fir wood beyond, where I’ve heard harps swept by the fingers of rain and wind.
There is a pond nearby that will be gray and brooding now. There will be two
oldish ladies in the house, one tall and thin, one short and fat; and there will be
two twins, one a perfect model, the other what Mrs. Lynde calls a ‘holy terror.’
There will be a little room upstairs over the porch, where old dreams hang thick,
and a big, fat, glorious feather bed which will almost seem the height of luxury
after a boardinghouse mattress. How do you like my picture, Phil?”
“It seems a very dull one,” said Phil, with a grimace.
“Oh, but I’ve left out the transforming thing,” said Anne softly. “There’ll be
love there, Phil—faithful, tender love, such as I’ll never find anywhere else in
the world—love that’s waiting for me. That makes my picture a masterpiece,
doesn’t it, even if the colors are not very brilliant?”
Phil silently got up, tossed her box of chocolates away, went up to Anne, and
put her arms about her.
“Anne, I wish I was like you,” she said soberly.
Diana met Anne at the Carmody station the next night, and they drove home
together under silent, star-sown depths of sky. Green Gables had a very festal
appearance as they drove up the lane. There was a light in every window, the
glow breaking out through the darkness like flame-red blossoms swung against
the dark background of the Haunted Wood. And in the yard was a brave bonfire
with two gay little figures dancing around it, one of which gave an unearthly yell
as the buggy turned in under the poplars.
“Davy means that for an Indian war-whoop,” said Diana. “Mr. Harrison’s
hired boy taught it to him, and he’s been practicing it up to welcome you with.
Mrs. Lynde says it has worn her nerves to a frazzle. He creeps up behind her,
you know, and then lets go. He was determined to have a bonfire for you, too.
He’s been piling up branches for a fortnight and pestering Marilla to be let pour
some kerosene oil over it before setting it on fire. I guess she did, by the smell,
though Mrs. Lynde said up to the last that Davy would blow himself and
everybody else up if he was let.”
Anne was out of the buggy by this time, and Davy was rapturously hugging
her knees, while even Dora was clinging to her hand.
“Isn’t that a bully bonfire, Anne? Just let me show you how to poke it—see
the sparks? I did it for you, Anne, ‘cause I was so glad you were coming home.”
The kitchen door opened and Marilla’s spare form darkened against the inner
light. She preferred to meet Anne in the shadows, for she was horribly afraid that
she was going to cry with joy—she, stern, repressed Marilla, who thought all