(1 Chronicles of Avonlea.)
“What a nice play-time this has been,”
said Anne. “I feel like a giant refreshed.
And it’s only a fortnight more till I go back
to Kingsport, and Redmond and Patty’s Place.
Patty’s Place is the dearest spot, Miss Lavendar.
I feel as if I had two homes—one at Green
Gables and one at Patty’s Place. But where
has the summer gone? It doesn’t seem a day
since I came home that spring evening with the Mayflowers.
When I was little I couldn’t see from one end
of the summer to the other. It stretched before
me like an unending season. Now, ’’tis
a handbreadth, ‘tis a tale.’”
“Anne, are you and Gilbert Blythe as good friends
as you used to be?” asked Miss Lavendar quietly.
“I am just as much Gilbert’s friend as
ever I was, Miss Lavendar.”
Miss Lavendar shook her head.
“I see something’s gone wrong, Anne.
I’m going to be impertinent and ask what.
Have you quarrelled?”
“No; it’s only that Gilbert wants more
than friendship and I can’t give him more.”
“Are you sure of that, Anne?”
“Perfectly sure.”
“I’m very, very sorry.”
“I wonder why everybody seems to think I ought
to marry Gilbert Blythe,” said Anne petulantly.
“Because you were made and meant for each other,
Anne—that is why. You needn’t
toss that young head of yours. It’s a fact.”
Enter Jonas
“Prospect point, “August 20th.
“Dear Anne—spelled—with—an—E,”
wrote Phil, “I must prop my eyelids open long
enough to write you. I’ve neglected you
shamefully this summer, honey, but all my other correspondents
have been neglected, too. I have a huge pile
of letters to answer, so I must gird up the loins
of my mind and hoe in. Excuse my mixed metaphors.
I’m fearfully sleepy. Last night Cousin
Emily and I were calling at a neighbor’s.
There were several other callers there, and as soon
as those unfortunate creatures left, our hostess and
her three daughters picked them all to pieces.
I knew they would begin on Cousin Emily and me as
soon as the door shut behind us. When we came
home Mrs. Lilly informed us that the aforesaid neighbor’s
hired boy was supposed to be down with scarlet fever.
You can always trust Mrs. Lilly to tell you cheerful
things like that. I have a horror of scarlet
fever. I couldn’t sleep when I went to bed
for thinking of it. I tossed and tumbled about,
dreaming fearful dreams when I did snooze for a minute;
and at three I wakened up with a high fever, a sore
throat, and a raging headache. I knew I had scarlet
fever; I got up in a panic and hunted up Cousin Emily’s
‘doctor book’ to read up the symptoms.
Anne, I had them all. So I went back to bed, and
knowing the worst, slept like a top the rest of the
night. Though why a top should sleep sounder
than anything else I never could understand. But
this morning I was quite well, so it couldn’t
have been the fever. I suppose if I did catch
it last night it couldn’t have developed so soon.
I can remember that in daytime, but at three o’clock
at night I never can be logical.
