day," said Gilbert
admiringly.

And he was right. Anne was one of the children of light by birthright.
After she had passed through a life with a smile or a word thrown across
it like a gleam of sunshine the owner of that life saw it, for the time
being at least, as hopeful and lovely and of good report.

Finally Gilbert rose regretfully.

"Well, I must run up to MacPhersons'. Moody Spurgeon came home from
Queen's today for Sunday and he was to bring me out a book Professor
Boyd is lending me."

"And I must get Marilla's tea. She went to see Mrs. Keith this evening
and she will soon be back."

Anne had tea ready when Marilla came home; the fire was crackling
cheerily, a vase of frost-bleached ferns and ruby-red maple leaves
adorned the table, and delectable odors of ham and toast pervaded the
air. But Marilla sank into her chair with a deep sigh.

"Are your eyes troubling you? Does your head ache?" queried Anne
anxiously.

"No. I'm only tired . . . and worried. It's about Mary and those children
. . . Mary is worse . . . she can't last much longer. And as for the
twins, _I_ don't know what is to become of them."

"Hasn't their uncle been heard from?"

"Yes, Mary had a letter from him. He's working in a lumber camp and
'shacking it,' whatever that means. Anyway, he says he can't possibly
take the children till the spring. He expects to be married then and
will have a home to take them to; but he says she must get some of the
neighbors to keep them for the winter. She says she can't bear to ask
any of them. Mary never got on any too well with the East Grafton people
and that's a fact. And the long and short of it is, Anne, that I'm
sure Mary wants me to take those children . . . she didn't say so but she
LOOKED it."

"Oh!" Anne clasped her hands, all athrill with excitement. "And of
course you will, Marilla, won't you?"

"I haven't made up my mind," said Marilla rather tartly. "I don't rush
into things in your headlong way, Anne. Third cousinship is a pretty
slim claim. And it will be a fearful responsibility to have two children
of six years to look after . . . twins, at that."

Marilla had an idea that twins were just twice as bad as single
children.

"Twins are very interesting . . . at least one pair of them," said Anne.
"It's only when there are two or three pairs that it gets monotonous.
And I think it would be real nice for you to have something to amuse you
when I'm away in school."

"I don't