they pay you for it?"

"Yes; they've sent a check for ten dollars, and the editor writes that
he would like to see more of my work. Dear man, he shall. It was an
old sketch I found in my box. I re-wrote it and sent it in--but I never
really thought it could be accepted because it had no plot," said Anne,
recalling the bitter experience of Averil's Atonement.

"What are you going to do with that ten dollars, Anne? Let's all go up
town and get drunk," suggested Phil.

"I AM going to squander it in a wild soulless revel of some sort,"
declared Anne gaily. "At all events it isn't tainted money--like the
check I got for that horrible Reliable Baking Powder story. I spent IT
usefully for clothes and hated them every time I put them on."

"Think of having a real live author at Patty's Place," said Priscilla.

"It's a great responsibility," said Aunt Jamesina solemnly.

"Indeed it is," agreed Pris with equal solemnity. "Authors are kittle
cattle. You never know when or how they will break out. Anne may make
copy of us."

"I meant that the ability to write for the Press was a great
responsibility," said Aunt Jamesina severely, "and I hope Anne realizes,
it. My daughter used to write stories before she went to the foreign
field, but now she has turned her attention to higher things. She used
to say her motto was 'Never write a line you would be ashamed to read
at your own funeral.' You'd better take that for yours, Anne, if you are
going to embark in literature. Though, to be sure," added Aunt Jamesina
perplexedly, "Elizabeth always used to laugh when she said it. She
always laughed so much that I don't know how she ever came to decide
on being a missionary. I'm thankful she did--I prayed that she
might--but--I wish she hadn't."

Then Aunt Jamesina wondered why those giddy girls all laughed.

Anne's eyes shone all that day; literary ambitions sprouted and budded
in her brain; their exhilaration accompanied her to Jennie Cooper's
walking party, and not even the sight of Gilbert and Christine, walking
just ahead of her and Roy, could quite subdue the sparkle of her starry
hopes. Nevertheless, she was not so rapt from things of earth as to be
unable to notice that Christine's walk was decidedly ungraceful.

"But I suppose Gilbert looks only at her face. So like a man," thought
Anne scornfully.

"Shall you be home Saturday afternoon?" asked Roy.

"Yes."

"My mother and sisters are coming to call on you," said Roy quie