wohnzimmer pinie weiß

chapter xxiventer jonas "prospect point, "august 20th."dear anne--spelled--with--an--e," wrote phil, "i must prop my eyelids open longenough to write you. i've neglected you shamefully this summer,honey, but all my other correspondents have been neglected, too. i have a huge pile of letters to answer, soi must gird up the loins of my mind and hoe in.excuse my mixed metaphors. i'm fearfully sleepy. last night cousin emily and i were callingat a neighbor's.

there were several other callers there, andas soon as those unfortunate creatures left, our hostess and her three daughterspicked them all to pieces. i knew they would begin on cousin emily andme as soon as the door shut behind us. when we came home mrs. lilly informed usthat the aforesaid neighbor's hired boy was supposed to be down with scarlet fever. you can always trust mrs. lilly to tell youcheerful things like that. i have a horror of scarlet fever.i couldn't sleep when i went to bed for thinking of it. i tossed and tumbled about, dreamingfearful dreams when i did snooze for a

minute; and at three i wakened up with ahigh fever, a sore throat, and a raging headache. i knew i had scarlet fever; i got up in apanic and hunted up cousin emily's 'doctor book' to read up the symptoms.anne, i had them all. so i went back to bed, and knowing theworst, slept like a top the rest of the night.though why a top should sleep sounder than anything else i never could understand. but this morning i was quite well, so itcouldn't have been the fever. i suppose if i did catch it last night itcouldn't have developed so soon.

i can remember that in daytime, but atthree o'clock at night i never can be logical."i suppose you wonder what i'm doing at prospect point. well, i always like to spend a month ofsummer at the shore, and father insists that i come to his second-cousin emily's'select boardinghouse' at prospect point. so a fortnight ago i came as usual. and as usual old 'uncle mark miller'brought me from the station with his ancient buggy and what he calls his'generous purpose' horse. he is a nice old man and gave me a handfulof pink peppermints.

peppermints always seem to me such areligious sort of candy--i suppose because when i was a little girl grandmother gordonalways gave them to me in church. once i asked, referring to the smell ofpeppermints, 'is that the odor of sanctity?' i didn't like to eat uncle mark'speppermints because he just fished them loose out of his pocket, and had to picksome rusty nails and other things from among them before he gave them to me. but i wouldn't hurt his dear old feelingsfor anything, so i carefully sowed them along the road at intervals.

when the last one was gone, uncle marksaid, a little rebukingly, 'ye shouldn't a'et all them candies to onct, miss phil.you'll likely have the stummick-ache.' "cousin emily has only five boardersbesides myself--four old ladies and one young man.my right-hand neighbor is mrs. lilly. she is one of those people who seem to takea gruesome pleasure in detailing all their many aches and pains and sicknesses. you cannot mention any ailment but shesays, shaking her head, 'ah, i know too well what that is'--and then you get allthe details. jonas declares he once spoke of locomotorataxia in hearing and she said she knew too

well what that was.she suffered from it for ten years and was finally cured by a traveling doctor. "who is jonas?just wait, anne shirley. you'll hear all about jonas in the propertime and place. he is not to be mixed up with estimable oldladies. "my left-hand neighbor at the table is mrs.phinney. she always speaks with a wailing, dolorousvoice--you are nervously expecting her to burst into tears every moment. she gives you the impression that life toher is indeed a vale of tears, and that a

smile, never to speak of a laugh, is afrivolity truly reprehensible. she has a worse opinion of me than auntjamesina, and she doesn't love me hard to atone for it, as aunty j. does, either."miss maria grimsby sits cati-corner from me. the first day i came i remarked to missmaria that it looked a little like rain-- and miss maria laughed.i said the road from the station was very pretty--and miss maria laughed. i said there seemed to be a few mosquitoesleft yet--and miss maria laughed. i said that prospect point was as beautifulas ever--and miss maria laughed.

if i were to say to miss maria, 'my fatherhas hanged himself, my mother has taken poison, my brother is in the penitentiary,and i am in the last stages of consumption,' miss maria would laugh. she can't help it--she was born so; but isvery sad and awful. "the fifth old lady is mrs. grant. she is a sweet old thing; but she neversays anything but good of anybody and so she is a very uninterestingconversationalist. "and now for jonas, anne. "that first day i came i saw a young mansitting opposite me at the table, smiling

at me as if he had known me from my cradle. i knew, for uncle mark had told me, thathis name was jonas blake, that he was a theological student from st. columbia, andthat he had taken charge of the point prospect mission church for the summer. "he is a very ugly young man--really, theugliest young man i've ever seen. he has a big, loose-jointed figure withabsurdly long legs. his hair is tow-color and lank, his eyesare green, and his mouth is big, and his ears--but i never think about his ears if ican help it. "he has a lovely voice--if you shut youreyes he is adorable--and he certainly has a

beautiful soul and disposition."we were good chums right way. of course he is a graduate of redmond, andthat is a link between us. we fished and boated together; and wewalked on the sands by moonlight. he didn't look so homely by moonlight andoh, he was nice. niceness fairly exhaled from him. the old ladies--except mrs. grant--don'tapprove of jonas, because he laughs and jokes--and because he evidently likes thesociety of frivolous me better than theirs. "somehow, anne, i don't want him to thinkme frivolous. this is ridiculous.

why should i care what a tow-haired personcalled jonas, whom i never saw before thinks of me?"last sunday jonas preached in the village church. i went, of course, but i couldn't realizethat jonas was going to preach. the fact that he was a minister--or goingto be one--persisted in seeming a huge joke to me. "well, jonas preached.and, by the time he had preached ten minutes, i felt so small and insignificantthat i thought i must be invisible to the naked eye.

jonas never said a word about women and henever looked at me. but i realized then and there what apitiful, frivolous, small-souled little butterfly i was, and how horribly differenti must be from jonas' ideal woman. she would be grand and strong and noble. he was so earnest and tender and true.he was everything a minister ought to be. i wondered how i could ever have thoughthim ugly--but he really is!--with those inspired eyes and that intellectual browwhich the roughly-falling hair hid on week days. "it was a splendid sermon and i could havelistened to it forever, and it made me feel

utterly wretched.oh, i wish i was like you, anne. "he caught up with me on the road home, andgrinned as cheerfully as usual. but his grin could never deceive me again.i had seen the real jonas. i wondered if he could ever see the realphil--whom nobody, not even you, anne, has ever seen yet."'jonas,' i said--i forgot to call him mr. blake. wasn't it dreadful?but there are times when things like that don't matter--'jonas, you were born to be aminister. you couldn't be anything else.'

"'no, i couldn't,' he said soberly.'i tried to be something else for a long time--i didn't want to be a minister. but i came to see at last that it was thework given me to do--and god helping me, i shall try to do it.'"his voice was low and reverent. i thought that he would do his work and doit well and nobly; and happy the woman fitted by nature and training to help himdo it. she would be no feather, blown about byevery fickle wind of fancy. she would always know what hat to put on.probably she would have only one. ministers never have much money.

but she wouldn't mind having one hat ornone at all, because she would have jonas. "anne shirley, don't you dare to say orhint or think that i've fallen in love with mr. blake. could i care for a lank, poor, uglytheologue--named jonas? as uncle mark says, 'it's impossible, andwhat's more it's improbable.' "good night, phil." "p.s. it is impossible--but i am horriblyafraid it's true. i'm happy and wretched and scared.he can never care for me, i know. do you think i could ever develop into apassable minister's wife, anne?

and would they expect me to lead in prayer?p g." > chapter xxventer prince charming "i'm contrasting the claims of indoors andout," said anne, looking from the window of patty's place to the distant pines of thepark. "i've an afternoon to spend in sweet doingnothing, aunt jimsie. shall i spend it here where there is a cosyfire, a plateful of delicious russets, three purring and harmonious cats, and twoimpeccable china dogs with green noses? or shall i go to the park, where there isthe lure of gray woods and of gray water

lapping on the harbor rocks?" "if i was as young as you, i'd decide infavor of the park," said aunt jamesina, tickling joseph's yellow ear with aknitting needle. "i thought that you claimed to be as youngas any of us, aunty," teased anne. "yes, in my soul.but i'll admit my legs aren't as young as yours. you go and get some fresh air, anne.you look pale lately." "i think i'll go to the park," said annerestlessly. "i don't feel like tame domestic joystoday.

i want to feel alone and free and wild.the park will be empty, for every one will be at the football match." "why didn't you go to it?""'nobody axed me, sir, she said'--at least, nobody but that horrid little dan ranger. i wouldn't go anywhere with him; but ratherthan hurt his poor little tender feelings i said i wasn't going to the game at all.i don't mind. i'm not in the mood for football todaysomehow." "you go and get some fresh air," repeatedaunt jamesina, "but take your umbrella, for i believe it's going to rain.

i've rheumatism in my leg.""only old people should have rheumatism, aunty.""anybody is liable to rheumatism in her legs, anne. it's only old people who should haverheumatism in their souls, though. thank goodness, i never have.when you get rheumatism in your soul you might as well go and pick out your coffin." it was november--the month of crimsonsunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in thepines. anne roamed through the pineland alleys inthe park and, as she said, let that great

sweeping wind blow the fogs out of hersoul. anne was not wont to be troubled with soulfog. but, somehow, since her return to redmondfor this third year, life had not mirrored her spirit back to her with its old,perfect, sparkling clearness. outwardly, existence at patty's place wasthe same pleasant round of work and study and recreation that it had always been. on friday evenings the big, fire-lightedlivingroom was crowded by callers and echoed to endless jest and laughter, whileaunt jamesina smiled beamingly on them all. the "jonas" of phil's letter came often,running up from st. columbia on the early

train and departing on the late. he was a general favorite at patty's place,though aunt jamesina shook her head and opined that divinity students were not whatthey used to be. "he's very nice, my dear," she told phil,"but ministers ought to be graver and more dignified.""can't a man laugh and laugh and be a christian still?" demanded phil. "oh, men--yes.but i was speaking of ministers, my dear," said aunt jamesina rebukingly."and you shouldn't flirt so with mr. blake- -you really shouldn't."

"i'm not flirting with him," protestedphil. nobody believed her, except anne. the others thought she was amusing herselfas usual, and told her roundly that she was behaving very badly."mr. blake isn't of the alec-and-alonzo type, phil," said stella severely. "he takes things seriously.you may break his heart." "do you really think i could?" asked phil."i'd love to think so." "philippa gordon! i never thought you were utterly unfeeling.the idea of you saying you'd love to break

a man's heart!""i didn't say so, honey. quote me correctly. i said i'd like to think i could break it.i would like to know i had the power to do it.""i don't understand you, phil. you are leading that man on deliberately--and you know you don't mean anything by it.""i mean to make him ask me to marry him if i can," said phil calmly. "i give you up," said stella hopelessly.gilbert came occasionally on friday evenings.

he seemed always in good spirits, and heldhis own in the jests and repartee that flew about.he neither sought nor avoided anne. when circumstances brought them in contacthe talked to her pleasantly and courteously, as to any newly-madeacquaintance. the old camaraderie was gone entirely. anne felt it keenly; but she told herselfshe was very glad and thankful that gilbert had got so completely over hisdisappointment in regard to her. she had really been afraid, that aprilevening in the orchard, that she had hurt him terribly and that the wound would belong in healing.

now she saw that she need not have worried. men have died and the worms have eaten thembut not for love. gilbert evidently was in no danger ofimmediate dissolution. he was enjoying life, and he was full ofambition and zest. for him there was to be no wasting indespair because a woman was fair and cold. anne, as she listened to the ceaselessbadinage that went on between him and phil, wondered if she had only imagined that lookin his eyes when she had told him she could never care for him. there were not lacking those who wouldgladly have stepped into gilbert's vacant

place.but anne snubbed them without fear and without reproach. if the real prince charming was never tocome she would have none of a substitute. so she sternly told herself that gray dayin the windy park. suddenly the rain of aunt jamesina'sprophecy came with a swish and rush. anne put up her umbrella and hurried downthe slope. as she turned out on the harbor road asavage gust of wind tore along it. instantly her umbrella turned wrong sideout. anne clutched at it in despair.

and then--there came a voice close to her."pardon me--may i offer you the shelter of my umbrella?"anne looked up. tall and handsome and distinguished-looking--dark, melancholy, inscrutable eyes--melting, musical, sympathetic voice--yes, the very hero of her dreams stood before her in the flesh. he could not have more closely resembledher ideal if he had been made to order. "thank you," she said confusedly. "we'd better hurry over to that littlepavillion on the point," suggested the unknown."we can wait there until this shower is

over. it is not likely to rain so heavily verylong." the words were very commonplace, but oh,the tone! and the smile which accompanied them! anne felt her heart beating strangely.together they scurried to the pavilion and sat breathlessly down under its friendlyroof. anne laughingly held up her false umbrella. "it is when my umbrella turns inside outthat i am convinced of the total depravity of inanimate things," she said gaily.

the raindrops sparkled on her shining hair;its loosened rings curled around her neck and forehead.her cheeks were flushed, her eyes big and starry. her companion looked down at heradmiringly. she felt herself blushing under his gaze.who could he be? why, there was a bit of the redmond whiteand scarlet pinned to his coat lapel. yet she had thought she knew, by sight atleast, all the redmond students except the freshmen. and this courtly youth surely was nofreshman.

"we are schoolmates, i see," he said,smiling at anne's colors. "that ought to be sufficient introduction. my name is royal gardner.and you are the miss shirley who read the tennyson paper at the philomathic the otherevening, aren't you?" "yes; but i cannot place you at all," saidanne, frankly. "please, where do you belong?""i feel as if i didn't belong anywhere yet. i put in my freshman and sophomore years atredmond two years ago. i've been in europe ever since.now i've come back to finish my arts course."

"this is my junior year, too," said anne."so we are classmates as well as collegemates. i am reconciled to the loss of the yearsthat the locust has eaten," said her companion, with a world of meaning in thosewonderful eyes of his. the rain came steadily down for the bestpart of an hour. but the time seemed really very short. when the clouds parted and a burst of palenovember sunshine fell athwart the harbor and the pines anne and her companion walkedhome together. by the time they had reached the gate ofpatty's place he had asked permission to

call, and had received it.anne went in with cheeks of flame and her heart beating to her fingertips. rusty, who climbed into her lap and triedto kiss her, found a very absent welcome. anne, with her soul full of romanticthrills, had no attention to spare just then for a crop-eared pussy cat. that evening a parcel was left at patty'splace for miss shirley. it was a box containing a dozen magnificentroses. phil pounced impertinently on the card thatfell from it, read the name and the poetical quotation written on the back."royal gardner!" she exclaimed.

"why, anne, i didn't know you wereacquainted with roy gardner!" "i met him in the park this afternoon inthe rain," explained anne hurriedly. "my umbrella turned inside out and he cameto my rescue with his." "oh!"phil peered curiously at anne. "and is that exceedingly commonplaceincident any reason why he should send us longstemmed roses by the dozen, with a verysentimental rhyme? or why we should blush divinest rosy-redwhen we look at his card? anne, thy face betrayeth thee.""don't talk nonsense, phil. do you know mr. gardner?"

"i've met his two sisters, and i know ofhim. so does everybody worthwhile in kingsport.the gardners are among the richest, bluest, of bluenoses. roy is adorably handsome and clever.two years ago his mother's health failed and he had to leave college and go abroadwith her--his father is dead. he must have been greatly disappointed tohave to give up his class, but they say he was perfectly sweet about it.fee--fi--fo--fum, anne. i smell romance. almost do i envy you, but not quite.after all, roy gardner isn't jonas."

"you goose!" said anne loftily.but she lay long awake that night, nor did she wish for sleep. her waking fancies were more alluring thanany vision of dreamland. had the real prince come at last? recalling those glorious dark eyes whichhad gazed so deeply into her own, anne was very strongly inclined to think he had. chapter xxvienter christine the girls at patty's place were dressingfor the reception which the juniors were giving for the seniors in february.anne surveyed herself in the mirror of the

blue room with girlish satisfaction. she had a particularly pretty gown on.originally it had been only a simple little slip of cream silk with a chiffonoverdress. but phil had insisted on taking it homewith her in the christmas holidays and embroidering tiny rosebuds all over thechiffon. phil's fingers were deft, and the resultwas a dress which was the envy of every redmond girl. even allie boone, whose frocks came fromparis, was wont to look with longing eyes on that rosebud concoction as anne trailedup the main staircase at redmond in it.

anne was trying the effect of a whiteorchid in her hair. roy gardner had sent her white orchids forthe reception, and she knew no other redmond girl would have them that night--when phil came in with admiring gaze. "anne, this is certainly your night forlooking handsome. nine nights out of ten i can easilyoutshine you. the tenth you blossom out suddenly intosomething that eclipses me altogether. how do you manage it?""it's the dress, dear. fine feathers." "'tisn't.the last evening you flamed out into beauty

you wore your old blue flannel shirtwaistthat mrs. lynde made you. if roy hadn't already lost head and heartabout you he certainly would tonight. but i don't like orchids on you, anne.no; it isn't jealousy. orchids don't seem to belong to you. they're too exotic--too tropical--tooinsolent. don't put them in your hair, anyway.""well, i won't. i admit i'm not fond of orchids myself. i don't think they're related to me.roy doesn't often send them--he knows i like flowers i can live with.orchids are only things you can visit

with." "jonas sent me some dear pink rosebuds forthe evening--but--he isn't coming himself. he said he had to lead a prayer-meeting inthe slums! i don't believe he wanted to come. anne, i'm horribly afraid jonas doesn'treally care anything about me. and i'm trying to decide whether i'll pineaway and die, or go on and get my b.a. and be sensible and useful." "you couldn't possibly be sensible anduseful, phil, so you'd better pine away and die," said anne cruelly."heartless anne!"

"silly phil! you know quite well that jonas loves you.""but--he won't tell me so. and i can't make him.he looks it, i'll admit. but speak-to-me-only-with-thine-eyes isn'ta really reliable reason for embroidering doilies and hemstitching tablecloths.i don't want to begin such work until i'm really engaged. it would be tempting fate.""mr. blake is afraid to ask you to marry him, phil.he is poor and can't offer you a home such as you've always had.

you know that is the only reason he hasn'tspoken long ago." "i suppose so," agreed phil dolefully."well"--brightening up--"if he won't ask me to marry him i'll ask him, that's all. so it's bound to come right.i won't worry. by the way, gilbert blythe is going aboutconstantly with christine stuart. did you know?" anne was trying to fasten a little goldchain about her throat. she suddenly found the clasp difficult tomanage. what was the matter with it--or with herfingers?

"no," she said carelessly."who is christine stuart?" "ronald stuart's sister. she's in kingsport this winter studyingmusic. i haven't seen her, but they say she's verypretty and that gilbert is quite crazy over her. how angry i was when you refused gilbert,anne. but roy gardner was foreordained for you.i can see that now. you were right, after all." anne did not blush, as she usually did whenthe girls assumed that her eventual

marriage to roy gardner was a settledthing. all at once she felt rather dull. phil's chatter seemed trivial and thereception a bore. she boxed poor rusty's ears."get off that cushion instantly, you cat, you! why don't you stay down where you belong?"anne picked up her orchids and went downstairs, where aunt jamesina waspresiding over a row of coats hung before the fire to warm. roy gardner was waiting for anne andteasing the sarah-cat while he waited.

the sarah-cat did not approve of him.she always turned her back on him. but everybody else at patty's place likedhim very much. aunt jamesina, carried away by hisunfailing and deferential courtesy, and the pleading tones of his delightful voice,declared he was the nicest young man she ever knew, and that anne was a veryfortunate girl. such remarks made anne restive. roy's wooing had certainly been as romanticas girlish heart could desire, but--she wished aunt jamesina and the girls wouldnot take things so for granted. when roy murmured a poetical compliment ashe helped her on with her coat, she did not

blush and thrill as usual; and he found herrather silent in their brief walk to redmond. he thought she looked a little pale whenshe came out of the coeds' dressing room; but as they entered the reception room hercolor and sparkle suddenly returned to her. she turned to roy with her gayestexpression. he smiled back at her with what phil called"his deep, black, velvety smile." yet she really did not see roy at all. she was acutely conscious that gilbert wasstanding under the palms just across the room talking to a girl who must bechristine stuart.

she was very handsome, in the stately styledestined to become rather massive in middle life. a tall girl, with large dark-blue eyes,ivory outlines, and a gloss of darkness on her smooth hair."she looks just as i've always wanted to look," thought anne miserably. "rose-leaf complexion--starry violet eyes--raven hair--yes, she has them all. it's a wonder her name isn't cordeliafitzgerald into the bargain! but i don't believe her figure is as goodas mine, and her nose certainly isn't." anne felt a little comforted by thisconclusion.

chapter xxviimutual confidences march came in that winter like the meekestand mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, eachfollowed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland ofmoonshine. over the girls at patty's place was fallingthe shadow of april examinations. they were studying hard; even phil hadsettled down to text and notebooks with a doggedness not to be expected of her."i'm going to take the johnson scholarship in mathematics," she announced calmly. "i could take the one in greek easily, buti'd rather take the mathematical one

because i want to prove to jonas that i'mreally enormously clever." "jonas likes you better for your big browneyes and your crooked smile than for all the brains you carry under your curls,"said anne. "when i was a girl it wasn't consideredlady-like to know anything about mathematics," said aunt jamesina."but times have changed. i don't know that it's all for the better. can you cook, phil?""no, i never cooked anything in my life except a gingerbread and it was a failure--flat in the middle and hilly round the edges.

you know the kind. but, aunty, when i begin in good earnest tolearn to cook don't you think the brains that enable me to win a mathematicalscholarship will also enable me to learn cooking just as well?" "maybe," said aunt jamesina cautiously."i am not decrying the higher education of women.my daughter is an m.a. she can cook, too. but i taught her to cook before i let acollege professor teach her mathematics." in mid-march came a letter from miss pattyspofford, saying that she and miss maria

had decided to remain abroad for anotheryear. "so you may have patty's place next winter,too," she wrote. "maria and i are going to run over egypt.i want to see the sphinx once before i die." "fancy those two dames 'running overegypt'! i wonder if they'll look up at the sphinxand knit," laughed priscilla. "i'm so glad we can keep patty's place foranother year," said stella. "i was afraid they'd come back. and then our jolly little nest here wouldbe broken up--and we poor callow nestlings

thrown out on the cruel world ofboardinghouses again." "i'm off for a tramp in the park,"announced phil, tossing her book aside. "i think when i am eighty i'll be glad iwent for a walk in the park tonight." "what do you mean?" asked anne. "come with me and i'll tell you, honey."they captured in their ramble all the mysteries and magics of a march evening. very still and mild it was, wrapped in agreat, white, brooding silence--a silence which was yet threaded through with manylittle silvery sounds which you could hear if you hearkened as much with your soul asyour ears.

the girls wandered down a long pinelandaisle that seemed to lead right out into the heart of a deep-red, overflowing wintersunset. "i'd go home and write a poem this blessedminute if i only knew how," declared phil, pausing in an open space where a rosy lightwas staining the green tips of the pines. "it's all so wonderful here--this great,white stillness, and those dark trees that always seem to be thinking.""'the woods were god's first temples,'" quoted anne softly. "one can't help feeling reverent andadoring in such a place. i always feel so near him when i walk amongthe pines."

"anne, i'm the happiest girl in the world,"confessed phil suddenly. "so mr. blake has asked you to marry him atlast?" said anne calmly. "yes. and i sneezed three times while he wasasking me. wasn't that horrid? but i said 'yes' almost before he finished--i was so afraid he might change his mind and stop.i'm besottedly happy. i couldn't really believe before that jonaswould ever care for frivolous me." "phil, you're not really frivolous," saidanne gravely.

"'way down underneath that frivolousexterior of yours you've got a dear, loyal, womanly little soul.why do you hide it so?" "i can't help it, queen anne. you are right--i'm not frivolous at heart.but there's a sort of frivolous skin over my soul and i can't take it off. as mrs. poyser says, i'd have to be hatchedover again and hatched different before i could change it.but jonas knows the real me and loves me, frivolity and all. and i love him.i never was so surprised in my life as i

was when i found out i loved him.i'd never thought it possible to fall in love with an ugly man. fancy me coming down to one solitary beau.and one named jonas! but i mean to call him jo.that's such a nice, crisp little name. i couldn't nickname alonzo." "what about alec and alonzo?""oh, i told them at christmas that i never could marry either of them.it seems so funny now to remember that i ever thought it possible that i might. they felt so badly i just cried over bothof them--howled.

but i knew there was only one man in theworld i could ever marry. i had made up my own mind for once and itwas real easy, too. it's very delightful to feel so sure, andknow it's your own sureness and not somebody else's." "do you suppose you'll be able to keep itup?" "making up my mind, you mean?i don't know, but jo has given me a splendid rule. he says, when i'm perplexed, just to dowhat i would wish i had done when i shall be eighty.

anyhow, jo can make up his mind quicklyenough, and it would be uncomfortable to have too much mind in the same house.""what will your father and mother say?" "father won't say much. he thinks everything i do right.but mother will talk. oh, her tongue will be as byrney as hernose. but in the end it will be all right." "you'll have to give up a good many thingsyou've always had, when you marry mr. blake, phil.""but i'll have him. i won't miss the other things.

we're to be married a year from next june.jo graduates from st. columbia this spring, you know. then he's going to take a little missionchurch down on patterson street in the slums.fancy me in the slums! but i'd go there or to greenland's icymountains with him." "and this is the girl who would never marrya man who wasn't rich," commented anne to a young pine tree. "oh, don't cast up the follies of my youthto me. i shall be poor as gaily as i've been rich.you'll see.

i'm going to learn how to cook and makeover dresses. i've learned how to market since i've livedat patty's place; and once i taught a sunday school class for a whole summer. aunt jamesina says i'll ruin jo's career ifi marry him. but i won't. i know i haven't much sense or sobriety,but i've got what is ever so much better-- the knack of making people like me.there is a man in bolingbroke who lisps and always testifies in prayer-meeting. he says, 'if you can't thine like anelectric thtar thine like a candlethtick.'

i'll be jo's little candlestick.""phil, you're incorrigible. well, i love you so much that i can't makenice, light, congratulatory little speeches.but i'm heart-glad of your happiness." "i know. those big gray eyes of yours are brimmingover with real friendship, anne. some day i'll look the same way at you.you're going to marry roy, aren't you, anne?" "my dear philippa, did you ever hear of thefamous betty baxter, who 'refused a man before he'd axed her'?

i am not going to emulate that celebratedlady by either refusing or accepting any one before he 'axes' me.""all redmond knows that roy is crazy about you," said phil candidly. "and you do love him, don't you, anne?""i--i suppose so," said anne reluctantly. she felt that she ought to be blushingwhile making such a confession; but she was not; on the other hand, she always blushedhotly when any one said anything about gilbert blythe or christine stuart in herhearing. gilbert blythe and christine stuart werenothing to her--absolutely nothing. but anne had given up trying to analyze thereason of her blushes.

as for roy, of course she was in love withhim--madly so. how could she help it? was he not her ideal?who could resist those glorious dark eyes, and that pleading voice?were not half the redmond girls wildly envious? and what a charming sonnet he had sent her,with a box of violets, on her birthday! anne knew every word of it by heart.it was very good stuff of its kind, too. not exactly up to the level of keats orshakespeare--even anne was not so deeply in love as to think that.but it was very tolerable magazine verse.

and it was addressed to her--not to lauraor beatrice or the maid of athens, but to her, anne shirley. to be told in rhythmical cadences that hereyes were stars of the morning--that her cheek had the flush it stole from thesunrise--that her lips were redder than the roses of paradise, was thrillinglyromantic. gilbert would never have dreamed of writinga sonnet to her eyebrows. but then, gilbert could see a joke. she had once told roy a funny story--and hehad not seen the point of it. she recalled the chummy laugh she andgilbert had had together over it, and

wondered uneasily if life with a man whohad no sense of humor might not be somewhat uninteresting in the long run. but who could expect a melancholy,inscrutable hero to see the humorous side of things?it would be flatly unreasonable. chapter xxviiia june evening "i wonder what it would be like to live ina world where it was always june," said anne, as she came through the spice andbloom of the twilit orchard to the front door steps, where marilla and mrs. rachel were sitting, talking over mrs. samsoncoates' funeral, which they had attended

that day. dora sat between them, diligently studyingher lessons; but davy was sitting tailor- fashion on the grass, looking as gloomy anddepressed as his single dimple would let him. "you'd get tired of it," said marilla, witha sigh. "i daresay; but just now i feel that itwould take me a long time to get tired of it, if it were all as charming as today. everything loves june.davy-boy, why this melancholy november face in blossom-time?""i'm just sick and tired of living," said

the youthful pessimist. "at ten years?dear me, how sad!" "i'm not making fun," said davy withdignity. "i'm dis--dis--discouraged"--bringing outthe big word with a valiant effort. "why and wherefore?" asked anne, sittingdown beside him. "'cause the new teacher that come when mr.holmes got sick give me ten sums to do for monday.it'll take me all day tomorrow to do them. it isn't fair to have to work saturdays. milty boulter said he wouldn't do them, butmarilla says i've got to.

i don't like miss carson a bit.""don't talk like that about your teacher, davy keith," said mrs. rachel severely. "miss carson is a very fine girl.there is no nonsense about her." "that doesn't sound very attractive,"laughed anne. "i like people to have a little nonsenseabout them. but i'm inclined to have a better opinionof miss carson than you have. i saw her in prayer-meeting last night, andshe has a pair of eyes that can't always look sensible.now, davy-boy, take heart of grace. 'tomorrow will bring another day' and i'llhelp you with the sums as far as in me

lies.don't waste this lovely hour 'twixt light and dark worrying over arithmetic." "well, i won't," said davy, brightening up."if you help me with the sums i'll have 'em done in time to go fishing with milty.i wish old aunt atossa's funeral was tomorrow instead of today. i wanted to go to it 'cause milty said hismother said aunt atossa would be sure to rise up in her coffin and say sarcasticthings to the folks that come to see her buried. but marilla said she didn't.""poor atossa laid in her coffin peaceful

enough," said mrs. lynde solemnly."i never saw her look so pleasant before, that's what. well, there weren't many tears shed overher, poor old soul. the elisha wrights are thankful to be ridof her, and i can't say i blame them a mite." "it seems to me a most dreadful thing to goout of the world and not leave one person behind you who is sorry you are gone," saidanne, shuddering. "nobody except her parents ever loved pooratossa, that's certain, not even her husband," averred mrs. lynde."she was his fourth wife.

he'd sort of got into the habit ofmarrying. he only lived a few years after he marriedher. the doctor said he died of dyspepsia, but ishall always maintain that he died of atossa's tongue, that's what. poor soul, she always knew everything abouther neighbors, but she never was very well acquainted with herself.well, she's gone anyhow; and i suppose the next excitement will be diana's wedding." "it seems funny and horrible to think ofdiana's being married," sighed anne, hugging her knees and looking through thegap in the haunted wood to the light that

was shining in diana's room. "i don't see what's horrible about it, whenshe's doing so well," said mrs. lynde emphatically."fred wright has a fine farm and he is a model young man." "he certainly isn't the wild, dashing,wicked, young man diana once wanted to marry," smiled anne."fred is extremely good." "that's just what he ought to be. would you want diana to marry a wicked man?or marry one yourself?" "oh, no.

i wouldn't want to marry anybody who waswicked, but i think i'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't.now, fred is hopelessly good." "you'll have more sense some day, i hope,"said marilla. marilla spoke rather bitterly.she was grievously disappointed. she knew anne had refused gilbert blythe. avonlea gossip buzzed over the fact, whichhad leaked out, nobody knew how. perhaps charlie sloane had guessed and toldhis guesses for truth. perhaps diana had betrayed it to fred andfred had been indiscreet. at all events it was known; mrs. blythe nolonger asked anne, in public or private, if

she had heard lately from gilbert, butpassed her by with a frosty bow. anne, who had always liked gilbert's merry,young-hearted mother, was grieved in secret over this. marilla said nothing; but mrs. lynde gaveanne many exasperated digs about it, until fresh gossip reached that worthy lady,through the medium of moody spurgeon macpherson's mother, that anne had another "beau" at college, who was rich andhandsome and good all in one. after that mrs. rachel held her tongue,though she still wished in her inmost heart that anne had accepted gilbert.

riches were all very well; but even mrs.rachel, practical soul though she was, did not consider them the one essential. if anne "liked" the handsome unknown betterthan gilbert there was nothing more to be said; but mrs. rachel was dreadfully afraidthat anne was going to make the mistake of marrying for money. marilla knew anne too well to fear this;but she felt that something in the universal scheme of things had gone sadlyawry. "what is to be, will be," said mrs. rachelgloomily, "and what isn't to be happens sometimes.

i can't help believing it's going to happenin anne's case, if providence doesn't interfere, that's what."mrs. rachel sighed. she was afraid providence wouldn'tinterfere; and she didn't dare to. anne had wandered down to the dryad'sbubble and was curled up among the ferns at the root of the big white birch where sheand gilbert had so often sat in summers gone by. he had gone into the newspaper office againwhen college closed, and avonlea seemed very dull without him.he never wrote to her, and anne missed the letters that never came.

to be sure, roy wrote twice a week; hisletters were exquisite compositions which would have read beautifully in a memoir orbiography. anne felt herself more deeply in love withhim than ever when she read them; but her heart never gave the queer, quick, painfulbound at sight of his letters which it had given one day when mrs. hiram sloane had handed her out an envelope addressed ingilbert's black, upright handwriting. anne had hurried home to the east gable andopened it eagerly--to find a typewritten copy of some college society report--"onlythat and nothing more." anne flung the harmless screed across herroom and sat down to write an especially

nice epistle to roy.diana was to be married in five more days. the gray house at orchard slope was in aturmoil of baking and brewing and boiling and stewing, for there was to be a big,old-timey wedding. anne, of course, was to be bridesmaid, ashad been arranged when they were twelve years old, and gilbert was coming fromkingsport to be best man. anne was enjoying the excitement of thevarious preparations, but under it all she carried a little heartache. she was, in a sense, losing her dear oldchum; diana's new home would be two miles from green gables, and the old constantcompanionship could never be theirs again.

anne looked up at diana's light and thoughthow it had beaconed to her for many years; but soon it would shine through the summertwilights no more. two big, painful tears welled up in hergray eyes. "oh," she thought, "how horrible it is thatpeople have to grow up--and marry--and change!" chapter xxixdiana's wedding "after all, the only real roses are thepink ones," said anne, as she tied white ribbon around diana's bouquet in thewestward-looking gable at orchard slope. "they are the flowers of love and faith."

diana was standing nervously in the middleof the room, arrayed in her bridal white, her black curls frosted over with the filmof her wedding veil. anne had draped that veil, in accordancewith the sentimental compact of years before. "it's all pretty much as i used to imagineit long ago, when i wept over your inevitable marriage and our consequentparting," she laughed. "you are the bride of my dreams, diana,with the 'lovely misty veil'; and i am your bridesmaid.but, alas! i haven't the puffed sleeves--though theseshort lace ones are even prettier.

neither is my heart wholly breaking nor doi exactly hate fred." "we are not really parting, anne,"protested diana. "i'm not going far away.we'll love each other just as much as ever. we've always kept that 'oath' of friendshipwe swore long ago, haven't we?" "yes.we've kept it faithfully. we've had a beautiful friendship, diana. we've never marred it by one quarrel orcoolness or unkind word; and i hope it will always be so.but things can't be quite the same after this.

you'll have other interests.i'll just be on the outside. but 'such is life' as mrs. rachel says. mrs. rachel has given you one of herbeloved knitted quilts of the 'tobacco stripe' pattern, and she says when i ammarried she'll give me one, too." "the mean thing about your getting marriedis that i won't be able to be your bridesmaid," lamented diana. "i'm to be phil's bridesmaid next june,when she marries mr. blake, and then i must stop, for you know the proverb 'three timesa bridesmaid, never a bride,'" said anne, peeping through the window over the pinkand snow of the blossoming orchard beneath.

"here comes the minister, diana.""oh, anne," gasped diana, suddenly turning very pale and beginning to tremble. "oh, anne--i'm so nervous--i can't gothrough with it--anne, i know i'm going to faint." "if you do i'll drag you down to therainwater hogshed and drop you in," said anne unsympathetically."cheer up, dearest. getting married can't be so very terriblewhen so many people survive the ceremony. see how cool and composed i am, and takecourage." "wait till your turn comes, miss anne.

oh, anne, i hear father coming upstairs.give me my bouquet. is my veil right?am i very pale?" "you look just lovely. di, darling, kiss me good-bye for the lasttime. diana barry will never kiss me again.""diana wright will, though. there, mother's calling. come."following the simple, old-fashioned way in vogue then, anne went down to the parlor ongilbert's arm. they met at the top of the stairs for thefirst time since they had left kingsport,

for gilbert had arrived only that day.gilbert shook hands courteously. he was looking very well, though, as anneinstantly noted, rather thin. he was not pale; there was a flush on hischeek that had burned into it as anne came along the hall towards him, in her soft,white dress with lilies-of-the-valley in the shining masses of her hair. as they entered the crowded parlor togethera little murmur of admiration ran around the room. "what a fine-looking pair they are,"whispered the impressible mrs. rachel to marilla.

fred ambled in alone, with a very red face,and then diana swept in on her father's arm.she did not faint, and nothing untoward occurred to interrupt the ceremony. feasting and merry-making followed; then,as the evening waned, fred and diana drove away through the moonlight to their newhome, and gilbert walked with anne to green gables. something of their old comradeship hadreturned during the informal mirth of the evening.oh, it was nice to be walking over that well-known road with gilbert again!

the night was so very still that one shouldhave been able to hear the whisper of roses in blossom--the laughter of daisies--thepiping of grasses--many sweet sounds, all tangled up together. the beauty of moonlight on familiar fieldsirradiated the world. "can't we take a ramble up lovers' lanebefore you go in?" asked gilbert as they crossed the bridge over the lake of shiningwaters, in which the moon lay like a great, drowned blossom of gold. anne assented readily.lovers' lane was a veritable path in a fairyland that night--a shimmering,mysterious place, full of wizardry in the

white-woven enchantment of moonlight. there had been a time when such a walk withgilbert through lovers' lane would have been far too dangerous.but roy and christine had made it very safe now. anne found herself thinking a good dealabout christine as she chatted lightly to gilbert. she had met her several times beforeleaving kingsport, and had been charmingly sweet to her.christine had also been charmingly sweet. indeed, they were a most cordial pair.

but for all that, their acquaintance hadnot ripened into friendship. evidently christine was not a kindredspirit. "are you going to be in avonlea allsummer?" asked gilbert. "no. i'm going down east to valley roadnext week. esther haythorne wants me to teach for herthrough july and august. they have a summer term in that school, andesther isn't feeling well. so i'm going to substitute for her. in one way i don't mind.do you know, i'm beginning to feel a little bit like a stranger in avonlea now?it makes me sorry--but it's true.

it's quite appalling to see the number ofchildren who have shot up into big boys and girls--really young men and women--thesepast two years. half of my pupils are grown up. it makes me feel awfully old to see them inthe places you and i and our mates used to fill."anne laughed and sighed. she felt very old and mature and wise--which showed how young she was. she told herself that she longed greatly togo back to those dear merry days when life was seen through a rosy mist of hope andillusion, and possessed an indefinable something that had passed away forever.

where was it now--the glory and the dream?"'so wags the world away,'" quoted gilbert practically, and a trifle absently.anne wondered if he were thinking of christine. oh, avonlea was going to be so lonely now--with diana gone! chapter xxxmrs. skinner's romance anne stepped off the train at valley roadstation and looked about to see if any one had come to meet her. she was to board with a certain miss janetsweet, but she saw no one who answered in the least to her preconception of thatlady, as formed from esther's letter.

the only person in sight was an elderlywoman, sitting in a wagon with mail bags piled around her. two hundred would have been a charitableguess at her weight; her face was as round and red as a harvest-moon and almost asfeatureless. she wore a tight, black, cashmere dress,made in the fashion of ten years ago, a little dusty black straw hat trimmed withbows of yellow ribbon, and faded black lace mits. "here, you," she called, waving her whip atanne. "are you the new valley road schoolma'am?""yes."

"well, i thought so. valley road is noted for its good-lookingschoolma'ams, just as millersville is noted for its humly ones.janet sweet asked me this morning if i could bring you out. i said, 'sartin i kin, if she don't mindbeing scrunched up some. this rig of mine's kinder small for themail bags and i'm some heftier than thomas!' just wait, miss, till i shift these bags abit and i'll tuck you in somehow. it's only two miles to janet's.her next-door neighbor's hired boy is

coming for your trunk tonight. my name is skinner--amelia skinner."anne was eventually tucked in, exchanging amused smiles with herself during theprocess. "jog along, black mare," commanded mrs.skinner, gathering up the reins in her pudgy hands."this is my first trip on the mail rowte. thomas wanted to hoe his turnips today sohe asked me to come. so i jest sot down and took a standing-upsnack and started. i sorter like it. o' course it's rather tejus.part of the time i sits and thinks and the

rest i jest sits.jog along, black mare. i want to git home airly. thomas is terrible lonesome when i'm away.you see, we haven't been married very long.""oh!" said anne politely. "just a month. thomas courted me for quite a spell,though. it was real romantic."anne tried to picture mrs. skinner on speaking terms with romance and failed. "oh?" she said again."yes.

y'see, there was another man after me.jog along, black mare. i'd been a widder so long folks had givenup expecting me to marry again. but when my darter--she's a schoolma'amlike you--went out west to teach i felt real lonesome and wasn't nowise sot againstthe idea. bime-by thomas began to come up and so didthe other feller--william obadiah seaman, his name was. for a long time i couldn't make up my mindwhich of them to take, and they kep' coming and coming, and i kep' worrying.y'see, w.o. was rich--he had a fine place and carried considerable style.

he was by far the best match.jog along, black mare." "why didn't you marry him?" asked anne."well, y'see, he didn't love me," answered mrs. skinner, solemnly. anne opened her eyes widely and looked atmrs. skinner. but there was not a glint of humor on thatlady's face. evidently mrs. skinner saw nothing amusingin her own case. "he'd been a widder-man for three yers, andhis sister kept house for him. then she got married and he just wantedsome one to look after his house. it was worth looking after, too, mind youthat.

it's a handsome house. jog along, black mare.as for thomas, he was poor, and if his house didn't leak in dry weather it wasabout all that could be said for it, though it looks kind of pictureaskew. but, y'see, i loved thomas, and i didn'tcare one red cent for w.o. so i argued it out with myself. 'sarah crowe,' say i--my first was a crowe--'you can marry your rich man if you like but you won't be happy.folks can't get along together in this world without a little bit of love.

you'd just better tie up to thomas, for heloves you and you love him and nothing else ain't going to do you.'jog along, black mare. so i told thomas i'd take him. all the time i was getting ready i neverdared drive past w.o.'s place for fear the sight of that fine house of his would putme in the swithers again. but now i never think of it at all, and i'mjust that comfortable and happy with thomas.jog along, black mare." "how did william obadiah take it?" queriedanne. "oh, he rumpussed a bit.

but he's going to see a skinny old maid inmillersville now, and i guess she'll take him fast enough.she'll make him a better wife than his first did. w.o. never wanted to marry her.he just asked her to marry him 'cause his father wanted him to, never dreaming butthat she'd say 'no.' but mind you, she said 'yes.' there was a predicament for you.jog along, black mare. she was a great housekeeper, but most awfulmean. she wore the same bonnet for eighteenyears.

then she got a new one and w.o. met her onthe road and didn't know her. jog along, black mare. i feel that i'd a narrer escape.i might have married him and been most awful miserable, like my poor cousin, janeann. jane ann married a rich man she didn't careanything about, and she hasn't the life of a dog.she come to see me last week and says, says she, 'sarah skinner, i envy you. i'd rather live in a little hut on the sideof the road with a man i was fond of than in my big house with the one i've got.'

jane ann's man ain't such a bad sort,nuther, though he's so contrary that he wears his fur coat when the thermometer'sat ninety. the only way to git him to do anything isto coax him to do the opposite. but there ain't any love to smooth thingsdown and it's a poor way of living. there's janet's place in the hollow--'wayside,' she calls it. quite pictureaskew, ain't it?i guess you'll be glad to git out of this, with all them mail bags jamming round you." "yes, but i have enjoyed my drive with youvery much," said anne sincerely. "git away now!" said mrs. skinner, highlyflattered.

"wait till i tell thomas that. he always feels dretful tickled when i gita compliment. jog along, black mare.well, here we are. i hope you'll git on well in the school,miss. there's a short cut to it through the ma'shback of janet's. if you take that way be awful keerful. if you once got stuck in that black mudyou'd be sucked right down and never seen or heard tell of again till the day ofjudgment, like adam palmer's cow. jog along, black mare."

chapter xxxianne to philippa "anne shirley to philippa gordon, greeting."well-beloved, it's high time i was writing you. here am i, installed once more as a country'schoolma'am' at valley road, boarding at 'wayside,' the home of miss janet sweet. janet is a dear soul and very nicelooking;tall, but not over-tall; stoutish, yet with a certain restraint of outline suggestiveof a thrifty soul who is not going to be overlavish even in the matter ofavoirdupois. she has a knot of soft, crimpy, brown hairwith a thread of gray in it, a sunny face

with rosy cheeks, and big, kind eyes asblue as forget-me-nots. moreover, she is one of those delightful,old-fashioned cooks who don't care a bit if they ruin your digestion as long as theycan give you feasts of fat things. "i like her; and she likes me--principally,it seems, because she had a sister named anne who died young."'i'm real glad to see you,' she said briskly, when i landed in her yard. 'my, you don't look a mite like i expected.i was sure you'd be dark--my sister anne was dark.and here you're redheaded!' "for a few minutes i thought i wasn't goingto like janet as much as i had expected at

first sight. then i reminded myself that i really mustbe more sensible than to be prejudiced against any one simply because she calledmy hair red. probably the word 'auburn' was not injanet's vocabulary at all. "'wayside' is a dear sort of little spot. the house is small and white, set down in adelightful little hollow that drops away from the road.between road and house is an orchard and flower-garden all mixed up together. the front door walk is bordered with quahogclam-shells--'cow-hawks,' janet calls them;

there is virginia creeper over the porchand moss on the roof. my room is a neat little spot 'off theparlor'--just big enough for the bed and over the head of my bed there is a pictureof robby burns standing at highland mary's grave, shadowed by an enormous weepingwillow tree. robby's face is so lugubrious that it is nowonder i have bad dreams. why, the first night i was here i dreamed icouldn't laugh. "the parlor is tiny and neat. its one window is so shaded by a hugewillow that the room has a grotto-like effect of emerald gloom.

there are wonderful tidies on the chairs,and gay mats on the floor, and books and cards carefully arranged on a round table,and vases of dried grass on the mantel- piece. between the vases is a cheerful decorationof preserved coffin plates--five in all, pertaining respectively to janet's fatherand mother, a brother, her sister anne, and a hired man who died here once! if i go suddenly insane some of these days'know all men by these presents' that those coffin-plates have caused it."but it's all delightful and i said so. janet loved me for it, just as she detestedpoor esther because esther had said so much

shade was unhygienic and had objected tosleeping on a feather bed. now, i glory in feather-beds, and the moreunhygienic and feathery they are the more i glory. janet says it is such a comfort to see meeat; she had been so afraid i would be like miss haythorne, who wouldn't eat anythingbut fruit and hot water for breakfast and tried to make janet give up frying things. esther is really a dear girl, but she israther given to fads. the trouble is that she hasn't enoughimagination and has a tendency to indigestion.

"janet told me i could have the use of theparlor when any young men called! i don't think there are many to call. i haven't seen a young man in valley roadyet, except the next-door hired boy--sam toliver, a very tall, lank, tow-hairedyouth. he came over one evening recently and satfor an hour on the garden fence, near the front porch where janet and i were doingfancy-work. the only remarks he volunteered in all thattime were, 'hev a peppermint, miss! dew now-fine thing for cararrh,peppermints,' and, 'powerful lot o' jump- grasses round here ternight.

yep.'"but there is a love affair going on here. it seems to be my fortune to be mixed up,more or less actively, with elderly love affairs. mr. and mrs. irving always say that ibrought about their marriage. mrs. stephen clark of carmody persists inbeing most grateful to me for a suggestion which somebody else would probably havemade if i hadn't. i do really think, though, that ludovicspeed would never have got any further along than placid courtship if i had nothelped him and theodora dix out. "in the present affair i am only a passivespectator.

i've tried once to help things along andmade an awful mess of it. so i shall not meddle again. i'll tell you all about it when we meet." chapter xxxiitea with mrs. douglas on the first thursday night of anne'ssojourn in valley road janet asked her to go to prayer-meeting.janet blossomed out like a rose to attend that prayer-meeting. she wore a pale-blue, pansy-sprinkledmuslin dress with more ruffles than one would ever have supposed economical janetcould be guilty of, and a white leghorn hat

with pink roses and three ostrich featherson it. anne felt quite amazed. later on, she found out janet's motive inso arraying herself--a motive as old as eden.valley road prayer-meetings seemed to be essentially feminine. there were thirty-two women present, twohalf-grown boys, and one solitary man, beside the minister.anne found herself studying this man. he was not handsome or young or graceful;he had remarkably long legs--so long that he had to keep them coiled up under hischair to dispose of them--and he was stoop-

shouldered. his hands were big, his hair wantedbarbering, and his moustache was unkempt. but anne thought she liked his face; it waskind and honest and tender; there was something else in it, too--just what, annefound it hard to define. she finally concluded that this man hadsuffered and been strong, and it had been made manifest in his face. there was a sort of patient, humorousendurance in his expression which indicated that he would go to the stake if need be,but would keep on looking pleasant until he really had to begin squirming.

when prayer-meeting was over this man cameup to janet and said, "may i see you home, janet?" janet took his arm--"as primly and shyly asif she were no more than sixteen, having her first escort home," anne told the girlsat patty's place later on. "miss shirley, permit me to introduce mr.douglas," she said stiffly. mr. douglas nodded and said, "i was lookingat you in prayer-meeting, miss, and thinking what a nice little girl you were." such a speech from ninety-nine people outof a hundred would have annoyed anne bitterly; but the way in which mr. douglassaid it made her feel that she had received

a very real and pleasing compliment. she smiled appreciatively at him anddropped obligingly behind on the moonlit road.so janet had a beau! anne was delighted. janet would make a paragon of a wife--cheery, economical, tolerant, and a very queen of cooks.it would be a flagrant waste on nature's part to keep her a permanent old maid. "john douglas asked me to take you up tosee his mother," said janet the next day. "she's bed-rid a lot of the time and nevergoes out of the house.

but she's powerful fond of company andalways wants to see my boarders. can you go up this evening?" anne assented; but later in the day mr.douglas called on his mother's behalf to invite them up to tea on saturday evening. "oh, why didn't you put on your prettypansy dress?" asked anne, when they left home. it was a hot day, and poor janet, betweenher excitement and her heavy black cashmere dress, looked as if she were being broiledalive. "old mrs. douglas would think it terriblefrivolous and unsuitable, i'm afraid.

john likes that dress, though," she addedwistfully. the old douglas homestead was half a milefrom "wayside" cresting a windy hill. the house itself was large and comfortable,old enough to be dignified, and girdled with maple groves and orchards. there were big, trim barns behind it, andeverything bespoke prosperity. whatever the patient endurance in mr.douglas' face had meant it hadn't, so anne reflected, meant debts and duns. john douglas met them at the door and tookthem into the sitting-room, where his mother was enthroned in an armchair.anne had expected old mrs. douglas to be

tall and thin, because mr. douglas was. instead, she was a tiny scrap of a woman,with soft pink cheeks, mild blue eyes, and a mouth like a baby's. dressed in a beautiful, fashionably-madeblack silk dress, with a fluffy white shawl over her shoulders, and her snowy hairsurmounted by a dainty lace cap, she might have posed as a grandmother doll. "how do you do, janet dear?" she saidsweetly. "i am so glad to see you again, dear."she put up her pretty old face to be kissed.

"and this is our new teacher.i'm delighted to meet you. my son has been singing your praises untili'm half jealous, and i'm sure janet ought to be wholly so." poor janet blushed, anne said somethingpolite and conventional, and then everybody sat down and made talk. it was hard work, even for anne, for nobodyseemed at ease except old mrs. douglas, who certainly did not find any difficulty intalking. she made janet sit by her and stroked herhand occasionally. janet sat and smiled, looking horriblyuncomfortable in her hideous dress, and

john douglas sat without smiling. at the tea table mrs. douglas gracefullyasked janet to pour the tea. janet turned redder than ever but did it.anne wrote a description of that meal to stella. "we had cold tongue and chicken andstrawberry preserves, lemon pie and tarts and chocolate cake and raisin cookies andpound cake and fruit cake--and a few other things, including more pie--caramel pie, ithink it was. after i had eaten twice as much as was goodfor me, mrs. douglas sighed and said she feared she had nothing to tempt myappetite.

"'i'm afraid dear janet's cooking hasspoiled you for any other,' she said sweetly.'of course nobody in valley road aspires to rival her. won't you have another piece of pie, missshirley? you haven't eaten anything.' "stella, i had eaten a helping of tongueand one of chicken, three biscuits, a generous allowance of preserves, a piece ofpie, a tart, and a square of chocolate cake!" after tea mrs. douglas smiled benevolentlyand told john to take "dear janet" out into

the garden and get her some roses. "miss shirley will keep me company whileyou are out--won't you?" she said plaintively.she settled down in her armchair with a sigh. "i am a very frail old woman, miss shirley.for over twenty years i've been a great sufferer.for twenty long, weary years i've been dying by inches." "how painful!" said anne, trying to besympathetic and succeeding only in feeling idiotic.

"there have been scores of nights whenthey've thought i could never live to see the dawn," went on mrs. douglas solemnly."nobody knows what i've gone through-- nobody can know but myself. well, it can't last very much longer now.my weary pilgrimage will soon be over, miss shirley. it is a great comfort to me that john willhave such a good wife to look after him when his mother is gone--a great comfort,miss shirley." "janet is a lovely woman," said annewarmly. "lovely!a beautiful character," assented mrs.

douglas. "and a perfect housekeeper--something inever was. my health would not permit it, missshirley. i am indeed thankful that john has madesuch a wise choice. i hope and believe that he will be happy.he is my only son, miss shirley, and his happiness lies very near my heart." "of course," said anne stupidly.for the first time in her life she was stupid.yet she could not imagine why. she seemed to have absolutely nothing tosay to this sweet, smiling, angelic old

lady who was patting her hand so kindly."come and see me soon again, dear janet," said mrs. douglas lovingly, when they left. "you don't come half often enough.but then i suppose john will be bringing you here to stay all the time one of thesedays." anne, happening to glance at john douglas,as his mother spoke, gave a positive start of dismay. he looked as a tortured man might look whenhis tormentors gave the rack the last turn of possible endurance.she felt sure he must be ill and hurried poor blushing janet away.

"isn't old mrs. douglas a sweet woman?"asked janet, as they went down the road. "m--m," answered anne absently.she was wondering why john douglas had looked so. "she's been a terrible sufferer," saidjanet feelingly. "she takes terrible spells.it keeps john all worried up. he's scared to leave home for fear hismother will take a spell and nobody there but the hired girl." chapter xxxiii"he just kept coming and coming" three days later anne came home from schooland found janet crying.

tears and janet seemed so incongruous thatanne was honestly alarmed. "oh, what is the matter?" she criedanxiously. "i'm--i'm forty today," sobbed janet. "well, you were nearly that yesterday andit didn't hurt," comforted anne, trying not to smile."but--but," went on janet with a big gulp, "john douglas won't ask me to marry him." "oh, but he will," said anne lamely."you must give him time, janet "time!" said janet with indescribablescorn. "he has had twenty years.

how much time does he want?""do you mean that john douglas has been coming to see you for twenty years?""he has. and he has never so much as mentionedmarriage to me. and i don't believe he ever will now. i've never said a word to a mortal aboutit, but it seems to me i've just got to talk it out with some one at last or gocrazy. john douglas begun to go with me twentyyears ago, before mother died. well, he kept coming and coming, and aftera spell i begun making quilts and things; but he never said anything about gettingmarried, only just kept coming and coming.

there wasn't anything i could do. mother died when we'd been going togetherfor eight years. i thought he maybe would speak out then,seeing as i was left alone in the world. he was real kind and feeling, and dideverything he could for me, but he never said marry.and that's the way it has been going on ever since. people blame me for it.they say i won't marry him because his mother is so sickly and i don't want thebother of waiting on her. why, i'd love to wait on john's mother!

but i let them think so.i'd rather they'd blame me than pity me! it's so dreadful humiliating that johnwon't ask me. and why won't he? seems to me if i only knew his reason iwouldn't mind it so much." "perhaps his mother doesn't want him tomarry anybody," suggested anne. "oh, she does. she's told me time and again that she'dlove to see john settled before her time comes.she's always giving him hints--you heard her yourself the other day.

i thought i'd ha' gone through the floor.""it's beyond me," said anne helplessly. she thought of ludovic speed.but the cases were not parallel. john douglas was not a man of ludovic'stype. "you should show more spirit, janet," shewent on resolutely. "why didn't you send him about his businesslong ago?" "i couldn't," said poor janet pathetically."you see, anne, i've always been awful fond of john. he might just as well keep coming as not,for there was never anybody else i'd want, so it didn't matter.""but it might have made him speak out like

a man," urged anne. janet shook her head."no, i guess not. i was afraid to try, anyway, for fear he'dthink i meant it and just go. i suppose i'm a poor-spirited creature, butthat is how i feel. and i can't help it.""oh, you could help it, janet. it isn't too late yet. take a firm stand.let that man know you are not going to endure his shillyshallying any longer.i'll back you up." "i dunno," said janet hopelessly.

"i dunno if i could ever get up enoughspunk. things have drifted so long.but i'll think it over." anne felt that she was disappointed in johndouglas. she had liked him so well, and she had notthought him the sort of man who would play fast and loose with a woman's feelings fortwenty years. he certainly should be taught a lesson, andanne felt vindictively that she would enjoy seeing the process. therefore she was delighted when janet toldher, as they were going to prayer-meeting the next night, that she meant to show some"sperrit."

"i'll let john douglas see i'm not going tobe trodden on any longer." "you are perfectly right," said anneemphatically. when prayer-meeting was over john douglascame up with his usual request. janet looked frightened but resolute."no, thank you," she said icily. "i know the road home pretty well alone. i ought to, seeing i've been traveling itfor forty years. so you needn't trouble yourself, mr.douglas." anne was looking at john douglas; and, inthat brilliant moonlight, she saw the last twist of the rack again.without a word he turned and strode down

the road. "stop!stop!" anne called wildly after him, not caring inthe least for the other dumbfounded onlookers. "mr. douglas, stop!come back." john douglas stopped but he did not comeback. anne flew down the road, caught his arm andfairly dragged him back to janet. "you must come back," she said imploringly."it's all a mistake, mr. douglas--all my fault.

i made janet do it.she didn't want to--but it's all right now, isn't it, janet?"without a word janet took his arm and walked away. anne followed them meekly home and slippedin by the back door. "well, you are a nice person to back meup," said janet sarcastically. "i couldn't help it, janet," said annerepentantly. "i just felt as if i had stood by and seenmurder done. i had to run after him." "oh, i'm just as glad you did.when i saw john douglas making off down

that road i just felt as if every littlebit of joy and happiness that was left in my life was going with him. it was an awful feeling.""did he ask you why you did it?" asked anne."no, he never said a word about it," replied janet dully. chapter xxxivjohn douglas speaks at last anne was not without a feeble hope thatsomething might come of it after all. but nothing did. john douglas came and took janet driving,and walked home from prayer-meeting with

her, as he had been doing for twenty years,and as he seemed likely to do for twenty years more. the summer waned.anne taught her school and wrote letters and studied a little.her walks to and from school were pleasant. she always went by way of the swamp; it wasa lovely place--a boggy soil, green with the greenest of mossy hillocks; a silverybrook meandered through it and spruces stood erectly, their boughs a-trail with gray-green mosses, their roots overgrownwith all sorts of woodland lovelinesses. nevertheless, anne found life in valleyroad a little monotonous.

to be sure, there was one divertingincident. she had not seen the lank, tow-headedsamuel of the peppermints since the evening of his call, save for chance meetings onthe road. but one warm august night he appeared, andsolemnly seated himself on the rustic bench by the porch. he wore his usual working habiliments,consisting of varipatched trousers, a blue jean shirt, out at the elbows, and a raggedstraw hat. he was chewing a straw and he kept onchewing it while he looked solemnly at anne.anne laid her book aside with a sigh and

took up her doily. conversation with sam was really out of thequestion. after a long silence sam suddenly spoke. "i'm leaving over there," he said abruptly,waving his straw in the direction of the neighboring house."oh, are you?" said anne politely. "yep." "and where are you going now?""wall, i've been thinking some of gitting a place of my own.there's one that'd suit me over at millersville.

but ef i rents it i'll want a woman.""i suppose so," said anne vaguely. "yep."there was another long silence. finally sam removed his straw again andsaid, "will yeh hev me?""wh--a--t!" gasped anne. "will yeh hev me?" "do you mean--marry you?" queried poor annefeebly. "yep.""why, i'm hardly acquainted with you," cried anne indignantly. "but yeh'd git acquainted with me after wewas married," said sam.

anne gathered up her poor dignity."certainly i won't marry you," she said haughtily. "wall, yeh might do worse," expostulatedsam. "i'm a good worker and i've got some moneyin the bank." "don't speak of this to me again. whatever put such an idea into your head?"said anne, her sense of humor getting the better of her wrath.it was such an absurd situation. "yeh're a likely-looking girl and hev aright-smart way o' stepping," said sam. "i don't want no lazy woman.think it over.

i won't change my mind yit awhile. wall, i must be gitting.gotter milk the cows." anne's illusions concerning proposals hadsuffered so much of late years that there were few of them left. so she could laugh wholeheartedly over thisone, not feeling any secret sting. she mimicked poor sam to janet that night,and both of them laughed immoderately over his plunge into sentiment. one afternoon, when anne's sojourn invalley road was drawing to a close, alec ward came driving down to "wayside" in hothaste for janet.

"they want you at the douglas place quick,"he said. "i really believe old mrs. douglas is goingto die at last, after pretending to do it for twenty years." janet ran to get her hat.anne asked if mrs. douglas was worse than usual. "she's not half as bad," said alecsolemnly, "and that's what makes me think it's serious.other times she'd be screaming and throwing herself all over the place. this time she's lying still and mum.when mrs. douglas is mum she is pretty

sick, you bet.""you don't like old mrs. douglas?" said anne curiously. "i like cats as is cats.i don't like cats as is women," was alec's cryptic reply.janet came home in the twilight. "mrs. douglas is dead," she said wearily. "she died soon after i got there.she just spoke to me once--'i suppose you'll marry john now?' she said.it cut me to the heart, anne. to think john's own mother thought iwouldn't marry him because of her! i couldn't say a word either--there wereother women there.

i was thankful john had gone out." janet began to cry drearily.but anne brewed her a hot drink of ginger tea to her comforting. to be sure, anne discovered later on thatshe had used white pepper instead of ginger; but janet never knew thedifference. the evening after the funeral janet andanne were sitting on the front porch steps at sunset. the wind had fallen asleep in the pinelandsand lurid sheets of heat-lightning flickered across the northern skies.

janet wore her ugly black dress and lookedher very worst, her eyes and nose red from crying. they talked little, for janet seemedfaintly to resent anne's efforts to cheer her up.she plainly preferred to be miserable. suddenly the gate-latch clicked and johndouglas strode into the garden. he walked towards them straight over thegeranium bed. janet stood up. so did anne.anne was a tall girl and wore a white dress; but john douglas did not see her."janet," he said, "will you marry me?"

the words burst out as if they had beenwanting to be said for twenty years and must be uttered now, before anything else. janet's face was so red from crying that itcouldn't turn any redder, so it turned a most unbecoming purple."why didn't you ask me before?" she said slowly. "i couldn't.she made me promise not to--mother made me promise not to.nineteen years ago she took a terrible spell. we thought she couldn't live through it.she implored me to promise not to ask you

to marry me while she was alive. i didn't want to promise such a thing, eventhough we all thought she couldn't live very long--the doctor only gave her sixmonths. but she begged it on her knees, sick andsuffering. i had to promise.""what had your mother against me?" cried janet. "nothing--nothing.she just didn't want another woman--any woman--there while she was living.she said if i didn't promise she'd die right there and i'd have killed her.

so i promised.and she's held me to that promise ever since, though i've gone on my knees to herin my turn to beg her to let me off." "why didn't you tell me this?" asked janetchokingly. "if i'd only known!why didn't you just tell me?" "she made me promise i wouldn't tell asoul," said john hoarsely. "she swore me to it on the bible; janet,i'd never have done it if i'd dreamed it was to be for so long. janet, you'll never know what i've sufferedthese nineteen years. i know i've made you suffer, too, butyou'll marry me for all, won't you, janet?

oh, janet, won't you? i've come as soon as i could to ask you."at this moment the stupefied anne came to her senses and realized that she had nobusiness to be there. she slipped away and did not see janetuntil the next morning, when the latter told her the rest of the story."that cruel, relentless, deceitful old woman!" cried anne. "hush--she's dead," said janet solemnly."if she wasn't--but she is. so we mustn't speak evil of her.but i'm happy at last, anne. and i wouldn't have minded waiting so longa bit if i'd only known why."

"when are you to be married?""next month. of course it will be very quiet. i suppose people will talk terrible.they'll say i made enough haste to snap john up as soon as his poor mother was outof the way. john wanted to let them know the truth buti said, 'no, john; after all she was your mother, and we'll keep the secret betweenus, and not cast any shadow on her memory. i don't mind what people say, now that iknow the truth myself. it don't matter a mite.let it all be buried with the dead' says i to him.

so i coaxed him round to agree with me.""you're much more forgiving than i could ever be," anne said, rather crossly. "you'll feel differently about a good manythings when you get to be my age," said janet tolerantly."that's one of the things we learn as we grow older--how to forgive. it comes easier at forty than it did attwenty." chapter xxxvthe last redmond year opens "here we are, all back again, nicelysunburned and rejoicing as a strong man to run a race," said phil, sitting down on asuitcase with a sigh of pleasure.

"isn't it jolly to see this dear oldpatty's place again--and aunty--and the cats?rusty has lost another piece of ear, hasn't he?" "rusty would be the nicest cat in the worldif he had no ears at all," declared anne loyally from her trunk, while rusty writhedabout her lap in a frenzy of welcome. "aren't you glad to see us back, aunty?"demanded phil. but i wish you'd tidy things up," said auntjamesina plaintively, looking at the wilderness of trunks and suitcases by whichthe four laughing, chattering girls were surrounded.

"you can talk just as well later on.work first and then play used to be my motto when i was a girl.""oh, we've just reversed that in this generation, aunty. our motto is play your play and then digin. you can do your work so much better ifyou've had a good bout of play first." "if you are going to marry a minister,"said aunt jamesina, picking up joseph and her knitting and resigning herself to theinevitable with the charming grace that made her the queen of housemothers, "you will have to give up such expressions as'dig in.'"

"why?" moaned phil."oh, why must a minister's wife be supposed to utter only prunes and prisms? i shan't.everybody on patterson street uses slang-- that is to say, metaphorical language--andif i didn't they would think me insufferably proud and stuck up." "have you broken the news to your family?"asked priscilla, feeding the sarah-cat bits from her lunchbasket.phil nodded. "how did they take it?" "oh, mother rampaged.but i stood rockfirm--even i, philippa

gordon, who never before could hold fast toanything. father was calmer. father's own daddy was a minister, so yousee he has a soft spot in his heart for the cloth.i had jo up to mount holly, after mother grew calm, and they both loved him. but mother gave him some frightful hints inevery conversation regarding what she had hoped for me.oh, my vacation pathway hasn't been exactly strewn with roses, girls dear. but--i've won out and i've got jo.nothing else matters."

"to you," said aunt jamesina darkly."nor to jo, either," retorted phil. "you keep on pitying him. why, pray?i think he's to be envied. he's getting brains, beauty, and a heart ofgold in me." "it's well we know how to take yourspeeches," said aunt jamesina patiently. "i hope you don't talk like that beforestrangers. what would they think?" "oh, i don't want to know what they think.i don't want to see myself as others see me.i'm sure it would be horribly uncomfortable

most of the time. i don't believe burns was really sincere inthat prayer, either." "oh, i daresay we all pray for some thingsthat we really don't want, if we were only honest enough to look into our hearts,"owned aunt jamesina candidly. "i've a notion that such prayers don't risevery far. i used to pray that i might be enabled toforgive a certain person, but i know now i really didn't want to forgive her. when i finally got that i did want to iforgave her without having to pray about it.""i can't picture you as being unforgiving

for long," said stella. "oh, i used to be.but holding spite doesn't seem worth while when you get along in years.""that reminds me," said anne, and told the tale of john and janet. "and now tell us about that romantic sceneyou hinted so darkly at in one of your letters," demanded phil.anne acted out samuel's proposal with great spirit. the girls shrieked with laughter and auntjamesina smiled. "it isn't in good taste to make fun of yourbeaux," she said severely; "but," she added

calmly, "i always did it myself." "tell us about your beaux, aunty,"entreated phil. "you must have had any number of them.""they're not in the past tense," retorted aunt jamesina. "i've got them yet.there are three old widowers at home who have been casting sheep's eyes at me forsome time. you children needn't think you own all theromance in the world." "widowers and sheep's eyes don't sound veryromantic, aunty." "well, no; but young folks aren't alwaysromantic either.

some of my beaux certainly weren't.i used to laugh at them scandalous, poor boys. there was jim elwood--he was always in asort of day-dream--never seemed to sense what was going on.he didn't wake up to the fact that i'd said 'no' till a year after i'd said it. when he did get married his wife fell outof the sleigh one night when they were driving home from church and he nevermissed her. then there was dan winston. he knew too much.he knew everything in this world and most

of what is in the next. he could give you an answer to anyquestion, even if you asked him when the judgment day was to be.milton edwards was real nice and i liked him but i didn't marry him. for one thing, he took a week to get a jokethrough his head, and for another he never asked me.horatio reeve was the most interesting beau i ever had. but when he told a story he dressed it upso that you couldn't see it for frills. i never could decide whether he was lyingor just letting his imagination run loose."

"and what about the others, aunty?" "go away and unpack," said aunt jamesina,waving joseph at them by mistake for a needle."the others were too nice to make fun of. i shall respect their memory. there's a box of flowers in your room,anne. they came about an hour ago." after the first week the girls of patty'splace settled down to a steady grind of study; for this was their last year atredmond and graduation honors must be fought for persistently.

anne devoted herself to english, priscillapored over classics, and philippa pounded away at mathematics. sometimes they grew tired, sometimes theyfelt discouraged, sometimes nothing seemed worth the struggle for it.in one such mood stella wandered up to the blue room one rainy november evening. anne sat on the floor in a little circle oflight cast by the lamp beside her, amid a surrounding snow of crumpled manuscript."what in the world are you doing?" "just looking over some old story clubyarns. i wanted something to cheer and inebriate.i'd studied until the world seemed azure.

so i came up here and dug these out of mytrunk. they are so drenched in tears and tragedythat they are excruciatingly funny." "i'm blue and discouraged myself," saidstella, throwing herself on the couch. "nothing seems worthwhile.my very thoughts are old. i've thought them all before. what is the use of living after all, anne?""honey, it's just brain fag that makes us feel that way, and the weather. a pouring rainy night like this, comingafter a hard day's grind, would squelch any one but a mark tapley.you know it is worthwhile to live."

"oh, i suppose so. but i can't prove it to myself just now.""just think of all the great and noble souls who have lived and worked in theworld," said anne dreamily. "isn't it worthwhile to come after them andinherit what they won and taught? isn't it worthwhile to think we can sharetheir inspiration? and then, all the great souls that willcome in the future? isn't it worthwhile to work a little andprepare the way for them--make just one step in their path easier?" "oh, my mind agrees with you, anne.but my soul remains doleful and uninspired.

i'm always grubby and dingy on rainynights." "some nights i like the rain--i like to liein bed and hear it pattering on the roof and drifting through the pines.""i like it when it stays on the roof," said "it doesn't always.i spent a gruesome night in an old country farmhouse last summer.the roof leaked and the rain came pattering down on my bed. there was no poetry in that. i had to get up in the 'mirk midnight' andchivy round to pull the bedstead out of the drip--and it was one of those solid, old-fashioned beds that weigh a ton--more or

less. and then that drip-drop, drip-drop kept upall night until my nerves just went to pieces. you've no idea what an eerie noise a greatdrop of rain falling with a mushy thud on a bare floor makes in the night.it sounds like ghostly footsteps and all that sort of thing. what are you laughing over, anne?""these stories. as phil would say they are killing--in moresenses than one, for everybody died in them.

what dazzlingly lovely heroines we had--andhow we dressed them! "silks--satins--velvets--jewels--laces--they never wore anything else. here is one of jane andrews' storiesdepicting her heroine as sleeping in a beautiful white satin nightdress trimmedwith seed pearls." "go on," said stella. "i begin to feel that life is worth livingas long as there's a laugh in it." "here's one i wrote. my heroine is disporting herself at a ball'glittering from head to foot with large diamonds of the first water.'but what booted beauty or rich attire?

'the paths of glory lead but to the grave.' they must either be murdered or die of abroken heart. there was no escape for them.""let me read some of your stories." "well, here's my masterpiece. note its cheerful title--'my graves.'i shed quarts of tears while writing it, and the other girls shed gallons while iread it. jane andrews' mother scolded herfrightfully because she had so many handkerchiefs in the wash that week.it's a harrowing tale of the wanderings of a methodist minister's wife.

i made her a methodist because it wasnecessary that she should wander. she buried a child every place she livedin. there were nine of them and their graveswere severed far apart, ranging from newfoundland to vancouver. i described the children, pictured theirseveral death beds, and detailed their tombstones and epitaphs. i had intended to bury the whole nine butwhen i had disposed of eight my invention of horrors gave out and i permitted theninth to live as a hopeless cripple." while stella read my graves, punctuatingits tragic paragraphs with chuckles, and

rusty slept the sleep of a just cat who hasbeen out all night curled up on a jane andrews tale of a beautiful maiden of fifteen who went to nurse in a lepercolony--of course dying of the loathsome disease finally--anne glanced over theother manuscripts and recalled the old days at avonlea school when the members of the story club, sitting under the spruce treesor down among the ferns by the brook, had written them.what fun they had had! how the sunshine and mirth of those oldensummers returned as she read. not all the glory that was greece or thegrandeur that was rome could weave such

wizardry as those funny, tearful tales ofthe story club. among the manuscripts anne found onewritten on sheets of wrapping paper. a wave of laughter filled her gray eyes asshe recalled the time and place of its genesis. it was the sketch she had written the dayshe fell through the roof of the cobb duckhouse on the tory road.anne glanced over it, then fell to reading it intently. it was a little dialogue between asters andsweet-peas, wild canaries in the lilac bush, and the guardian spirit of thegarden.

after she had read it, she sat, staringinto space; and when stella had gone she smoothed out the crumpled manuscript."i believe i will," she said resolutely. chapter xxxvithe gardners'call "here is a letter with an indian stamp foryou, aunt jimsie," said phil. "here are three for stella, and two forpris, and a glorious fat one for me from jo. there's nothing for you, anne, except acircular." nobody noticed anne's flush as she took thethin letter phil tossed her carelessly. but a few minutes later phil looked up tosee a transfigured anne.

"honey, what good thing has happened?" "the youth's friend has accepted a littlesketch i sent them a fortnight ago," said anne, trying hard to speak as if she wereaccustomed to having sketches accepted every mail, but not quite succeeding. "anne shirley!how glorious! what was it?when is it to be published? did they pay you for it?" "yes; they've sent a check for ten dollars,and the editor writes that he would like to see more of my work.dear man, he shall.

it was an old sketch i found in my box. i re-wrote it and sent it in--but i neverreally thought it could be accepted because it had no plot," said anne, recalling thebitter experience of averil's atonement. "what are you going to do with that tendollars, anne? let's all go up town and get drunk,"suggested phil. "i am going to squander it in a wildsoulless revel of some sort," declared anne gaily. "at all events it isn't tainted money--likethe check i got for that horrible reliable baking powder story.i spent it usefully for clothes and hated

them every time i put them on." "think of having a real live author atpatty's place," said priscilla. "it's a great responsibility," said auntjamesina solemnly. "indeed it is," agreed pris with equalsolemnity. "authors are kittle cattle.you never know when or how they will break out. anne may make copy of us.""i meant that the ability to write for the press was a great responsibility," saidaunt jamesina severely, "and i hope anne realizes, it.

my daughter used to write stories beforeshe went to the foreign field, but now she has turned her attention to higher things. she used to say her motto was 'never writea line you would be ashamed to read at your own funeral.'you'd better take that for yours, anne, if you are going to embark in literature. though, to be sure," added aunt jamesinaperplexedly, "elizabeth always used to laugh when she said it. she always laughed so much that i don'tknow how she ever came to decide on being a missionary.i'm thankful she did--i prayed that she

might--but--i wish she hadn't." then aunt jamesina wondered why those giddygirls all laughed. anne's eyes shone all that day; literaryambitions sprouted and budded in her brain; their exhilaration accompanied her tojennie cooper's walking party, and not even the sight of gilbert and christine, walking just ahead of her and roy, could quitesubdue the sparkle of her starry hopes. nevertheless, she was not so rapt fromthings of earth as to be unable to notice that christine's walk was decidedlyungraceful. "but i suppose gilbert looks only at herface.

so like a man," thought anne scornfully."shall you be home saturday afternoon?" asked roy. "yes.""my mother and sisters are coming to call on you," said roy quietly. something went over anne which might bedescribed as a thrill, but it was hardly a pleasant one. she had never met any of roy's family; sherealized the significance of his statement; and it had, somehow, an irrevocablenessabout it that chilled her. "i shall be glad to see them," she saidflatly; and then wondered if she really

would be glad.she ought to be, of course. but would it not be something of an ordeal? gossip had filtered to anne regarding thelight in which the gardners viewed the "infatuation" of son and brother.roy must have brought pressure to bear in the matter of this call. anne knew she would be weighed in thebalance. from the fact that they had consented tocall she understood that, willingly or unwillingly, they regarded her as apossible member of their clan. "i shall just be myself.

i shall not try to make a good impression,"thought anne loftily. but she was wondering what dress she wouldbetter wear saturday afternoon, and if the new style of high hair-dressing would suither better than the old; and the walking party was rather spoiled for her. by night she had decided that she wouldwear her brown chiffon on saturday, but would do her hair low.friday afternoon none of the girls had classes at redmond. stella took the opportunity to write apaper for the philomathic society, and was sitting at the table in the corner of theliving-room with an untidy litter of notes

and manuscript on the floor around her. stella always vowed she never could writeanything unless she threw each sheet down as she completed it. anne, in her flannel blouse and sergeskirt, with her hair rather blown from her windy walk home, was sitting squarely inthe middle of the floor, teasing the sarah- cat with a wishbone. joseph and rusty were both curled up in herlap. a warm plummy odor filled the whole house,for priscilla was cooking in the kitchen. presently she came in, enshrouded in a hugework-apron, with a smudge of flour on her

nose, to show aunt jamesina the chocolatecake she had just iced. at this auspicious moment the knockersounded. nobody paid any attention to it save phil,who sprang up and opened it, expecting a boy with the hat she had bought thatmorning. on the doorstep stood mrs. gardner and herdaughters. anne scrambled to her feet somehow,emptying two indignant cats out of her lap as she did so, and mechanically shiftingher wishbone from her right hand to her left. priscilla, who would have had to cross theroom to reach the kitchen door, lost her

head, wildly plunged the chocolate cakeunder a cushion on the inglenook sofa, and dashed upstairs. stella began feverishly gathering up hermanuscript. only aunt jamesina and phil remainednormal. thanks to them, everybody was soon sittingat ease, even anne. priscilla came down, apronless andsmudgeless, stella reduced her corner to decency, and phil saved the situation by astream of ready small talk. mrs. gardner was tall and thin andhandsome, exquisitely gowned, cordial with a cordiality that seemed a trifle forced.aline gardner was a younger edition of her

mother, lacking the cordiality. she endeavored to be nice, but succeededonly in being haughty and patronizing. dorothy gardner was slim and jolly andrather tomboyish. anne knew she was roy's favorite sister andwarmed to her. she would have looked very much like roy ifshe had had dreamy dark eyes instead of roguish hazel ones. thanks to her and phil, the call reallywent off very well, except for a slight sense of strain in the atmosphere and tworather untoward incidents. rusty and joseph, left to themselves, begana game of chase, and sprang madly into mrs.

gardner's silken lap and out of it in theirwild career. mrs. gardner lifted her lorgnette and gazedafter their flying forms as if she had never seen cats before, and anne, chokingback slightly nervous laughter, apologized as best she could. "you are fond of cats?" said mrs. gardner,with a slight intonation of tolerant wonder. anne, despite her affection for rusty, wasnot especially fond of cats, but mrs. gardner's tone annoyed her. inconsequently she remembered that mrs.john blythe was so fond of cats that she

kept as many as her husband would allow."they are adorable animals, aren't they?" she said wickedly. "i have never liked cats," said mrs.gardner remotely. "i love them," said dorothy."they are so nice and selfish. dogs are too good and unselfish. they make me feel uncomfortable.but cats are gloriously human." "you have two delightful old china dogsthere. may i look at them closely?" said aline,crossing the room towards the fireplace and thereby becoming the unconscious cause ofthe other accident.

picking up magog, she sat down on thecushion under which was secreted priscilla's chocolate cake.priscilla and anne exchanged agonized glances but could do nothing. the stately aline continued to sit on thecushion and discuss china dogs until the time of departure.dorothy lingered behind a moment to squeeze anne's hand and whisper impulsively. "i know you and i are going to be chums.oh, roy has told me all about you. i'm the only one of the family he tellsthings to, poor boy--nobody could confide in mamma and aline, you know.

what glorious times you girls must havehere! won't you let me come often and have ashare in them?" "come as often as you like," anne respondedheartily, thankful that one of roy's sisters was likable. she would never like aline, so much wascertain; and aline would never like her, though mrs. gardner might be won.altogether, anne sighed with relief when the ordeal was over. "'of all sad words of tongue or penthe saddest are it might have been,'" quoted priscilla tragically, lifting thecushion.

"this cake is now what you might call aflat failure. and the cushion is likewise ruined.never tell me that friday isn't unlucky." "people who send word they are coming onsaturday shouldn't come on friday," said aunt jamesina."i fancy it was roy's mistake," said phil. "that boy isn't really responsible for whathe says when he talks to anne. where is anne?"anne had gone upstairs. she felt oddly like crying. but she made herself laugh instead.rusty and joseph had been too awful! and dorothy was a dear.

chapter xxxviifull-fledged b.a.'s "i wish i were dead, or that it weretomorrow night," groaned phil. "if you live long enough both wishes willcome true," said anne calmly. "it's easy for you to be serene. you're at home in philosophy.i'm not--and when i think of that horrible paper tomorrow i quail.if i should fail in it what would jo say?" "you won't fail. how did you get on in greek today?""i don't know. perhaps it was a good paper and perhaps itwas bad enough to make homer turn over in

his grave. i've studied and mulled over notebooksuntil i'm incapable of forming an opinion of anything.how thankful little phil will be when all this examinating is over." "examinating?i never heard such a word." "well, haven't i as good a right to make aword as any one else?" demanded phil. "words aren't made--they grow," said anne. "never mind--i begin faintly to discernclear water ahead where no examination breakers loom.girls, do you--can you realize that our

redmond life is almost over?" "i can't," said anne, sorrowfully."it seems just yesterday that pris and i were alone in that crowd of freshmen atredmond. and now we are seniors in our finalexaminations." "'potent, wise, and reverend seniors,'"quoted phil. "do you suppose we really are any wiserthan when we came to redmond?" "you don't act as if you were by times,"said aunt jamesina severely. "oh, aunt jimsie, haven't we been prettygood girls, take us by and large, these three winters you've mothered us?" pleadedphil.

"you've been four of the dearest, sweetest,goodest girls that ever went together through college," averred aunt jamesina,who never spoiled a compliment by misplaced economy. "but i mistrust you haven't any too muchsense yet. it's not to be expected, of course.experience teaches sense. you can't learn it in a college course. you've been to college four years and inever was, but i know heaps more than you do, young ladies." "'there are lots of things that never go byrule, there's a powerful pile o' knowledge

that you never get at college, there areheaps of things you never learn at school,'" quoted stella. "have you learned anything at redmondexcept dead languages and geometry and such trash?" queried aunt jamesina."oh, yes. i think we have, aunty," protested anne. "we've learned the truth of what professorwoodleigh told us last philomathic," said phil."he said, 'humor is the spiciest condiment in the feast of existence. laugh at your mistakes but learn from them,joke over your troubles but gather strength

from them, make a jest of your difficultiesbut overcome them.' isn't that worth learning, aunt jimsie?" "yes, it is, dearie.when you've learned to laugh at the things that should be laughed at, and not to laughat those that shouldn't, you've got wisdom and understanding." "what have you got out of your redmondcourse, anne?" murmured priscilla aside. "i think," said anne slowly, "that i reallyhave learned to look upon each little hindrance as a jest and each great one asthe foreshadowing of victory. summing up, i think that is what redmondhas given me."

"i shall have to fall back on anotherprofessor woodleigh quotation to express what it has done for me," said priscilla. "you remember that he said in his address,'there is so much in the world for us all if we only have the eyes to see it, and theheart to love it, and the hand to gather it to ourselves--so much in men and women, so much in art and literature, so mucheverywhere in which to delight, and for which to be thankful.'i think redmond has taught me that in some measure, anne." "judging from what you all, say" remarkedaunt jamesina, "the sum and substance is

that you can learn--if you've got naturalgumption enough--in four years at college what it would take about twenty years ofliving to teach you. well, that justifies higher education in myopinion. it's a matter i was always dubious aboutbefore." "but what about people who haven't naturalgumption, aunt jimsie?" "people who haven't natural gumption neverlearn," retorted aunt jamesina, "neither in college nor life. if they live to be a hundred they reallydon't know anything more than when they were born.it's their misfortune not their fault, poor

souls. but those of us who have some gumptionshould duly thank the lord for it." "will you please define what gumption is,aunt jimsie?" asked phil. "no, i won't, young woman. any one who has gumption knows what it is,and any one who hasn't can never know what it is.so there is no need of defining it." the busy days flew by and examinations wereover. anne took high honors in english.priscilla took honors in classics, and phil in mathematics.

stella obtained a good all-round showing.then came convocation. "this is what i would once have called anepoch in my life," said anne, as she took roy's violets out of their box and gazed atthem thoughtfully. she meant to carry them, of course, but hereyes wandered to another box on her table. it was filled with lilies-of-the-valley, asfresh and fragrant as those which bloomed in the green gables yard when june came toavonlea. gilbert blythe's card lay beside it. anne wondered why gilbert should have senther flowers for convocation. she had seen very little of him during thepast winter.

he had come to patty's place only onefriday evening since the christmas holidays, and they rarely met elsewhere. she knew he was studying very hard, aimingat high honors and the cooper prize, and he took little part in the social doings ofredmond. anne's own winter had been quite gaysocially. she had seen a good deal of the gardners;she and dorothy were very intimate; college circles expected the announcement of herengagement to roy any day. anne expected it herself. yet just before she left patty's place forconvocation she flung roy's violets aside

and put gilbert's lilies-of-the-valley intheir place. she could not have told why she did it. somehow, old avonlea days and dreams andfriendships seemed very close to her in this attainment of her long-cherishedambitions. she and gilbert had once picturedoutmerrily the day on which they should be capped and gowned graduates in arts.the wonderful day had come and roy's violets had no place in it. only her old friend's flowers seemed tobelong to this fruition of old-blossoming hopes which he had once shared.

for years this day had beckoned and alluredto her; but when it came the one single, keen, abiding memory it left with her wasnot that of the breathless moment when the stately president of redmond gave her cap and diploma and hailed her b.a.; it was notof the flash in gilbert's eyes when he saw her lilies, nor the puzzled pained glanceroy gave her as he passed her on the platform. it was not of aline gardner's condescendingcongratulations, or dorothy's ardent, impulsive good wishes. it was of one strange, unaccountable pangthat spoiled this long-expected day for her

and left in it a certain faint but enduringflavor of bitterness. the arts graduates gave a graduation dancethat night. when anne dressed for it she tossed asidethe pearl beads she usually wore and took from her trunk the small box that had cometo green gables on christmas day. in it was a thread-like gold chain with atiny pink enamel heart as a pendant. on the accompanying card was written, "withall good wishes from your old chum, gilbert." anne, laughing over the memory the enamelheart conjured up the fatal day when gilbert had called her "carrots" and vainlytried to make his peace with a pink candy

heart, had written him a nice little noteof thanks. but she had never worn the trinket.tonight she fastened it about her white throat with a dreamy smile. she and phil walked to redmond together.anne walked in silence; phil chattered of many things.suddenly she said, "i heard today that gilbert blythe'sengagement to christine stuart was to be announced as soon as convocation was over.did you hear anything of it?" "no," said anne. "i think it's true," said phil lightly.anne did not speak.

in the darkness she felt her face burning.she slipped her hand inside her collar and caught at the gold chain. one energetic twist and it gave way.anne thrust the broken trinket into her pocket.her hands were trembling and her eyes were smarting. but she was the gayest of all the gayrevellers that night, and told gilbert unregretfully that her card was full whenhe came to ask her for a dance. afterwards, when she sat with the girlsbefore the dying embers at patty's place, removing the spring chilliness from theirsatin skins, none chatted more blithely

than she of the day's events. "moody spurgeon macpherson called heretonight after you left," said aunt jamesina, who had sat up to keep the fireon. "he didn't know about the graduation dance. that boy ought to sleep with a rubber bandaround his head to train his ears not to stick out.i had a beau once who did that and it improved him immensely. it was i who suggested it to him and hetook my advice, but he never forgave me for it.""moody spurgeon is a very serious young

man," yawned priscilla. "he is concerned with graver matters thanhis ears. he is going to be a minister, you know." "well, i suppose the lord doesn't regardthe ears of a man," said aunt jamesina gravely, dropping all further criticism ofmoody spurgeon. aunt jamesina had a proper respect for thecloth even in the case of an unfledged parson. chapter xxxviiifalse dawn "just imagine--this night week i'll be inavonlea--delightful thought!" said anne,

bending over the box in which she waspacking mrs. rachel lynde's quilts. "but just imagine--this night week i'll begone forever from patty's place--horrible thought!" "i wonder if the ghost of all our laughterwill echo through the maiden dreams of miss patty and miss maria," speculated phil. miss patty and miss maria were coming home,after having trotted over most of the habitable globe."we'll be back the second week in may" wrote miss patty. "i expect patty's place will seem rathersmall after the hall of the kings at

karnak, but i never did like big places tolive in. and i'll be glad enough to be home again. when you start traveling late in lifeyou're apt to do too much of it because you know you haven't much time left, and it's athing that grows on you. i'm afraid maria will never be contentedagain." "i shall leave here my fancies and dreamsto bless the next comer," said anne, looking around the blue room wistfully--herpretty blue room where she had spent three such happy years. she had knelt at its window to pray and hadbent from it to watch the sunset behind the

pines. she had heard the autumn raindrops beatingagainst it and had welcomed the spring robins at its sill. she wondered if old dreams could hauntrooms--if, when one left forever the room where she had joyed and suffered andlaughed and wept, something of her, intangible and invisible, yet nonetheless real, did not remain behind like a voicefulmemory. "i think," said phil, "that a room whereone dreams and grieves and rejoices and lives becomes inseparably connected withthose processes and acquires a personality

of its own. i am sure if i came into this room fiftyyears from now it would say 'anne, anne' to me.what nice times we've had here, honey! what chats and jokes and good chummyjamborees! oh, dear me!i'm to marry jo in june and i know i will be rapturously happy. but just now i feel as if i wanted thislovely redmond life to go on forever." "i'm unreasonable enough just now to wishthat, too," admitted anne. "no matter what deeper joys may come to uslater on we'll never again have just the

same delightful, irresponsible existencewe've had here. it's over forever, phil." "what are you going to do with rusty?"asked phil, as that privileged pussy padded into the room. "i am going to take him home with me andjoseph and the sarah-cat," announced aunt jamesina, following rusty. "it would be a shame to separate those catsnow that they have learned to live together.it's a hard lesson for cats and humans to learn."

"i'm sorry to part with rusty," said anneregretfully, "but it would be no use to take him to green gables.marilla detests cats, and davy would tease his life out. besides, i don't suppose i'll be home verylong. i've been offered the principalship of thesummerside high school." "are you going to accept it?" asked phil. "i--i haven't decided yet," answered anne,with a confused flush. phil nodded understandingly.naturally anne's plans could not be settled until roy had spoken.

he would soon--there was no doubt of that.and there was no doubt that anne would say "yes" when he said "will you please?"anne herself regarded the state of affairs with a seldom-ruffled complacency. she was deeply in love with roy.true, it was not just what she had imagined love to be. but was anything in life, anne askedherself wearily, like one's imagination of it? it was the old diamond disillusion ofchildhood repeated--the same disappointment she had felt when she had first seen thechill sparkle instead of the purple

splendor she had anticipated. "that's not my idea of a diamond," she hadsaid. but roy was a dear fellow and they would bevery happy together, even if some indefinable zest was missing out of life. when roy came down that evening and askedanne to walk in the park every one at patty's place knew what he had come to say;and every one knew, or thought they knew, what anne's answer would be. "anne is a very fortunate girl," said auntjamesina. "i suppose so," said stella, shrugging hershoulders.

"roy is a nice fellow and all that. but there's really nothing in him.""that sounds very like a jealous remark, stella maynard," said aunt jamesinarebukingly. "it does--but i am not jealous," saidstella calmly. "i love anne and i like roy. everybody says she is making a brilliantmatch, and even mrs. gardner thinks her charming now.it all sounds as if it were made in heaven, but i have my doubts. make the most of that, aunt jamesina."roy asked anne to marry him in the little

pavilion on the harbor shore where they hadtalked on the rainy day of their first meeting. anne thought it very romantic that heshould have chosen that spot. and his proposal was as beautifully wordedas if he had copied it, as one of ruby gillis' lovers had done, out of adeportment of courtship and marriage. the whole effect was quite flawless. and it was also sincere.there was no doubt that roy meant what he said.there was no false note to jar the symphony.

anne felt that she ought to be thrillingfrom head to foot. but she wasn't; she was horribly cool.when roy paused for his answer she opened her lips to say her fateful yes. and then--she found herself trembling as ifshe were reeling back from a precipice. to her came one of those moments when werealize, as by a blinding flash of illumination, more than all our previousyears have taught us. she pulled her hand from roy's. "oh, i can't marry you--i can't--i can't,"she cried, wildly. roy turned pale--and also looked ratherfoolish.

he had--small blame to him--felt very sure. "what do you mean?" he stammered."i mean that i can't marry you," repeated anne desperately."i thought i could--but i can't." "why can't you?" roy asked more calmly."because--i don't care enough for you." a crimson streak came into roy's face."so you've just been amusing yourself these two years?" he said slowly. "no, no, i haven't," gasped poor anne.oh, how could she explain? she couldn't explain.there are some things that cannot be

explained. "i did think i cared--truly i did--but iknow now i don't." "you have ruined my life," said roybitterly. "forgive me," pleaded anne miserably, withhot cheeks and stinging eyes. roy turned away and stood for a few minuteslooking out seaward. when he came back to anne, he was very paleagain. "you can give me no hope?" he said.anne shook her head mutely. "then--good-bye," said roy. "i can't understand it--i can't believe youare not the woman i've believed you to be.

but reproaches are idle between us.you are the only woman i can ever love. i thank you for your friendship, at least. good-bye, anne.""good-bye," faltered anne. when roy had gone she sat for a long timein the pavilion, watching a white mist creeping subtly and remorselessly landwardup the harbor. it was her hour of humiliation and self-contempt and shame. their waves went over her.and yet, underneath it all, was a queer sense of recovered freedom. she slipped into patty's place in the duskand escaped to her room.

but phil was there on the window seat."wait," said anne, flushing to anticipate the scene. "wait til you hear what i have to say.phil, roy asked me to marry him-and i refused.""you--you refused him?" said phil blankly. "yes." "anne shirley, are you in your senses?""i think so," said anne wearily. "oh, phil, don't scold me.you don't understand." "i certainly don't understand. you've encouraged roy gardner in every wayfor two years--and now you tell me you've

refused him.then you've just been flirting scandalously with him. anne, i couldn't have believed it of you.""i wasn't flirting with him--i honestly thought i cared up to the last minute--andthen--well, i just knew i never could marry him." "i suppose," said phil cruelly, "that youintended to marry him for his money, and then your better self rose up and preventedyou." "i didn't. i never thought about his money.oh, i can't explain it to you any more than

i could to him.""well, i certainly think you have treated roy shamefully," said phil in exasperation. "he's handsome and clever and rich andgood. what more do you want?""i want some one who belongs in my life. he doesn't. i was swept off my feet at first by hisgood looks and knack of paying romantic compliments; and later on i thought i mustbe in love because he was my dark-eyed ideal." "i am bad enough for not knowing my ownmind, but you are worse," said phil.

"i do know my own mind," protested anne. "the trouble is, my mind changes and then ihave to get acquainted with it all over again.""well, i suppose there is no use in saying anything to you." "there is no need, phil.i'm in the dust. this has spoiled everything backwards.i can never think of redmond days without recalling the humiliation of this evening. roy despises me--and you despise me--and idespise myself." "you poor darling," said phil, melting."just come here and let me comfort you.

i've no right to scold you. i'd have married alec or alonzo if i hadn'tmet jo. oh, anne, things are so mixed-up in reallife. they aren't clear-cut and trimmed off, asthey are in novels." "i hope that no one will ever again ask meto marry him as long as i live," sobbed poor anne, devoutly believing that shemeant it. chapter xxxixdeals with weddings anne felt that life partook of the natureof an anticlimax during the first few weeks after her return to green gables.she missed the merry comradeship of patty's

place. she had dreamed some brilliant dreamsduring the past winter and now they lay in the dust around her.in her present mood of self-disgust, she could not immediately begin dreaming again. and she discovered that, while solitudewith dreams is glorious, solitude without them has few charms. she had not seen roy again after theirpainful parting in the park pavilion; but dorothy came to see her before she leftkingsport. "i'm awfully sorry you won't marry roy,"she said.

"i did want you for a sister.but you are quite right. he would bore you to death. i love him, and he is a dear sweet boy, butreally he isn't a bit interesting. he looks as if he ought to be, but heisn't." "this won't spoil our friendship, will it,dorothy?" anne had asked wistfully."no, indeed. you're too good to lose. if i can't have you for a sister i mean tokeep you as a chum anyway. and don't fret over roy.

he is feeling terribly just now--i have tolisten to his outpourings every day--but he'll get over it.he always does." "oh--always?" said anne with a slightchange of voice. "so he has 'got over it' before?""dear me, yes," said dorothy frankly. "twice before. and he raved to me just the same bothtimes. not that the others actually refused him--they simply announced their engagements to some one else. of course, when he met you he vowed to methat he had never really loved before--that

the previous affairs had been merely boyishfancies. but i don't think you need worry." anne decided not to worry.her feelings were a mixture of relief and resentment.roy had certainly told her she was the only one he had ever loved. no doubt he believed it.but it was a comfort to feel that she had not, in all likelihood, ruined his life. there were other goddesses, and roy,according to dorothy, must needs be worshipping at some shrine.

nevertheless, life was stripped of severalmore illusions, and anne began to think drearily that it seemed rather bare. she came down from the porch gable on theevening of her return with a sorrowful face."what has happened to the old snow queen, marilla?" "oh, i knew you'd feel bad over that," saidmarilla. "i felt bad myself.that tree was there ever since i was a young girl. it blew down in the big gale we had inmarch.

it was rotten at the core.""i'll miss it so," grieved anne. "the porch gable doesn't seem the same roomwithout it. i'll never look from its window againwithout a sense of loss. and oh, i never came home to green gablesbefore that diana wasn't here to welcome me.""diana has something else to think of just now," said mrs. lynde significantly. "well, tell me all the avonlea news," saidanne, sitting down on the porch steps, where the evening sunshine fell over herhair in a fine golden rain. "there isn't much news except what we'vewrote you," said mrs. lynde.

"i suppose you haven't heard that simonfletcher broke his leg last week. it's a great thing for his family. they're getting a hundred things done thatthey've always wanted to do but couldn't as long as he was about, the old crank.""he came of an aggravating family," remarked marilla. "aggravating?well, rather! his mother used to get up in prayer-meetingand tell all her children's shortcomings and ask prayers for them. 'course it made them mad, and worse thanever."

"you haven't told anne the news aboutjane," suggested marilla. "oh, jane," sniffed mrs. lynde. "well," she conceded grudgingly, "janeandrews is home from the west--came last week--and she's going to be married to awinnipeg millionaire. you may be sure mrs. harmon lost no time intelling it far and wide." "dear old jane--i'm so glad," said anneheartily. "she deserves the good things of life." "oh, i ain't saying anything against jane.she's a nice enough girl. but she isn't in the millionaire class, andyou'll find there's not much to recommend

that man but his money, that's what. mrs. harmon says he's an englishman who hasmade money in mines but i believe he'll turn out to be a yankee.he certainly must have money, for he has just showered jane with jewelry. her engagement ring is a diamond cluster sobig that it looks like a plaster on jane's fat paw."mrs. lynde could not keep some bitterness out of her tone. here was jane andrews, that plain littleplodder, engaged to a millionaire, while anne, it seemed, was not yet bespoken byany one, rich or poor.

and mrs. harmon andrews did braginsufferably. "what has gilbert blythe been doing to atcollege?" asked marilla. "i saw him when he came home last week, andhe is so pale and thin i hardly knew him." "he studied very hard last winter," saidanne. "you know he took high honors in classicsand the cooper prize. it hasn't been taken for five years!so i think he's rather run down. we're all a little tired." "anyhow, you're a b.a. and jane andrewsisn't and never will be," said mrs. lynde, with gloomy satisfaction.

a few evenings later anne went down to seejane, but the latter was away in charlottetown--"getting sewing done," mrs.harmon informed anne proudly. "of course an avonlea dressmaker wouldn'tdo for jane under the circumstances." "i've heard something very nice aboutjane," said anne. "yes, jane has done pretty well, even ifshe isn't a b.a.," said mrs. harmon, with a slight toss of her head."mr. inglis is worth millions, and they're going to europe on their wedding tour. when they come back they'll live in aperfect mansion of marble in winnipeg. jane has only one trouble--she can cook sowell and her husband won't let her cook.

he is so rich he hires his cooking done. they're going to keep a cook and two othermaids and a coachman and a man-of-all-work. but what about you, anne?i don't hear anything of your being married, after all your college-going." "oh," laughed anne, "i am going to be anold maid. i really can't find any one to suit me."it was rather wicked of her. she deliberately meant to remind mrs.andrews that if she became an old maid it was not because she had not had at leastone chance of marriage. but mrs. harmon took swift revenge.

"well, the over-particular girls generallyget left, i notice. and what's this i hear about gilbert blythebeing engaged to a miss stuart? charlie sloane tells me she is perfectlybeautiful. is it true?" "i don't know if it is true that he isengaged to miss stuart," replied anne, with spartan composure, "but it is certainlytrue that she is very lovely." "i once thought you and gilbert would havemade a match of it," said mrs. harmon. "if you don't take care, anne, all of yourbeaux will slip through your fingers." anne decided not to continue her duel withmrs. harmon.

you could not fence with an antagonist whomet rapier thrust with blow of battle axe. "since jane is away," she said, risinghaughtily, "i don't think i can stay longer this morning.i'll come down when she comes home." "do," said mrs. harmon effusively. "jane isn't a bit proud.she just means to associate with her old friends the same as ever.she'll be real glad to see you." jane's millionaire arrived the last of mayand carried her off in a blaze of splendor. mrs. lynde was spitefully gratified to findthat mr. inglis was every day of forty, and short and thin and grayish.

mrs. lynde did not spare him in herenumeration of his shortcomings, you may be sure. "it will take all his gold to gild a pilllike him, that's what," said mrs. rachel solemnly. "he looks kind and good-hearted," said anneloyally, "and i'm sure he thinks the world of jane.""humph!" said mrs. rachel. phil gordon was married the next week andanne went over to bolingbroke to be her bridesmaid. phil made a dainty fairy of a bride, andthe rev. jo was so radiant in his happiness

that nobody thought him plain. "we're going for a lovers' saunter throughthe land of evangeline," said phil, "and then we'll settle down on patterson street. mother thinks it is terrible--she thinks jomight at least take a church in a decent place. but the wilderness of the patterson slumswill blossom like the rose for me if jo is there.oh, anne, i'm so happy my heart aches with it." anne was always glad in the happiness ofher friends; but it is sometimes a little

lonely to be surrounded everywhere by ahappiness that is not your own. and it was just the same when she went backto avonlea. this time it was diana who was bathed inthe wonderful glory that comes to a woman when her first-born is laid beside her. anne looked at the white young mother witha certain awe that had never entered into her feelings for diana before. could this pale woman with the rapture inher eyes be the little black-curled, rosy- cheeked diana she had played with invanished schooldays? it gave her a queer desolate feeling thatshe herself somehow belonged only in those

past years and had no business in thepresent at all. "isn't he perfectly beautiful?" said dianaproudly. the little fat fellow was absurdly likefred--just as round, just as red. anne really could not say conscientiouslythat she thought him beautiful, but she vowed sincerely that he was sweet andkissable and altogether delightful. "before he came i wanted a girl, so that icould call her anne," said diana. "but now that little fred is here iwouldn't exchange him for a million girls. he just couldn't have been anything but hisown precious self." "'every little baby is the sweetest and thebest,'" quoted mrs. allan gaily.

"if little anne had come you'd have feltjust the same about her." mrs. allan was visiting in avonlea, for thefirst time since leaving it. she was as gay and sweet and sympathetic asever. her old girl friends had welcomed her backrapturously. the reigning minister's wife was anestimable lady, but she was not exactly a kindred spirit."i can hardly wait till he gets old enough to talk," sighed diana. "i just long to hear him say 'mother.'and oh, i'm determined that his first memory of me shall be a nice one.the first memory i have of my mother is of

her slapping me for something i had done. i am sure i deserved it, and mother wasalways a good mother and i love her dearly. but i do wish my first memory of her wasnicer." "i have just one memory of my mother and itis the sweetest of all my memories," said mrs. allan. "i was five years old, and i had beenallowed to go to school one day with my two older sisters. when school came out my sisters went homein different groups, each supposing i was with the other.instead i had run off with a little girl i

had played with at recess. we went to her home, which was near theschool, and began making mud pies. we were having a glorious time when myolder sister arrived, breathless and angry. "'you naughty girl" she cried, snatching myreluctant hand and dragging me along with her.'come home this minute. oh, you're going to catch it! mother is awful cross.she is going to give you a good whipping.' "i had never been whipped.dread and terror filled my poor little heart.

i have never been so miserable in my lifeas i was on that walk home. i had not meant to be naughty.phemy cameron had asked me to go home with her and i had not known it was wrong to go. and now i was to be whipped for it.when we got home my sister dragged me into the kitchen where mother was sitting by thefire in the twilight. my poor wee legs were trembling so that icould hardly stand. and mother--mother just took me up in herarms, without one word of rebuke or harshness, kissed me and held me close toher heart. 'i was so frightened you were lost,darling,' she said tenderly.

i could see the love shining in her eyes asshe looked down on me. she never scolded or reproached me for whati had done--only told me i must never go away again without asking permission.she died very soon afterwards. that is the only memory i have of her. isn't it a beautiful one?"anne felt lonelier than ever as she walked home, going by way of the birch path andwillowmere. she had not walked that way for many moons. it was a darkly-purple bloomy night.the air was heavy with blossom fragrance-- almost too heavy.the cloyed senses recoiled from it as from

an overfull cup. the birches of the path had grown from thefairy saplings of old to big trees. everything had changed. anne felt that she would be glad when thesummer was over and she was away at work again.perhaps life would not seem so empty then. "'i've tried the world--it wears no more the coloring of romance it wore,'" sighedanne--and was straightway much comforted by the romance in the idea of the world beingdenuded of romance! chapter xla book of revelation

the irvings came back to echo lodge for thesummer, and anne spent a happy three weeks there in july. miss lavendar had not changed; charlottathe fourth was a very grown-up young lady now, but still adored anne sincerely. "when all's said and done, miss shirley,ma'am, i haven't seen any one in boston that's equal to you," she said frankly.paul was almost grown up, too. he was sixteen, his chestnut curls hadgiven place to close-cropped brown locks, and he was more interested in football thanfairies. but the bond between him and his oldteacher still held.

kindred spirits alone do not change withchanging years. it was a wet, bleak, cruel evening in julywhen anne came back to green gables. one of the fierce summer storms whichsometimes sweep over the gulf was ravaging the sea. as anne came in the first raindrops dashedagainst the panes. "was that paul who brought you home?" askedmarilla. "why didn't you make him stay all night. it's going to be a wild evening.""he'll reach echo lodge before the rain gets very heavy, i think.anyway, he wanted to go back tonight.

well, i've had a splendid visit, but i'mglad to see you dear folks again. 'east, west, hame's best.'davy, have you been growing again lately?" "i've growed a whole inch since you left,"said davy proudly. "i'm as tall as milty boulter now.ain't i glad. he'll have to stop crowing about beingbigger. say, anne, did you know that gilbert blytheis dying?" anne stood quite silent and motionless,looking at davy. her face had gone so white that marillathought she was going to faint. "davy, hold your tongue," said mrs. rachelangrily.

"anne, don't look like that--don't looklike that! we didn't mean to tell you so suddenly." "is--it--true?" asked anne in a voice thatwas not hers. "gilbert is very ill," said mrs. lyndegravely. "he took down with typhoid fever just afteryou left for echo lodge. did you never hear of it?""no," said that unknown voice. "it was a very bad case from the start. the doctor said he'd been terribly rundown. they've a trained nurse and everything'sbeen done.

don't look like that, anne. while there's life there's hope.""mr. harrison was here this evening and he said they had no hope of him," reiterateddavy. marilla, looking old and worn and tired,got up and marched davy grimly out of the kitchen. "oh, don't look so, dear," said mrs.rachel, putting her kind old arms about the pallid girl."i haven't given up hope, indeed i haven't. he's got the blythe constitution in hisfavor, that's what." anne gently put mrs. lynde's arms away fromher, walked blindly across the kitchen,

through the hall, up the stairs to her oldroom. at its window she knelt down, staring outunseeingly. it was very dark.the rain was beating down over the shivering fields. the haunted woods was full of the groans ofmighty trees wrung in the tempest, and the air throbbed with the thunderous crash ofbillows on the distant shore. and gilbert was dying! there is a book of revelation in everyone's life, as there is in the bible. anne read hers that bitter night, as shekept her agonized vigil through the hours

of storm and darkness. she loved gilbert--had always loved him!she knew that now. she knew that she could no more cast himout of her life without agony than she could have cut off her right hand and castit from her. and the knowledge had come too late--toolate even for the bitter solace of being with him at the last. if she had not been so blind--so foolish--she would have had the right to go to him but he would never know that she loved him--he would go away from this life thinking that she did not care.oh, the black years of emptiness stretching

before her! she could not live through them--she couldnot! she cowered down by her window and wished,for the first time in her gay young life, that she could die, too. if gilbert went away from her, without oneword or sign or message, she could not live.nothing was of any value without him. she belonged to him and he to her. in her hour of supreme agony she had nodoubt of that. he did not love christine stuart--never hadloved christine stuart.

oh, what a fool she had been not to realizewhat the bond was that had held her to gilbert--to think that the flattered fancyshe had felt for roy gardner had been love. and now she must pay for her folly as for acrime. mrs. lynde and marilla crept to her doorbefore they went to bed, shook their heads doubtfully at each other over the silence,and went away. the storm raged all night, but when thedawn came it was spent. anne saw a fairy fringe of light on theskirts of darkness. soon the eastern hilltops had a fire-shotruby rim. the clouds rolled themselves away intogreat, soft, white masses on the horizon;

the sky gleamed blue and silvery. a hush fell over the world.anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs. the freshness of the rain-wind blew againsther white face as she went out into the yard, and cooled her dry, burning eyes.a merry rollicking whistle was lilting up the lane. a moment later pacifique buote came insight. anne's physical strength suddenly failedher. if she had not clutched at a low willowbough she would have fallen.

pacifique was george fletcher's hired man,and george fletcher lived next door to the blythes. mrs. fletcher was gilbert's aunt.pacifique would know if--if--pacifique would know what there was to be known.pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling. he did not see anne.she made three futile attempts to call him. he was almost past before she succeeded inmaking her quivering lips call, "pacifique!" pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerfulgood morning.

"pacifique," said anne faintly, "did youcome from george fletcher's this morning?" "sure," said pacifique amiably. "i got de word las' night dat my fader, hewas seeck. it was so stormy dat i couldn't go den, soi start vair early dis mornin'. i'm goin' troo de woods for short cut." "did you hear how gilbert blythe was thismorning?" anne's desperation drove her to thequestion. even the worst would be more endurable thanthis hideous suspense. "he's better," said pacifique."he got de turn las' night.

de doctor say he'll be all right now dissoon while. had close shave, dough!dat boy, he jus' keel himself at college. well, i mus' hurry. de old man, he'll be in hurry to see me."pacifique resumed his walk and his whistle. anne gazed after him with eyes where joywas driving out the strained anguish of the night. he was a very lank, very ragged, veryhomely youth. but in her sight he was as beautiful asthose who bring good tidings on the mountains.

never, as long as she lived, would anne seepacifique's brown, round, black-eyed face without a warm remembrance of the momentwhen he had given to her the oil of joy for mourning. long after pacifique's gay whistle hadfaded into the phantom of music and then into silence far up under the maples oflover's lane anne stood under the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness of life whensome great dread has been removed from it. the morning was a cup filled with mist andglamor. in the corner near her was a rich surpriseof new-blown, crystal-dewed roses. the trills and trickles of song from thebirds in the big tree above her seemed in

perfect accord with her mood. a sentence from a very old, very true, verywonderful book came to her lips, "weeping may endure for a night but joycometh in the morning." chapter xlilove takes up the glass of time "i've come up to ask you to go for one ofour old-time rambles through september woods and 'over hills where spices grow,'this afternoon," said gilbert, coming suddenly around the porch corner. "suppose we visit hester gray's garden."anne, sitting on the stone step with her lap full of a pale, filmy, green stuff,looked up rather blankly.

"oh, i wish i could," she said slowly, "buti really can't, gilbert. i'm going to alice penhallow's wedding thisevening, you know. i've got to do something to this dress, andby the time it's finished i'll have to get ready.i'm so sorry. i'd love to go." "well, can you go tomorrow afternoon,then?" asked gilbert, apparently not much disappointed."yes, i think so." "in that case i shall hie me home at onceto do something i should otherwise have to do tomorrow.so alice penhallow is to be married

tonight. three weddings for you in one summer, anne--phil's, alice's, and jane's. i'll never forgive jane for not inviting meto her wedding." "you really can't blame her when you thinkof the tremendous andrews connection who had to be invited.the house could hardly hold them all. i was only bidden by grace of being jane'sold chum--at least on jane's part. i think mrs. harmon's motive for invitingme was to let me see jane's surpassing gorgeousness." "is it true that she wore so many diamondsthat you couldn't tell where the diamonds

left off and jane began?"anne laughed. "she certainly wore a good many. what with all the diamonds and white satinand tulle and lace and roses and orange blossoms, prim little jane was almost lostto sight. but she was very happy, and so was mr.inglis--and so was mrs. harmon." "is that the dress you're going to weartonight?" asked gilbert, looking down at the fluffs and frills. "yes.isn't it pretty? and i shall wear starflowers in my hair.the haunted wood is full of them this

summer." gilbert had a sudden vision of anne,arrayed in a frilly green gown, with the virginal curves of arms and throat slippingout of it, and white stars shining against the coils of her ruddy hair. the vision made him catch his breath.but he turned lightly away. "well, i'll be up tomorrow.hope you'll have a nice time tonight." anne looked after him as he strode away,and sighed. gilbert was friendly--very friendly--fartoo friendly. he had come quite often to green gablesafter his recovery, and something of their

old comradeship had returned.but anne no longer found it satisfying. the rose of love made the blossom offriendship pale and scentless by contrast. and anne had again begun to doubt ifgilbert now felt anything for her but friendship. in the common light of common day herradiant certainty of that rapt morning had faded.she was haunted by a miserable fear that her mistake could never be rectified. it was quite likely that it was christinewhom gilbert loved after all. perhaps he was even engaged to her.

anne tried to put all unsettling hopes outof her heart, and reconcile herself to a future where work and ambition must takethe place of love. she could do good, if not noble, work as ateacher; and the success her little sketches were beginning to meet with incertain editorial sanctums augured well for her budding literary dreams. but--but--anne picked up her green dressand sighed again. when gilbert came the next afternoon hefound anne waiting for him, fresh as the dawn and fair as a star, after all thegaiety of the preceding night. she wore a green dress--not the one she hadworn to the wedding, but an old one which

gilbert had told her at a redmond receptionhe liked especially. it was just the shade of green that broughtout the rich tints of her hair, and the starry gray of her eyes and the iris-likedelicacy of her skin. gilbert, glancing at her sideways as theywalked along a shadowy woodpath, thought she had never looked so lovely. anne, glancing sideways at gilbert, now andthen, thought how much older he looked since his illness.it was as if he had put boyhood behind him forever. the day was beautiful and the way wasbeautiful.

anne was almost sorry when they reachedhester gray's garden, and sat down on the old bench. but it was beautiful there, too--asbeautiful as it had been on the faraway day of the golden picnic, when diana and janeand priscilla and she had found it. then it had been lovely with narcissus andviolets; now golden rod had kindled its fairy torches in the corners and astersdotted it bluely. the call of the brook came up through thewoods from the valley of birches with all its old allurement; the mellow air was fullof the purr of the sea; beyond were fields rimmed by fences bleached silvery gray in

the suns of many summers, and long hillsscarfed with the shadows of autumnal clouds; with the blowing of the west windold dreams returned. "i think," said anne softly, "that 'theland where dreams come true' is in the blue haze yonder, over that little valley.""have you any unfulfilled dreams, anne?" asked gilbert. something in his tone--something she hadnot heard since that miserable evening in the orchard at patty's place--made anne'sheart beat wildly. but she made answer lightly. "of course.everybody has.

it wouldn't do for us to have all ourdreams fulfilled. we would be as good as dead if we hadnothing left to dream about. what a delicious aroma that low-descendingsun is extracting from the asters and ferns. i wish we could see perfumes as well assmell them. i'm sure they would be very beautiful."gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked. "i have a dream," he said slowly. "i persist in dreaming it, although it hasoften seemed to me that it could never come true.

i dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it,a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends-- and you!"anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. happiness was breaking over her like awave. it almost frightened her."i asked you a question over two years ago, anne. if i ask it again today will you give me adifferent answer?" still anne could not speak. but she lifted her eyes, shining with allthe love-rapture of countless generations,

and looked into his for a moment.he wanted no other answer. they lingered in the old garden untiltwilight, sweet as dusk in eden must have been, crept over it. there was so much to talk over and recall--things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood. "i thought you loved christine stuart,"anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to supposethat she loved roy gardner. gilbert laughed boyishly. "christine was engaged to somebody in herhome town.

i knew it and she knew i knew it. when her brother graduated he told me hissister was coming to kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if iwould look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. so i did.and then i liked christine for her own sake.she is one of the nicest girls i've ever known. i knew college gossip credited us withbeing in love with each other. i didn't care.

nothing mattered much to me for a timethere, after you told me you could never love me, anne.there was nobody else--there never could be anybody else for me but you. i've loved you ever since that day youbroke your slate over my head in school." "i don't see how you could keep on lovingme when i was such a little fool," said "well, i tried to stop," said gilbertfrankly, "not because i thought you what you call yourself, but because i felt surethere was no chance for me after gardner came on the scene. but i couldn't--and i can't tell you,either, what it's meant to me these two

years to believe you were going to marryhim, and be told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on thepoint of being announced. i believed it until one blessed day when iwas sitting up after the fever. i got a letter from phil gordon--philblake, rather--in which she told me there was really nothing between you and roy, andadvised me to 'try again.' well, the doctor was amazed at my rapidrecovery after that." anne laughed--then shivered."i can never forget the night i thought you were dying, gilbert. oh, i knew--i knew then--and i thought itwas too late."

"but it wasn't, sweetheart.oh, anne, this makes up for everything, doesn't it? let's resolve to keep this day sacred toperfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us.""it's the birthday of our happiness," said anne softly. "i've always loved this old garden ofhester gray's, and now it will be dearer than ever.""but i'll have to ask you to wait a long time, anne," said gilbert sadly. "it will be three years before i'll finishmy medical course.

and even then there will be no diamondsunbursts and marble halls." anne laughed. "i don't want sunbursts and marble halls.i just want you. you see i'm quite as shameless as philabout it. sunbursts and marble halls may be all verywell, but there is more 'scope for imagination' without them.and as for the waiting, that doesn't matter. we'll just be happy, waiting and workingfor each other--and dreaming. oh, dreams will be very sweet now."gilbert drew her close to him and kissed

then they walked home together in the dusk,crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of love, along winding paths fringed withthe sweetest flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hopeand memory blew.

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