s history. Even Marilla was so excited that
she couldn't help showing it--which was little short of being
phenomenal.

"There's never been a wedding in this house," she said, half
apologetically, to Mrs. Rachel Lynde. "When I was a child I heard an
old minister say that a house was not a real home until it had been
consecrated by a birth, a wedding and a death. We've had deaths
here--my father and mother died here as well as Matthew; and we've even
had a birth here. Long ago, just after we moved into this house, we
had a married hired man for a little while, and his wife had a baby
here. But there's never been a wedding before. It does seem so
strange to think of Anne being married. In a way she just seems to me
the little girl Matthew brought home here fourteen years ago. I can't
realize that she's grown up. I shall never forget what I felt when I
saw Matthew bringing in a GIRL. I wonder what became of the boy we
would have got if there hadn't been a mistake. I wonder what HIS fate
was."

"Well, it was a fortunate mistake," said Mrs. Rachel Lynde, "though,
mind you, there was a time I didn't think so--that evening I came up to
see Anne and she treated us to such a scene. Many things have changed
since then, that's what."

Mrs. Rachel sighed, and then brisked up again. When weddings were in
order Mrs. Rachel was ready to let the dead past bury its dead.

"I'm going to give Anne two of my cotton warp spreads," she resumed.
"A tobacco-stripe one and an apple-leaf one. She tells me they're
getting to be real fashionable again. Well, fashion or no fashion, I
don't believe there's anything prettier for a spare-room bed than a
nice apple-leaf spread, that's what. I must see about getting them
bleached. I've had them sewed up in cotton bags ever since Thomas
died, and no doubt they're an awful color. But there's a month yet,
and dew-bleaching will work wonders."

Only a month! Marilla sighed and then said proudly:

"I'm giving Anne that half dozen braided rugs I have in the garret. I
never supposed she'd want them--they're so old-fashioned, and nobody
seems to want anything but hooked mats now. But she asked me for
them--said she'd rather have them than anything else for her floors.
They ARE pretty. I made them of the nicest rags, and braided them in
stripes. It was such company these last few winters. And I'll make
her enough blue plum preserve to stock her jam closet for a year. It
seems real