amused ten children without the aid of Eaton's catalogue," said
Mrs. Rachel severely.

"Come, you two, don't quarrel over Eaton's catalogue," said Anne gaily.
"This is my day of days, you know. I'm so happy I want every one else
to be happy, too."

"I'm sure I hope your happiness will last, child," sighed Mrs. Rachel.
She did hope it truly, and believed it, but she was afraid it was in
the nature of a challenge to Providence to flaunt your happiness too
openly. Anne, for her own good, must be toned down a trifle.

But it was a happy and beautiful bride who came down the old,
homespun-carpeted stairs that September noon--the first bride of Green
Gables, slender and shining-eyed, in the mist of her maiden veil, with
her arms full of roses. Gilbert, waiting for her in the hall below,
looked up at her with adoring eyes. She was his at last, this evasive,
long-sought Anne, won after years of patient waiting. It was to him
she was coming in the sweet surrender of the bride. Was he worthy of
her? Could he make her as happy as he hoped? If he failed her--if he
could not measure up to her standard of manhood--then, as she held out
her hand, their eyes met and all doubt was swept away in a glad
certainty. They belonged to each other; and, no matter what life might
hold for them, it could never alter that. Their happiness was in each
other's keeping and both were unafraid.

They were married in the sunshine of the old orchard, circled by the
loving and kindly faces of long-familiar friends. Mr. Allan married
them, and the Reverend Jo made what Mrs. Rachel Lynde afterwards
pronounced to be the "most beautiful wedding prayer" she had ever
heard. Birds do not often sing in September, but one sang sweetly from
some hidden bough while Gilbert and Anne repeated their deathless vows.
Anne heard it and thrilled to it; Gilbert heard it, and wondered only
that all the birds in the world had not burst into jubilant song; Paul
heard it and later wrote a lyric about it which was one of the most
admired in his first volume of verse; Charlotta the Fourth heard it and
was blissfully sure it meant good luck for her adored Miss Shirley.
The bird sang until the ceremony was ended and then it wound up with
one mad little, glad little trill. Never had the old gray-green house
among its enfolding orchards known a blither, merrier afternoon. All
the old jests and quips that must have done duty at weddings since Eden
were served up, and