when anybody criticizes Julia. I think it is
desecration to call that friendship. If we have friends we should look
only for the best in them and give them the best that is in us, don't
you think? Then friendship would be the most beautiful thing in the
world."

"Friendship IS very beautiful," smiled Mrs. Allan, "but some day . . ."

Then she paused abruptly. In the delicate, white-browed face beside her,
with its candid eyes and mobile features, there was still far more of
the child than of the woman. Anne's heart so far harbored only dreams of
friendship and ambition, and Mrs. Allan did not wish to brush the bloom
from her sweet unconsciousness. So she left her sentence for the future
years to finish.

XVI

The Substance of Things Hoped For

"Anne," said Davy appealingly, scrambling up on the shiny,
leather-covered sofa in the Green Gables kitchen, where Anne sat,
reading a letter, "Anne, I'm AWFUL hungry. You've no idea."

"I'll get you a piece of bread and butter in a minute," said Anne
absently. Her letter evidently contained some exciting news, for her
cheeks were as pink as the roses on the big bush outside, and her eyes
were as starry as only Anne's eyes could be.

"But I ain't bread and butter hungry," said Davy in a disgusted tone.
"I'm plum cake hungry."

"Oh," laughed Anne, laying down her letter and putting her arm about
Davy to give him a squeeze, "that's a kind of hunger that can be endured
very comfortably, Davy-boy. You know it's one of Marilla's rules that
you can't have anything but bread and butter between meals."

"Well, gimme a piece then . . . please."

Davy had been at last taught to say "please," but he generally tacked
it on as an afterthought. He looked with approval at the generous slice
Anne presently brought to him. "You always put such a nice lot of butter
on it, Anne. Marilla spreads it pretty thin. It slips down a lot easier
when there's plenty of butter."

The slice "slipped down" with tolerable ease, judging from its rapid
disappearance. Davy slid head first off the sofa, turned a double
somersault on the rug, and then sat up and announced decidedly,

"Anne, I've made up my mind about heaven. I don't want to go there."

"Why not?" asked Anne gravely.

"Cause heaven is in Simon Fletcher's garret, and I don't like Simon
Fletcher."

"Heaven in . . . Simon Fletcher's garret!" gasped Anne, too amazed even
to laugh. "Davy Keith, whatever put such an extraordinary