n years."

Anne made up her mind that the next time she wrote a story she wouldn't
ask anybody to criticize it. It was too discouraging. She would not read
the story to Gilbert, although she told him about it.

"If it is a success you'll see it when it is published, Gilbert, but if
it is a failure nobody shall ever see it."

Marilla knew nothing about the venture. In imagination Anne saw herself
reading a story out of a magazine to Marilla, entrapping her into praise
of it--for in imagination all things are possible--and then triumphantly
announcing herself the author.

One day Anne took to the Post Office a long, bulky envelope, addressed,
with the delightful confidence of youth and inexperience, to the very
biggest of the "big" magazines. Diana was as excited over it as Anne
herself.

"How long do you suppose it will be before you hear from it?" she asked.

"It shouldn't be longer than a fortnight. Oh, how happy and proud I
shall be if it is accepted!"

"Of course it will be accepted, and they will likely ask you to send
them more. You may be as famous as Mrs. Morgan some day, Anne, and then
how proud I'll be of knowing you," said Diana, who possessed, at least,
the striking merit of an unselfish admiration of the gifts and graces of
her friends.

A week of delightful dreaming followed, and then came a bitter
awakening. One evening Diana found Anne in the porch gable, with
suspicious-looking eyes. On the table lay a long envelope and a crumpled
manuscript.

"Anne, your story hasn't come back?" cried Diana incredulously.

"Yes, it has," said Anne shortly.

"Well, that editor must be crazy. What reason did he give?"

"No reason at all. There is just a printed slip saying that it wasn't
found acceptable."

"I never thought much of that magazine, anyway," said Diana hotly.
"The stories in it are not half as interesting as those in the
Canadian Woman, although it costs so much more. I suppose the editor
is prejudiced against any one who isn't a Yankee. Don't be discouraged,
Anne. Remember how Mrs. Morgan's stories came back. Send yours to the
Canadian Woman."

"I believe I will," said Anne, plucking up heart. "And if it is
published I'll send that American editor a marked copy. But I'll cut the
sunset out. I believe Mr. Harrison was right."

Out came the sunset; but in spite of this heroic mutilation the editor
of the Canadian Woman sent Averil's Atonement back so promptly that the
indignant Diana decla