streich ideen wohnzimmer braun

chapter xxix.an epoch in anne's life anne was bringing the cows home from theback pasture by way of lover's lane. it was a september evening and all the gapsand clearings in the woods were brimmed up with ruby sunset light. here and there the lane was splashed withit, but for the most part it was already quite shadowy beneath the maples, and thespaces under the firs were filled with a clear violet dusk like airy wine. the winds were out in their tops, and thereis no sweeter music on earth than that which the wind makes in the fir trees atevening.

the cows swung placidly down the lane, andanne followed them dreamily, repeating aloud the battle canto from marmion--whichhad also been part of their english course the preceding winter and which miss stacy had made them learn off by heart--andexulting in its rushing lines and the clash of spears in its imagery.when she came to the lines the stubborn spearsmen still made good their dark impenetrable wood, she stoppedin ecstasy to shut her eyes that she might the better fancy herself one of that heroicring. when she opened them again it was to beholddiana coming through the gate that led into

the barry field and looking so importantthat anne instantly divined there was news to be told. but betray too eager curiosity she wouldnot. "isn't this evening just like a purpledream, diana? it makes me so glad to be alive. in the mornings i always think the morningsare best; but when evening comes i think it's lovelier still.""it's a very fine evening," said diana, "but oh, i have such news, anne. guess.you can have three guesses."

"charlotte gillis is going to be married inthe church after all and mrs. allan wants us to decorate it," cried anne. "no.charlotte's beau won't agree to that, because nobody ever has been married in thechurch yet, and he thinks it would seem too much like a funeral. it's too mean, because it would be suchfun. guess again.""jane's mother is going to let her have a birthday party?" diana shook her head, her black eyesdancing with merriment.

"i can't think what it can be," said annein despair, "unless it's that moody spurgeon macpherson saw you home fromprayer meeting last night. did he?" "i should think not," exclaimed dianaindignantly. "i wouldn't be likely to boast of it if hedid, the horrid creature! i knew you couldn't guess it. mother had a letter from aunt josephinetoday, and aunt josephine wants you and me to go to town next tuesday and stop withher for the exhibition. there!"

"oh, diana," whispered anne, finding itnecessary to lean up against a maple tree for support, "do you really mean it?but i'm afraid marilla won't let me go. she will say that she can't encouragegadding about. that was what she said last week when janeinvited me to go with them in their double- seated buggy to the american concert at thewhite sands hotel. i wanted to go, but marilla said i'd bebetter at home learning my lessons and so would jane.i was bitterly disappointed, diana. i felt so heartbroken that i wouldn't saymy prayers when i went to bed. but i repented of that and got up in themiddle of the night and said them."

"i'll tell you," said diana, "we'll getmother to ask marilla. she'll be more likely to let you go then;and if she does we'll have the time of our lives, anne. i've never been to an exhibition, and it'sso aggravating to hear the other girls talking about their trips.jane and ruby have been twice, and they're going this year again." "i'm not going to think about it at alluntil i know whether i can go or not," said anne resolutely."if i did and then was disappointed, it would be more than i could bear.

but in case i do go i'm very glad my newcoat will be ready by that time. marilla didn't think i needed a new coat. she said my old one would do very well foranother winter and that i ought to be satisfied with having a new dress.the dress is very pretty, diana--navy blue and made so fashionably. marilla always makes my dresses fashionablynow, because she says she doesn't intend to have matthew going to mrs. lynde to makethem. i'm so glad. it is ever so much easier to be good ifyour clothes are fashionable.

at least, it is easier for me.i suppose it doesn't make such a difference to naturally good people. but matthew said i must have a new coat, somarilla bought a lovely piece of blue broadcloth, and it's being made by a realdressmaker over at carmody. it's to be done saturday night, and i'mtrying not to imagine myself walking up the church aisle on sunday in my new suit andcap, because i'm afraid it isn't right to imagine such things. but it just slips into my mind in spite ofme. my cap is so pretty.matthew bought it for me the day we were

over at carmody. it is one of those little blue velvet onesthat are all the rage, with gold cord and tassels.your new hat is elegant, diana, and so becoming. when i saw you come into church last sundaymy heart swelled with pride to think you were my dearest friend.do you suppose it's wrong for us to think so much about our clothes? marilla says it is very sinful.but it is such an interesting subject, isn't it?"

marilla agreed to let anne go to town, andit was arranged that mr. barry should take the girls in on the following tuesday. as charlottetown was thirty miles away andmr. barry wished to go and return the same day, it was necessary to make a very earlystart. but anne counted it all joy, and was upbefore sunrise on tuesday morning. a glance from her window assured her thatthe day would be fine, for the eastern sky behind the firs of the haunted wood was allsilvery and cloudless. through the gap in the trees a light wasshining in the western gable of orchard slope, a token that diana was also up.

anne was dressed by the time matthew hadthe fire on and had the breakfast ready when marilla came down, but for her ownpart was much too excited to eat. after breakfast the jaunty new cap andjacket were donned, and anne hastened over the brook and up through the firs toorchard slope. mr. barry and diana were waiting for her,and they were soon on the road. it was a long drive, but anne and dianaenjoyed every minute of it. it was delightful to rattle along over themoist roads in the early red sunlight that was creeping across the shorn harvestfields. the air was fresh and crisp, and littlesmoke-blue mists curled through the valleys

and floated off from the hills. sometimes the road went through woods wheremaples were beginning to hang out scarlet banners; sometimes it crossed rivers onbridges that made anne's flesh cringe with the old, half-delightful fear; sometimes it wound along a harbor shore and passed by alittle cluster of weather-gray fishing huts; again it mounted to hills whence afar sweep of curving upland or misty-blue sky could be seen; but wherever it wentthere was much of interest to discuss. it was almost noon when they reached townand found their way to "beechwood." it was quite a fine old mansion, set backfrom the street in a seclusion of green

elms and branching beeches.miss barry met them at the door with a twinkle in her sharp black eyes. "so you've come to see me at last, youanne-girl," she said. "mercy, child, how you have grown!you're taller than i am, i declare. and you're ever so much better looking thanyou used to be, too. but i dare say you know that without beingtold." "indeed i didn't," said anne radiantly. "i know i'm not so freckled as i used tobe, so i've much to be thankful for, but i really hadn't dared to hope there was anyother improvement.

i'm so glad you think there is, missbarry." miss barry's house was furnished with"great magnificence," as anne told marilla afterward. the two little country girls were ratherabashed by the splendor of the parlor where miss barry left them when she went to seeabout dinner. "isn't it just like a palace?" whispereddiana. "i never was in aunt josephine's housebefore, and i'd no idea it was so grand. i just wish julia bell could see this--sheputs on such airs about her mother's parlor.""velvet carpet," sighed anne luxuriously,

"and silk curtains! i've dreamed of such things, diana.but do you know i don't believe i feel very comfortable with them after all. there are so many things in this room andall so splendid that there is no scope for imagination. that is one consolation when you are poor--there are so many more things you can imagine about."their sojourn in town was something that anne and diana dated from for years. from first to last it was crowded withdelights.

on wednesday miss barry took them to theexhibition grounds and kept them there all day. "it was splendid," anne related to marillalater on. "i never imagined anything so interesting.i don't really know which department was the most interesting. i think i liked the horses and the flowersand the fancywork best. josie pye took first prize for knittedlace. i was real glad she did. and i was glad that i felt glad, for itshows i'm improving, don't you think,

marilla, when i can rejoice in josie'ssuccess? mr. harmon andrews took second prize forgravenstein apples and mr. bell took first prize for a pig. diana said she thought it was ridiculousfor a sunday-school superintendent to take a prize in pigs, but i don't see why.do you? she said she would always think of it afterthis when he was praying so solemnly. clara louise macpherson took a prize forpainting, and mrs. lynde got first prize for homemade butter and cheese. so avonlea was pretty well represented,wasn't it?

mrs. lynde was there that day, and i neverknew how much i really liked her until i saw her familiar face among all thosestrangers. there were thousands of people there,marilla. it made me feel dreadfully insignificant.and miss barry took us up to the grandstand to see the horse races. mrs. lynde wouldn't go; she said horseracing was an abomination and, she being a church member, thought it her bounden dutyto set a good example by staying away. but there were so many there i don'tbelieve mrs. lynde's absence would ever be noticed.

i don't think, though, that i ought to govery often to horse races, because they are awfully fascinating. diana got so excited that she offered tobet me ten cents that the red horse would win. i didn't believe he would, but i refused tobet, because i wanted to tell mrs. allan all about everything, and i felt sure itwouldn't do to tell her that. it's always wrong to do anything you can'ttell the minister's wife. it's as good as an extra conscience to havea minister's wife for your friend. and i was very glad i didn't bet, becausethe red horse did win, and i would have

lost ten cents.so you see that virtue was its own reward. we saw a man go up in a balloon. i'd love to go up in a balloon, marilla; itwould be simply thrilling; and we saw a man selling fortunes.you paid him ten cents and a little bird picked out your fortune for you. miss barry gave diana and me ten cents eachto have our fortunes told. mine was that i would marry a dark-complected man who was very wealthy, and i would go across water to live. i looked carefully at all the dark men isaw after that, but i didn't care much for

any of them, and anyhow i suppose it's tooearly to be looking out for him yet. oh, it was a never-to-be-forgotten day,marilla. i was so tired i couldn't sleep at night.miss barry put us in the spare room, according to promise. it was an elegant room, marilla, butsomehow sleeping in a spare room isn't what i used to think it was.that's the worst of growing up, and i'm beginning to realize it. the things you wanted so much when you werea child don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them."

thursday the girls had a drive in the park,and in the evening miss barry took them to a concert in the academy of music, where anoted prima donna was to sing. to anne the evening was a glittering visionof delight. "oh, marilla, it was beyond description.i was so excited i couldn't even talk, so you may know what it was like. i just sat in enraptured silence.madame selitsky was perfectly beautiful, and wore white satin and diamonds.but when she began to sing i never thought about anything else. oh, i can't tell you how i felt.but it seemed to me that it could never be

hard to be good any more.i felt like i do when i look up to the stars. tears came into my eyes, but, oh, they weresuch happy tears. i was so sorry when it was all over, and itold miss barry i didn't see how i was ever to return to common life again. she said she thought if we went over to therestaurant across the street and had an ice cream it might help me.that sounded so prosaic; but to my surprise i found it true. the ice cream was delicious, marilla, andit was so lovely and dissipated to be

sitting there eating it at eleven o'clockat night. diana said she believed she was born forcity life. miss barry asked me what my opinion was,but i said i would have to think it over very seriously before i could tell her whati really thought. so i thought it over after i went to bed. that is the best time to think things out.and i came to the conclusion, marilla, that i wasn't born for city life and that i wasglad of it. it's nice to be eating ice cream atbrilliant restaurants at eleven o'clock at night once in a while; but as a regularthing i'd rather be in the east gable at

eleven, sound asleep, but kind of knowing even in my sleep that the stars wereshining outside and that the wind was blowing in the firs across the brook.i told miss barry so at breakfast the next morning and she laughed. miss barry generally laughed at anything isaid, even when i said the most solemn things.i don't think i liked it, marilla, because i wasn't trying to be funny. but she is a most hospitable lady andtreated us royally." friday brought going-home time, and mr.barry drove in for the girls.

"well, i hope you've enjoyed yourselves,"said miss barry, as she bade them good-bye. "indeed we have," said diana."and you, anne-girl?" "i've enjoyed every minute of the time,"said anne, throwing her arms impulsively about the old woman's neck and kissing herwrinkled cheek. diana would never have dared to do such athing and felt rather aghast at anne's freedom. but miss barry was pleased, and she stoodon her veranda and watched the buggy out of sight.then she went back into her big house with a sigh.

it seemed very lonely, lacking those freshyoung lives. miss barry was a rather selfish old lady,if the truth must be told, and had never cared much for anybody but herself. she valued people only as they were ofservice to her or amused her. anne had amused her, and consequently stoodhigh in the old lady's good graces. but miss barry found herself thinking lessabout anne's quaint speeches than of her fresh enthusiasms, her transparentemotions, her little winning ways, and the sweetness of her eyes and lips. "i thought marilla cuthbert was an old foolwhen i heard she'd adopted a girl out of an

orphan asylum," she said to herself, "but iguess she didn't make much of a mistake after all. if i'd a child like anne in the house allthe time i'd be a better and happier woman." anne and diana found the drive home aspleasant as the drive in--pleasanter, indeed, since there was the delightfulconsciousness of home waiting at the end of it. it was sunset when they passed throughwhite sands and turned into the shore road. beyond, the avonlea hills came out darklyagainst the saffron sky.

behind them the moon was rising out of thesea that grew all radiant and transfigured in her light.every little cove along the curving road was a marvel of dancing ripples. the waves broke with a soft swish on therocks below them, and the tang of the sea was in the strong, fresh air."oh, but it's good to be alive and to be going home," breathed anne. when she crossed the log bridge over thebrook the kitchen light of green gables winked her a friendly welcome back, andthrough the open door shone the hearth fire, sending out its warm red glow athwart

the chilly autumn night.anne ran blithely up the hill and into the kitchen, where a hot supper was waiting onthe table. "so you've got back?" said marilla, folding up her knitting."yes, and oh, it's so good to be back," said anne joyously."i could kiss everything, even to the clock. marilla, a broiled chicken!you don't mean to say you cooked that for me!""yes, i did," said marilla. "i thought you'd be hungry after such a

drive and need something real appetizing.hurry and take off your things, and we'll have supper as soon as matthew comes in.i'm glad you've got back, i must say. it's been fearful lonesome here without you, and i never put in four longer days."after supper anne sat before the fire between matthew and marilla, and gave thema full account of her visit. "i've had a splendid time," she concluded happily, "and i feel that it marks an epochin my life. but the best of it all was the cominghome." >

chapter xxx.the queens class is organized marilla laid her knitting on her lap andleaned back in her chair. her eyes were tired, and she thoughtvaguely that she must see about having her glasses changed the next time she went totown, for her eyes had grown tired very often of late. it was nearly dark, for the full novembertwilight had fallen around green gables, and the only light in the kitchen came fromthe dancing red flames in the stove. anne was curled up turk-fashion on thehearthrug, gazing into that joyous glow where the sunshine of a hundred summers wasbeing distilled from the maple cordwood.

she had been reading, but her book hadslipped to the floor, and now she was dreaming, with a smile on her parted lips. glittering castles in spain were shapingthemselves out of the mists and rainbows of her lively fancy; adventures wonderful andenthralling were happening to her in cloudland--adventures that always turned out triumphantly and never involved her inscrapes like those of actual life. marilla looked at her with a tendernessthat would never have been suffered to reveal itself in any clearer light thanthat soft mingling of fireshine and shadow. the lesson of a love that should displayitself easily in spoken word and open look

was one marilla could never learn. but she had learned to love this slim,gray-eyed girl with an affection all the deeper and stronger from its veryundemonstrativeness. her love made her afraid of being undulyindulgent, indeed. she had an uneasy feeling that it wasrather sinful to set one's heart so intensely on any human creature as she hadset hers on anne, and perhaps she performed a sort of unconscious penance for this by being stricter and more critical than ifthe girl had been less dear to her. certainly anne herself had no idea howmarilla loved her.

she sometimes thought wistfully thatmarilla was very hard to please and distinctly lacking in sympathy andunderstanding. but she always checked the thoughtreproachfully, remembering what she owed to marilla. "anne," said marilla abruptly, "miss stacywas here this afternoon when you were out with diana."anne came back from her other world with a start and a sigh. "was she?oh, i'm so sorry i wasn't in. why didn't you call me, marilla?diana and i were only over in the haunted

wood. it's lovely in the woods now. all the little wood things--the ferns andthe satin leaves and the crackerberries-- have gone to sleep, just as if somebody hadtucked them away until spring under a blanket of leaves. i think it was a little gray fairy with arainbow scarf that came tiptoeing along the last moonlight night and did it.diana wouldn't say much about that, though. diana has never forgotten the scolding hermother gave her about imagining ghosts into the haunted wood.it had a very bad effect on diana's

it blighted it.mrs. lynde says myrtle bell is a blighted being. i asked ruby gillis why myrtle wasblighted, and ruby said she guessed it was because her young man had gone back on her. ruby gillis thinks of nothing but youngmen, and the older she gets the worse she is. young men are all very well in their place,but it doesn't do to drag them into everything, does it? diana and i are thinking seriously ofpromising each other that we will never

marry but be nice old maids and livetogether forever. diana hasn't quite made up her mind though,because she thinks perhaps it would be nobler to marry some wild, dashing, wickedyoung man and reform him. diana and i talk a great deal about serioussubjects now, you know. we feel that we are so much older than weused to be that it isn't becoming to talk of childish matters. it's such a solemn thing to be almostfourteen, marilla. miss stacy took all us girls who are in ourteens down to the brook last wednesday, and talked to us about it.

she said we couldn't be too careful whathabits we formed and what ideals we acquired in our teens, because by the timewe were twenty our characters would be developed and the foundation laid for ourwhole future life. and she said if the foundation was shaky wecould never build anything really worth while on it. diana and i talked the matter over cominghome from school. we felt extremely solemn, marilla. and we decided that we would try to be verycareful indeed and form respectable habits and learn all we could and be as sensibleas possible, so that by the time we were

twenty our characters would be properlydeveloped. it's perfectly appalling to think of beingtwenty, marilla. it sounds so fearfully old and grown up. but why was miss stacy here thisafternoon?" "that is what i want to tell you, anne, ifyou'll ever give me a chance to get a word in edgewise. she was talking about you.""about me?" anne looked rather scared.then she flushed and exclaimed: "oh, i know what she was saying.

i meant to tell you, marilla, honestly idid, but i forgot. miss stacy caught me reading ben hur inschool yesterday afternoon when i should have been studying my canadian history. jane andrews lent it to me.i was reading it at dinner hour, and i had just got to the chariot race when schoolwent in. i was simply wild to know how it turnedout--although i felt sure ben hur must win, because it wouldn't be poetical justice ifhe didn't--so i spread the history open on my desk lid and then tucked ben hur betweenthe desk and my knee. i just looked as if i were studyingcanadian history, you know, while all the

while i was reveling in ben hur. i was so interested in it that i nevernoticed miss stacy coming down the aisle until all at once i just looked up andthere she was looking down at me, so reproachful-like. i can't tell you how ashamed i felt,marilla, especially when i heard josie pye giggling.miss stacy took ben hur away, but she never said a word then. she kept me in at recess and talked to me.she said i had done very wrong in two respects.

first, i was wasting the time i ought tohave put on my studies; and secondly, i was deceiving my teacher in trying to make itappear i was reading a history when it was a storybook instead. i had never realized until that moment,marilla, that what i was doing was deceitful.i was shocked. i cried bitterly, and asked miss stacy toforgive me and i'd never do such a thing again; and i offered to do penance by neverso much as looking at ben hur for a whole week, not even to see how the chariot raceturned out. but miss stacy said she wouldn't requirethat, and she forgave me freely.

so i think it wasn't very kind of her tocome up here to you about it after all." "miss stacy never mentioned such a thing tome, anne, and its only your guilty conscience that's the matter with you. you have no business to be takingstorybooks to school. you read too many novels anyhow.when i was a girl i wasn't so much as allowed to look at a novel." "oh, how can you call ben hur a novel whenit's really such a religious book?" protested anne. "of course it's a little too exciting to beproper reading for sunday, and i only read

it on weekdays. and i never read any book now unless eithermiss stacy or mrs. allan thinks it is a proper book for a girl thirteen and three-quarters to read. miss stacy made me promise that. she found me reading a book one day called,the lurid mystery of the haunted hall. it was one ruby gillis had lent me, and,oh, marilla, it was so fascinating and creepy. it just curdled the blood in my veins.but miss stacy said it was a very silly, unwholesome book, and she asked me not toread any more of it or any like it.

i didn't mind promising not to read anymore like it, but it was agonizing to give back that book without knowing how itturned out. but my love for miss stacy stood the testand i did. it's really wonderful, marilla, what youcan do when you're truly anxious to please a certain person." "well, i guess i'll light the lamp and getto work," said marilla. "i see plainly that you don't want to hearwhat miss stacy had to say. you're more interested in the sound of yourown tongue than in anything else." "oh, indeed, marilla, i do want to hearit," cried anne contritely.

"i won't say another word--not one. i know i talk too much, but i am reallytrying to overcome it, and although i say far too much, yet if you only knew how manythings i want to say and don't, you'd give me some credit for it. please tell me, marilla.""well, miss stacy wants to organize a class among her advanced students who mean tostudy for the entrance examination into queen's. she intends to give them extra lessons foran hour after school. and she came to ask matthew and me if wewould like to have you join it.

what do you think about it yourself, anne? would you like to go to queen's and passfor a teacher?" "oh, marilla!"anne straightened to her knees and clasped her hands. "it's been the dream of my life--that is,for the last six months, ever since ruby and jane began to talk of studying for theentrance. but i didn't say anything about it, becausei supposed it would be perfectly useless. i'd love to be a teacher.but won't it be dreadfully expensive? mr. andrews says it cost him one hundredand fifty dollars to put prissy through,

and prissy wasn't a dunce in geometry.""i guess you needn't worry about that part of it. when matthew and i took you to bring up weresolved we would do the best we could for you and give you a good education. i believe in a girl being fitted to earnher own living whether she ever has to or not. you'll always have a home at green gablesas long as matthew and i are here, but nobody knows what is going to happen inthis uncertain world, and it's just as well to be prepared.

so you can join the queen's class if youlike, anne." "oh, marilla, thank you."anne flung her arms about marilla's waist and looked up earnestly into her face. "i'm extremely grateful to you and matthew.and i'll study as hard as i can and do my very best to be a credit to you. i warn you not to expect much in geometry,but i think i can hold my own in anything else if i work hard.""i dare say you'll get along well enough. miss stacy says you are bright anddiligent." not for worlds would marilla have told annejust what miss stacy had said about her;

that would have been to pamper vanity. "you needn't rush to any extreme of killingyourself over your books. there is no hurry.you won't be ready to try the entrance for a year and a half yet. but it's well to begin in time and bethoroughly grounded, miss stacy says." "i shall take more interest than ever in mystudies now," said anne blissfully, "because i have a purpose in life. mr. allan says everybody should have apurpose in life and pursue it faithfully. only he says we must first make sure thatit is a worthy purpose.

i would call it a worthy purpose to want tobe a teacher like miss stacy, wouldn't you, marilla?i think it's a very noble profession." the queen's class was organized in duetime. gilbert blythe, anne shirley, ruby gillis,jane andrews, josie pye, charlie sloane, and moody spurgeon macpherson joined it. diana barry did not, as her parents did notintend to send her to queen's. this seemed nothing short of a calamity toanne. never, since the night on which minnie mayhad had the croup, had she and diana been separated in anything.

on the evening when the queen's class firstremained in school for the extra lessons and anne saw diana go slowly out with theothers, to walk home alone through the birch path and violet vale, it was all the former could do to keep her seat andrefrain from rushing impulsively after her chum. a lump came into her throat, and shehastily retired behind the pages of her uplifted latin grammar to hide the tears inher eyes. not for worlds would anne have had gilbertblythe or josie pye see those tears. "but, oh, marilla, i really felt that i hadtasted the bitterness of death, as mr.

allan said in his sermon last sunday, wheni saw diana go out alone," she said mournfully that night. "i thought how splendid it would have beenif diana had only been going to study for the entrance, too.but we can't have things perfect in this imperfect world, as mrs. lynde says. mrs. lynde isn't exactly a comfortingperson sometimes, but there's no doubt she says a great many very true things.and i think the queen's class is going to be extremely interesting. jane and ruby are just going to study to beteachers.

that is the height of their ambition. ruby says she will only teach for two yearsafter she gets through, and then she intends to be married. jane says she will devote her whole life toteaching, and never, never marry, because you are paid a salary for teaching, but ahusband won't pay you anything, and growls if you ask for a share in the egg andbutter money. i expect jane speaks from mournfulexperience, for mrs. lynde says that her father is a perfect old crank, and meanerthan second skimmings. josie pye says she is just going to collegefor education's sake, because she won't

have to earn her own living; she says ofcourse it is different with orphans who are living on charity--they have to hustle. moody spurgeon is going to be a minister.mrs. lynde says he couldn't be anything else with a name like that to live up to. i hope it isn't wicked of me, marilla, butreally the thought of moody spurgeon being a minister makes me laugh. he's such a funny-looking boy with that bigfat face, and his little blue eyes, and his ears sticking out like flaps.but perhaps he will be more intellectual looking when he grows up.

charlie sloane says he's going to go intopolitics and be a member of parliament, but mrs. lynde says he'll never succeed atthat, because the sloanes are all honest people, and it's only rascals that get onin politics nowadays." "what is gilbert blythe going to be?"queried marilla, seeing that anne was opening her caesar. "i don't happen to know what gilbertblythe's ambition in life is--if he has any," said anne scornfully.there was open rivalry between gilbert and anne now. previously the rivalry had been ratheronesided, but there was no longer any doubt

that gilbert was as determined to be firstin class as anne was. he was a foeman worthy of her steel. the other members of the class tacitlyacknowledged their superiority, and never dreamed of trying to compete with them. since the day by the pond when she hadrefused to listen to his plea for forgiveness, gilbert, save for theaforesaid determined rivalry, had evinced no recognition whatever of the existence ofanne shirley. he talked and jested with the other girls,exchanged books and puzzles with them, discussed lessons and plans, sometimeswalked home with one or the other of them

from prayer meeting or debating club. but anne shirley he simply ignored, andanne found out that it is not pleasant to be ignored.it was in vain that she told herself with a toss of her head that she did not care. deep down in her wayward, feminine littleheart she knew that she did care, and that if she had that chance of the lake ofshining waters again she would answer very differently. all at once, as it seemed, and to hersecret dismay, she found that the old resentment she had cherished against himwas gone--gone just when she most needed

its sustaining power. it was in vain that she recalled everyincident and emotion of that memorable occasion and tried to feel the oldsatisfying anger. that day by the pond had witnessed its lastspasmodic flicker. anne realized that she had forgiven andforgotten without knowing it. but it was too late. and at least neither gilbert nor anybodyelse, not even diana, should ever suspect how sorry she was and how much she wishedshe hadn't been so proud and horrid! she determined to "shroud her feelings indeepest oblivion," and it may be stated

here and now that she did it, sosuccessfully that gilbert, who possibly was not quite so indifferent as he seemed, could not console himself with any beliefthat anne felt his retaliatory scorn. the only poor comfort he had was that shesnubbed charlie sloane, unmercifully, continually, and undeservedly. otherwise the winter passed away in a roundof pleasant duties and studies. for anne the days slipped by like goldenbeads on the necklace of the year. she was happy, eager, interested; therewere lessons to be learned and honor to be won; delightful books to read; new piecesto be practiced for the sunday-school

choir; pleasant saturday afternoons at the manse with mrs. allan; and then, almostbefore anne realized it, spring had come again to green gables and all the world wasabloom once more. studies palled just a wee bit then; thequeen's class, left behind in school while the others scattered to green lanes andleafy wood cuts and meadow byways, looked wistfully out of the windows and discovered that latin verbs and french exercises hadsomehow lost the tang and zest they had possessed in the crisp winter months.even anne and gilbert lagged and grew indifferent.

teacher and taught were alike glad when theterm was ended and the glad vacation days stretched rosily before them. "but you've done good work this past year,"miss stacy told them on the last evening, "and you deserve a good, jolly vacation. have the best time you can in the out-of-door world and lay in a good stock of health and vitality and ambition to carryyou through next year. it will be the tug of war, you know--thelast year before the entrance." "are you going to be back next year, missstacy?" asked josie pye. josie pye never scrupled to ask questions;in this instance the rest of the class felt

grateful to her; none of them would havedared to ask it of miss stacy, but all wanted to, for there had been alarming rumors running at large through the schoolfor some time that miss stacy was not coming back the next year--that she hadbeen offered a position in the grade school of her own home district and meant toaccept. the queen's class listened in breathlesssuspense for her answer. "yes, i think i will," said miss stacy. "i thought of taking another school, but ihave decided to come back to avonlea. to tell the truth, i've grown so interestedin my pupils here that i found i couldn't

leave them. so i'll stay and see you through.""hurrah!" said moody spurgeon. moody spurgeon had never been so carriedaway by his feelings before, and he blushed uncomfortably every time he thought aboutit for a week. "oh, i'm so glad," said anne, with shiningeyes. "dear stacy, it would be perfectly dreadfulif you didn't come back. i don't believe i could have the heart togo on with my studies at all if another teacher came here." when anne got home that night she stackedall her textbooks away in an old trunk in

the attic, locked it, and threw the keyinto the blanket box. "i'm not even going to look at a schoolbookin vacation," she told marilla. "i've studied as hard all the term as ipossibly could and i've pored over that geometry until i know every proposition inthe first book off by heart, even when the letters are changed. i just feel tired of everything sensibleand i'm going to let my imagination run riot for the summer.oh, you needn't be alarmed, marilla. i'll only let it run riot within reasonablelimits. but i want to have a real good jolly timethis summer, for maybe it's the last summer

i'll be a little girl. mrs. lynde says that if i keep stretchingout next year as i've done this i'll have to put on longer skirts.she says i'm all running to legs and eyes. and when i put on longer skirts i shallfeel that i have to live up to them and be very dignified. it won't even do to believe in fairiesthen, i'm afraid; so i'm going to believe in them with all my whole heart thissummer. i think we're going to have a very gayvacation. ruby gillis is going to have a birthdayparty soon and there's the sunday school

picnic and the missionary concert nextmonth. and mr. barry says that some evening he'lltake diana and me over to the white sands hotel and have dinner there.they have dinner there in the evening, you know. jane andrews was over once last summer andshe says it was a dazzling sight to see the electric lights and the flowers and all thelady guests in such beautiful dresses. jane says it was her first glimpse intohigh life and she'll never forget it to her dying day." mrs. lynde came up the next afternoon tofind out why marilla had not been at the

aid meeting on thursday. when marilla was not at aid meeting peopleknew there was something wrong at green gables. "matthew had a bad spell with his heartthursday," marilla explained, "and i didn't feel like leaving him. oh, yes, he's all right again now, but hetakes them spells oftener than he used to and i'm anxious about him.the doctor says he must be careful to avoid excitement. that's easy enough, for matthew doesn't goabout looking for excitement by any means

and never did, but he's not to do any veryheavy work either and you might as well tell matthew not to breathe as not to work. come and lay off your things, rachel.you'll stay to tea?" "well, seeing you're so pressing, perhaps imight as well, stay" said mrs. rachel, who had not the slightest intention of doinganything else. mrs. rachel and marilla sat comfortably inthe parlor while anne got the tea and made hot biscuits that were light and whiteenough to defy even mrs. rachel's criticism. "i must say anne has turned out a realsmart girl," admitted mrs. rachel, as

marilla accompanied her to the end of thelane at sunset. "she must be a great help to you." "she is," said marilla, "and she's realsteady and reliable now. i used to be afraid she'd never get overher featherbrained ways, but she has and i wouldn't be afraid to trust her in anythingnow." "i never would have thought she'd haveturned out so well that first day i was here three years ago," said mrs. rachel."lawful heart, shall i ever forget that tantrum of hers! when i went home that night i says tothomas, says i, 'mark my words, thomas,

marilla cuthbert'll live to rue the stepshe's took.' but i was mistaken and i'm real glad of it. i ain't one of those kind of people,marilla, as can never be brought to own up that they've made a mistake.no, that never was my way, thank goodness. i did make a mistake in judging anne, butit weren't no wonder, for an odder, unexpecteder witch of a child there neverwas in this world, that's what. there was no ciphering her out by the rulesthat worked with other children. it's nothing short of wonderful how she'simproved these three years, but especially in looks.

she's a real pretty girl got to be, thoughi can't say i'm overly partial to that pale, big-eyed style myself.i like more snap and color, like diana barry has or ruby gillis. ruby gillis's looks are real showy. but somehow--i don't know how it is butwhen anne and them are together, though she ain't half as handsome, she makes them lookkind of common and overdone--something like them white june lilies she calls narcissus alongside of the big, red peonies, that'swhat." chapter xxxi.where the brook and river meet

anne had her "good" summer and enjoyed itwholeheartedly. she and diana fairly lived outdoors,reveling in all the delights that lover's lane and the dryad's bubble and willowmereand victoria island afforded. marilla offered no objections to anne'sgypsyings. the spencervale doctor who had come thenight minnie may had the croup met anne at the house of a patient one afternoon earlyin vacation, looked her over sharply, screwed up his mouth, shook his head, and sent a message to marilla cuthbert byanother person. it was:

"keep that redheaded girl of yours in theopen air all summer and don't let her read books until she gets more spring into herstep." this message frightened marillawholesomely. she read anne's death warrant byconsumption in it unless it was scrupulously obeyed. as a result, anne had the golden summer ofher life as far as freedom and frolic went. she walked, rowed, berried, and dreamed toher heart's content; and when september came she was bright-eyed and alert, with astep that would have satisfied the spencervale doctor and a heart full ofambition and zest once more.

"i feel just like studying with might andmain," she declared as she brought her books down from the attic. "oh, you good old friends, i'm glad to seeyour honest faces once more--yes, even you, geometry. i've had a perfectly beautiful summer,marilla, and now i'm rejoicing as a strong man to run a race, as mr. allan said lastsunday. doesn't mr. allan preach magnificentsermons? mrs. lynde says he is improving every dayand the first thing we know some city church will gobble him up and then we'll beleft and have to turn to and break in

another green preacher. but i don't see the use of meeting troublehalfway, do you, marilla? i think it would be better just to enjoymr. allan while we have him. if i were a man i think i'd be a minister. they can have such an influence for good,if their theology is sound; and it must be thrilling to preach splendid sermons andstir your hearers' hearts. why can't women be ministers, marilla? i asked mrs. lynde that and she was shockedand said it would be a scandalous thing. she said there might be female ministers inthe states and she believed there was, but

thank goodness we hadn't got to that stagein canada yet and she hoped we never would. but i don't see why. i think women would make splendidministers. when there is a social to be got up or achurch tea or anything else to raise money the women have to turn to and do the work. i'm sure mrs. lynde can pray every bit aswell as superintendent bell and i've no doubt she could preach too with a littlepractice." "yes, i believe she could," said marilladryly. "she does plenty of unofficial preaching asit is.

nobody has much of a chance to go wrong inavonlea with rachel to oversee them." "marilla," said anne in a burst ofconfidence, "i want to tell you something and ask you what you think about it. it has worried me terribly--on sundayafternoons, that is, when i think specially about such matters. i do really want to be good; and when i'mwith you or mrs. allan or miss stacy i want it more than ever and i want to do justwhat would please you and what you would approve of. but mostly when i'm with mrs. lynde i feeldesperately wicked and as if i wanted to go

and do the very thing she tells me ioughtn't to do. i feel irresistibly tempted to do it. now, what do you think is the reason i feellike that? do you think it's because i'm really badand unregenerate?" marilla looked dubious for a moment. then she laughed."if you are i guess i am too, anne, for rachel often has that very effect on me. i sometimes think she'd have more of aninfluence for good, as you say yourself, if she didn't keep nagging people to do right.there should have been a special

commandment against nagging. but there, i shouldn't talk so.rachel is a good christian woman and she means well.there isn't a kinder soul in avonlea and she never shirks her share of work." "i'm very glad you feel the same," saidanne decidedly. "it's so encouraging.i shan't worry so much over that after this. but i dare say there'll be other things toworry me. they keep coming up new all the time--things to perplex you, you know.

you settle one question and there's anotherright after. there are so many things to be thought overand decided when you're beginning to grow up. it keeps me busy all the time thinking themover and deciding what is right. it's a serious thing to grow up, isn't it,marilla? but when i have such good friends as youand matthew and mrs. allan and miss stacy i ought to grow up successfully, and i'm sureit will be my own fault if i don't. i feel it's a great responsibility becausei have only the one chance. if i don't grow up right i can't go backand begin over again.

i've grown two inches this summer, marilla. mr. gillis measured me at ruby's party.i'm so glad you made my new dresses longer. that dark-green one is so pretty and it wassweet of you to put on the flounce. of course i know it wasn't reallynecessary, but flounces are so stylish this fall and josie pye has flounces on all herdresses. i know i'll be able to study better becauseof mine. i shall have such a comfortable feelingdeep down in my mind about that flounce." "it's worth something to have that,"admitted marilla. miss stacy came back to avonlea school andfound all her pupils eager for work once

more. especially did the queen's class gird uptheir loins for the fray, for at the end of the coming year, dimly shadowing theirpathway already, loomed up that fateful thing known as "the entrance," at the thought of which one and all felt theirhearts sink into their very shoes. suppose they did not pass! that thought was doomed to haunt annethrough the waking hours of that winter, sunday afternoons inclusive, to the almostentire exclusion of moral and theological problems.

when anne had bad dreams she found herselfstaring miserably at pass lists of the entrance exams, where gilbert blythe's namewas blazoned at the top and in which hers did not appear at all. but it was a jolly, busy, happy swift-flying winter. schoolwork was as interesting, classrivalry as absorbing, as of yore. new worlds of thought, feeling, andambition, fresh, fascinating fields of unexplored knowledge seemed to be openingout before anne's eager eyes. "hills peeped o'er hill and alps on alpsarose." much of all this was due to miss stacy'stactful, careful, broadminded guidance.

she led her class to think and explore anddiscover for themselves and encouraged straying from the old beaten paths to adegree that quite shocked mrs. lynde and the school trustees, who viewed all innovations on established methods ratherdubiously. apart from her studies anne expandedsocially, for marilla, mindful of the spencervale doctor's dictum, no longervetoed occasional outings. the debating club flourished and gaveseveral concerts; there were one or two parties almost verging on grown-up affairs;there were sleigh drives and skating frolics galore.

betweentimes anne grew, shooting up sorapidly that marilla was astonished one day, when they were standing side by side,to find the girl was taller than herself. "why, anne, how you've grown!" she said,almost unbelievingly. a sigh followed on the words.marilla felt a queer regret over anne's inches. the child she had learned to love hadvanished somehow and here was this tall, serious-eyed girl of fifteen, with thethoughtful brows and the proudly poised little head, in her place. marilla loved the girl as much as she hadloved the child, but she was conscious of a

queer sorrowful sense of loss. and that night, when anne had gone toprayer meeting with diana, marilla sat alone in the wintry twilight and indulgedin the weakness of a cry. matthew, coming in with a lantern, caughther at it and gazed at her in such consternation that marilla had to laughthrough her tears. "i was thinking about anne," she explained. "she's got to be such a big girl--andshe'll probably be away from us next winter.i'll miss her terrible." "she'll be able to come home often,"comforted matthew, to whom anne was as yet

and always would be the little, eager girlhe had brought home from bright river on that june evening four years before. "the branch railroad will be built tocarmody by that time." "it won't be the same thing as having herhere all the time," sighed marilla gloomily, determined to enjoy her luxury ofgrief uncomforted. "but there--men can't understand thesethings!" there were other changes in anne no lessreal than the physical change. for one thing, she became much quieter. perhaps she thought all the more anddreamed as much as ever, but she certainly

talked less.marilla noticed and commented on this also. "you don't chatter half as much as you usedto, anne, nor use half as many big words. what has come over you?" anne colored and laughed a little, as shedropped her book and looked dreamily out of the window, where big fat red buds werebursting out on the creeper in response to the lure of the spring sunshine. "i don't know--i don't want to talk asmuch," she said, denting her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger. "it's nicer to think dear, pretty thoughtsand keep them in one's heart, like

treasures.i don't like to have them laughed at or wondered over. and somehow i don't want to use big wordsany more. it's almost a pity, isn't it, now that i'mreally growing big enough to say them if i did want to. it's fun to be almost grown up in someways, but it's not the kind of fun i expected, marilla.there's so much to learn and do and think that there isn't time for big words. besides, miss stacy says the short ones aremuch stronger and better.

she makes us write all our essays as simplyas possible. it was hard at first. i was so used to crowding in all the finebig words i could think of--and i thought of any number of them.but i've got used to it now and i see it's so much better." "what has become of your story club?i haven't heard you speak of it for a long time.""the story club isn't in existence any longer. we hadn't time for it--and anyhow i thinkwe had got tired of it.

it was silly to be writing about love andmurder and elopements and mysteries. miss stacy sometimes has us write a storyfor training in composition, but she won't let us write anything but what might happenin avonlea in our own lives, and she criticizes it very sharply and makes uscriticize our own too. i never thought my compositions had so manyfaults until i began to look for them myself. i felt so ashamed i wanted to give upaltogether, but miss stacy said i could learn to write well if i only trainedmyself to be my own severest critic. and so i am trying to."

"you've only two more months before theentrance," said marilla. "do you think you'll be able to getthrough?" anne shivered. "i don't know.sometimes i think i'll be all right--and then i get horribly afraid. we've studied hard and miss stacy hasdrilled us thoroughly, but we mayn't get through for all that.we've each got a stumbling block. mine is geometry of course, and jane's islatin, and ruby and charlie's is algebra, and josie's is arithmetic.

moody spurgeon says he feels it in hisbones that he is going to fail in english history. miss stacy is going to give us examinationsin june just as hard as we'll have at the entrance and mark us just as strictly, sowe'll have some idea. i wish it was all over, marilla. it haunts me.sometimes i wake up in the night and wonder what i'll do if i don't pass.""why, go to school next year and try again," said marilla unconcernedly. "oh, i don't believe i'd have the heart forit.

it would be such a disgrace to fail,especially if gil--if the others passed. and i get so nervous in an examination thati'm likely to make a mess of it. i wish i had nerves like jane andrews.nothing rattles her." anne sighed and, dragging her eyes from thewitcheries of the spring world, the beckoning day of breeze and blue, and thegreen things upspringing in the garden, buried herself resolutely in her book. there would be other springs, but if shedid not succeed in passing the entrance, anne felt convinced that she would neverrecover sufficiently to enjoy them. chapter xxxii.the pass list is out

with the end of june came the close of theterm and the close of miss stacy's rule in avonlea school.anne and diana walked home that evening feeling very sober indeed. red eyes and damp handkerchiefs boreconvincing testimony to the fact that miss stacy's farewell words must have been quiteas touching as mr. phillips's had been under similar circumstances three yearsbefore. diana looked back at the schoolhouse fromthe foot of the spruce hill and sighed deeply. "it does seem as if it was the end ofeverything, doesn't it?" she said dismally.

"you oughtn't to feel half as badly as ido," said anne, hunting vainly for a dry spot on her handkerchief. "you'll be back again next winter, but isuppose i've left the dear old school forever--if i have good luck, that is.""it won't be a bit the same. miss stacy won't be there, nor you nor janenor ruby probably. i shall have to sit all alone, for icouldn't bear to have another deskmate after you. oh, we have had jolly times, haven't we,anne? it's dreadful to think they're all over."two big tears rolled down by diana's nose.

"if you would stop crying i could," saidanne imploringly. "just as soon as i put away my hanky i seeyou brimming up and that starts me off again. as mrs. lynde says, 'if you can't becheerful, be as cheerful as you can.' after all, i dare say i'll be back nextyear. this is one of the times i know i'm notgoing to pass. they're getting alarmingly frequent.""why, you came out splendidly in the exams miss stacy gave." "yes, but those exams didn't make menervous.

when i think of the real thing you can'timagine what a horrid cold fluttery feeling comes round my heart. and then my number is thirteen and josiepye says it's so unlucky. i am not superstitious and i know it canmake no difference. but still i wish it wasn't thirteen." "i do wish i was going in with you," saiddiana. "wouldn't we have a perfectly elegant time?but i suppose you'll have to cram in the evenings." "no; miss stacy has made us promise not toopen a book at all.

she says it would only tire and confuse usand we are to go out walking and not think about the exams at all and go to bed early. it's good advice, but i expect it will behard to follow; good advice is apt to be, i think. prissy andrews told me that she sat up halfthe night every night of her entrance week and crammed for dear life; and i haddetermined to sit up at least as long as she did. it was so kind of your aunt josephine toask me to stay at beechwood while i'm in town.""you'll write to me while you're in, won't

you?" "i'll write tuesday night and tell you howthe first day goes," promised anne. "i'll be haunting the post officewednesday," vowed diana. anne went to town the following monday andon wednesday diana haunted the post office, as agreed, and got her letter."dearest diana" [wrote anne], "here it is tuesday night and i'm writingthis in the library at beechwood. last night i was horribly lonesome allalone in my room and wished so much you were with me. i couldn't "cram" because i'd promised missstacy not to, but it was as hard to keep

from opening my history as it used to be tokeep from reading a story before my lessons were learned. "this morning miss stacy came for me and wewent to the academy, calling for jane and ruby and josie on our way.ruby asked me to feel her hands and they were as cold as ice. josie said i looked as if i hadn't slept awink and she didn't believe i was strong enough to stand the grind of the teacher'scourse even if i did get through. there are times and seasons even yet when idon't feel that i've made any great headway in learning to like josie pye!

"when we reached the academy there werescores of students there from all over the island. the first person we saw was moody spurgeonsitting on the steps and muttering away to himself. jane asked him what on earth he was doingand he said he was repeating the multiplication table over and over tosteady his nerves and for pity's sake not to interrupt him, because if he stopped for a moment he got frightened and forgoteverything he ever knew, but the multiplication table kept all his factsfirmly in their proper place!

"when we were assigned to our rooms missstacy had to leave us. jane and i sat together and jane was socomposed that i envied her. no need of the multiplication table forgood, steady, sensible jane! i wondered if i looked as i felt and ifthey could hear my heart thumping clear across the room. then a man came in and began distributingthe english examination sheets. my hands grew cold then and my head fairlywhirled around as i picked it up. just one awful moment--diana, i feltexactly as i did four years ago when i asked marilla if i might stay at greengables--and then everything cleared up in

my mind and my heart began beating again--i forgot to say that it had stoppedaltogether!--for i knew i could do something with that paper anyhow."at noon we went home for dinner and then back again for history in the afternoon. the history was a pretty hard paper and igot dreadfully mixed up in the dates. still, i think i did fairly well today. but oh, diana, tomorrow the geometry examcomes off and when i think of it it takes every bit of determination i possess tokeep from opening my euclid. if i thought the multiplication table wouldhelp me any i would recite it from now till

tomorrow morning."i went down to see the other girls this evening. on my way i met moody spurgeon wanderingdistractedly around. he said he knew he had failed in historyand he was born to be a disappointment to his parents and he was going home on themorning train; and it would be easier to be a carpenter than a minister, anyhow. i cheered him up and persuaded him to stayto the end because it would be unfair to miss stacy if he didn't. sometimes i have wished i was born a boy,but when i see moody spurgeon i'm always

glad i'm a girl and not his sister. "ruby was in hysterics when i reached theirboardinghouse; she had just discovered a fearful mistake she had made in her englishpaper. when she recovered we went uptown and hadan ice cream. how we wished you had been with us."oh, diana, if only the geometry examination were over! but there, as mrs. lynde would say, the sunwill go on rising and setting whether i fail in geometry or not.that is true but not especially comforting. i think i'd rather it didn't go on if ifailed!

"yours devotedly,"anne" the geometry examination and all the otherswere over in due time and anne arrived home on friday evening, rather tired but with anair of chastened triumph about her. diana was over at green gables when shearrived and they met as if they had been parted for years."you old darling, it's perfectly splendid to see you back again. it seems like an age since you went to townand oh, anne, how did you get along?" "pretty well, i think, in everything butthe geometry. i don't know whether i passed in it or notand i have a creepy, crawly presentiment

that i didn't.oh, how good it is to be back! green gables is the dearest, loveliest spotin the world." "how did the others do?""the girls say they know they didn't pass, but i think they did pretty well. josie says the geometry was so easy a childof ten could do it! moody spurgeon still thinks he failed inhistory and charlie says he failed in algebra. but we don't really know anything about itand won't until the pass list is out. that won't be for a fortnight.fancy living a fortnight in such suspense!

i wish i could go to sleep and never wakeup until it is over." diana knew it would be useless to ask howgilbert blythe had fared, so she merely said: "oh, you'll pass all right.don't worry." "i'd rather not pass at all than not comeout pretty well up on the list," flashed anne, by which she meant--and diana knewshe meant--that success would be incomplete and bitter if she did not come out ahead ofgilbert blythe. with this end in view anne had strainedevery nerve during the examinations. so had gilbert.

they had met and passed each other on thestreet a dozen times without any sign of recognition and every time anne had heldher head a little higher and wished a little more earnestly that she had made friends with gilbert when he asked her, andvowed a little more determinedly to surpass him in the examination. she knew that all avonlea junior waswondering which would come out first; she even knew that jimmy glover and ned wrighthad a bet on the question and that josie pye had said there was no doubt in the world that gilbert would be first; and shefelt that her humiliation would be

unbearable if she failed.but she had another and nobler motive for wishing to do well. she wanted to "pass high" for the sake ofmatthew and marilla--especially matthew. matthew had declared to her his convictionthat she "would beat the whole island." that, anne felt, was something it would befoolish to hope for even in the wildest dreams. but she did hope fervently that she wouldbe among the first ten at least, so that she might see matthew's kindly brown eyesgleam with pride in her achievement. that, she felt, would be a sweet rewardindeed for all her hard work and patient

grubbing among unimaginative equations andconjugations. at the end of the fortnight anne took to"haunting" the post office also, in the distracted company of jane, ruby, andjosie, opening the charlottetown dailies with shaking hands and cold, sinkaway feelings as bad as any experienced duringthe entrance week. charlie and gilbert were not above doingthis too, but moody spurgeon stayed resolutely away. "i haven't got the grit to go there andlook at a paper in cold blood," he told anne.

"i'm just going to wait until somebodycomes and tells me suddenly whether i've passed or not." when three weeks had gone by without thepass list appearing anne began to feel that she really couldn't stand the strain muchlonger. her appetite failed and her interest inavonlea doings languished. mrs. lynde wanted to know what else youcould expect with a tory superintendent of education at the head of affairs, andmatthew, noting anne's paleness and indifference and the lagging steps that bore her home from the post office everyafternoon, began seriously to wonder if he

hadn't better vote grit at the nextelection. but one evening the news came. anne was sitting at her open window, forthe time forgetful of the woes of examinations and the cares of the world, asshe drank in the beauty of the summer dusk, sweet-scented with flower breaths from the garden below and sibilant and rustling fromthe stir of poplars. the eastern sky above the firs was flushedfaintly pink from the reflection of the west, and anne was wondering dreamily ifthe spirit of color looked like that, when she saw diana come flying down through the

firs, over the log bridge, and up theslope, with a fluttering newspaper in her hand.anne sprang to her feet, knowing at once what that paper contained. the pass list was out!her head whirled and her heart beat until it hurt her.she could not move a step. it seemed an hour to her before diana camerushing along the hall and burst into the room without even knocking, so great washer excitement. "anne, you've passed," she cried, "passedthe very first--you and gilbert both-- you're ties--but your name is first.oh, i'm so proud!"

diana flung the paper on the table andherself on anne's bed, utterly breathless and incapable of further speech. anne lighted the lamp, oversetting thematch safe and using up half a dozen matches before her shaking hands couldaccomplish the task. then she snatched up the paper. yes, she had passed--there was her name atthe very top of a list of two hundred! that moment was worth living for. "you did just splendidly, anne," puffeddiana, recovering sufficiently to sit up and speak, for anne, starry eyed and rapt,had not uttered a word.

"father brought the paper home from brightriver not ten minutes ago--it came out on the afternoon train, you know, and won't behere till tomorrow by mail--and when i saw the pass list i just rushed over like awild thing. you've all passed, every one of you, moodyspurgeon and all, although he's conditioned in history. jane and ruby did pretty well--they'rehalfway up--and so did charlie. josie just scraped through with three marksto spare, but you'll see she'll put on as many airs as if she'd led. won't miss stacy be delighted?oh, anne, what does it feel like to see

your name at the head of a pass list likethat? if it were me i know i'd go crazy with joy. i am pretty near crazy as it is, but you'reas calm and cool as a spring evening." "i'm just dazzled inside," said anne."i want to say a hundred things, and i can't find words to say them in. i never dreamed of this--yes, i did too,just once! i let myself think once, 'what if i shouldcome out first?' quakingly, you know, for it seemed so vain and presumptuous to thinki could lead the island. excuse me a minute, diana.

i must run right out to the field to tellmatthew. then we'll go up the road and tell the goodnews to the others." they hurried to the hayfield below the barnwhere matthew was coiling hay, and, as luck would have it, mrs. lynde was talking tomarilla at the lane fence. "oh, matthew," exclaimed anne, "i've passedand i'm first--or one of the first! i'm not vain, but i'm thankful.""well now, i always said it," said matthew, gazing at the pass list delightedly. "i knew you could beat them all easy.""you've done pretty well, i must say, anne," said marilla, trying to hide herextreme pride in anne from mrs. rachel's

critical eye. but that good soul said heartily:"i just guess she has done well, and far be it from me to be backward in saying it.you're a credit to your friends, anne, that's what, and we're all proud of you." that night anne, who had wound up thedelightful evening with a serious little talk with mrs. allan at the manse, kneltsweetly by her open window in a great sheen of moonshine and murmured a prayer of gratitude and aspiration that came straightfrom her heart. there was in it thankfulness for the pastand reverent petition for the future; and

when she slept on her white pillow herdreams were as fair and bright and beautiful as maidenhood might desire. chapter xxxiii.the hotel concert "put on your white organdy, by all means,anne," advised diana decidedly. they were together in the east gablechamber; outside it was only twilight--a lovely yellowish-green twilight with aclear-blue cloudless sky. a big round moon, slowly deepening from herpallid luster into burnished silver, hung over the haunted wood; the air was full ofsweet summer sounds--sleepy birds twittering, freakish breezes, farawayvoices and laughter.

but in anne's room the blind was drawn andthe lamp lighted, for an important toilet was being made. the east gable was a very different placefrom what it had been on that night four years before, when anne had felt itsbareness penetrate to the marrow of her spirit with its inhospitable chill. changes had crept in, marilla conniving atthem resignedly, until it was as sweet and dainty a nest as a young girl could desire. the velvet carpet with the pink roses andthe pink silk curtains of anne's early visions had certainly never materialized;but her dreams had kept pace with her

growth, and it is not probable she lamentedthem. the floor was covered with a prettymatting, and the curtains that softened the high window and fluttered in the vagrantbreezes were of pale-green art muslin. the walls, hung not with gold and silverbrocade tapestry, but with a dainty apple- blossom paper, were adorned with a few goodpictures given anne by mrs. allan. miss stacy's photograph occupied the placeof honor, and anne made a sentimental point of keeping fresh flowers on the bracketunder it. tonight a spike of white lilies faintlyperfumed the room like the dream of a fragrance.

there was no "mahogany furniture," butthere was a white-painted bookcase filled with books, a cushioned wicker rocker, atoilet table befrilled with white muslin, a quaint, gilt-framed mirror with chubby pink cupids and purple grapes painted over itsarched top, that used to hang in the spare room, and a low white bed.anne was dressing for a concert at the white sands hotel. the guests had got it up in aid of thecharlottetown hospital, and had hunted out all the available amateur talent in thesurrounding districts to help it along. bertha sampson and pearl clay of the whitesands baptist choir had been asked to sing

a duet; milton clark of newbridge was togive a violin solo; winnie adella blair of carmody was to sing a scotch ballad; and laura spencer of spencervale and anneshirley of avonlea were to recite. as anne would have said at one time, it was"an epoch in her life," and she was deliciously athrill with the excitement ofit. matthew was in the seventh heaven ofgratified pride over the honor conferred on his anne and marilla was not far behind,although she would have died rather than admit it, and said she didn't think it was very proper for a lot of young folks to begadding over to the hotel without any

responsible person with them. anne and diana were to drive over with janeandrews and her brother billy in their double-seated buggy; and several otheravonlea girls and boys were going too. there was a party of visitors expected outfrom town, and after the concert a supper was to be given to the performers."do you really think the organdy will be best?" queried anne anxiously. "i don't think it's as pretty as my blue-flowered muslin--and it certainly isn't so fashionable.""but it suits you ever so much better," said diana.

"it's so soft and frilly and clinging.the muslin is stiff, and makes you look too dressed up.but the organdy seems as if it grew on you." anne sighed and yielded.diana was beginning to have a reputation for notable taste in dressing, and heradvice on such subjects was much sought after. she was looking very pretty herself on thisparticular night in a dress of the lovely wild-rose pink, from which anne was foreverdebarred; but she was not to take any part in the concert, so her appearance was ofminor importance.

all her pains were bestowed upon anne, who,she vowed, must, for the credit of avonlea, be dressed and combed and adorned to thequeen's taste. "pull out that frill a little more--so;here, let me tie your sash; now for your slippers. i'm going to braid your hair in two thickbraids, and tie them halfway up with big white bows--no, don't pull out a singlecurl over your forehead--just have the soft part. there is no way you do your hair suits youso well, anne, and mrs. allan says you look like a madonna when you part it so.i shall fasten this little white house rose

just behind your ear. there was just one on my bush, and i savedit for you." "shall i put my pearl beads on?" askedanne. "matthew brought me a string from town lastweek, and i know he'd like to see them on me." diana pursed up her lips, put her blackhead on one side critically, and finally pronounced in favor of the beads, whichwere thereupon tied around anne's slim milk-white throat. "there's something so stylish about you,anne," said diana, with unenvious

admiration."you hold your head with such an air. i suppose it's your figure. i am just a dumpling.i've always been afraid of it, and now i know it is so.well, i suppose i shall just have to resign myself to it." "but you have such dimples," said anne,smiling affectionately into the pretty, vivacious face so near her own."lovely dimples, like little dents in cream. i have given up all hope of dimples.my dimple-dream will never come true; but

so many of my dreams have that i mustn'tcomplain. am i all ready now?" "all ready," assured diana, as marillaappeared in the doorway, a gaunt figure with grayer hair than of yore and no fewerangles, but with a much softer face. "come right in and look at ourelocutionist, marilla. doesn't she look lovely?"marilla emitted a sound between a sniff and a grunt. "she looks neat and proper.i like that way of fixing her hair. but i expect she'll ruin that dress drivingover there in the dust and dew with it, and

it looks most too thin for these dampnights. organdy's the most unserviceable stuff inthe world anyhow, and i told matthew so when he got it.but there is no use in saying anything to matthew nowadays. time was when he would take my advice, butnow he just buys things for anne regardless, and the clerks at carmody knowthey can palm anything off on him. just let them tell him a thing is prettyand fashionable, and matthew plunks his money down for it.mind you keep your skirt clear of the wheel, anne, and put your warm jacket on."

then marilla stalked downstairs, thinkingproudly how sweet anne looked, with that "one moonbeam from the forehead to thecrown" and regretting that she could not go to the concert herself to hear her girlrecite. "i wonder if it is too damp for my dress,"said anne anxiously. "not a bit of it," said diana, pulling upthe window blind. "it's a perfect night, and there won't beany dew. look at the moonlight.""i'm so glad my window looks east into the sunrising," said anne, going over to diana. "it's so splendid to see the morning comingup over those long hills and glowing

through those sharp fir tops. it's new every morning, and i feel as if iwashed my very soul in that bath of earliest sunshine.oh, diana, i love this little room so dearly. i don't know how i'll get along without itwhen i go to town next month." "don't speak of your going away tonight,"begged diana. "i don't want to think of it, it makes meso miserable, and i do want to have a good time this evening.what are you going to recite, anne? and are you nervous?"

"not a bit.i've recited so often in public i don't mind at all now.i've decided to give 'the maiden's vow.' it's so pathetic. laura spencer is going to give a comicrecitation, but i'd rather make people cry than laugh.""what will you recite if they encore you?" "they won't dream of encoring me," scoffedanne, who was not without her own secret hopes that they would, and already visionedherself telling matthew all about it at the next morning's breakfast table. "there are billy and jane now--i hear thewheels.

come on." billy andrews insisted that anne shouldride on the front seat with him, so she unwillingly climbed up. she would have much preferred to sit backwith the girls, where she could have laughed and chattered to her heart'scontent. there was not much of either laughter orchatter in billy. he was a big, fat, stolid youth of twenty,with a round, expressionless face, and a painful lack of conversational gifts. but he admired anne immensely, and waspuffed up with pride over the prospect of

driving to white sands with that slim,upright figure beside him. anne, by dint of talking over her shoulderto the girls and occasionally passing a sop of civility to billy--who grinned andchuckled and never could think of any reply until it was too late--contrived to enjoythe drive in spite of all. it was a night for enjoyment. the road was full of buggies, all bound forthe hotel, and laughter, silver clear, echoed and reechoed along it.when they reached the hotel it was a blaze of light from top to bottom. they were met by the ladies of the concertcommittee, one of whom took anne off to the

performers' dressing room which was filledwith the members of a charlottetown symphony club, among whom anne felt suddenly shy and frightened andcountrified. her dress, which, in the east gable, hadseemed so dainty and pretty, now seemed simple and plain--too simple and plain, shethought, among all the silks and laces that glistened and rustled around her. what were her pearl beads compared to thediamonds of the big, handsome lady near her? and how poor her one wee white rose mustlook beside all the hothouse flowers the

others wore!anne laid her hat and jacket away, and shrank miserably into a corner. she wished herself back in the white roomat green gables. it was still worse on the platform of thebig concert hall of the hotel, where she presently found herself. the electric lights dazzled her eyes, theperfume and hum bewildered her. she wished she were sitting down in theaudience with diana and jane, who seemed to be having a splendid time away at the back. she was wedged in between a stout lady inpink silk and a tall, scornful-looking girl

in a white-lace dress. the stout lady occasionally turned her headsquarely around and surveyed anne through her eyeglasses until anne, acutelysensitive of being so scrutinized, felt that she must scream aloud; and the white- lace girl kept talking audibly to her nextneighbor about the "country bumpkins" and "rustic belles" in the audience, languidlyanticipating "such fun" from the displays of local talent on the program. anne believed that she would hate thatwhite-lace girl to the end of life. unfortunately for anne, a professionalelocutionist was staying at the hotel and

had consented to recite. she was a lithe, dark-eyed woman in awonderful gown of shimmering gray stuff like woven moonbeams, with gems on her neckand in her dark hair. she had a marvelously flexible voice andwonderful power of expression; the audience went wild over her selection. anne, forgetting all about herself and hertroubles for the time, listened with rapt and shining eyes; but when the recitationended she suddenly put her hands over her face. she could never get up and recite afterthat--never.

had she ever thought she could recite?oh, if she were only back at green gables! at this unpropitious moment her name wascalled. somehow anne--who did not notice the ratherguilty little start of surprise the white- lace girl gave, and would not haveunderstood the subtle compliment implied therein if she had--got on her feet, andmoved dizzily out to the front. she was so pale that diana and jane, downin the audience, clasped each other's hands in nervous sympathy. anne was the victim of an overwhelmingattack of stage fright. often as she had recited in public, she hadnever before faced such an audience as

this, and the sight of it paralyzed herenergies completely. everything was so strange, so brilliant, sobewildering--the rows of ladies in evening dress, the critical faces, the wholeatmosphere of wealth and culture about her. very different this from the plain benchesat the debating club, filled with the homely, sympathetic faces of friends andneighbors. these people, she thought, would bemerciless critics. perhaps, like the white-lace girl, theyanticipated amusement from her "rustic" efforts. she felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed andmiserable.

her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, ahorrible faintness came over her; not a word could she utter, and the next momentshe would have fled from the platform despite the humiliation which, she felt, must ever after be her portion if she didso. but suddenly, as her dilated, frightenedeyes gazed out over the audience, she saw gilbert blythe away at the back of theroom, bending forward with a smile on his face--a smile which seemed to anne at oncetriumphant and taunting. in reality it was nothing of the kind. gilbert was merely smiling withappreciation of the whole affair in general

and of the effect produced by anne'sslender white form and spiritual face against a background of palms inparticular. josie pye, whom he had driven over, satbeside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant and taunting. but anne did not see josie, and would nothave cared if she had. she drew a long breath and flung her headup proudly, courage and determination tingling over her like an electric shock. she would not fail before gilbert blythe--he should never be able to laugh at her, never, never!

her fright and nervousness vanished; andshe began her recitation, her clear, sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner ofthe room without a tremor or a break. self-possession was fully restored to her,and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessness she recited as shehad never done before. when she finished there were bursts ofhonest applause. anne, stepping back to her seat, blushingwith shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken by the stoutlady in pink silk. "my dear, you did splendidly," she puffed. "i've been crying like a baby, actually ihave.

there, they're encoring you--they're boundto have you back!" "oh, i can't go," said anne confusedly. "but yet--i must, or matthew will bedisappointed. he said they would encore me.""then don't disappoint matthew," said the pink lady, laughing. smiling, blushing, limpid eyed, annetripped back and gave a quaint, funny little selection that captivated heraudience still further. the rest of the evening was quite a littletriumph for her. when the concert was over, the stout, pinklady--who was the wife of an american

millionaire--took her under her wing, andintroduced her to everybody; and everybody was very nice to her. the professional elocutionist, mrs. evans,came and chatted with her, telling her that she had a charming voice and "interpreted"her selections beautifully. even the white-lace girl paid her a languidlittle compliment. they had supper in the big, beautifullydecorated dining room; diana and jane were invited to partake of this, also, sincethey had come with anne, but billy was nowhere to be found, having decamped inmortal fear of some such invitation. he was in waiting for them, with the team,however, when it was all over, and the

three girls came merrily out into the calm,white moonshine radiance. anne breathed deeply, and looked into theclear sky beyond the dark boughs of the firs.oh, it was good to be out again in the purity and silence of the night! how great and still and wonderfuleverything was, with the murmur of the sea sounding through it and the darkling cliffsbeyond like grim giants guarding enchanted coasts. "hasn't it been a perfectly splendid time?"sighed jane, as they drove away. "i just wish i was a rich american andcould spend my summer at a hotel and wear

jewels and low-necked dresses and have icecream and chicken salad every blessed day. i'm sure it would be ever so much more funthan teaching school. anne, your recitation was simply great,although i thought at first you were never going to begin. i think it was better than mrs. evans's.""oh, no, don't say things like that, jane," said anne quickly, "because it soundssilly. it couldn't be better than mrs. evans's,you know, for she is a professional, and i'm only a schoolgirl, with a little knackof reciting. i'm quite satisfied if the people justliked mine pretty well."

"i've a compliment for you, anne," saiddiana. "at least i think it must be a complimentbecause of the tone he said it in. part of it was anyhow. there was an american sitting behind janeand me--such a romantic-looking man, with coal-black hair and eyes. josie pye says he is a distinguishedartist, and that her mother's cousin in boston is married to a man that used to goto school with him. well, we heard him say--didn't we, jane?--'who is that girl on the platform with the splendid titian hair?she has a face i should like to paint.'

there now, anne. but what does titian hair mean?""being interpreted it means plain red, i guess," laughed anne."titian was a very famous artist who liked to paint red-haired women." "did you see all the diamonds those ladieswore?" sighed jane. "they were simply dazzling.wouldn't you just love to be rich, girls?" "we are rich," said anne staunchly. "why, we have sixteen years to our credit,and we're happy as queens, and we've all got imaginations, more or less.look at that sea, girls--all silver and

shadow and vision of things not seen. we couldn't enjoy its loveliness any moreif we had millions of dollars and ropes of diamonds.you wouldn't change into any of those women if you could. would you want to be that white-lace girland wear a sour look all your life, as if you'd been born turning up your nose at theworld? or the pink lady, kind and nice as she is,so stout and short that you'd really no figure at all?or even mrs. evans, with that sad, sad look in her eyes?

she must have been dreadfully unhappysometime to have such a look. you know you wouldn't, jane andrews!""i don't know--exactly," said jane unconvinced. "i think diamonds would comfort a personfor a good deal." "well, i don't want to be anyone butmyself, even if i go uncomforted by diamonds all my life," declared anne. "i'm quite content to be anne of greengables, with my string of pearl beads. i know matthew gave me as much love withthem as ever went with madame the pink lady's jewels."

chapter xxxiv.a queen's girl the next three weeks were busy ones atgreen gables, for anne was getting ready to go to queen's, and there was much sewing tobe done, and many things to be talked over and arranged. anne's outfit was ample and pretty, formatthew saw to that, and marilla for once made no objections whatever to anything hepurchased or suggested. more--one evening she went up to the eastgable with her arms full of a delicate pale green material."anne, here's something for a nice light dress for you.

i don't suppose you really need it; you'veplenty of pretty waists; but i thought maybe you'd like something real dressy towear if you were asked out anywhere of an evening in town, to a party or anythinglike that. i hear that jane and ruby and josie havegot 'evening dresses,' as they call them, and i don't mean you shall be behind them. i got mrs. allan to help me pick it in townlast week, and we'll get emily gillis to make it for you.emily has got taste, and her fits aren't to be equaled." "oh, marilla, it's just lovely," said anne."thank you so much.

i don't believe you ought to be so kind tome--it's making it harder every day for me to go away." the green dress was made up with as manytucks and frills and shirrings as emily's taste permitted. anne put it on one evening for matthew'sand marilla's benefit, and recited "the maiden's vow" for them in the kitchen. as marilla watched the bright, animatedface and graceful motions her thoughts went back to the evening anne had arrived atgreen gables, and memory recalled a vivid picture of the odd, frightened child in her

preposterous yellowish-brown wincey dress,the heartbreak looking out of her tearful eyes.something in the memory brought tears to marilla's own eyes. "i declare, my recitation has made you cry,marilla," said anne gaily stooping over marilla's chair to drop a butterfly kiss onthat lady's cheek. "now, i call that a positive triumph." "no, i wasn't crying over your piece," saidmarilla, who would have scorned to be betrayed into such weakness by any poetrystuff. "i just couldn't help thinking of thelittle girl you used to be, anne.

and i was wishing you could have stayed alittle girl, even with all your queer ways. you've grown up now and you're going away;and you look so tall and stylish and so-- so--different altogether in that dress--asif you didn't belong in avonlea at all--and i just got lonesome thinking it all over." "marilla!"anne sat down on marilla's gingham lap, took marilla's lined face between herhands, and looked gravely and tenderly into marilla's eyes. "i'm not a bit changed--not really.i'm only just pruned down and branched out. the real me--back here--is just the same.

it won't make a bit of difference where igo or how much i change outwardly; at heart i shall always be your little anne, whowill love you and matthew and dear green gables more and better every day of herlife." anne laid her fresh young cheek againstmarilla's faded one, and reached out a hand to pat matthew's shoulder. marilla would have given much just then tohave possessed anne's power of putting her feelings into words; but nature and habithad willed it otherwise, and she could only put her arms close about her girl and hold her tenderly to her heart, wishing that sheneed never let her go.

matthew, with a suspicious moisture in hiseyes, got up and went out-of-doors. under the stars of the blue summer night hewalked agitatedly across the yard to the gate under the poplars."well now, i guess she ain't been much spoiled," he muttered, proudly. "i guess my putting in my oar occasionalnever did much harm after all. she's smart and pretty, and loving, too,which is better than all the rest. she's been a blessing to us, and therenever was a luckier mistake than what mrs. spencer made--if it was luck.i don't believe it was any such thing. it was providence, because the almighty sawwe needed her, i reckon."

the day finally came when anne must go totown. she and matthew drove in one fine septembermorning, after a tearful parting with diana and an untearful practical one--onmarilla's side at least--with marilla. but when anne had gone diana dried hertears and went to a beach picnic at white sands with some of her carmody cousins,where she contrived to enjoy herself tolerably well; while marilla plunged fiercely into unnecessary work and kept atit all day long with the bitterest kind of heartache--the ache that burns and gnawsand cannot wash itself away in ready tears. but that night, when marilla went to bed,acutely and miserably conscious that the

little gable room at the end of the hallwas untenanted by any vivid young life and unstirred by any soft breathing, she buried her face in her pillow, and wept for hergirl in a passion of sobs that appalled her when she grew calm enough to reflect howvery wicked it must be to take on so about a sinful fellow creature. anne and the rest of the avonlea scholarsreached town just in time to hurry off to the academy. that first day passed pleasantly enough ina whirl of excitement, meeting all the new students, learning to know the professorsby sight and being assorted and organized

into classes. anne intended taking up the second yearwork being advised to do so by miss stacy; gilbert blythe elected to do the same. this meant getting a first class teacher'slicense in one year instead of two, if they were successful; but it also meant muchmore and harder work. jane, ruby, josie, charlie, and moodyspurgeon, not being troubled with the stirrings of ambition, were content to takeup the second class work. anne was conscious of a pang of lonelinesswhen she found herself in a room with fifty other students, not one of whom she knew,except the tall, brown-haired boy across

the room; and knowing him in the fashion she did, did not help her much, as shereflected pessimistically. yet she was undeniably glad that they werein the same class; the old rivalry could still be carried on, and anne would hardlyhave known what to do if it had been lacking. "i wouldn't feel comfortable without it,"she thought. "gilbert looks awfully determined.i suppose he's making up his mind, here and now, to win the medal. what a splendid chin he has!i never noticed it before.

i do wish jane and ruby had gone in forfirst class, too. i suppose i won't feel so much like a catin a strange garret when i get acquainted, though.i wonder which of the girls here are going to be my friends. it's really an interesting speculation. of course i promised diana that no queen'sgirl, no matter how much i liked her, should ever be as dear to me as she is; buti've lots of second-best affections to bestow. i like the look of that girl with the browneyes and the crimson waist.

she looks vivid and red-rosy; there's thatpale, fair one gazing out of the window. she has lovely hair, and looks as if sheknew a thing or two about dreams. i'd like to know them both--know them well--well enough to walk with my arm about their waists, and call them nicknames. but just now i don't know them and theydon't know me, and probably don't want to know me particularly.oh, it's lonesome!" it was lonesomer still when anne foundherself alone in her hall bedroom that night at twilight. she was not to board with the other girls,who all had relatives in town to take pity

on them. miss josephine barry would have liked toboard her, but beechwood was so far from the academy that it was out of thequestion; so miss barry hunted up a boarding-house, assuring matthew and marilla that it was the very place foranne. "the lady who keeps it is a reducedgentlewoman," explained miss barry. "her husband was a british officer, and sheis very careful what sort of boarders she takes.anne will not meet with any objectionable persons under her roof.

the table is good, and the house is nearthe academy, in a quiet neighborhood." all this might be quite true, and indeed,proved to be so, but it did not materially help anne in the first agony ofhomesickness that seized upon her. she looked dismally about her narrow littleroom, with its dull-papered, pictureless walls, its small iron bedstead and emptybook-case; and a horrible choke came into her throat as she thought of her own white room at green gables, where she would havethe pleasant consciousness of a great green still outdoors, of sweet peas growing inthe garden, and moonlight falling on the orchard, of the brook below the slope and

the spruce boughs tossing in the night windbeyond it, of a vast starry sky, and the light from diana's window shining outthrough the gap in the trees. here there was nothing of this; anne knewthat outside of her window was a hard street, with a network of telephone wiresshutting out the sky, the tramp of alien feet, and a thousand lights gleaming onstranger faces. she knew that she was going to cry, andfought against it. "i won't cry. it's silly--and weak--there's the thirdtear splashing down by my nose. there are more coming!i must think of something funny to stop

them. but there's nothing funny except what isconnected with avonlea, and that only makes things worse--four--five--i'm going homenext friday, but that seems a hundred years away. oh, matthew is nearly home by now--andmarilla is at the gate, looking down the lane for him--six--seven--eight--oh,there's no use in counting them! they're coming in a flood presently. i can't cheer up--i don't want to cheer up.it's nicer to be miserable!" the flood of tears would have come, nodoubt, had not josie pye appeared at that

moment. in the joy of seeing a familiar face anneforgot that there had never been much love lost between her and josie.as a part of avonlea life even a pye was welcome. "i'm so glad you came up," anne saidsincerely. "you've been crying," remarked josie, withaggravating pity. "i suppose you're homesick--some peoplehave so little self-control in that respect.i've no intention of being homesick, i can tell you.

town's too jolly after that poky oldavonlea. i wonder how i ever existed there so long. you shouldn't cry, anne; it isn't becoming,for your nose and eyes get red, and then you seem all red.i'd a perfectly scrumptious time in the academy today. our french professor is simply a duck.his moustache would give you kerwollowps of the heart.have you anything eatable around, anne? i'm literally starving. ah, i guessed likely marilla'd load you upwith cake.

that's why i called round.otherwise i'd have gone to the park to hear the band play with frank stockley. he boards same place as i do, and he's asport. he noticed you in class today, and asked mewho the red-headed girl was. i told him you were an orphan that thecuthberts had adopted, and nobody knew very much about what you'd been before that." anne was wondering if, after all, solitudeand tears were not more satisfactory than josie pye's companionship when jane andruby appeared, each with an inch of queen's color ribbon--purple and scarlet--pinnedproudly to her coat.

as josie was not "speaking" to jane justthen she had to subside into comparative harmlessness. "well," said jane with a sigh, "i feel asif i'd lived many moons since the morning. i ought to be home studying my virgil--thathorrid old professor gave us twenty lines to start in on tomorrow. but i simply couldn't settle down to studytonight. anne, methinks i see the traces of tears.if you've been crying do own up. it will restore my self-respect, for i wasshedding tears freely before ruby came along.i don't mind being a goose so much if

somebody else is goosey, too. cake?you'll give me a teeny piece, won't you? thank you.it has the real avonlea flavor." ruby, perceiving the queen's calendar lyingon the table, wanted to know if anne meant to try for the gold medal.anne blushed and admitted she was thinking "oh, that reminds me," said josie, "queen'sis to get one of the avery scholarships after all.the word came today. frank stockley told me--his uncle is one ofthe board of governors, you know. it will be announced in the academytomorrow."

an avery scholarship! anne felt her heart beat more quickly, andthe horizons of her ambition shifted and broadened as if by magic. before josie had told the news anne'shighest pinnacle of aspiration had been a teacher's provincial license, first class,at the end of the year, and perhaps the medal! but now in one moment anne saw herselfwinning the avery scholarship, taking an arts course at redmond college, andgraduating in a gown and mortar board, before the echo of josie's words had diedaway.

for the avery scholarship was in english,and anne felt that here her foot was on native heath. a wealthy manufacturer of new brunswick haddied and left part of his fortune to endow a large number of scholarships to bedistributed among the various high schools and academies of the maritime provinces,according to their respective standings. there had been much doubt whether one wouldbe allotted to queen's, but the matter was settled at last, and at the end of the yearthe graduate who made the highest mark in english and english literature would win the scholarship--two hundred and fiftydollars a year for four years at redmond

college.no wonder that anne went to bed that night with tingling cheeks! "i'll win that scholarship if hard work cando it," she resolved. "wouldn't matthew be proud if i got to be ab.a.? oh, it's delightful to have ambitions. i'm so glad i have such a lot.and there never seems to be any end to them--that's the best of it. just as soon as you attain to one ambitionyou see another one glittering higher up still.it does make life so interesting."

chapter xxxv.the winter at queen's anne's homesickness wore off, greatlyhelped in the wearing by her weekend visits home. as long as the open weather lasted theavonlea students went out to carmody on the new branch railway every friday night. diana and several other avonlea young folkswere generally on hand to meet them and they all walked over to avonlea in a merryparty. anne thought those friday evening gypsyingsover the autumnal hills in the crisp golden air, with the homelights of avonleatwinkling beyond, were the best and dearest

hours in the whole week. gilbert blythe nearly always walked withruby gillis and carried her satchel for her. ruby was a very handsome young lady, nowthinking herself quite as grown up as she really was; she wore her skirts as long asher mother would let her and did her hair up in town, though she had to take it downwhen she went home. she had large, bright-blue eyes, abrilliant complexion, and a plump showy figure. she laughed a great deal, was cheerful andgood-tempered, and enjoyed the pleasant

things of life frankly. "but i shouldn't think she was the sort ofgirl gilbert would like," whispered jane to anne.anne did not think so either, but she would not have said so for the avery scholarship. she could not help thinking, too, that itwould be very pleasant to have such a friend as gilbert to jest and chatter withand exchange ideas about books and studies and ambitions. gilbert had ambitions, she knew, and rubygillis did not seem the sort of person with whom such could be profitably discussed.there was no silly sentiment in anne's

ideas concerning gilbert. boys were to her, when she thought aboutthem at all, merely possible good comrades. if she and gilbert had been friends shewould not have cared how many other friends he had nor with whom he walked. she had a genius for friendship; girlfriends she had in plenty; but she had a vague consciousness that masculinefriendship might also be a good thing to round out one's conceptions of companionship and furnish broaderstandpoints of judgment and comparison. not that anne could have put her feelingson the matter into just such clear

definition. but she thought that if gilbert had everwalked home with her from the train, over the crisp fields and along the fernybyways, they might have had many and merry and interesting conversations about the new world that was opening around them andtheir hopes and ambitions therein. gilbert was a clever young fellow, with hisown thoughts about things and a determination to get the best out of lifeand put the best into it. ruby gillis told jane andrews that shedidn't understand half the things gilbert blythe said; he talked just like anneshirley did when she had a thoughtful fit

on and for her part she didn't think it any fun to be bothering about books and thatsort of thing when you didn't have to. frank stockley had lots more dash and go,but then he wasn't half as good-looking as gilbert and she really couldn't decidewhich she liked best! in the academy anne gradually drew a littlecircle of friends about her, thoughtful, imaginative, ambitious students likeherself. with the "rose-red" girl, stella maynard,and the "dream girl," priscilla grant, she soon became intimate, finding the latterpale spiritual-looking maiden to be full to the brim of mischief and pranks and fun,

while the vivid, black-eyed stella had aheartful of wistful dreams and fancies, as aerial and rainbow-like as anne's own. after the christmas holidays the avonleastudents gave up going home on fridays and settled down to hard work. by this time all the queen's scholars hadgravitated into their own places in the ranks and the various classes had assumeddistinct and settled shadings of individuality. certain facts had become generallyaccepted. it was admitted that the medal contestantshad practically narrowed down to three--

gilbert blythe, anne shirley, and lewiswilson; the avery scholarship was more doubtful, any one of a certain six being apossible winner. the bronze medal for mathematics wasconsidered as good as won by a fat, funny little up-country boy with a bumpy foreheadand a patched coat. ruby gillis was the handsomest girl of theyear at the academy; in the second year classes stella maynard carried off the palmfor beauty, with small but critical minority in favor of anne shirley. ethel marr was admitted by all competentjudges to have the most stylish modes of hair-dressing, and jane andrews--plain,plodding, conscientious jane--carried off

the honors in the domestic science course. even josie pye attained a certainpreeminence as the sharpest-tongued young lady in attendance at queen's. so it may be fairly stated that missstacy's old pupils held their own in the wider arena of the academical course.anne worked hard and steadily. her rivalry with gilbert was as intense asit had ever been in avonlea school, although it was not known in the class atlarge, but somehow the bitterness had gone out of it. anne no longer wished to win for the sakeof defeating gilbert; rather, for the proud

consciousness of a well-won victory over aworthy foeman. it would be worth while to win, but she nolonger thought life would be insupportable if she did not.in spite of lessons the students found opportunities for pleasant times. anne spent many of her spare hours atbeechwood and generally ate her sunday dinners there and went to church with missbarry. the latter was, as she admitted, growingold, but her black eyes were not dim nor the vigor of her tongue in the leastabated. but she never sharpened the latter on anne,who continued to be a prime favorite with

the critical old lady."that anne-girl improves all the time," she said. "i get tired of other girls--there is sucha provoking and eternal sameness about anne has as many shades as a rainbow andevery shade is the prettiest while it lasts. i don't know that she is as amusing as shewas when she was a child, but she makes me love her and i like people who make me lovethem. it saves me so much trouble in makingmyself love them." then, almost before anybody realized it,spring had come; out in avonlea the

mayflowers were peeping pinkly out on thesere barrens where snow-wreaths lingered; and the "mist of green" was on the woodsand in the valleys. but in charlottetown harassed queen'sstudents thought and talked only of examinations. "it doesn't seem possible that the term isnearly over," said anne. "why, last fall it seemed so long to lookforward to--a whole winter of studies and classes. and here we are, with the exams looming upnext week. girls, sometimes i feel as if those examsmeant everything, but when i look at the

big buds swelling on those chestnut treesand the misty blue air at the end of the streets they don't seem half so important." jane and ruby and josie, who had droppedin, did not take this view of it. to them the coming examinations wereconstantly very important indeed--far more important than chestnut buds or maytimehazes. it was all very well for anne, who was sureof passing at least, to have her moments of belittling them, but when your whole futuredepended on them--as the girls truly thought theirs did--you could not regardthem philosophically. "i've lost seven pounds in the last twoweeks," sighed jane.

"it's no use to say don't worry. i will worry.worrying helps you some--it seems as if you were doing something when you're worrying. it would be dreadful if i failed to get mylicense after going to queen's all winter and spending so much money.""i don't care," said josie pye. "if i don't pass this year i'm coming backnext. my father can afford to send me. anne, frank stockley says that professortremaine said gilbert blythe was sure to get the medal and that emily clay wouldlikely win the avery scholarship."

"that may make me feel badly tomorrow,josie," laughed anne, "but just now i honestly feel that as long as i know theviolets are coming out all purple down in the hollow below green gables and that little ferns are poking their heads up inlovers' lane, it's not a great deal of difference whether i win the avery or not.i've done my best and i begin to understand what is meant by the 'joy of the strife.' next to trying and winning, the best thingis trying and failing. girls, don't talk about exams! look at that arch of pale green sky overthose houses and picture to yourself what

it must look like over the purply-darkbeech-woods back of avonlea." "what are you going to wear forcommencement, jane?" asked ruby practically. jane and josie both answered at once andthe chatter drifted into a side eddy of fashions. but anne, with her elbows on the windowsill, her soft cheek laid against her clasped hands, and her eyes filled withvisions, looked out unheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious dome of sunset sky and wove her dreams of apossible future from the golden tissue of

youth's own optimism. all the beyond was hers with itspossibilities lurking rosily in the oncoming years--each year a rose of promiseto be woven into an immortal chaplet. chapter xxxvi.the glory and the dream on the morning when the final results ofall the examinations were to be posted on the bulletin board at queen's, anne andjane walked down the street together. jane was smiling and happy; examinationswere over and she was comfortably sure she had made a pass at least; furtherconsiderations troubled jane not at all; she had no soaring ambitions and

consequently was not affected with theunrest attendant thereon. for we pay a price for everything we get ortake in this world; and although ambitions are well worth having, they are not to becheaply won, but exact their dues of work and self-denial, anxiety anddiscouragement. anne was pale and quiet; in ten moreminutes she would know who had won the medal and who the avery. beyond those ten minutes there did notseem, just then, to be anything worth being called time. "of course you'll win one of them anyhow,"said jane, who couldn't understand how the

faculty could be so unfair as to order itotherwise. "i have not hope of the avery," said anne. "everybody says emily clay will win it.and i'm not going to march up to that bulletin board and look at it beforeeverybody. i haven't the moral courage. i'm going straight to the girls' dressingroom. you must read the announcements and thencome and tell me, jane. and i implore you in the name of our oldfriendship to do it as quickly as possible. if i have failed just say so, withouttrying to break it gently; and whatever you

do don't sympathize with me. promise me this, jane."jane promised solemnly; but, as it happened, there was no necessity for such apromise. when they went up the entrance steps ofqueen's they found the hall full of boys who were carrying gilbert blythe around ontheir shoulders and yelling at the tops of their voices, "hurrah for blythe,medalist!" for a moment anne felt one sickening pangof defeat and disappointment. so she had failed and gilbert had won! well, matthew would be sorry--he had beenso sure she would win.

and then!somebody called out: "three cheers for miss shirley, winner ofthe avery!" "oh, anne," gasped jane, as they fled tothe girls' dressing room amid hearty cheers. "oh, anne i'm so proud!isn't it splendid?" and then the girls were around them andanne was the center of a laughing, congratulating group. her shoulders were thumped and her handsshaken vigorously. she was pushed and pulled and hugged andamong it all she managed to whisper to

jane: "oh, won't matthew and marilla be pleased!i must write the news home right away." commencement was the next importanthappening. the exercises were held in the big assemblyhall of the academy. addresses were given, essays read, songssung, the public award of diplomas, prizes and medals made. matthew and marilla were there, with eyesand ears for only one student on the platform--a tall girl in pale green, withfaintly flushed cheeks and starry eyes, who read the best essay and was pointed out andwhispered about as the avery winner.

"reckon you're glad we kept her, marilla?"whispered matthew, speaking for the first time since he had entered the hall, whenanne had finished her essay. "it's not the first time i've been glad,"retorted marilla. "you do like to rub things in, matthewcuthbert." miss barry, who was sitting behind them,leaned forward and poked marilla in the back with her parasol."aren't you proud of that anne-girl? i am," she said. anne went home to avonlea with matthew andmarilla that evening. she had not been home since april and shefelt that she could not wait another day.

the apple blossoms were out and the worldwas fresh and young. diana was at green gables to meet her. in her own white room, where marilla hadset a flowering house rose on the window sill, anne looked about her and drew a longbreath of happiness. "oh, diana, it's so good to be back again. it's so good to see those pointed firscoming out against the pink sky--and that white orchard and the old snow queen.isn't the breath of the mint delicious? and that tea rose--why, it's a song and ahope and a prayer all in one. and it's good to see you again, diana!""i thought you liked that stella maynard

better than me," said diana reproachfully. "josie pye told me you did.josie said you were infatuated with her." anne laughed and pelted diana with thefaded "june lilies" of her bouquet. "stella maynard is the dearest girl in theworld except one and you are that one, diana," she said."i love you more than ever--and i've so many things to tell you. but just now i feel as if it were joyenough to sit here and look at you. i'm tired, i think--tired of being studiousand ambitious. i mean to spend at least two hours tomorrowlying out in the orchard grass, thinking of

absolutely nothing.""you've done splendidly, anne. i suppose you won't be teaching now thatyou've won the avery?" "no.i'm going to redmond in september. doesn't it seem wonderful? i'll have a brand new stock of ambitionlaid in by that time after three glorious, golden months of vacation.jane and ruby are going to teach. isn't it splendid to think we all gotthrough even to moody spurgeon and josie pye?""the newbridge trustees have offered jane their school already," said diana.

"gilbert blythe is going to teach, too.he has to. his father can't afford to send him tocollege next year, after all, so he means to earn his own way through. i expect he'll get the school here if missames decides to leave." anne felt a queer little sensation ofdismayed surprise. she had not known this; she had expectedthat gilbert would be going to redmond also.what would she do without their inspiring rivalry? would not work, even at a coeducationalcollege with a real degree in prospect, be

rather flat without her friend the enemy? the next morning at breakfast it suddenlystruck anne that matthew was not looking well.surely he was much grayer than he had been a year before. "marilla," she said hesitatingly when hehad gone out, "is matthew quite well?" "no, he isn't," said marilla in a troubledtone. "he's had some real bad spells with hisheart this spring and he won't spare himself a mite. i've been real worried about him, but he'ssome better this while back and we've got a

good hired man, so i'm hoping he'll kind ofrest and pick up. maybe he will now you're home. you always cheer him up."anne leaned across the table and took marilla's face in her hands."you are not looking as well yourself as i'd like to see you, marilla. you look tired.i'm afraid you've been working too hard. you must take a rest, now that i'm home. i'm just going to take this one day off tovisit all the dear old spots and hunt up my old dreams, and then it will be your turnto be lazy while i do the work."

marilla smiled affectionately at her girl. "it's not the work--it's my head.i've got a pain so often now--behind my eyes.doctor spencer's been fussing with glasses, but they don't do me any good. there is a distinguished oculist coming tothe island the last of june and the doctor says i must see him.i guess i'll have to. i can't read or sew with any comfort now. well, anne, you've done real well atqueen's i must say. to take first class license in one year andwin the avery scholarship--well, well, mrs.

lynde says pride goes before a fall and shedoesn't believe in the higher education of women at all; she says it unfits them forwoman's true sphere. i don't believe a word of it. speaking of rachel reminds me--did you hearanything about the abbey bank lately, anne?""i heard it was shaky," answered anne. "why?" "that is what rachel said.she was up here one day last week and said there was some talk about it.matthew felt real worried. all we have saved is in that bank--everypenny.

i wanted matthew to put it in the savingsbank in the first place, but old mr. abbey was a great friend of father's and he'dalways banked with him. matthew said any bank with him at the headof it was good enough for anybody." "i think he has only been its nominal headfor many years," said anne. "he is a very old man; his nephews arereally at the head of the institution." "well, when rachel told us that, i wantedmatthew to draw our money right out and he said he'd think of it. but mr. russell told him yesterday that thebank was all right." anne had her good day in the companionshipof the outdoor world.

she never forgot that day; it was so brightand golden and fair, so free from shadow and so lavish of blossom. anne spent some of its rich hours in theorchard; she went to the dryad's bubble and willowmere and violet vale; she called atthe manse and had a satisfying talk with mrs. allan; and finally in the evening she went with matthew for the cows, throughlovers' lane to the back pasture. the woods were all gloried through withsunset and the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hill gaps in the west. matthew walked slowly with bent head; anne,tall and erect, suited her springing step

to his."you've been working too hard today, matthew," she said reproachfully. "why won't you take things easier?""well now, i can't seem to," said matthew, as he opened the yard gate to let the cowsthrough. "it's only that i'm getting old, anne, andkeep forgetting it. well, well, i've always worked pretty hardand i'd rather drop in harness." "if i had been the boy you sent for," saidanne wistfully, "i'd be able to help you so much now and spare you in a hundred ways.i could find it in my heart to wish i had been, just for that."

"well now, i'd rather have you than a dozenboys, anne," said matthew patting her hand. "just mind you that--rather than a dozenboys. well now, i guess it wasn't a boy that tookthe avery scholarship, was it? it was a girl--my girl--my girl that i'mproud of." he smiled his shy smile at her as he wentinto the yard. anne took the memory of it with her whenshe went to her room that night and sat for a long while at her open window, thinkingof the past and dreaming of the future. outside the snow queen was mistily white inthe moonshine; the frogs were singing in the marsh beyond orchard slope.

anne always remembered the silvery,peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. it was the last night before sorrow touchedher life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifyingtouch has been laid upon it. chapter xxxvii.the reaper whose name is death "matthew--matthew--what is the matter?matthew, are you sick?" it was marilla who spoke, alarm in everyjerky word. anne came through the hall, her hands fullof white narcissus,--it was long before anne could love the sight or odor of whitenarcissus again,--in time to hear her and

to see matthew standing in the porch doorway, a folded paper in his hand, andhis face strangely drawn and gray. anne dropped her flowers and sprang acrossthe kitchen to him at the same moment as they were both too late; before they couldreach him matthew had fallen across the threshold."he's fainted," gasped marilla. "anne, run for martin--quick, quick! he's at the barn."martin, the hired man, who had just driven home from the post office, started at oncefor the doctor, calling at orchard slope on his way to send mr. and mrs. barry over.

mrs. lynde, who was there on an errand,came too. they found anne and marilla distractedlytrying to restore matthew to consciousness. mrs. lynde pushed them gently aside, triedhis pulse, and then laid her ear over his heart. she looked at their anxious facessorrowfully and the tears came into her eyes."oh, marilla," she said gravely. "i don't think--we can do anything forhim." "mrs. lynde, you don't think--you can'tthink matthew is--is--" anne could not say the dreadful word; she turned sick andpallid.

"child, yes, i'm afraid of it. look at his face.when you've seen that look as often as i have you'll know what it means."anne looked at the still face and there beheld the seal of the great presence. when the doctor came he said that death hadbeen instantaneous and probably painless, caused in all likelihood by some suddenshock. the secret of the shock was discovered tobe in the paper matthew had held and which martin had brought from the office thatmorning. it contained an account of the failure ofthe abbey bank.

the news spread quickly through avonlea,and all day friends and neighbors thronged green gables and came and went on errandsof kindness for the dead and living. for the first time shy, quiet matthewcuthbert was a person of central importance; the white majesty of death hadfallen on him and set him apart as one crowned. when the calm night came softly down overgreen gables the old house was hushed and tranquil. in the parlor lay matthew cuthbert in hiscoffin, his long gray hair framing his placid face on which there was a littlekindly smile as if he but slept, dreaming

pleasant dreams. there were flowers about him--sweet old-fashioned flowers which his mother had planted in the homestead garden in herbridal days and for which matthew had always had a secret, wordless love. anne had gathered them and brought them tohim, her anguished, tearless eyes burning in her white face.it was the last thing she could do for him. the barrys and mrs. lynde stayed with themthat night. diana, going to the east gable, where annewas standing at her window, said gently: "anne dear, would you like to have me sleepwith you tonight?"

"thank you, diana."anne looked earnestly into her friend's "i think you won't misunderstand me when isay i want to be alone. i'm not afraid.i haven't been alone one minute since it happened--and i want to be. i want to be quite silent and quiet and tryto realize it. i can't realize it. half the time it seems to me that matthewcan't be dead; and the other half it seems as if he must have been dead for a longtime and i've had this horrible dull ache ever since."

diana did not quite understand. marilla's impassioned grief, breaking allthe bounds of natural reserve and lifelong habit in its stormy rush, she couldcomprehend better than anne's tearless agony. but she went away kindly, leaving annealone to keep her first vigil with sorrow. anne hoped that the tears would come insolitude. it seemed to her a terrible thing that shecould not shed a tear for matthew, whom she had loved so much and who had been so kindto her, matthew who had walked with her last evening at sunset and was now lying in

the dim room below with that awful peace onhis brow. but no tears came at first, even when sheknelt by her window in the darkness and prayed, looking up to the stars beyond thehills--no tears, only the same horrible dull ache of misery that kept on aching until she fell asleep, worn out with theday's pain and excitement. in the night she awakened, with thestillness and the darkness about her, and the recollection of the day came over herlike a wave of sorrow. she could see matthew's face smiling at heras he had smiled when they parted at the gate that last evening--she could hear hisvoice saying, "my girl--my girl that i'm

proud of." then the tears came and anne wept her heartout. marilla heard her and crept in to comforther. "there--there--don't cry so, dearie. it can't bring him back.it--it--isn't right to cry so. i knew that today, but i couldn't help itthen. he'd always been such a good, kind brotherto me--but god knows best." "oh, just let me cry, marilla," sobbedanne. "the tears don't hurt me like that achedid.

stay here for a little while with me andkeep your arm round me--so. i couldn't have diana stay, she's good andkind and sweet--but it's not her sorrow-- she's outside of it and she couldn't comeclose enough to my heart to help me. it's our sorrow--yours and mine. oh, marilla, what will we do without him?""we've got each other, anne. i don't know what i'd do if you weren'there--if you'd never come. oh, anne, i know i've been kind of strictand harsh with you maybe--but you mustn't think i didn't love you as well as matthewdid, for all that. i want to tell you now when i can.

it's never been easy for me to say thingsout of my heart, but at times like this it's easier. i love you as dear as if you were my ownflesh and blood and you've been my joy and comfort ever since you came to greengables." two days afterwards they carried matthewcuthbert over his homestead threshold and away from the fields he had tilled and theorchards he had loved and the trees he had planted; and then avonlea settled back to its usual placidity and even at greengables affairs slipped into their old groove and work was done and dutiesfulfilled with regularity as before,

although always with the aching sense of"loss in all familiar things." anne, new to grief, thought it almost sadthat it could be so--that they could go on in the old way without matthew. she felt something like shame and remorsewhen she discovered that the sunrises behind the firs and the pale pink budsopening in the garden gave her the old inrush of gladness when she saw them--that diana's visits were pleasant to her andthat diana's merry words and ways moved her to laughter and smiles--that, in brief, thebeautiful world of blossom and love and friendship had lost none of its power to

please her fancy and thrill her heart, thatlife still called to her with many insistent voices. "it seems like disloyalty to matthew,somehow, to find pleasure in these things now that he has gone," she said wistfullyto mrs. allan one evening when they were together in the manse garden. "i miss him so much--all the time--and yet,mrs. allan, the world and life seem very beautiful and interesting to me for all.today diana said something funny and i found myself laughing. i thought when it happened i could neverlaugh again.

and it somehow seems as if i oughtn't to." "when matthew was here he liked to hear youlaugh and he liked to know that you found pleasure in the pleasant things aroundyou," said mrs. allan gently. "he is just away now; and he likes to knowit just the same. i am sure we should not shut our heartsagainst the healing influences that nature offers us. but i can understand your feeling.i think we all experience the same thing. we resent the thought that anything canplease us when someone we love is no longer here to share the pleasure with us, and wealmost feel as if we were unfaithful to our

sorrow when we find our interest in lifereturning to us." "i was down to the graveyard to plant arosebush on matthew's grave this afternoon," said anne dreamily. "i took a slip of the little white scotchrosebush his mother brought out from scotland long ago; matthew always likedthose roses the best--they were so small and sweet on their thorny stems. it made me feel glad that i could plant itby his grave--as if i were doing something that must please him in taking it there tobe near him. i hope he has roses like them in heaven.

perhaps the souls of all those little whiteroses that he has loved so many summers were all there to meet him.i must go home now. marilla is all alone and she gets lonely attwilight." "she will be lonelier still, i fear, whenyou go away again to college," said mrs. allan. anne did not reply; she said good night andwent slowly back to green gables. marilla was sitting on the front door-stepsand anne sat down beside her. the door was open behind them, held back bya big pink conch shell with hints of sea sunsets in its smooth inner convolutions.anne gathered some sprays of pale-yellow

honeysuckle and put them in her hair. she liked the delicious hint of fragrance,as some aerial benediction, above her every time she moved."doctor spencer was here while you were away," marilla said. "he says that the specialist will be intown tomorrow and he insists that i must go in and have my eyes examined.i suppose i'd better go and have it over. i'll be more than thankful if the man cangive me the right kind of glasses to suit my eyes.you won't mind staying here alone while i'm away, will you?

martin will have to drive me in and there'sironing and baking to do." "i shall be all right.diana will come over for company for me. i shall attend to the ironing and bakingbeautifully--you needn't fear that i'll starch the handkerchiefs or flavor the cakewith liniment." marilla laughed. "what a girl you were for making mistakesin them days, anne. you were always getting into scrapes.i did use to think you were possessed. do you mind the time you dyed your hair?" "yes, indeed.i shall never forget it," smiled anne,

touching the heavy braid of hair that waswound about her shapely head. "i laugh a little now sometimes when ithink what a worry my hair used to be to me--but i don't laugh much, because it wasa very real trouble then. i did suffer terribly over my hair and myfreckles. my freckles are really gone; and people arenice enough to tell me my hair is auburn now--all but josie pye. she informed me yesterday that she reallythought it was redder than ever, or at least my black dress made it look redder,and she asked me if people who had red hair ever got used to having it.

marilla, i've almost decided to give uptrying to like josie pye. i've made what i would once have called aheroic effort to like her, but josie pye won't be liked." "josie is a pye," said marilla sharply, "soshe can't help being disagreeable. i suppose people of that kind serve someuseful purpose in society, but i must say i don't know what it is any more than i knowthe use of thistles. is josie going to teach?" "no, she is going back to queen's nextyear. so are moody spurgeon and charlie sloane.

jane and ruby are going to teach and theyhave both got schools--jane at newbridge and ruby at some place up west.""gilbert blythe is going to teach too, isn't he?" "yes"--briefly."what a nice-looking fellow he is," said marilla absently."i saw him in church last sunday and he seemed so tall and manly. he looks a lot like his father did at thesame age. john blythe was a nice boy.we used to be real good friends, he and i. people called him my beau."

anne looked up with swift interest."oh, marilla--and what happened?--why didn't you--""we had a quarrel. i wouldn't forgive him when he asked me to. i meant to, after awhile--but i was sulkyand angry and i wanted to punish him first. he never came back--the blythes were allmighty independent. but i always felt--rather sorry. i've always kind of wished i'd forgiven himwhen i had the chance." "so you've had a bit of romance in yourlife, too," said anne softly. "yes, i suppose you might call it that.

you wouldn't think so to look at me, wouldyou? but you never can tell about people fromtheir outsides. everybody has forgot about me and john. i'd forgotten myself.but it all came back to me when i saw gilbert last sunday." chapter xxxviii.the bend in the road marilla went to town the next day andreturned in the evening. anne had gone over to orchard slope withdiana and came back to find marilla in the kitchen, sitting by the table with her headleaning on her hand.

something in her dejected attitude struck achill to anne's heart. she had never seen marilla sit limply inertlike that. "are you very tired, marilla?" "yes--no--i don't know," said marillawearily, looking up. "i suppose i am tired but i haven't thoughtabout it. it's not that." "did you see the oculist?what did he say?" asked anne anxiously. "yes, i saw him.he examined my eyes. he says that if i give up all reading andsewing entirely and any kind of work that

strains the eyes, and if i'm careful not tocry, and if i wear the glasses he's given me he thinks my eyes may not get any worseand my headaches will be cured. but if i don't he says i'll certainly bestone-blind in six months. blind! anne, just think of it!"for a minute anne, after her first quick exclamation of dismay, was silent.it seemed to her that she could not speak. then she said bravely, but with a catch inher voice: "marilla, don't think of it.you know he has given you hope. if you are careful you won't lose yoursight altogether; and if his glasses cure

your headaches it will be a great thing.""i don't call it much hope," said marilla bitterly. "what am i to live for if i can't read orsew or do anything like that? i might as well be blind--or dead.and as for crying, i can't help that when i get lonesome. but there, it's no good talking about it.if you'll get me a cup of tea i'll be thankful.i'm about done out. don't say anything about this to any onefor a spell yet, anyway. i can't bear that folks should come here toquestion and sympathize and talk about it."

when marilla had eaten her lunch annepersuaded her to go to bed. then anne went herself to the east gableand sat down by her window in the darkness alone with her tears and her heaviness ofheart. how sadly things had changed since she hadsat there the night after coming home! then she had been full of hope and joy andthe future had looked rosy with promise. anne felt as if she had lived years sincethen, but before she went to bed there was a smile on her lips and peace in her heart. she had looked her duty courageously in theface and found it a friend--as duty ever is when we meet it frankly.

one afternoon a few days later marilla cameslowly in from the front yard where she had been talking to a caller--a man whom anneknew by sight as sadler from carmody. anne wondered what he could have beensaying to bring that look to marilla's face."what did mr. sadler want, marilla?" marilla sat down by the window and lookedat anne. there were tears in her eyes in defiance ofthe oculist's prohibition and her voice broke as she said: "he heard that i was going to sell greengables and he wants to buy it." "buy it!buy green gables?"

anne wondered if she had heard aright. "oh, marilla, you don't mean to sell greengables!" "anne, i don't know what else is to bedone. i've thought it all over. if my eyes were strong i could stay hereand make out to look after things and manage, with a good hired man.but as it is i can't. i may lose my sight altogether; and anywayi'll not be fit to run things. oh, i never thought i'd live to see the daywhen i'd have to sell my home. but things would only go behind worse andworse all the time, till nobody would want

to buy it. every cent of our money went in that bank;and there's some notes matthew gave last fall to pay.mrs. lynde advises me to sell the farm and board somewhere--with her i suppose. it won't bring much--it's small and thebuildings are old. but it'll be enough for me to live on ireckon. i'm thankful you're provided for with thatscholarship, anne. i'm sorry you won't have a home to come toin your vacations, that's all, but i suppose you'll manage somehow."

marilla broke down and wept bitterly."you mustn't sell green gables," said anne resolutely."oh, anne, i wish i didn't have to. but you can see for yourself. i can't stay here alone.i'd go crazy with trouble and loneliness. and my sight would go--i know it would.""you won't have to stay here alone, i'll be with you.i'm not going to redmond." "not going to redmond!"marilla lifted her worn face from her hands and looked at anne. "why, what do you mean?""just what i say.

i'm not going to take the scholarship.i decided so the night after you came home from town. you surely don't think i could leave youalone in your trouble, marilla, after all you've done for me.i've been thinking and planning. let me tell you my plans. mr. barry wants to rent the farm for nextyear. so you won't have any bother over that.and i'm going to teach. i've applied for the school here--but idon't expect to get it for i understand the trustees have promised it to gilbertblythe.

but i can have the carmody school--mr.blair told me so last night at the store. of course that won't be quite as nice orconvenient as if i had the avonlea school. but i can board home and drive myself overto carmody and back, in the warm weather at least.and even in winter i can come home fridays. we'll keep a horse for that. oh, i have it all planned out, marilla.and i'll read to you and keep you cheered up.you sha'n't be dull or lonesome. and we'll be real cozy and happy heretogether, you and i." marilla had listened like a woman in adream.

"oh, anne, i could get on real well if youwere here, i know. but i can't let you sacrifice yourself sofor me. it would be terrible." "nonsense!"anne laughed merrily. "there is no sacrifice.nothing could be worse than giving up green gables--nothing could hurt me more. we must keep the dear old place.my mind is quite made up, marilla. i'm not going to redmond; and i am going tostay here and teach. don't you worry about me a bit."

"but your ambitions--and--""i'm just as ambitious as ever. only, i've changed the object of myambitions. i'm going to be a good teacher--and i'mgoing to save your eyesight. besides, i mean to study at home here andtake a little college course all by myself. oh, i've dozens of plans, marilla. i've been thinking them out for a week.i shall give life here my best, and i believe it will give its best to me inreturn. when i left queen's my future seemed tostretch out before me like a straight road. i thought i could see along it for many amilestone.

now there is a bend in it. i don't know what lies around the bend, buti'm going to believe that the best does. it has a fascination of its own, that bend,marilla. i wonder how the road beyond it goes--whatthere is of green glory and soft, checkered light and shadows--what new landscapes--what new beauties--what curves and hills and valleys further on." "i don't feel as if i ought to let you giveit up," said marilla, referring to the scholarship."but you can't prevent me. i'm sixteen and a half, 'obstinate as amule,' as mrs. lynde once told me," laughed

anne."oh, marilla, don't you go pitying me. i don't like to be pitied, and there is noneed for it. i'm heart glad over the very thought ofstaying at dear green gables. nobody could love it as you and i do--so wemust keep it." "you blessed girl!" said marilla, yielding."i feel as if you'd given me new life. i guess i ought to stick out and make yougo to college--but i know i can't, so i ain't going to try.i'll make it up to you though, anne." when it became noised abroad in avonleathat anne shirley had given up the idea of going to college and intended to stay homeand teach there was a good deal of

discussion over it. most of the good folks, not knowing aboutmarilla's eyes, thought she was foolish. mrs. allan did not. she told anne so in approving words thatbrought tears of pleasure to the girl's eyes.neither did good mrs. lynde. she came up one evening and found anne andmarilla sitting at the front door in the warm, scented summer dusk. they liked to sit there when the twilightcame down and the white moths flew about in the garden and the odor of mint filled thedewy air.

mrs. rachel deposited her substantialperson upon the stone bench by the door, behind which grew a row of tall pink andyellow hollyhocks, with a long breath of mingled weariness and relief. "i declare i'm getting glad to sit down.i've been on my feet all day, and two hundred pounds is a good bit for two feetto carry round. it's a great blessing not to be fat,marilla. i hope you appreciate it.well, anne, i hear you've given up your notion of going to college. i was real glad to hear it.you've got as much education now as a woman

can be comfortable with. i don't believe in girls going to collegewith the men and cramming their heads full of latin and greek and all that nonsense." "but i'm going to study latin and greekjust the same, mrs. lynde," said anne laughing. "i'm going to take my arts course righthere at green gables, and study everything that i would at college."mrs. lynde lifted her hands in holy horror. "anne shirley, you'll kill yourself." "not a bit of it.i shall thrive on it.

oh, i'm not going to overdo things.as 'josiah allen's wife,' says, i shall be 'mejum'. but i'll have lots of spare time in thelong winter evenings, and i've no vocation for fancy work.i'm going to teach over at carmody, you know." "i don't know it.i guess you're going to teach right here in avonlea.the trustees have decided to give you the school." "mrs. lynde!" cried anne, springing to herfeet in her surprise.

"why, i thought they had promised it togilbert blythe!" "so they did. but as soon as gilbert heard that you hadapplied for it he went to them--they had a business meeting at the school last night,you know--and told them that he withdrew his application, and suggested that theyaccept yours. he said he was going to teach at whitesands. of course he knew how much you wanted tostay with marilla, and i must say i think it was real kind and thoughtful in him,that's what. real self-sacrificing, too, for he'll havehis board to pay at white sands, and

everybody knows he's got to earn his ownway through college. so the trustees decided to take you. i was tickled to death when thomas camehome and told me." "i don't feel that i ought to take it,"murmured anne. "i mean--i don't think i ought to letgilbert make such a sacrifice for--for me." "i guess you can't prevent him now.he's signed papers with the white sands trustees. so it wouldn't do him any good now if youwere to refuse. of course you'll take the school.you'll get along all right, now that there

are no pyes going. josie was the last of them, and a goodthing she was, that's what. there's been some pye or other going toavonlea school for the last twenty years, and i guess their mission in life was tokeep school teachers reminded that earth isn't their home. bless my heart!what does all that winking and blinking at the barry gable mean?""diana is signaling for me to go over," laughed anne. "you know we keep up the old custom.excuse me while i run over and see what she

wants." anne ran down the clover slope like a deer,and disappeared in the firry shadows of the haunted wood.mrs. lynde looked after her indulgently. "there's a good deal of the child about heryet in some ways." "there's a good deal more of the womanabout her in others," retorted marilla, with a momentary return of her oldcrispness. but crispness was no longer marilla'sdistinguishing characteristic. as mrs. lynde told her thomas that night."marilla cuthbert has got mellow. that's what."

anne went to the little avonlea graveyardthe next evening to put fresh flowers on matthew's grave and water the scotchrosebush. she lingered there until dusk, liking thepeace and calm of the little place, with its poplars whose rustle was like low,friendly speech, and its whispering grasses growing at will among the graves. when she finally left it and walked downthe long hill that sloped to the lake of shining waters it was past sunset and allavonlea lay before her in a dreamlike afterlight--"a haunt of ancient peace." there was a freshness in the air as of awind that had blown over honey-sweet fields

of clover.home lights twinkled out here and there among the homestead trees. beyond lay the sea, misty and purple, withits haunting, unceasing murmur. the west was a glory of soft mingled hues,and the pond reflected them all in still softer shadings. the beauty of it all thrilled anne's heart,and she gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it. "dear old world," she murmured, "you arevery lovely, and i am glad to be alive in halfway down the hill a tall lad camewhistling out of a gate before the blythe

homestead.it was gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as he recognized anne. he lifted his cap courteously, but he wouldhave passed on in silence, if anne had not stopped and held out her hand. "gilbert," she said, with scarlet cheeks,"i want to thank you for giving up the school for me.it was very good of you--and i want you to know that i appreciate it." gilbert took the offered hand eagerly."it wasn't particularly good of me at all, anne.i was pleased to be able to do you some

small service. are we going to be friends after this?have you really forgiven me my old fault?" anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully towithdraw her hand. "i forgave you that day by the pondlanding, although i didn't know it. what a stubborn little goose i was.i've been--i may as well make a complete confession--i've been sorry ever since." "we are going to be the best of friends,"said gilbert, jubilantly. "we were born to be good friends, anne.you've thwarted destiny enough. i know we can help each other in many ways.

you are going to keep up your studies,aren't you? so am i.come, i'm going to walk home with you." marilla looked curiously at anne when thelatter entered the kitchen. "who was that came up the lane with you,anne?" "gilbert blythe," answered anne, vexed tofind herself blushing. "i met him on barry's hill." "i didn't think you and gilbert blythe weresuch good friends that you'd stand for half an hour at the gate talking to him," saidmarilla with a dry smile. "we haven't been--we've been good enemies.

but we have decided that it will be muchmore sensible to be good friends in the future.were we really there half an hour? it seemed just a few minutes. but, you see, we have five years' lostconversations to catch up with, marilla." anne sat long at her window that nightcompanioned by a glad content. the wind purred softly in the cherryboughs, and the mint breaths came up to the stars twinkled over the pointed firs inthe hollow and diana's light gleamed through the old gap. anne's horizons had closed in since thenight she had sat there after coming home

from queen's; but if the path set beforeher feet was to be narrow she knew that flowers of quiet happiness would bloomalong it. the joy of sincere work and worthyaspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of herbirthright of fancy or her ideal world of and there was always the bend in the road!"'god's in his heaven, all's right with the world,'" whispered anne softly.

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