. The honor of leading in
the Freshman classes fluctuated between Anne, Gilbert and Philippa;
Priscilla did very well; Charlie Sloane scraped through respectably, and
comported himself as complacently as if he had led in everything.

"I can't really believe that this time tomorrow I'll be in Green
Gables," said Anne on the night before departure. "But I shall be. And
you, Phil, will be in Bolingbroke with Alec and Alonzo."

"I'm longing to see them," admitted Phil, between the chocolate she was
nibbling. "They really are such dear boys, you know. There's to be no
end of dances and drives and general jamborees. I shall never forgive
you, Queen Anne, for not coming home with me for the holidays."

"'Never' means three days with you, Phil. It was dear of you to ask
me--and I'd love to go to Bolingbroke some day. But I can't go this
year--I MUST go home. You don't know how my heart longs for it."

"You won't have much of a time," said Phil scornfully. "There'll be one
or two quilting parties, I suppose; and all the old gossips will talk
you over to your face and behind your back. You'll die of lonesomeness,
child."

"In Avonlea?" said Anne, highly amused.

"Now, if you'd come with me you'd have a perfectly gorgeous time.
Bolingbroke would go wild over you, Queen Anne--your hair and your style
and, oh, everything! You're so DIFFERENT. You'd be such a success--and
I would bask in reflected glory--'not the rose but near the rose.' Do
come, after all, Anne."

"Your picture of social triumphs is quite fascinating, Phil, but I'll
paint one to offset it. I'm going home to an old country farmhouse, once
green, rather faded now, set among leafless apple orchards. There is a
brook below and a December fir wood beyond, where I've heard harps swept
by the fingers of rain and wind. There is a pond nearby that will be
gray and brooding now. There will be two oldish ladies in the house,
one tall and thin, one short and fat; and there will be two twins, one
a perfect model, the other what Mrs. Lynde calls a 'holy terror.' There
will be a little room upstairs over the porch, where old dreams hang
thick, and a big, fat, glorious feather bed which will almost seem the
height of luxury after a boardinghouse mattress. How do you like my
picture, Phil?"

"It seems a very dull one," said Phil, with a grimace.

"Oh, but I've left out the transforming thing," said Anne softly.
"There'll be love there, Phil--faithful, tender love, such as