so often. Seems as if an average has to be struck. No, thank you, Kate, I won’t have any more tea … well, mebbe a macaroon. They don’t lie heavy on the stomach, but I’m afraid I’ve et far too much. I must be taking French leave, for I’m afraid it’ll be dark afore I git home. I don’t want to git my feet wet; I’m so afraid of ammonia. I’ve had something traveling from my arm to my lower limbs all winter. Night after night I’ve laid awake with it. Ah, nobody knows what I’ve gone through, but I ain’t one of the complaining sort. I was determined I’d git up to see you once more, for I may not be here another spring. But you’ve both failed terrible, so you may go afore me yet. Ah well, it’s best to go while there’s some one of your own left to lay you out. Dear me, how the wind is gitting up! I’m afraid our barn roof will blow off if it comes to a gale. We’ve had so much wind this spring I’m afraid the climate is changing. Thank you, Miss Shirley …” as Anne helped her into her coat … “Be careful of yourself. You look awful washed out. I’m afraid people with red hair never have real strong constitutions.”
“I think my constitution is all right,” smiled Anne, handing Cousin Ernestine an indescribable bit of millinery with a stringy ostrich feather dripping from its back. “I have a touch of sore throat tonight, Miss Bugle, that’s all.”
“Ah!” Another of Cousin Ernestine’s dark forebodings came to her. “You want to watch a sore throat. The symptoms of diptheria and tonsillitis are exactly the same till the third day. But there’s one consolation … you’ll be spared an awful lot of trouble if you die young.”
Chapter IX
“Tower Room,
“Windy Poplars,
“April 20th.
“POOR DEAR GILBERT:
“‘I said of laughter, it is mad, and of mirth, what doeth it?’ I’m afraid I’ll turn gray young … I’m afraid I’ll end up in the poorhouse … I’m afraid none of my pupils will pass their finals … Mr. Hamilton’s dog barked at me Saturday night and I’m afraid I’ll have hydrophobia … I’m afraid my umbrella will turn inside out when I keep a tryst with Katherine tonight … I’m afraid Katherine likes me so much now that she can’t always like me as much … I’m afraid my hair isn’t auburn after all … I’m afraid I’ll have a mole on the end of my nose when I’m fifty … I’m afraid my school is a fire-trap … I’m afraid I’ll find a mouse in my bed tonight … I’m afraid you got engaged to me just because I was always around … I’m afraid I’ll soon be picking at the counterpane.
“No, dearest, I’m not crazy … not yet. It’s only that Cousin Ernestine Bugle is catching.
“I know now why Rebecca Dew has always called her ‘Miss Much-afraid.’ The poor soul has borrowed so much trouble, she must be hopelessly in debt to fate.
“There are so many Bugles in the world … not many quite so far gone in Buglism as Cousin Ernestine, perhaps, but so many kill-joys, afraid to enjoy today because of what tomorrow will bring.
“Gilbert darling, don’t let’s ever be afraid of things. It’s such dreadful slavery. Let’s be daring and adventurous and expectant. Let’s dance to meet life and all it can bring to us, even if it brings scads of trouble and typhoid and twins!
“Today has been a day dropped out of June into April. The snow is all gone and the fawn meadows and golden hills just sing of spring. I know I heard Pan piping in the little green hollow in my maple bush and my Storm King was bannered with the airiest of purple hazes. We’ve had a great deal of rain lately and I’ve loved sitting in my tower in the still, wet hours of the spring twilights. But tonight is a gusty, hurrying night … even the clouds racing over the sky are in a hurry and the moonlight that gushes out between them is in a hurry to flood the world.
“Suppose, Gilbert, we were walking hand in hand down one of the long roads in Avonlea tonight!
“Gilbert, I’m afraid I’m scandalously in love with you. You don’t think it’s irreverent, do you? But then, you’re not a minister.”
Chapter X
“I’m so different,” sighed Hazel.
It was really dreadful to be so different from other people … and yet rather wonderful, too, as if you were a being strayed from another star. Hazel would not have been one of the common herd for anything … no matter what she suffered by reason of her differentness.
“Everybody is different,” said Anne amusedly.
“You are smiling.” Hazel clasped a pair of very white, very dimpled hands and gazed adoringly at Anne. She emphasized at least one syllable in every word she uttered. “You have such a fascinating smile … such a haunting smile. I knew the moment I first saw you that you would understand everything. We are on the same plane. Sometimes I think I must be psychic, Miss Shirley. I always know so instinctively the moment I meet any one whether I’m going to like them or not. I felt at once that you were sympathetic … that you would understand. It’s so sweet to be understood. Nobody understands me, Miss Shirley … nobody. But when I saw you, some inner voice whispered to me, ‘She will understand … with her you can be your real self.’ Oh, Miss Shirley, let’s be real … let’s always be real. Oh, Miss Shirley, do you love me the leastest, tiniest bit?”
“I think you’re a dear,” said Anne, laughing a little and ruffling Hazel’s golden curls with her slender fingers. It was quite easy to be fond of Hazel.
Hazel had been pouring out her soul to Anne in the tower room, from which they could see a young moon hanging over the harbor and the twilight of a late May evening filling the crimson cups of the tulips below the windows.
“Don’t let’s have any light yet,” Hazel had begged, and Anne had responded,
“No … it’s lovely here when the dark is your friend, isn’t it? When you turn on the light, it makes the dark your enemy … and it glowers in at you resentfully.”
“I can think things like that but I can never express them so beautifully,” moaned Hazel in an anguish of rapture. “You talk in the language of the violets, Miss Shirley.”
Hazel couldn’t have explained in the least what she meant by that, but it didn’t matter. It sounded so poetic.
The tower room was the only peaceful room in the house. Rebecca Dew had said that morning, with a hunted look, “We must get the parlor and spare-room papered before the Ladies’ Aid meets here,” and had forthwith removed all the furniture from both to make way for a paperhanger who then refused to come until the next day. Windy Poplars was a wilderness of confusion, with one sole oasis in the tower room.
Hazel Marr had a notorious “crush” on Anne. The Marrs were newcomers in Summerside, having moved there from Charlottetown during the winter. Hazel was an “October blonde,” as she liked to describe herself, with hair of golden bronze and brown eyes, and, so Rebecca Dew declared, had never been much good in the world since
