elors. And if he had a
white collar on I'd agree with Rachel that it looks suspicious, for I'm
sure he never was seen with one before."

"I think he only put it on because he wanted to conclude a business deal
with Harmon Andrews," said Anne. "I've heard him say that's the only
time a man needs to be particular about his appearance, because if he
looks prosperous the party of the second part won't be so likely to try
to cheat him. I really feel sorry for Mr. Harrison; I don't believe he
feels satisfied with his life. It must be very lonely to have no one to
care about except a parrot, don't you think? But I notice Mr. Harrison
doesn't like to be pitied. Nobody does, I imagine."

"There's Gilbert coming up the lane," said Marilla. "If he wants you to
go for a row on the pond mind you put on your coat and rubbers. There's
a heavy dew tonight."

XVIII

An Adventure on the Tory Road

"Anne," said Davy, sitting up in bed and propping his chin on his hands,
"Anne, where is sleep? People go to sleep every night, and of course I
know it's the place where I do the things I dream, but I want to know
WHERE it is and how I get there and back without knowing anything about
it . . . and in my nighty too. Where is it?"

Anne was kneeling at the west gable window watching the sunset sky
that was like a great flower with petals of crocus and a heart of fiery
yellow. She turned her head at Davy's question and answered dreamily,

"'Over the mountains of the moon,
Down the valley of the shadow.'"

Paul Irving would have known the meaning of this, or made a meaning out
of it for himself, if he didn't; but practical Davy, who, as Anne
often despairingly remarked, hadn't a particle of imagination, was only
puzzled and disgusted.

"Anne, I believe you're just talking nonsense."

"Of course, I was, dear boy. Don't you know that it is only very foolish
folk who talk sense all the time?"

"Well, I think you might give a sensible answer when I ask a sensible
question," said Davy in an injured tone.

"Oh, you are too little to understand," said Anne. But she felt rather
ashamed of saying it; for had she not, in keen remembrance of many
similar snubs administered in her own early years, solemnly vowed that
she would never tell any child it was too little to understand? Yet here
she was doing it . . . so wide sometimes is the gulf between theory and
practice.

"Well, I'm doing my best to grow," said Davy, "but it's