hough they always denied it.

Mrs. Harmon Andrews, Mrs. Peter Sloane, and Mrs. William Bell walked
home together and talked things over.

"I do think it is such a pity Anne is leaving when the children seem
so much attached to her," sighed Mrs. Peter Sloane, who had a habit of
sighing over everything and even finished off her jokes that way. "To
be sure," she added hastily, "we all know we'll have a good teacher next
year too."

"Jane will do her duty, I've no doubt," said Mrs. Andrews rather
stiffly. "I don't suppose she'll tell the children quite so many fairy
tales or spend so much time roaming about the woods with them. But she
has her name on the Inspector's Roll of Honor and the Newbridge people
are in a terrible state over her leaving."

"I'm real glad Anne is going to college," said Mrs. Bell. "She has
always wanted it and it will be a splendid thing for her."

"Well, I don't know." Mrs. Andrews was determined not to agree fully
with anybody that day. "I don't see that Anne needs any more education.
She'll probably be marrying Gilbert Blythe, if his infatuation for her
lasts till he gets through college, and what good will Latin and Greek
do her then? If they taught you at college how to manage a man there
might be some sense in her going."

Mrs. Harmon Andrews, so Avonlea gossip whispered, had never learned
how to manage her "man," and as a result the Andrews household was not
exactly a model of domestic happiness.

"I see that the Charlottetown call to Mr. Allan is up before the
Presbytery," said Mrs. Bell. "That means we'll be losing him soon, I
suppose."

"They're not going before September," said Mrs. Sloane. "It will be
a great loss to the community . . . though I always did think that Mrs.
Allan dressed rather too gay for a minister's wife. But we are none of
us perfect. Did you notice how neat and snug Mr. Harrison looked today?
I never saw such a changed man. He goes to church every Sunday and has
subscribed to the salary."

"Hasn't that Paul Irving grown to be a big boy?" said Mrs. Andrews. "He
was such a mite for his age when he came here. I declare I hardly knew
him today. He's getting to look a lot like his father."

"He's a smart boy," said Mrs. Bell.

"He's smart enough, but" . . . Mrs. Andrews lowered her voice . . . "I
believe he tells queer stories. Gracie came home from school one day
last week with the greatest rigmarole he had told her about people who
lived down at the shore .