hypnotized me into some such rash and foolish act. Let us
be thankful he did it by proxy."

"I had a letter from George Moore yesterday," said Leslie, from the
corner where she was reading.

"Oh, how is he?" asked Anne interestedly, yet with an unreal feeling
that she was inquiring about some one whom she did not know.

"He is well, but he finds it very hard to adapt himself to all the
changes in his old home and friends. He is going to sea again in the
spring. It's in his blood, he says, and he longs for it. But he told
me something that made me glad for him, poor fellow. Before he sailed
on the Four Sisters he was engaged to a girl at home. He did not tell
me anything about her in Montreal, because he said he supposed she
would have forgotten him and married someone else long ago, and with
him, you see, his engagement and love was still a thing of the present.
It was pretty hard on him, but when he got home he found she had never
married and still cared for him. They are to be married this fall.
I'm going to ask him to bring her over here for a little trip; he says
he wants to come and see the place where he lived so many years without
knowing it."

"What a nice little romance," said Anne, whose love for the romantic
was immortal. "And to think," she added with a sigh of self-reproach,
"that if I had had my way George Moore would never have come up from
the grave in which his identity was buried. How I did fight against
Gilbert's suggestion! Well, I am punished: I shall never be able to
have a different opinion from Gilbert's again! If I try to have, he
will squelch me by casting George Moore's case up to me!"

"As if even that would squelch a woman!" mocked Gilbert. "At least do
not become my echo, Anne. A little opposition gives spice to life. I
do not want a wife like John MacAllister's over the harbor. No matter
what he says, she at once remarks in that drab, lifeless little voice
of hers, 'That is very true, John, dear me!'"

Anne and Leslie laughed. Anne's laughter was silver and Leslie's
golden, and the combination of the two was as satisfactory as a perfect
chord in music.

Susan, coming in on the heels of the laughter, echoed it with a
resounding sigh.

"Why, Susan, what is the matter?" asked Gilbert.

"There's nothing wrong with little Jem, is there, Susan?" cried Anne,
starting up in alarm.

"No, no, calm yourself, Mrs. Doctor, dear. Something has happened,
though. Dear me, e