cubby hole."

"What nonsense you do talk, Anne," laughed Diana. "You'll marry somebody
splendid and handsome and rich--and no spare room in Avonlea will be
half gorgeous enough for you--and you'll turn up your nose at all the
friends of your youth."

"That would be a pity; my nose is quite nice, but I fear turning it up
would spoil it," said Anne, patting that shapely organ. "I haven't so
many good features that I could afford to spoil those I have; so, even
if I should marry the King of the Cannibal Islands, I promise you I
won't turn up my nose at you, Diana."

With another gay laugh the girls separated, Diana to return to Orchard
Slope, Anne to walk to the Post Office. She found a letter awaiting her
there, and when Gilbert Blythe overtook her on the bridge over the Lake
of Shining Waters she was sparkling with the excitement of it.

"Priscilla Grant is going to Redmond, too," she exclaimed. "Isn't that
splendid? I hoped she would, but she didn't think her father would
consent. He has, however, and we're to board together. I feel that I can
face an army with banners--or all the professors of Redmond in one fell
phalanx--with a chum like Priscilla by my side."

"I think we'll like Kingsport," said Gilbert. "It's a nice old burg,
they tell me, and has the finest natural park in the world. I've heard
that the scenery in it is magnificent."

"I wonder if it will be--can be--any more beautiful than this," murmured
Anne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of those to
whom "home" must always be the loveliest spot in the world, no matter
what fairer lands may lie under alien stars.

They were leaning on the bridge of the old pond, drinking deep of the
enchantment of the dusk, just at the spot where Anne had climbed from
her sinking Dory on the day Elaine floated down to Camelot. The fine,
empurpling dye of sunset still stained the western skies, but the moon
was rising and the water lay like a great, silver dream in her light.
Remembrance wove a sweet and subtle spell over the two young creatures.

"You are very quiet, Anne," said Gilbert at last.

"I'm afraid to speak or move for fear all this wonderful beauty will
vanish just like a broken silence," breathed Anne.

Gilbert suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying on the
rail of the bridge. His hazel eyes deepened into darkness, his still
boyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope that thrilled
his soul. But Anne sn