hite Sands?"

"It's five miles; and as you're evidently bent on talking you might as
well talk to some purpose by telling me what you know about yourself."

"Oh, what I KNOW about myself isn't really worth telling," said Anne
eagerly. "If you'll only let me tell you what I IMAGINE about myself
you'll think it ever so much more interesting."

"No, I don't want any of your imaginings. Just you stick to bald facts.
Begin at the beginning. Where were you born and how old are you?"

"I was eleven last March," said Anne, resigning herself to bald facts
with a little sigh. "And I was born in Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia.
My father's name was Walter Shirley, and he was a teacher in the
Bolingbroke High School. My mother's name was Bertha Shirley. Aren't
Walter and Bertha lovely names? I'm so glad my parents had nice names.
It would be a real disgrace to have a father named--well, say Jedediah,
wouldn't it?"

"I guess it doesn't matter what a person's name is as long as he behaves
himself," said Marilla, feeling herself called upon to inculcate a good
and useful moral.

"Well, I don't know." Anne looked thoughtful. "I read in a book once
that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never been
able to believe it. I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it was
called a thistle or a skunk cabbage. I suppose my father could have been
a good man even if he had been called Jedediah; but I'm sure it would
have been a cross. Well, my mother was a teacher in the High school,
too, but when she married father she gave up teaching, of course. A
husband was enough responsibility. Mrs. Thomas said that they were
a pair of babies and as poor as church mice. They went to live in a
weeny-teeny little yellow house in Bolingbroke. I've never seen that
house, but I've imagined it thousands of times. I think it must have
had honeysuckle over the parlor window and lilacs in the front yard and
lilies of the valley just inside the gate. Yes, and muslin curtains in
all the windows. Muslin curtains give a house such an air. I was born
in that house. Mrs. Thomas said I was the homeliest baby she ever saw, I
was so scrawny and tiny and nothing but eyes, but that mother thought I
was perfectly beautiful. I should think a mother would be a better judge
than a poor woman who came in to scrub, wouldn't you? I'm glad she
was satisfied with me anyhow, I would feel so sad if I thought I was a
disappointment to her--because she didn't live ver