lf the teeth missing--and the roof will
leak--and the plaster fall--and they'll stuff pillows and rags in
broken window panes--and everything will be out-at-elbows."

Anne's imagination pictured forth so vividly the coming degeneration of
her dear little house that it hurt her as severely as if it had already
been an accomplished fact. She sat down on the stairs and had a long,
bitter cry. Susan found her there and enquired with much concern what
the trouble was.

"You have not quarrelled with the doctor, have you now, Mrs. Doctor,
dear? But if you have, do not worry. It is a thing quite likely to
happen to married couples, I am told, although I have had no experience
that way myself. He will be sorry, and you can soon make it up."

"No, no, Susan, we haven't quarrelled. It's only--Gilbert is going to
buy the Morgan place, and we'll have to go and live at the Glen. And
it will break my heart."

Susan did not enter into Anne's feelings at all. She was, indeed,
quite rejoiced over the prospect of living at the Glen. Her one
grievance against her place in the little house was its lonesome
location.

"Why, Mrs. Doctor, dear, it will be splendid. The Morgan house is such
a fine, big one."

"I hate big houses," sobbed Anne.

"Oh, well, you will not hate them by the time you have half a dozen
children," remarked Susan calmly. "And this house is too small already
for us. We have no spare room, since Mrs. Moore is here, and that
pantry is the most aggravating place I ever tried to work in. There is
a corner every way you turn. Besides, it is out-of-the-world down
here. There is really nothing at all but scenery."

"Out of your world perhaps, Susan--but not out of mine," said Anne with
a faint smile.

"I do not quite understand you, Mrs. Doctor, dear, but of course I am
not well educated. But if Dr. Blythe buys the Morgan place he will
make no mistake, and that you may tie to. They have water in it, and
the pantries and closets are beautiful, and there is not another such
cellar in P. E. Island, so I have been told. Why, the cellar here,
Mrs. Doctor, dear, has been a heart-break to me, as well you know."

"Oh, go away, Susan, go away," said Anne forlornly. "Cellars and
pantries and closets don't make a HOME. Why don't you weep with those
who weep?"

"Well, I never was much hand for weeping, Mrs. Doctor, dear. I would
rather fall to and cheer people up than weep with them. Now, do not
you cry