"Anne," said Davy, sitting up
in bed and propping his chin
his hands, "Anne, where is sleep? People go to sleep every night, and of course
I know it's the place where I do the things I dream, but I want to know WHERE
it is and how I get there and back without knowing anything about it. . .and
in my nighty too. Where is it?"
Anne was kneeling at the west
gable window watching the sunset
sky that was like a great flower
with petals of crocus and a heart
of fiery yellow. She turned her
head at Davy's question and answered
mountains of the moon, Down
the valley of the
Paul Irving would have known
the meaning of this, or made
a meaning out of it for himself,
if he didn't; but practical Davy,
who, as Anne often despairingly
remarked, hadn't a particle of
imagination, was only puzzled
"Anne, I believe
you're just talking nonsense."
I was, dear boy. Don't you
know that it is only
very foolish folk who talk sense
all the time?"
"Well, I think you might give
a sensible answer when I ask
a sensible question," said Davy
in an injured tone.
"Oh, you are too little to
understand," said Anne. But she
felt rather ashamed of saying
it; for had she not, in keen
remembrance of many similar snubs
administered in her own early
years, solemnly vowed that she
would never tell any child it
was too little to understand?
Yet here she was doing it. .
.so wide sometimes is the gulf
between theory and practice.
"Well, I'm doing my best to
grow," said Davy, "but it's a
thing you can't hurry much. If
Marilla wasn't so stingy with
her jam I believe I'd grow a
"Marilla is not stingy, Davy," said
Anne severely. "It is very ungrateful
of you to say such a thing."
"There's another word that
means the same thing and sounds
a lot better, but I don't just
remember it," said Davy, frowning
intently. "I heard Marilla say
she was it, herself, the other
"If you mean
ECONOMICAL, it's a VERY different
thing from being
stingy. It is an excellent trait
in a person if she is economical.
If Marilla had been stingy she
wouldn't have taken you and Dora
when your mother died. Would
you have liked to live with Mrs.
"You just bet I wouldn't!" Davy
was emphatic on that point. "Nor
I don't want to go out to Uncle
Richard neither. I'd far rather
live here, even if Marilla is
that long-tailed word when it
comes to jam, 'cause YOU'RE here,
Anne. Say, Anne, won't you tell
me a story 'fore I go to sleep?
I don't want a fairy story. They're
all right for girls, I s'pose,
but I want something exciting.
. .lots of killing and shooting
in it, and a house on fire, and
in'trusting things like that."
Fortunately for Anne, Marilla
called out at this moment from
signaling at a great rate.
You'd better see
what she wants."
Anne ran to
the east gable and saw flashes
of light coming
through the twilight from Diana's
window in groups of five, which
meant, according to their old
childish code, "Come over at
once for I have something important
to reveal." Anne threw her white
shawl over her head and hastened
through the Haunted Wood and
across Mr. Bell's pasture corner
to Orchard Slope.
"I've good news for you, Anne," said
Diana. "Mother and I have just
got home from Carmody, and I
saw Mary Sentner from Spencer
vale in Mr. Blair's store. She
says the old Copp girls on the
Tory Road have a willow-ware
platter and she thinks it's exactly
like the one we had at the supper.
She says they'll likely sell
it, for Martha Copp has never
been known to keep anything she
COULD sell; but if they won't
there's a platter at Wesley Keyson's
at Spencervale and she knows
they'd sell it, but she isn't
sure it's just the same kind
as Aunt Josephine's."
"I'll go right over to Spencervale
after it tomorrow," said Anne
resolutely, "and you must come
with me. It will be such a weight
off my mind, for I have to go
to town day after tomorrow and
how can I face your Aunt Josephine
without a willow-ware platter?
It would be even worse than the
time I had to confess about jumping
on the spare room bed."
Both girls laughed over the
old memory. . .concerning which,
if any of my readers are ignorant
and curious, I must refer them
to Anne's earlier history.
The next afternoon the girls
fared forth on their platter
hunting expedition. It was ten
miles to Spencervale and the
day was not especially pleasant
for traveling. It was very warm
and windless, and the dust on
the road was such as might have
been expected after six weeks
of dry weather.
"Oh, I do wish it would rain
soon," sighed Anne. "Everything
is so parched up. The poor fields
just seem pitiful to me and the
trees seem to be stretching out
their hands pleading for rain.
As for my garden, it hurts me
every time I go into it. I suppose
I shouldn't complain about a
garden when the farmers' crops
are suffering so. Mr. Harrison
says his pastures are so scorched
up that his poor cows can hardly
get a bite to eat and he feels
guilty of cruelty to animals
every time he meets their eyes."
After a wearisome
drive the girls reached Spencervale
turned down the "Tory" Road.
. .a green, solitary highway
where the strips of grass between
the wheel tracks bore evidence
to lack of travel. Along most
of its extent it was lined with
thick-set young spruces crowding
down to the roadway, with here
and there a break where the back
field of a Spencervale farm came
out to the fence or an expanse
of stumps was aflame with fireweed
"Why is it called the Tory
Road?" asked Anne.
"Mr. Allan says it is on the
principle of calling a place
a grove because there are no
trees in it," said Diana, "for
nobody lives along the road except
the Copp girls and old Martin
Bovyer at the further end, who
is a Liberal. The Tory government
ran the road through when they
were in power just to show they
were doing something."
Diana's father was a Liberal,
for which reason she and Anne
never discussed politics. Green
Gables folk had always been Conservatives.
Finally the girls came to the
old Copp homestead. . .a place
of such exceeding external neatness
that even Green Gables would
have suffered by contrast. The
house was a very old-fashioned
one, situated on a slope, which
fact had necessitated the building
of a stone basement under one
end. The house and out-buildings
were all whitewashed to a condition
of blinding perfection and not
a weed was visible in the prim
kitchen garden surrounded by
its white paling.
"The shades are all down," said
Diana ruefully. "I believe that
nobody is home."
This proved to be the case.
The girls looked at each other
"I don't know what to do," said
Anne. "If I were sure the platter
was the right kind I would not
mind waiting until they came
home. But if it isn't it may
be too late to go to Wesley Keyson's
Diana looked at a certain little
square window over the basement.
"That is the pantry window,
I feel sure," she said, "because
this house is just like Uncle
Charles' at Newbridge, and that
is their pantry window. The shade
isn't down, so if we climbed
up on the roof of that little
house we could look into the
pantry and might be able to see
the platter. Do you think it
would be any harm?"
"No, I don't think so," decided
Anne, after due reflection, "since
our motive is not idle curiosity."
point of ethics being settled,
to mount the aforesaid "little
house," a construction of lathes,
with a peaked roof, which had
in times past served as a habitation
for ducks. The Copp girls had
given up keeping ducks. . ."because
they were such untidy birds".
. . and the house had not been
in use for some years, save as
an abode of correction for setting
hens. Although scrupulously whitewashed
it had become somewhat shaky,
and Anne felt rather dubious
as she scrambled up from the
vantage point of a keg placed
on a box.
"I'm afraid it won't bear my
weight," she said as she gingerly
stepped on the roof.
"Lean on the window sill," advised
Diana, and Anne accordingly leaned.
Much to her delight, she saw,
as she peered through the pane,
a willow-ware platter, exactly
such as she was in quest of,
on the shelf in front of the
window. So much she saw before
the catastrophe came. In her
joy Anne forgot the precarious
nature of her footing, incautiously
ceased to lean on the window
sill, gave an impulsive little
hop of pleasure. . .and the next
moment she had crashed through
the roof up to her armpits, and
there she hung, quite unable
to extricate herself. Diana dashed
into the duck house and, seizing
her unfortunate friend by the
waist, tried to draw her down.
"Ow. . .don't," shrieked poor
Anne. "There are some long splinters
sticking into me. See if you
can put something under my feet.
. .then perhaps I can draw myself
Diana hastily dragged in the
previously mentioned keg and
Anne found that it was just sufficiently
high to furnish a secure resting
place for her feet. But she could
not release herself.
"Could I pull you out if I
crawled up?" suggested Diana.
Anne shook her head hopelessly.
"No. . .the
splinters hurt too badly. If
you can find an
axe you might chop me out, though.
Oh dear, I do really begin to
believe that I was born under
an ill-omened star."
Diana searched faithfully but
no axe was to be found.
"I'll have to go for help," she
said, returning to the prisoner.
"No, indeed, you won't," said
Anne vehemently. "If you do the
story of this will get out everywhere
and I shall be ashamed to show
my face. No, we must just wait
until the Copp girls come home
and bind them to secrecy. They'll
know where the axe is and get
me out. I'm not uncomfortable,
as long as I keep perfectly still.
. . not uncomfortable in BODY
I mean. I wonder what the Copp
girls value this house at. I
shall have to pay for the damage
I've done, but I wouldn't mind
that if I were only sure they
would understand my motive in
peeping in at their pantry window.
My sole comfort is that the platter
is just the kind I want and if
Miss Copp will only sell it to
me I shall be resigned to what
"What if the Copp girls don't
come home until after night.
. .or till tomorrow?" suggested
"If they're not back by sunset
you'll have to go for other assistance,
I suppose," said Anne reluctantly, "but
you mustn't go until you really
have to. Oh dear, this is a dreadful
predicament. I wouldn't mind
my misfortunes so much if they
were romantic, as Mrs. Morgan's
heroines' always are, but they
are always just simply ridiculous.
Fancy what the Copp girls will
think when they drive into their
yard and see a girl's head and
shoulders sticking out of the
roof of one of their outhouses.
Listen. . .is that a wagon? No,
Diana, I believe it is thunder."
Thunder it was undoubtedly,
and Diana, having made a hasty
pilgrimage around the house,
returned to announce that a very
black cloud was rising rapidly
in the northwest.
"I believe we're going to have
a heavy thunder-shower," she
exclaimed in dismay, "Oh, Anne,
what will we do?"
"We must prepare for it," said
Anne tranquilly. A thunderstorm
seemed a trifle in comparison
with what had already happened. "You'd
better drive the horse and buggy
into that open shed. Fortunately
my parasol is in the buggy. Here.
. .take my hat with you. Marilla
told me I was a goose to put
on my best hat to come to the
Tory Road and she was right,
as she always is."
Diana untied the pony and drove
into the shed, just as the first
heavy drops of rain fell. There
she sat and watched the resulting
downpour, which was so thick
and heavy that she could hardly
see Anne through it, holding
the parasol bravely over her
bare head. There was not a great
deal of thunder, but for the
best part of an hour the rain
came merrily down. Occasionally
Anne slanted back her parasol
and waved an encouraging hand
to her friend; But conversation
at that distance was quite out
of the question. Finally the
rain ceased, the sun came out,
and Diana ventured across the
puddles of the yard.
"Did you get very wet?" she
"Oh, no," returned Anne cheerfully. "My
head and shoulders are quite
dry and my skirt is only a little
damp where the rain beat through
the lathes. Don't pity me, Diana,
for I haven't minded it at all.
I kept thinking how much good
the rain will do and how glad
my garden must be for it, and
imagining what the flowers and
buds would think when the drops
began to fall. I imagined out
a most interesting dialogue between
the asters and the sweet peas
and the wild canaries in the
lilac bush and the guardian spirit
of the garden. When I go home
I mean to write it down. I wish
I had a pencil and paper to do
it now, because I daresay I'll
forget the best parts before
I reach home."
Diana the faithful
had a pencil and discovered
a sheet of wrapping
paper in the box of the buggy.
Anne folded up her dripping parasol,
put on her hat, spread the wrapping
paper on a shingle Diana handed
up, and wrote out her garden
idyl under conditions that could
hardly be considered as favorable
to literature. Nevertheless,
the result was quite pretty,
and Diana was "enraptured" when
Anne read it to her.
it's sweet. . .just sweet.
DO send it to the `Canadian
Anne shook her head.
"Oh, no, it
wouldn't be suitable at all.
There is no PLOT in it,
you see. It's just a string of
fancies. I like writing such
things, but of course nothing
of the sort would ever do for
publication, for editors insist
on plots, so Priscilla says.
Oh, there's Miss Sarah Copp now.
PLEASE, Diana, go and explain."
Miss Sarah Copp was a small
person, garbed in shabby black,
with a hat chosen less for vain
adornment than for qualities
that would wear well. She looked
as amazed as might be expected
on seeing the curious tableau
in her yard, but when she heard
Diana's explanation she was all
sympathy. She hurriedly unlocked
the back door, produced the axe,
and with a few skillfull blows
set Anne free. The latter, somewhat
tired and stiff, ducked down
into the interior of her prison
and thankfully emerged into liberty
"Miss Copp," she said earnestly. "I
assure you I looked into your
pantry window only to discover
if you had a willow-ware platter.
I didn't see anything else --
I didn't LOOK for anything else."
"Bless you, that's all right," said
Miss Sarah amiably. "You needn't
worry -- there's no harm done.
Thank goodness, we Copps keep
our pantries presentable at all
times and don't care who sees
into them. As for that old duckhouse,
I'm glad it's smashed, for maybe
now Martha will agree to having
it taken down. She never would
before for fear it might come
in handy sometime and I've had
to whitewash it every spring.
But you might as well argue with
a post as with Martha. She went
to town today -- I drove her
to the station. And you want
to buy my platter. Well, what
will you give for it?"
"Twenty dollars," said
Anne, who was never meant to
business wits with a Copp, or
she would not have offered her
price at the start.
"Well, I'll see," said Miss
Sarah cautiously. "That platter
is mine fortunately, or I'd never
dare to sell it when Martha wasn't
here. As it is, I daresay she'll
raise a fuss. Martha's the boss
of this establishment I can tell
you. I'm getting awful tired
of living under another woman's
thumb. But come in, come in.
You must be real tired and hungry.
I'll do the best I can for you
in the way of tea but I warn
you not to expect anything but
bread and butter and some cowcumbers.
Martha locked up all the cake
and cheese and preserves afore
she went. She always does, because
she says I'm too extravagant
with them if company comes."
The girls were
hungry enough to do justice
to any fare, and
they enjoyed Miss Sarah's excellent
bread and butter and "cowcumbers" thoroughly.
When the meal was over Miss Sarah
"I don't know
as I mind selling the platter.
But it's worth twenty-five
dollars. It's a very old platter."
Anne's foot a gentle kick under
the table, meaning, "Don't
agree -- she'll let it go for
twenty if you hold out." But
Anne was not minded to take any
chances in regard to that precious
platter. She promptly agreed
to give twenty-five and Miss
Sarah looked as if she felt sorry
she hadn't asked for thirty.
"Well, I guess you may have
it. I want all the money I can
scare up just now. The fact is
-- " Miss Sarah threw up her
head importantly, with a proud
flush on her thin cheeks -- "I'm
going to be married -- to Luther
Wallace. He wanted me twenty
years ago. I liked him real well
but he was poor then and father
packed him off. I s'pose I shouldn't
have let him go so meek but I
was timid and frightened of father.
Besides, I didn't know men were
When the girls were safely
away, Diana driving and Anne
holding the coveted platter carefully
on her lap, the green, rain-freshened
solitudes of the Tory Road were
enlivened by ripples of girlish
your Aunt Josephine with the
`strange eventful history'
of this afternoon when I go to
town tomorrow. We've had a rather
trying time but it's over now.
I've got the platter, and that
rain has laid the dust beautifully.
So `all's well that ends well.'"
"We're not home yet," said
Diana rather pessimistically, "and
there's no telling what may happen
before we are. You're such a
girl to have adventures, Anne."
"Having adventures comes natural
to some people," said Anne serenely. "You
just have a gift for them or