Chapter XV
A Dream Turned Upside Down
“Just   one more    week    and we  go  back    to  Redmond,”   said    Anne.   She was happy
at   the     thought     of  returning   to  work,   classes     and     Redmond     friends.    Pleasing
visions were    also    being   woven   around  Patty’s Place.  There   was a   warm    pleasant
sense   of  home    in  the thought of  it, even    though  she had never   lived   there.
But the summer  had been    a   very    happy   one,    too—a   time    of  glad    living  with
summer  suns    and skies,  a   time    of  keen    delight in  wholesome   things; a   time    of
renewing    and deepening   of  old friendships;    a   time    in  which   she had learned to
live    more    nobly,  to  work    more    patiently,  to  play    more    heartily.
“All    life    lessons are not learned at  college,”   she thought.    “Life   teaches them
everywhere.”
But alas,   the final   week    of  that    pleasant    vacation    was spoiled for Anne,   by  one
of  those   impish  happenings  which   are like    a   dream   turned  upside  down.
“Been   writing any more    stories lately?”    inquired    Mr. Harrison    genially    one
evening when    Anne    was taking  tea with    him and Mrs.    Harrison.
“No,”   answered    Anne,   rather  crisply.
“Well,  no  offense meant.  Mrs.    Hiram   Sloane  told    me  the other   day that    a   big
envelope     addressed   to  the     Rollings    Reliable    Baking  Powder  Company     of
Montreal     had     been    dropped     into    the     post    office  box     a   month   ago,    and     she
suspicioned that    somebody    was trying  for the prize   they’d  offered for the best
story    that    introduced  the     name    of  their   baking  powder.     She     said    it  wasn’t
addressed   in  your    writing,    but I   thought maybe   it  was you.”
“Indeed,    no! I   saw the prize   offer,  but I’d never   dream   of  competing   for it. I
think   it  would   be  perfectly   disgraceful to  write   a   story   to  advertise   a   baking
powder. It  would   be  almost  as  bad as  Judson  Parker’s    patent  medicine    fence.”
So  spake   Anne    loftily,    little  dreaming    of  the valley  of  humiliation awaiting
her.    That    very    evening Diana   popped  into    the porch   gable,  bright-eyed and rosy
cheeked,    carrying    a   letter.
“Oh,    Anne,   here’s  a   letter  for you.    I   was at  the office, so  I   thought I’d bring   it
along.  Do  open    it  quick.  If  it  is  what    I   believe it  is  I   shall   just    be  wild    with
