s Dan Winston. He knew too much.
He knew everything in this world and most of what is in the next. He
could give you an answer to any question, even if you asked him when the
Judgment Day was to be. Milton Edwards was real nice and I liked him but
I didn't marry him. For one thing, he took a week to get a joke through
his head, and for another he never asked me. Horatio Reeve was the most
interesting beau I ever had. But when he told a story he dressed it up
so that you couldn't see it for frills. I never could decide whether he
was lying or just letting his imagination run loose."

"And what about the others, Aunty?"

"Go away and unpack," said Aunt Jamesina, waving Joseph at them by
mistake for a needle. "The others were too nice to make fun of. I shall
respect their memory. There's a box of flowers in your room, Anne. They
came about an hour ago."

After the first week the girls of Patty's Place settled down to a steady
grind of study; for this was their last year at Redmond and graduation
honors must be fought for persistently. Anne devoted herself to English,
Priscilla pored over classics, and Philippa pounded away at Mathematics.
Sometimes they grew tired, sometimes they felt discouraged, sometimes
nothing seemed worth the struggle for it. In one such mood Stella
wandered up to the blue room one rainy November evening. Anne sat on the
floor in a little circle of light cast by the lamp beside her, amid a
surrounding snow of crumpled manuscript.

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Just looking over some old Story Club yarns. I wanted something to
cheer AND inebriate. I'd studied until the world seemed azure. So I came
up here and dug these out of my trunk. They are so drenched in tears and
tragedy that they are excruciatingly funny."

"I'm blue and discouraged myself," said Stella, throwing herself on the
couch. "Nothing seems worthwhile. My very thoughts are old. I've thought
them all before. What is the use of living after all, Anne?"

"Honey, it's just brain fag that makes us feel that way, and the
weather. A pouring rainy night like this, coming after a hard day's
grind, would squelch any one but a Mark Tapley. You know it IS
worthwhile to live."

"Oh, I suppose so. But I can't prove it to myself just now."

"Just think of all the great and noble souls who have lived and worked
in the world," said Anne dreamily. "Isn't it worthwhile to come after
them and inherit what they won and taught? Isn't it wo