back to Queen's next year. So are Moody Spurgeon and\nCharlie Sloane. Jane and Ruby are going to teach and they have both got\nschools--Jane at Newbridge and Ruby at some place up west.\"\n\n\"Gilbert Blythe is going to teach too, isn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes\"--briefly.\n\n\"What a nice-looking fellow he is,\" said Marilla absently. \"I saw him in\nchurch last Sunday and he seemed so tall and manly. He looks a lot like\nhis father did at the same age. John Blythe was a nice boy. We used to\nbe real good friends, he and I. People called him my beau.\"\n\nAnne looked up with swift interest.\n\n\"Oh, Marilla--and what happened?--why didn't you--\"\n\n\"We had a quarrel. I wouldn't forgive him when he asked me to. I meant\nto, after awhile--but I was sulky and angry and I wanted to punish him\nfirst. He never came back--the Blythes were all mighty independent. But\nI always felt--rather sorry. I've always kind of wished I'd forgiven him\nwhen I had the chance.\"\n\n\"So you've had a bit of romance in your life, too,\" said Anne softly.\n\n\"Yes, I suppose you might call it that. You wouldn't think so to look at\nme, would you? But you never can tell about people from their outsides.\nEverybody has forgot about me and John. I'd forgotten myself. But it all\ncame back to me when I saw Gilbert last Sunday.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII. The Bend in the road\n\n\nMarilla went to town the next day and returned in the evening. Anne had\ngone over to Orchard Slope with Diana and came back to find Marilla in\nthe kitchen, sitting by the table with her head leaning on her hand.\nSomething in her dejected attitude struck a chill to Anne's heart. She\nhad never seen Marilla sit limply inert like that.\n\n\"Are you very tired, Marilla?\"\n\n\"Yes--no--I don't know,\" said Marilla wearily, looking up. \"I suppose I\nam tired but I haven't thought about it. It's not that.\"\n\n\"Did you see the oculist? What did he say?\" asked Anne anxiously.\n\n\"Yes, I saw him. He examined my eyes. He says that if I give up all\nreading and sewing entirely and any kind of work that strains the eyes,\nand if I'm careful not to cry, and if I wear the glasses he's given me\nhe thinks my eyes may not get any worse and my headaches will be cured.\nBut if I don't he says I'll certainly be stone-blind in six months.\nBlind! Anne, just think of it!\"\n\nFor a minute Anne, after her first quick exclamation of dismay, was\nsilent. It seemed to her that she could NOT speak. Then she said\nbravely, but with a catch in her voice:\n\n\"Marilla, DON'T think of it. You know he has given you hope. If you are\ncareful you won't lose your sight altogether; and if his glasses cure\nyour headaches it will be a great thing.\"\n\n\"I don't call it much hope,\" said Marilla bitterly. \"What am I to live\nfor if I can't read or sew or do anything like that? I might as well\nbe blind--or dead. And as for crying, I can't help that when I get\nlonesome. But there, it's no good talking about it. If you'll get me\na cup of tea I'll be thankful. I'm about done out. Don't say anything\nabout this to any one for a spell yet, anyway. I can't bear that folks\nshould come here to question and sympathize and talk about it.\"\n\nWhen Marilla had eaten her lunch Anne persuaded her to go to bed. Then\nAnne went herself to the east gable and sat down by her window in the\ndarkness alone with her tears and her heaviness of heart. How sadly\nthings had changed since she had sat there the night after coming home!\nThen she had been full of hope and joy and the future had looked rosy\nwith promise. Anne felt as if she had lived years since then, but before\nshe went to bed there was a smile on her lips and peace in her heart.\nShe had looked her duty courageously in the face and found it a\nfriend--as duty ever is when we meet it frankly.\n\nOne afternoon a few days later Marilla came slowly in from the front\nyard where she had been talking to a caller--a man whom Anne knew by\nsight as Sadler from Carmody. Anne wondered what he could have been\nsaying to bring that look to Marilla's face.\n\n\"What did Mr. Sadler want, Marilla?\"\n\nMarilla sat down by the window and looked at Anne. There were tears in\nher eyes in defiance of the oculist's prohibition and her voice broke as\nshe said:\n\n\"He heard that I was going to sell Green Gables and he wants to buy it.\"\n\n\"Buy it! Buy Green Gables?\" Anne wondered if she had heard aright. \"Oh,\nMarilla, you don't mean to sell Green Gables!\"\n\n\"Anne, I don't know what else is to be done. I've thought it all over.\nIf my eyes were strong I could stay here and make out to look after\nthings and manage, with a good hired man. But as it is I can't. I may\nlose my sight altogether; and anyway I'll not be fit to run things. Oh,\nI never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd have to sell my home.\nBut things would only go behind worse and worse all the time, till\nnobody would want to buy it. Every cent of our money went in that bank;\nand there's some notes Matthew gave last fall to pay. Mrs. Lynde advises\nme to sell the farm and board somewhere--with her I suppose. It won't\nbring much--it's small and the buildings are old. But it'll be enough\nfor me to live on I reckon. I'm thankful you're provided for with that\nscholarship, Anne. I'm sorry you won't have a home to come to in your\nvacations, that's all, but I suppose you'll manage somehow.\"\n\nMarilla broke down and wept bitterly.\n\n\"You mustn't sell Green Gables,\" said Anne resolutely.\n\n\"Oh, Anne, I wish I didn't have to. But you can see for yourself. I\ncan't stay here alone. I'd go crazy with trouble and loneliness. And my\nsight would go--I know it would.\"\n\n\"You won't have to stay here alone, Marilla. I'll be with you. I'm not\ngoing to Redmond.\"\n\n\"Not going to Redmond!\" Marilla lifted her worn face from her hands and\nlooked at Anne. \"Why, what do you mean?\"\n\n\"Just what I say. I'm not going to take the scholarship. I decided so\nthe night after you came home from town. You surely don't think I could\nleave you alone in your trouble, Marilla, after all you've done for me.\nI've been thinking and planning. Let me tell you my plans. Mr. Barry\nwants to rent the farm for next year. So you won't have any bother over\nthat. And I'm going to teach. I've applied for the school here--but I\ndon't expect to get it for I understand the trustees have promised it to\nGilbert Blythe. But I can have the Carmody school--Mr. Blair told me\nso last night at the store. Of course that won't be quite as nice or\nconvenient as if I had the Avonlea school. But I can board home and\ndrive myself over to Carmody and back, in the warm weather at least. And\neven in winter I can come home Fridays. We'll keep a horse for that. Oh,\nI have it all planned out, Marilla. And I'll read to you and keep you\ncheered up. You sha'n't be dull or lonesome. And we'll be real cozy and\nhappy here together, you and I.\"\n\nMarilla had listened like a woman in a dream.\n\n\"Oh, Anne, I could get on real well if you were here, I know. But I\ncan't let you sacrifice yourself so for me. It would be terrible.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" Anne laughed merrily. \"There is no sacrifice. Nothing could\nbe worse than giving up Green Gables--nothing could hurt me more. We\nmust keep the dear old place. My mind is quite made up, Marilla. I'm NOT\ngoing to Redmond; and I AM going to stay here and teach. Don't you worry\nabout me a bit.\"\n\n\"But your ambitions--and--\"\n\n\"I'm just as ambitious as ever. Only, I've changed the object of my\nambitions. I'm going to be a good teacher--and I'm going to save your\neyesight. Besides, I mean to study at home here and take a little\ncollege course all by myself. Oh, I've dozens of plans, Marilla. I've\nbeen thinking them out for a week. I shall give life here my best, and\nI believe it will give its best to me in return. When I left Queen's my\nfuture seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thought\nI could see along it for many a milestone. Now there is a bend in it. I\ndon't know what lies around the bend, but I'm going to believe that the\nbest does. It has a fascination of its own, that bend, Marilla. I wonder\nhow the road beyond it goes--what there is of green glory and\nsoft, checkered light and shadows--what new landscapes--what new\nbeauties--what curves and hills and valleys further on.\"\n\n\"I don't feel as if I ought to let you give it up,\" said Marilla,\nreferring to the scholarship.\n\n\"But you can't prevent me. I'm sixteen and a half, 'obstinate as a\nmule,' as Mrs. Lynde once told me,\" laughed Anne. \"Oh, Marilla, don't\nyou go pitying me. I don't like to be pitied, and there is no need\nfor it. I'm heart glad over the very thought of staying at dear Green\nGables. Nobody could love it as you and I do--so we must keep it.\"\n\n\"You blessed girl!\" said Marilla, yielding. \"I feel as if you'd given me\nnew life. I guess I ought to stick out and make you go to college--but\nI know I can't, so I ain't going to try. I'll make it up to you though,\nAnne.\"\n\nWhen it became noised abroad in Avonlea that Anne Shirley had given up\nthe idea of going to college and intended to stay home and teach there\nwas a good deal of discussion over it. Most of the good folks, not\nknowing about Marilla's eyes, thought she was foolish. Mrs. Allan did\nnot. She told Anne so in approving words that brought tears of pleasure\nto the girl's eyes. Neither did good Mrs. Lynde. She came up one evening\nand found Anne and Marilla sitting at the front door in the warm,\nscented summer dusk. They liked to sit there when the twilight came down\nand the white moths flew about in the garden and the odor of mint filled\nthe dewy air.\n\nMrs. Rachel deposited her substantial person upon the stone bench by the\ndoor, behind which grew a row of tall pink and yellow hollyhocks, with a\nlong breath of mingled weariness and relief.\n\n\"I declare I'm getting glad to sit down. I've been on my feet all day,\nand two hundred pounds is a good bit for two feet to carry round. It's\na great blessing not to be fat, Marilla. I hope you appreciate it. Well,\nAnne, I hear you've given up your notion of going to college. I was\nreal glad to hear it. You've got as much education now as a woman can be\ncomfortable with. I don't believe in girls going to college with the men\nand cramming their heads full of Latin and Greek and all that nonsense.\"\n\n\"But I'm going to study Latin and Greek just the same, Mrs. Lynde,\" said\nAnne laughing. \"I'm going to take my Arts course right here at Green\nGables, and study everything that I would at college.\"\n\nMrs. Lynde lifted her hands in holy horror.\n\n\"Anne Shirley, you'll kill yourself.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it. I shall thrive on it. Oh, I'm not going to overdo\nthings. As 'Josiah Allen's wife,' says, I shall be 'mejum'. But I'll\nhave lots of spare time in the long winter evenings, and I've no\nvocation for fancy work. I'm going to teach over at Carmody, you know.\"\n\n\"I don't know it. I guess you're going to teach right here in Avonlea.\nThe trustees have decided to give you the school.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Lynde!\" cried Anne, springing to her feet in her surprise. \"Why, I\nthought they had promised it to Gilbert Blythe!\"\n\n\"So they did. But as soon as Gilbert heard that you had applied for it\nhe went to them--they had a business meeting at the school last night,\nyou know--and told them that he withdrew his application, and suggested\nthat they accept yours. He said he was going to teach at White Sands. Of\ncourse he knew how much you wanted to stay with Marilla, and I must\nsay I think it was real kind and thoughtful in him, that's what. Real\nself-sacrificing, too, for he'll have his board to pay at White Sands,\nand everybody knows he's got to earn his own way through college. So the\ntrustees decided to take you. I was tickled to death when Thomas came\nhome and told me.\"\n\n\"I don't feel that I ought to take it,\" murmured Anne. \"I mean--I don't\nthink I ought to let Gilbert make such a sacrifice for--for me.\"\n\n\"I guess you can't prevent him now. He's signed papers with the White\nSands trustees. So it wouldn't do him any good now if you were to\nrefuse. Of course you'll take the school. You'll get along all right,\nnow that there are no Pyes going. Josie was the last of them, and a\ngood thing she was, that's what. There's been some Pye or other going to\nAvonlea school for the last twenty years, and I guess their mission in\nlife was to keep school teachers reminded that earth isn't their home.\nBless my heart! What does all that winking and blinking at the Barry\ngable mean?\"\n\n\"Diana is signaling for me to go over,\" laughed Anne. \"You know we keep\nup the old custom. Excuse me while I run over and see what she wants.\"\n\nAnne ran down the clover slope like a deer, and disappeared in the firry\nshadows of the Haunted Wood. Mrs. Lynde looked after her indulgently.\n\n\"There's a good deal of the child about her yet in some ways.\"\n\n\"There's a good deal more of the woman about her in others,\" retorted\nMarilla, with a momentary return of her old crispness.\n\nBut crispness was no longer Marilla's distinguishing characteristic. As\nMrs. Lynde told her Thomas that night.\n\n\"Marilla Cuthbert has got MELLOW. That's what.\"\n\nAnne went to the little Avonlea graveyard the next evening to put fresh\nflowers on Matthew's grave and water the Scotch rosebush. She lingered\nthere until dusk, liking the peace and calm of the little place,\nwith its poplars whose rustle was like low, friendly speech, and its\nwhispering grasses growing at will among the graves. When she finally\nleft it and walked down the long hill that sloped to the Lake of Shining\nWaters it was past sunset and all Avonlea lay before her in a dreamlike\nafterlight--\"a haunt of ancient peace.\" There was a freshness in the\nair as of a wind that had blown over honey-sweet fields of clover. Home\nlights twinkled out here and there among the homestead trees. Beyond lay\nthe sea, misty and purple, with its haunting, unceasing murmur. The west\nwas a glory of soft mingled hues, and the pond reflected them all in\nstill softer shadings. The beauty of it all thrilled Anne's heart, and\nshe gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it.\n\n\"Dear old world,\" she murmured, \"you are very lovely, and I am glad to\nbe alive in you.\"\n\nHalfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of a gate before the\nBlythe homestead. It was Gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as he\nrecognized Anne. He lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passed\non in silence, if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand.\n\n\"Gilbert,\" she said, with scarlet cheeks, \"I want to thank you for\ngiving up the school for me. It was very good of you--and I want you to\nknow that I appreciate it.\"\n\nGilbert took the offered hand eagerly.\n\n\"It wasn't particularly good of me at all, Anne. I was pleased to be\nable to do you some small service. Are we going to be friends after\nthis? Have you really forgiven me my old fault?\"\n\nAnne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand.\n\n\"I forgave you that day by the pond landing, although I didn't know\nit. What a stubborn little goose I was. I've been--I may as well make a\ncomplete confession--I've been sorry ever since.\"\n\n\"We are going to be the best of friends,\" said Gilbert, jubilantly. \"We\nwere born to be good friends, Anne. You've thwarted destiny enough. I\nknow we can help each other in many ways. You are going to keep up your\nstudies, aren't you? So am I. Come, I'm going to walk home with you.\"\n\nMarilla looked curiously at Anne when the latter entered the kitchen.\n\n\"Who was that came up the lane with you, Anne?\"\n\n\"Gilbert Blythe,\" answered Anne, vexed to find herself blushing. \"I met\nhim on Barry's hill.\"\n\n\"I didn't think you and Gilbert Blythe were such good friends that you'd\nstand for half an hour at the gate talking to him,\" said Marilla with a\ndry smile.\n\n\"We haven't been--we've been good enemies. But we have decided that it\nwill be much more sensible to be good friends in the future. Were we\nreally there half an hour? It seemed just a few minutes. But, you see,\nwe have five years' lost conversations to catch up with, Marilla.\"\n\nAnne sat long at her window that night companioned by a glad content.\nThe wind purred softly in the cherry boughs, and the mint breaths came\nup to her. The stars twinkled over the pointed firs in the hollow and\nDiana's light gleamed through the old gap.\n\nAnne's horizons had closed in since the night she had sat there after\ncoming home from Queen's; but if the path set before her feet was to be\nnarrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloom along it.\nThe joy of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship\nwere to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her\nideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road!\n\n\"'God's in his heaven, all's right with the world,'\" whispered Anne\nsoftly."