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By Root 845 0

so I never encounter her going or coming. Her mother, who is dead, was a granddaughter of Mrs Campbell, who brought her up also, her parents being dead. She married a certain Pierce Grayson, a ‘Yankee’, as Mrs Rachel Lynde would say. She died when Elizabeth was born, and as Pierce Grayson had to leave America at once to take charge of a branch of his firm’s business in Paris the baby was sent home to old Mrs Campbell. The story goes that he couldn’t bear the sight of her because she had cost her mother her life, and has never taken any notice of her. This, of course, may be sheer gossip, because neither Mrs Campbell or the Woman ever opens her lips about him.

Rebecca Dew says they are far too strict with little Elizabeth, and she hasn’t much of a time of it with them.

‘She isn’t like other children; far too old for eight years. The things that she says sometimes! “Rebecca,” she sez to me one day, “suppose just as you were ready to get into bed you felt your ankle nipped?” No wonder she’s afraid to go to bed in the dark. And they make her do it. Mrs Campbell says there are to be no cowards in her house. They watch her like two cats watching a mouse, and boss her within an inch of her life. If she makes a speck of noise they nearly pass out. It’s “Hush! Hush!” all the time. I tell you that child is being hush-hushed to death. And what is to be done about it?’

What, indeed! I feel that I’d like to see her. She seems to me a bit pathetic. Aunt Kate says she is well looked after from a physical point of view. What Aunt Kate really said was, ‘They feed and dress her well’ – but a child can’t live by bread alone. I can never forget what my own life was like before I came to Green Gables.

I’m going home next Friday evening to spend two beautiful days in Avonlea. The only drawback will be that everybody I see will ask me how I like teaching in Summerside.

But think of Green Gables now, Gilbert – the Lake of Shining Waters with a blue mist on it, the maples across the brook beginning to turn scarlet, the ferns golden brown in the Haunted Wood, and the sunset shadows in Lovers’ Lane, darling spot! I find it in my heart to wish I were there now with – with – Guess whom?

Do you know, Gilbert, there are times when I strongly suspect that I love you!

Windy Willows

Spook’s Lane

S’side

October 10

HONOURED AND RESPECTED SIR,

That is how a love-letter of Aunt Chatty’s grandmother’s began. Isn’t it delicious? What a thrill of superiority it must have given the grandfather! Wouldn’t you really prefer it to ‘Gilbert darling’, etc.? But, on the whole, I think I’m glad you’re not the grandfather – or a grandfather. It’s wonderful to think we’re young and have our whole lives before us – together – isn’t it?

(Several pages omitted, Anne’s pen evidently not being sharp, stub, or rusty)

I am sitting on the window-seat in the tower looking out into the trees waving against an amber sky and beyond them to the harbour. Last night I had such a lovely walk with myself. I really had to go somewhere, for it was just a trifle dismal at Windy Willows. Aunt Chatty was crying in the sitting-room because her feelings had been hurt, and Aunt Kate was crying in her bedroom because it was the anniversary of Captain Amasa’s death, and Rebecca Dew was crying in the kitchen for no reason that I could discover. I’ve never seen Rebecca Dew cry before. But when I tried tactfully to find out what was wrong she pettishly wanted to know if a body couldn’t enjoy a cry when she felt like it. So I folded my tent and stole away, leaving her to her enjoyment.

I went out and down the harbour road. There was such a nice frosty, Octobery smell in the air, blent with the delightful odour of newly ploughed fields. I walked on and on until twilight had deepened into a moonlit autumn night. I was alone, but not lonely. I held a series of imaginary conversations with imaginary comrades, and thought out so many epigrams that I was agreeably surprised at myself. I couldn’t help enjoying myself in spite of my Pringle worries.

The spirit moves me to utter a few yowls regarding