strange. Those blue plum trees hadn't even a blossom for
three years, and I thought they might as well be cut down. And this
last spring they were white, and such a crop of plums I never remember
at Green Gables."

"Well, thank goodness that Anne and Gilbert really are going to be
married after all. It's what I've always prayed for," said Mrs.
Rachel, in the tone of one who is comfortably sure that her prayers
have availed much. "It was a great relief to find out that she really
didn't mean to take the Kingsport man. He was rich, to be sure, and
Gilbert is poor--at least, to begin with; but then he's an Island boy."

"He's Gilbert Blythe," said Marilla contentedly. Marilla would have
died the death before she would have put into words the thought that
was always in the background of her mind whenever she had looked at
Gilbert from his childhood up--the thought that, had it not been for
her own wilful pride long, long ago, he might have been HER son.
Marilla felt that, in some strange way, his marriage with Anne would
put right that old mistake. Good had come out of the evil of the
ancient bitterness.

As for Anne herself, she was so happy that she almost felt frightened.
The gods, so says the old superstition, do not like to behold too happy
mortals. It is certain, at least, that some human beings do not. Two
of that ilk descended upon Anne one violet dusk and proceeded to do
what in them lay to prick the rainbow bubble of her satisfaction. If
she thought she was getting any particular prize in young Dr. Blythe,
or if she imagined that he was still as infatuated with her as he might
have been in his salad days, it was surely their duty to put the matter
before her in another light. Yet these two worthy ladies were not
enemies of Anne; on the contrary, they were really quite fond of her,
and would have defended her as their own young had anyone else attacked
her. Human nature is not obliged to be consistent.

Mrs. Inglis--nee Jane Andrews, to quote from the Daily Enterprise--came
with her mother and Mrs. Jasper Bell. But in Jane the milk of human
kindness had not been curdled by years of matrimonial bickerings. Her
lines had fallen in pleasant places. In spite of the fact--as Mrs.
Rachel Lynde would say--that she had married a millionaire, her
marriage had been happy. Wealth had not spoiled her. She was still
the placid, amiable, pink-cheeked Jane of the old quartette,
sympathising with her old chum'