"

"Her hair and eyes are dark, but her neck and arms are white as snow.
No mortal can ever see how fair she is. She is fleeter than a deer, and
that mocking voice of hers is all we can know of her. You can hear her
calling at night; you can hear her laughing under the stars. But you
can never see her. She flies afar if you follow her, and laughs at you
always just over the next hill."

"Is that true, Anne? Or is it a whopper?" demanded Davy staring.

"Davy," said Anne despairingly, "haven't you sense enough to distinguish
between a fairytale and a falsehood?"

"Then what is it that sasses back from the Boulter bush? I want to
know," insisted Davy.

"When you are a little older, Davy, I'll explain it all to you."

The mention of age evidently gave a new turn to Davy's thoughts for
after a few moments of reflection, he whispered solemnly:

"Anne, I'm going to be married."

"When?" asked Anne with equal solemnity.

"Oh, not until I'm grown-up, of course."

"Well, that's a relief, Davy. Who is the lady?"

"Stella Fletcher; she's in my class at school. And say, Anne, she's the
prettiest girl you ever saw. If I die before I grow up you'll keep an
eye on her, won't you?"

"Davy Keith, do stop talking such nonsense," said Marilla severely.

"'Tisn't nonsense," protested Davy in an injured tone. "She's my
promised wife, and if I was to die she'd be my promised widow, wouldn't
she? And she hasn't got a soul to look after her except her old
grandmother."

"Come and have your supper, Anne," said Marilla, "and don't encourage
that child in his absurd talk."

Chapter XXIII

Paul Cannot Find the Rock People

Life was very pleasant in Avonlea that summer, although Anne, amid
all her vacation joys, was haunted by a sense of "something gone which
should be there." She would not admit, even in her inmost reflections,
that this was caused by Gilbert's absence. But when she had to walk home
alone from prayer meetings and A.V.I.S. pow-wows, while Diana and Fred,
and many other gay couples, loitered along the dusky, starlit country
roads, there was a queer, lonely ache in her heart which she could not
explain away. Gilbert did not even write to her, as she thought he might
have done. She knew he wrote to Diana occasionally, but she would
not inquire about him; and Diana, supposing that Anne heard from him,
volunteered no information. Gilbert's mother, who was a gay, frank,
light-hearted lady, but not overburdene