"What a splendid day!" said
Anne, drawing a long breath. "Isn't
it good just to be alive on a
day like this? I pity the people
who aren't born yet for missing
it. They may have good days,
of course, but they can never
have this one. And it's splendider
still to have such a lovely way
to go to school by, isn't it?"
"It's a lot nicer than going
round by the road; that is so
dusty and hot," said Diana practically,
peeping into her dinner basket
and mentally calculating if the
three juicy, toothsome, raspberry
tarts reposing there were divided
among ten girls how many bites
each girl would have.
The little
girls of Avonlea school always
pooled their lunches,
and to eat three raspberry tarts
all alone or even to share them
only with one's best chum would
have forever and ever branded
as "awful mean" the girl who
did it. And yet, when the tarts
were divided among ten girls
you just got enough to tantalize
you.
The way Anne and Diana went
to school WAS a pretty one. Anne
thought those walks to and from
school with Diana couldn't be
improved upon even by imagination.
Going around by the main road
would have been so unromantic;
but to go by Lover's Lane and
Willowmere and Violet Vale and
the Birch Path was romantic,
if ever anything was.
Lover's Lane opened out below
the orchard at Green Gables and
stretched far up into the woods
to the end of the Cuthbert farm.
It was the way by which the cows
were taken to the back pasture
and the wood hauled home in winter.
Anne had named it Lover's Lane
before she had been a month at
Green Gables.
"Not that lovers ever really
walk there," she explained to
Marilla, "but Diana and I are
reading a perfectly magnificent
book and there's a Lover's Lane
in it. So we want to have one,
too. And it's a very pretty name,
don't you think? So romantic!
We can't imagine the lovers into
it, you know. I like that lane
because you can think out loud
there without people calling
you crazy."
Anne, starting
out alone in the morning, went
down Lover's
Lane as far as the brook. Here
Diana met her, and the two little
girls went on up the lane under
the leafy arch of maples--"maples
are such sociable trees," said
Anne; "they're always rustling
and whispering to you"--until
they came to a rustic bridge.
Then they left the lane and walked
through Mr. Barry's back field
and past Willowmere. Beyond Willowmere
came Violet Vale--a little green
dimple in the shadow of Mr. Andrew
Bell's big woods. "Of course
there are no violets there now," Anne
told Marilla, "but Diana says
there are millions of them in
spring. Oh, Marilla, can't you
just imagine you see them? It
actually takes away my breath.
I named it Violet Vale. Diana
says she never saw the beat of
me for hitting on fancy names
for places. It's nice to be clever
at something, isn't it? But Diana
named the Birch Path. She wanted
to, so I let her; but I'm sure
I could have found something
more poetical than plain Birch
Path. Anybody can think of a
name like that. But the Birch
Path is one of the prettiest
places in the world, Marilla."
It was. Other people besides
Anne thought so when they stumbled
on it. It was a little narrow,
twisting path, winding down over
a long hill straight through
Mr. Bell's woods, where the light
came down sifted through so many
emerald screens that it was as
flawless as the heart of a diamond.
It was fringed in all its length
with slim young birches, white
stemmed and lissom boughed; ferns
and starflowers and wild lilies-of-the-valley
and scarlet tufts of pigeonberries
grew thickly along it; and always
there was a delightful spiciness
in the air and music of bird
calls and the murmur and laugh
of wood winds in the trees overhead.
Now and then you might see a
rabbit skipping across the road
if you were quiet--which, with
Anne and Diana, happened about
once in a blue moon. Down in
the valley the path came out
to the main road and then it
was just up the spruce hill to
the school.
The Avonlea school was a whitewashed
building, low in the eaves and
wide in the windows, furnished
inside with comfortable substantial
old-fashioned desks that opened
and shut, and were carved all
over their lids with the initials
and hieroglyphics of three generations
of school children. The schoolhouse
was set back from the road and
behind it was a dusky fir wood
and a brook where all the children
put their bottles of milk in
the morning to keep cool and
sweet until dinner hour.
Marilla had seen Anne start
off to school on the first day
of September with many secret
misgivings. Anne was such an
odd girl. How would she get on
with the other children? And
how on earth would she ever manage
to hold her tongue during school
hours?
Things went better than Marilla
feared, however. Anne came home
that evening in high spirits.
"I think I'm going to like
school here," she announced. "I
don't think much of the master,
through. He's all the time curling
his mustache and making eyes
at Prissy Andrews. Prissy is
grown up, you know. She's sixteen
and she's studying for the entrance
examination into Queen's Academy
at Charlottetown next year. Tillie
Boulter says the master is DEAD
GONE on her. She's got a beautiful
complexion and curly brown hair
and she does it up so elegantly.
She sits in the long seat at
the back and he sits there, too,
most of the time--to explain
her lessons, he says. But Ruby
Gillis says she saw him writing
something on her slate and when
Prissy read it she blushed as
red as a beet and giggled; and
Ruby Gillis says she doesn't
believe it had anything to do
with the lesson."
"Anne Shirley, don't let me
hear you talking about your teacher
in that way again," said Marilla
sharply. "You don't go to school
to criticize the master. I guess
he can teach YOU something, and
it's your business to learn.
And I want you to understand
right off that you are not to
come home telling tales about
him. That is something I won't
encourage. I hope you were a
good girl."
"Indeed I was," said Anne comfortably. "It
wasn't so hard as you might imagine,
either. I sit with Diana. Our
seat is right by the window and
we can look down to the Lake
of Shining Waters. There are
a lot of nice girls in school
and we had scrumptious fun playing
at dinnertime. It's so nice to
have a lot of little girls to
play with. But of course I like
Diana best and always will. I
ADORE Diana. I'm dreadfully far
behind the others. They're all
in the fifth book and I'm only
in the fourth. I feel that it's
kind of a disgrace. But there's
not one of them has such an imagination
as I have and I soon found that
out. We had reading and geography
and Canadian history and dictation
today. Mr. Phillips said my spelling
was disgraceful and he held up
my slate so that everybody could
see it, all marked over. I felt
so mortified, Marilla; he might
have been politer to a stranger,
I think. Ruby Gillis gave me
an apple and Sophia Sloane lent
me a lovely pink card with `May
I see you home?' on it. I'm to
give it back to her tomorrow.
And Tillie Boulter let me wear
her bead ring all the afternoon.
Can I have some of those pearl
beads off the old pincushion
in the garret to make myself
a ring? And oh, Marilla, Jane
Andrews told me that Minnie MacPherson
told her that she heard Prissy
Andrews tell Sara Gillis that
I had a very pretty nose. Marilla,
that is the first compliment
I have ever had in my life and
you can't imagine what a strange
feeling it gave me. Marilla,
have I really a pretty nose?
I know you'll tell me the truth."
"Your nose is well enough," said
Marilla shortly. Secretly she
thought Anne's nose was a remarkable
pretty one; but she had no intention
of telling her so.
That was three weeks ago and
all had gone smoothly so far.
And now, this crisp September
morning, Anne and Diana were
tripping blithely down the Birch
Path, two of the happiest little
girls in Avonlea.
"I guess Gilbert Blythe will
be in school today," said Diana. "He's
been visiting his cousins over
in New Brunswick all summer and
he only came home Saturday night.
He's AW'FLY handsome, Anne. And
he teases the girls something
terrible. He just torments our
lives out."
Diana's voice indicated that
she rather liked having her life
tormented out than not.
"Gilbert Blythe?" said Anne. "Isn't
his name that's written up on
the porch wall with Julia Bell's
and a big `Take Notice' over
them?"
"Yes," said Diana, tossing
her head, "but I'm sure he doesn't
like Julia Bell so very much.
I've heard him say he studied
the multiplication table by her
freckles."
"Oh, don't speak about freckles
to me," implored Anne. "It isn't
delicate when I've got so many.
But I do think that writing take-notices
up on the wall about the boys
and girls is the silliest ever.
I should just like to see anybody
dare to write my name up with
a boy's. Not, of course," she
hastened to add, "that anybody
would."
Anne sighed. She didn't want
her name written up. But it was
a little humiliating to know
that there was no danger of it.
"Nonsense," said Diana, whose
black eyes and glossy tresses
had played such havoc with the
hearts of Avonlea schoolboys
that her name figured on the
porch walls in half a dozen take-notices. "It's
only meant as a joke. And don't
you be too sure your name won't
ever be written up. Charlie Sloane
is DEAD GONE on you. He told
his mother--his MOTHER, mind
you--that you were the smartest
girl in school. That's better
than being good looking."
"No, it isn't," said Anne,
feminine to the core. "I'd rather
be pretty than clever. And I
hate Charlie Sloane, I can't
bear a boy with goggle eyes.
If anyone wrote my name up with
his I'd never GET over it, Diana
Barry. But it IS nice to keep
head of your class."
"You'll have Gilbert in your
class after this," said Diana, "and
he's used to being head of his
class, I can tell you. He's only
in the fourth book although he's
nearly fourteen. Four years ago
his father was sick and had to
go out to Alberta for his health
and Gilbert went with him. They
were there three years and Gil
didn't go to school hardly any
until they came back. You won't
find it so easy to keep head
after this, Anne."
"I'm glad," said Anne quickly. "I
couldn't really feel proud of
keeping head of little boys and
girls of just nine or ten. I
got up yesterday spelling `ebullition.'
Josie Pye was head and, mind
you, she peeped in her book.
Mr. Phillips didn't see her--he
was looking at Prissy Andrews--but
I did. I just swept her a look
of freezing scorn and she got
as red as a beet and spelled
it wrong after all."
"Those Pye girls are cheats
all round," said Diana indignantly,
as they climbed the fence of
the main road. "Gertie Pye actually
went and put her milk bottle
in my place in the brook yesterday.
Did you ever? I don't speak to
her now."
When Mr. Phillips was in the
back of the room hearing Prissy
Andrews's Latin, Diana whispered
to Anne,
"That's Gilbert
Blythe sitting right across
the aisle from you,
Anne. Just look at him and see
if you don't think he's handsome."
Anne looked accordingly. She
had a good chance to do so, for
the said Gilbert Blythe was absorbed
in stealthily pinning the long
yellow braid of Ruby Gillis,
who sat in front of him, to the
back of her seat. He was a tall
boy, with curly brown hair, roguish
hazel eyes, and a mouth twisted
into a teasing smile. Presently
Ruby Gillis started up to take
a sum to the master; she fell
back into her seat with a little
shriek, believing that her hair
was pulled out by the roots.
Everybody looked at her and Mr.
Phillips glared so sternly that
Ruby began to cry. Gilbert had
whisked the pin out of sight
and was studying his history
with the soberest face in the
world; but when the commotion
subsided he looked at Anne and
winked with inexpressible drollery.
"I think your Gilbert Blythe
IS handsome," confided Anne to
Diana, "but I think he's very
bold. It isn't good manners to
wink at a strange girl."
But it was not until the afternoon
that things really began to happen.
Mr. Phillips was back in the
corner explaining a problem in
algebra to Prissy Andrews and
the rest of the scholars were
doing pretty much as they pleased
eating green apples, whispering,
drawing pictures on their slates,
and driving crickets harnessed
to strings, up and down aisle.
Gilbert Blythe was trying to
make Anne Shirley look at him
and failing utterly, because
Anne was at that moment totally
oblivious not only to the very
existence of Gilbert Blythe,
but of every other scholar in
Avonlea school itself. With her
chin propped on her hands and
her eyes fixed on the blue glimpse
of the Lake of Shining Waters
that the west window afforded,
she was far away in a gorgeous
dreamland hearing and seeing
nothing save her own wonderful
visions.
Gilbert Blythe wasn't used
to putting himself out to make
a girl look at him and meeting
with failure. She SHOULD look
at him, that red-haired Shirley
girl with the little pointed
chin and the big eyes that weren't
like the eyes of any other girl
in Avonlea school.
Gilbert reached across the
aisle, picked up the end of Anne's
long red braid, held it out at
arm's length and said in a piercing
whisper:
"Carrots! Carrots!"
Then Anne looked at him with
a vengeance!
She did more than look. She
sprang to her feet, her bright
fancies fallen into cureless
ruin. She flashed one indignant
glance at Gilbert from eyes whose
angry sparkle was swiftly quenched
in equally angry tears.
"You mean, hateful boy!" she
exclaimed passionately. "How
dare you!"
And then--thwack! Anne had
brought her slate down on Gilbert's
head and cracked it--slate not
head--clear across.
Avonlea school
always enjoyed a scene. This
was an especially
enjoyable one. Everybody said "Oh" in
horrified delight. Diana gasped.
Ruby Gillis, who was inclined
to be hysterical, began to cry.
Tommy Sloane let his team of
crickets escape him altogether
while he stared open-mouthed
at the tableau.
Mr. Phillips stalked down the
aisle and laid his hand heavily
on Anne's shoulder.
"Anne Shirley, what does this
mean?" he said angrily. Anne
returned no answer. It was asking
too much of flesh and blood to
expect her to tell before the
whole school that she had been
called "carrots." Gilbert it
was who spoke up stoutly.
"It was my
fault Mr. Phillips. I teased
her."
Mr. Phillips paid no heed to
Gilbert.
"I am sorry to see a pupil
of mine displaying such a temper
and such a vindictive spirit," he
said in a solemn tone, as if
the mere fact of being a pupil
of his ought to root out all
evil passions from the hearts
of small imperfect mortals. "Anne,
go and stand on the platform
in front of the blackboard for
the rest of the afternoon."
Anne would have infinitely
preferred a whipping to this
punishment under which her sensitive
spirit quivered as from a whiplash.
With a white, set face she obeyed.
Mr. Phillips took a chalk crayon
and wrote on the blackboard above
her head.
"Ann Shirley has a very bad
temper. Ann Shirley must learn
to control her temper," and then
read it out loud so that even
the primer class, who couldn't
read writing, should understand
it.
Anne stood there the rest of
the afternoon with that legend
above her. She did not cry or
hang her head. Anger was still
too hot in her heart for that
and it sustained her amid all
her agony of humiliation. With
resentful eyes and passion-red
cheeks she confronted alike Diana's
sympathetic gaze and Charlie
Sloane's indignant nods and Josie
Pye's malicious smiles. As for
Gilbert Blythe, she would not
even look at him. She would NEVER
look at him again! She would
never speak to him!!
When school was dismissed Anne
marched out with her red head
held high. Gilbert Blythe tried
to intercept her at the porch
door.
"I'm awfully sorry I made fun
of your hair, Anne," he whispered
contritely. "Honest I am. Don't
be mad for keeps, now"
Anne swept
by disdainfully, without look
or sign of hearing. "Oh
how could you, Anne?" breathed
Diana as they went down the road
half reproachfully, half admiringly.
Diana felt that SHE could never
have resisted Gilbert's plea.
"I shall never forgive Gilbert
Blythe," said Anne firmly. "And
Mr. Phillips spelled my name
without an e, too. The iron has
entered into my soul, Diana."
Diana hadn't the least idea
what Anne meant but she understood
it was something terrible.
"You mustn't mind Gilbert making
fun of your hair," she said soothingly. "Why,
he makes fun of all the girls.
He laughs at mine because it's
so black. He's called me a crow
a dozen times; and I never heard
him apologize for anything before,
either."
"There's a great deal of difference
between being called a crow and
being called carrots," said Anne
with dignity. "Gilbert Blythe
has hurt my feelings EXCRUCIATINGLY,
Diana."
It is possible the matter might
have blown over without more
excruciation if nothing else
had happened. But when things
begin to happen they are apt
to keep on.
Avonlea scholars often spent
noon hour picking gum in Mr.
Bell's spruce grove over the
hill and across his big pasture
field. From there they could
keep an eye on Eben Wright's
house, where the master boarded.
When they saw Mr. Phillips emerging
therefrom they ran for the schoolhouse;
but the distance being about
three times longer than Mr. Wright's
lane they were very apt to arrive
there, breathless and gasping,
some three minutes too late.
On the following day Mr. Phillips
was seized with one of his spasmodic
fits of reform and announced
before going home to dinner,
that he should expect to find
all the scholars in their seats
when he returned. Anyone who
came in late would be punished.
All the boys
and some of the girls went
to Mr. Bell's spruce
grove as usual, fully intending
to stay only long enough to "pick
a chew." But spruce groves are
seductive and yellow nuts of
gum beguiling; they picked and
loitered and strayed; and as
usual the first thing that recalled
them to a sense of the flight
of time was Jimmy Glover shouting
from the top of a patriarchal
old spruce "Master's coming."
The girls who were on the ground,
started first and managed to
reach the schoolhouse in time
but without a second to spare.
The boys, who had to wriggle
hastily down from the trees,
were later; and Anne, who had
not been picking gum at all but
was wandering happily in the
far end of the grove, waist deep
among the bracken, singing softly
to herself, with a wreath of
rice lilies on her hair as if
she were some wild divinity of
the shadowy places, was latest
of all. Anne could run like a
deer, however; run she did with
the impish result that she overtook
the boys at the door and was
swept into the schoolhouse among
them just as Mr. Phillips was
in the act of hanging up his
hat.
Mr. Phillips's brief reforming
energy was over; he didn't want
the bother of punishing a dozen
pupils; but it was necessary
to do something to save his word,
so he looked about for a scapegoat
and found it in Anne, who had
dropped into her seat, gasping
for breath, with a forgotten
lily wreath hanging askew over
one ear and giving her a particularly
rakish and disheveled appearance.
"Anne Shirley, since you seem
to be so fond of the boys' company
we shall indulge your taste for
it this afternoon," he said sarcastically. "Take
those flowers out of your hair
and sit with Gilbert Blythe."
The other boys snickered. Diana,
turning pale with pity, plucked
the wreath from Anne's hair and
squeezed her hand. Anne stared
at the master as if turned to
stone.
"Did you hear what I said,
Anne?" queried Mr. Phillips sternly.
"Yes, sir," said Anne slowly "but
I didn't suppose you really meant
it."
"I assure you I did"--still
with the sarcastic inflection
which all the children, and Anne
especially, hated. It flicked
on the raw. "Obey me at once."
For a moment
Anne looked as if she meant
to disobey. Then,
realizing that there was no help
for it, she rose haughtily, stepped
across the aisle, sat down beside
Gilbert Blythe, and buried her
face in her arms on the desk.
Ruby Gillis, who got a glimpse
of it as it went down, told the
others going home from school
that she'd "acksually never seen
anything like it--it was so white,
with awful little red spots in
it."
To Anne, this was as the end
of all things. It was bad enough
to be singled out for punishment
from among a dozen equally guilty
ones; it was worse still to be
sent to sit with a boy, but that
that boy should be Gilbert Blythe
was heaping insult on injury
to a degree utterly unbearable.
Anne felt that she could not
bear it and it would be of no
use to try. Her whole being seethed
with shame and anger and humiliation.
At first the
other scholars looked and whispered
and giggled
and nudged. But as Anne never
lifted her head and as Gilbert
worked fractions as if his whole
soul was absorbed in them and
them only, they soon returned
to their own tasks and Anne was
forgotten. When Mr. Phillips
called the history class out
Anne should have gone, but Anne
did not move, and Mr. Phillips,
who had been writing some verses "To
Priscilla" before he called the
class, was thinking about an
obstinate rhyme still and never
missed her. Once, when nobody
was looking, Gilbert took from
his desk a little pink candy
heart with a gold motto on it, "You
are sweet," and slipped it under
the curve of Anne's arm. Whereupon
Anne arose, took the pink heart
gingerly between the tips of
her fingers, dropped it on the
floor, ground it to powder beneath
her heel, and resumed her position
without deigning to bestow a
glance on Gilbert.
When school went out Anne marched
to her desk, ostentatiously took
out everything therein, books
and writing tablet, pen and ink,
testament and arithmetic, and
piled them neatly on her cracked
slate.
"What are you taking all those
things home for, Anne?" Diana
wanted to know, as soon as they
were out on the road. She had
not dared to ask the question
before.
"I am not coming back to school
any more," said Anne. Diana gasped
and stared at Anne to see if
she meant it.
"Will Marilla let you stay
home?" she asked.
"She'll have to," said Anne. "I'll
NEVER go to school to that man
again."
"Oh, Anne!" Diana looked as
if she were ready to cry. "I
do think you're mean. What shall
I do? Mr. Phillips will make
me sit with that horrid Gertie
Pye--I know he will because she
is sitting alone. Do come back,
Anne."
"I'd do almost anything in
the world for you, Diana," said
Anne sadly. "I'd let myself be
torn limb from limb if it would
do you any good. But I can't
do this, so please don't ask
it. You harrow up my very soul."
"Just think of all the fun
you will miss," mourned Diana. "We
are going to build the loveliest
new house down by the brook;
and we'll be playing ball next
week and you've never played
ball, Anne. It's tremendously
exciting. And we're going to
learn a new song-- Jane Andrews
is practicing it up now; and
Alice Andrews is going to bring
a new Pansy book next week and
we're all going to read it out
loud, chapter about, down by
the brook. And you know you are
so fond of reading out loud,
Anne."
Nothing moved Anne in the least.
Her mind was made up. She would
not go to school to Mr. Phillips
again; she told Marilla so when
she got home.
"Nonsense," said
Marilla.
"It isn't nonsense at all," said
Anne, gazing at Marilla with
solemn, reproachful eyes. "Don't
you understand, Marilla? I've
been insulted."
"Insulted fiddlesticks!
You'll go to school tomorrow
as usual."
"Oh, no." Anne shook her head
gently. "I'm not going back,
Marilla. "I'll learn my lessons
at home and I'll be as good as
I can be and hold my tongue all
the time if it's possible at
all. But I will not go back to
school, I assure you."
Marilla saw
something remarkably like unyielding
stubbornness
looking out of Anne's small face.
She understood that she would
have trouble in overcoming it;
but she re-solved wisely to say
nothing more just then. "I'll
run down and see Rachel about
it this evening," she thought. "There's
no use reasoning with Anne now.
She's too worked up and I've
an idea she can be awful stubborn
if she takes the notion. Far
as I can make out from her story,
Mr. Phillips has been carrying
matters with a rather high hand.
But it would never do to say
so to her. I'll just talk it
over with Rachel. She's sent
ten children to school and she
ought to know something about
it. She'll have heard the whole
story, too, by this time."
Marilla found Mrs. Lynde knitting
quilts as industriously and cheerfully
as usual.
"I suppose you know what I've
come about," she said, a little
shamefacedly.
Mrs. Rachel nodded.
"About Anne's fuss in school,
I reckon," she said. "Tillie
Boulter was in on her way home
from school and told me about
it." "I don't know what to do
with her," said Marilla. "She
declares she won't go back to
school. I never saw a child so
worked up. I've been expecting
trouble ever since she started
to school. I knew things were
going too smooth to last. She's
so high strung. What would you
advise, Rachel?"
"Well, since you've asked my
advice, Marilla," said Mrs. Lynde
amiably--Mrs. Lynde dearly loved
to be asked for advice--"I'd
just humor her a little at first,
that's what I'd do. It's my belief
that Mr. Phillips was in the
wrong. Of course, it doesn't
do to say so to the children,
you know. And of course he did
right to punish her yesterday
for giving way to temper. But
today it was different. The others
who were late should have been
punished as well as Anne, that's
what. And I don't believe in
making the girls sit with the
boys for punishment. It isn't
modest. Tillie Boulter was real
indignant. She took Anne's part
right through and said all the
scholars did too. Anne seems
real popular among them, somehow.
I never thought she'd take with
them so well."
"Then you really think I'd
better let her stay home," said
Marilla in amazement.
"Yes. That
is I wouldn't say school to
her again until she
said it herself. Depend upon
it, Marilla, she'll cool off
in a week or so and be ready
enough to go back of her own
accord, that's what, while, if
you were to make her go back
right off, dear knows what freak
or tantrum she'd take next and
make more trouble than ever.
The less fuss made the better,
in my opinion. She won't miss
much by not going to school,
as far as THAT goes. Mr. Phillips
isn't any good at all as a teacher.
The order he keeps is scandalous,
that's what, and he neglects
the young fry and puts all his
time on those big scholars he's
getting ready for Queen's. He'd
never have got the school for
another year if his uncle hadn't
been a trustee--THE trustee,
for he just leads the other two
around by the nose, that's what.
I declare, I don't know what
education in this Island is coming
to."
Mrs. Rachel shook her head,
as much as to say if she were
only at the head of the educational
system of the Province things
would be much better managed.
Marilla took Mrs. Rachel's
advice and not another word was
said to Anne about going back
to school. She learned her lessons
at home, did her chores, and
played with Diana in the chilly
purple autumn twilights; but
when she met Gilbert Blythe on
the road or encountered him in
Sunday school she passed him
by with an icy contempt that
was no whit thawed by his evident
desire to appease her. Even Diana's
efforts as a peacemaker were
of no avail. Anne had evidently
made up her mind to hate Gilbert
Blythe to the end of life.
As much as she hated Gilbert,
however, did she love Diana,
with all the love of her passionate
little heart, equally intense
in its likes and dislikes. One
evening Marilla, coming in from
the orchard with a basket of
apples, found Anne sitting along
by the east window in the twilight,
crying bitterly.
"Whatever's the matter now,
Anne?" she asked.
"It's about Diana," sobbed
Anne luxuriously. "I love Diana
so, Marilla. I cannot ever live
without her. But I know very
well when we grow up that Diana
will get married and go away
and leave me. And oh, what shall
I do? I hate her husband--I just
hate him furiously. I've been
imagining it all out--the wedding
and everything--Diana dressed
in snowy garments, with a veil,
and looking as beautiful and
regal as a queen; and me the
bridesmaid, with a lovely dress
too, and puffed sleeves, but
with a breaking heart hid beneath
my smiling face. And then bidding
Diana goodbye-e-e--" Here Anne
broke down entirely and wept
with increasing bitterness.
Marilla turned quickly away
to hide her twitching face; but
it was no use; she collapsed
on the nearest chair and burst
into such a hearty and unusual
peal of laughter that Matthew,
crossing the yard outside, halted
in amazement. When had he heard
Marilla laugh like that before?
"Well, Anne Shirley," said
Marilla as soon as she could
speak, "if you must borrow trouble,
for pity's sake borrow it handier
home. I should think you had
an imagination, sure enough."
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