nd years would see me a most insufferable creature, thinking I knew
it all, and looking down on everything and everybody in Avonlea; Mrs.
Elisha Wright said she understood that Redmond girls, especially those
who belonged to Kingsport, were 'dreadful dressy and stuck-up,' and she
guessed I wouldn't feel much at home among them; and I saw myself, a
snubbed, dowdy, humiliated country girl, shuffling through Redmond's
classic halls in coppertoned boots."

Anne ended with a laugh and a sigh commingled. With her sensitive nature
all disapproval had weight, even the disapproval of those for whose
opinions she had scant respect. For the time being life was savorless,
and ambition had gone out like a snuffed candle.

"You surely don't care for what they said," protested Gilbert. "You know
exactly how narrow their outlook on life is, excellent creatures though
they are. To do anything THEY have never done is anathema maranatha. You
are the first Avonlea girl who has ever gone to college; and you
know that all pioneers are considered to be afflicted with moonstruck
madness."

"Oh, I know. But FEELING is so different from KNOWING. My common sense
tells me all you can say, but there are times when common sense has
no power over me. Common nonsense takes possession of my soul. Really,
after Mrs. Elisha went away I hardly had the heart to finish packing."

"You're just tired, Anne. Come, forget it all and take a walk with
me--a ramble back through the woods beyond the marsh. There should be
something there I want to show you."

"Should be! Don't you know if it is there?"

"No. I only know it should be, from something I saw there in spring.
Come on. We'll pretend we are two children again and we'll go the way of
the wind."

They started gaily off. Anne, remembering the unpleasantness of the
preceding evening, was very nice to Gilbert; and Gilbert, who was
learning wisdom, took care to be nothing save the schoolboy comrade
again. Mrs. Lynde and Marilla watched them from the kitchen window.

"That'll be a match some day," Mrs. Lynde said approvingly.

Marilla winced slightly. In her heart she hoped it would, but it went
against her grain to hear the matter spoken of in Mrs. Lynde's gossipy
matter-of-fact way.

"They're only children yet," she said shortly.

Mrs. Lynde laughed good-naturedly.

"Anne is eighteen; I was married when I was that age. We old folks,
Marilla, are too much given to thinking children never grow up,