THE next afternoon Anne, bending
over her patchwork at the kitchen
window, happened to glance out
and beheld Diana down by the
Dryad's Bubble beckoning mysteriously.
In a trice Anne was out of the
house and flying down to the
hollow, astonishment and hope
struggling in her expressive
eyes. But the hope faded when
she saw Diana's dejected countenance.
"Your mother hasn't relented?" she
gasped.
Diana shook her head mournfully.
"No; and oh,
Anne, she says I'm never to
play with you again.
I've cried and cried and I told
her it wasn't your fault, but
it wasn't any use. I had ever
such a time coaxing her to let
me come down and say good-bye
to you. She said I was only to
stay ten minutes and she's timing
me by the clock."
"Ten minutes isn't very long
to say an eternal farewell in," said
Anne tearfully. "Oh, Diana, will
you promise faithfully never
to forget me, the friend of your
youth, no matter what dearer
friends may caress thee?"
"Indeed I will," sobbed Diana, "and
I'll never have another bosom
friend--I don't want to have.
I couldn't love anybody as I
love you."
"Oh, Diana," cried Anne, clasping
her hands, "do you LOVE me?"
"Why, of course
I do. Didn't you know that?"
"No." Anne drew a long breath. "I
thought you LIKED me of course
but I never hoped you LOVED me.
Why, Diana, I didn't think anybody
could love me. Nobody ever has
loved me since I can remember.
Oh, this is wonderful! It's a
ray of light which will forever
shine on the darkness of a path
severed from thee, Diana. Oh,
just say it once again."
"I love you devotedly, Anne," said
Diana stanchly, "and I always
will, you may be sure of that."
"And I will always love thee,
Diana," said Anne, solemnly extending
her hand. "In the years to come
thy memory will shine like a
star over my lonely life, as
that last story we read together
says. Diana, wilt thou give me
a lock of thy jet-black tresses
in parting to treasure forevermore?"
"Have you got anything to cut
it with?" queried Diana, wiping
away the tears which Anne's affecting
accents had caused to flow afresh,
and returning to practicalities.
"Yes. I've got my patchwork
scissors in my apron pocket fortunately," said
Anne. She solemnly clipped one
of Diana's curls. "Fare thee
well, my beloved friend. Henceforth
we must be as strangers though
living side by side. But my heart
will ever be faithful to thee."
Anne stood and watched Diana
out of sight, mournfully waving
her hand to the latter whenever
she turned to look back. Then
she returned to the house, not
a little consoled for the time
being by this romantic parting.
"It is all over," she informed
Marilla. "I shall never have
another friend. I'm really worse
off than ever before, for I haven't
Katie Maurice and Violetta now.
And even if I had it wouldn't
be the same. Somehow, little
dream girls are not satisfying
after a real friend. Diana and
I had such an affecting farewell
down by the spring. It will be
sacred in my memory forever.
I used the most pathetic language
I could think of and said `thou'
and `thee.' `Thou' and `thee'
seem so much more romantic than
`you.' Diana gave me a lock of
her hair and I'm going to sew
it up in a little bag and wear
it around my neck all my life.
Please see that it is buried
with me, for I don't believe
I'll live very long. Perhaps
when she sees me lying cold and
dead before her Mrs. Barry may
feel remorse for what she has
done and will let Diana come
to my funeral."
"I don't think there is much
fear of your dying of grief as
long as you can talk, Anne," said
Marilla unsympathetically.
The following Monday Anne surprised
Marilla by coming down from her
room with her basket of books
on her arm and hip??? lips primmed
up into a line of determination.
"I'm going back to school," she
announced. "That is all there
is left in life for me, now that
my friend has been ruthlessly
torn from me. In school I can
look at her and muse over days
departed."
"You'd better muse over your
lessons and sums," said Marilla,
concealing her delight at this
development of the situation. "If
you're going back to school I
hope we'll hear no more of breaking
slates over people's heads and
such carryings on. Behave yourself
and do just what your teacher
tells you."
"I'll try to be a model pupil," agreed
Anne dolefully. "There won't
be much fun in it, I expect.
Mr. Phillips said Minnie Andrews
was a model pupil and there isn't
a spark of imagination or life
in her. She is just dull and
poky and never seems to have
a good time. But I feel so depressed
that perhaps it will come easy
to me now. I'm going round by
the road. I couldn't bear to
go by the Birch Path all alone.
I should weep bitter tears if
I did."
Anne was welcomed back to school
with open arms. Her imagination
had been sorely missed in games,
her voice in the singing and
her dramatic ability in the perusal
aloud of books at dinner hour.
Ruby Gillis smuggled three blue
plums over to her during testament
reading; Ella May MacPherson
gave her an enormous yellow pansy
cut from the covers of a floral
catalogue--a species of desk
decoration much prized in Avonlea
school. Sophia Sloane offered
to teach her a perfectly elegant
new pattern of knit lace, so
nice for trimming aprons. Katie
Boulter gave her a perfume bottle
to keep slate water in, and Julia
Bell copied carefully on a piece
of pale pink paper scalloped
on the edges the following effusion:
When twilight drops her curtain
down And pins it with a star
Remember that you have a friend
Though she may wander far.
"It's so nice to be appreciated," sighed
Anne rapturously to Marilla that
night.
The girls were
not the only scholars who "appreciated" her.
When Anne went to her seat after
dinner hour--she had been told
by Mr. Phillips to sit with the
model Minnie Andrews--she found
on her desk a big luscious "strawberry
apple." Anne caught it up all
ready to take a bite when she
remembered that the only place
in Avonlea where strawberry apples
grew was in the old Blythe orchard
on the other side of the Lake
of Shining Waters. Anne dropped
the apple as if it were a red-hot
coal and ostentatiously wiped
her fingers on her handkerchief.
The apple lay untouched on her
desk until the next morning,
when little Timothy Andrews,
who swept the school and kindled
the fire, annexed it as one of
his perquisites. Charlie Sloane's
slate pencil, gorgeously bedizened
with striped red and yellow paper,
costing two cents where ordinary
pencils cost only one, which
he sent up to her after dinner
hour, met with a more favorable
reception. Anne was graciously
pleased to accept it and rewarded
the donor with a smile which
exalted that infatuated youth
straightway into the seventh
heaven of delight and caused
him to make such fearful errors
in his dictation that Mr. Phillips
kept him in after school to rewrite
it.
But as,
The Caesar's pageant shorn
of Brutus' bust Did but of Rome's
best son remind her more.
so the marked absence of any
tribute or recognition from Diana
Barry who was sitting with Gertie
Pye embittered Anne's little
triumph.
"Diana might just have smiled
at me once, I think," she mourned
to Marilla that night. But the
next morning a note most fearfully
and wonderfully twisted and folded,
and a small parcel were passed
across to Anne.
Dear Anne (ran the former)
Mother says I'm not to play
with you or talk to you even
in school. It isn't my fault
and don't be cross at me, because
I love you as much as ever. I
miss you awfully to tell all
my secrets to and I don't like
Gertie Pye one bit. I made you
one of the new bookmarkers out
of red tissue paper. They are
awfully fashionable now and only
three girls in school know how
to make them. When you look at
it remember Your true friend
Diana Barry.
Anne read the note, kissed
the bookmark, and dispatched
a prompt reply back to the other
side of the school.
My own darling Diana:--
Of course I am not cross at
you because you have to obey
your mother. Our spirits can
commune. I shall keep your lovely
present forever. Minnie Andrews
is a very nice little girl--although
she has no imagination--but after
having been Diana's busum friend
I cannot be Minnie's. Please
excuse mistakes because my spelling
isn't very good yet, although
much improoved. Yours until death
us do part Anne or Cordelia Shirley.
P.S. I shall sleep with your
letter under my pillow tonight.
A. OR C.S.
Marilla pessimistically
expected more trouble since
Anne had again
begun to go to school. But none
developed. Perhaps Anne caught
something of the "model" spirit
from Minnie Andrews; at least
she got on very well with Mr.
Phillips thenceforth. She flung
herself into her studies heart
and soul, determined not to be
outdone in any class by Gilbert
Blythe. The rivalry between them
was soon apparent; it was entirely
good natured on Gilbert's side;
but it is much to be feared that
the same thing cannot be said
of Anne, who had certainly an
unpraiseworthy tenacity for holding
grudges. She was as intense in
her hatreds as in her loves.
She would not stoop to admit
that she meant to rival Gilbert
in schoolwork, because that would
have been to acknowledge his
existence which Anne persistently
ignored; but the rivalry was
there and honors fluctuated between
them. Now Gilbert was head of
the spelling class; now Anne,
with a toss of her long red braids,
spelled him down. One morning
Gilbert had all his sums done
correctly and had his name written
on the blackboard on the roll
of honor; the next morning Anne,
having wrestled wildly with decimals
the entire evening before, would
be first. One awful day they
were ties and their names were
written up together. It was almost
as bad as a take-notice and Anne's
mortification was as evident
as Gilbert's satisfaction. When
the written examinations at the
end of each month were held the
suspense was terrible. The first
month Gilbert came out three
marks ahead. The second Anne
beat him by five. But her triumph
was marred by the fact that Gilbert
congratulated her heartily before
the whole school. It would have
been ever so much sweeter to
her if he had felt the sting
of his defeat.
Mr. Phillips
might not be a very good teacher;
but a pupil
so inflexibly determined on learning
as Anne was could hardly escape
making progress under any kind
of teacher. By the end of the
term Anne and Gilbert were both
promoted into the fifth class
and allowed to begin studying
the elements of "the branches"--by
which Latin, geometry, French,
and algebra were meant. In geometry
Anne met her Waterloo.
"It's perfectly awful stuff,
Marilla," she groaned. "I'm sure
I'll never be able to make head
or tail of it. There is no scope
for imagination in it at all.
Mr. Phillips says I'm the worst
dunce he ever saw at it. And
Gil--I mean some of the others
are so smart at it. It is extremely
mortifying, Marilla.
Even Diana
gets along better than I do.
But I don't mind being
beaten by Diana. Even although
we meet as strangers now I still
love her with an INEXTINGUISHABLE
love. It makes me very sad at
times to think about her. But
really, Marilla, one can't stay
sad very long in such an interesting
world, can one?"
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