“Let us hope not, dear,” she said cheerfully.  “How are your rock people coming on?  Does the oldest Twin still continue to behave himself?”

“He has to,” said Paul emphatically.  “He knows I won’t associate with him if he doesn’t.  He is really full of wickedness, I think.”

“And has Nora found out about the Golden Lady yet?”

“No; but I think she suspects.  I’m almost sure she watched me the last time I went to the cave. I don’t mind if she finds out . . . it is only for her sake I don’t want her to . . . so that her feelings won’t be hurt.  But if she is determined to have her feelings hurt it can’t be helped.”

“If I were to go to the shore some night with you do you think I could see your rock people too?”

Paul shook his head gravely.

“No, I don’t think you could see my rock people.  I’m the only person who can see them.  But you could see rock people of your own.  You’re one of the kind that can.  We’re both that kind.  You know, teacher,” he added, squeezing her hand chummily.  “Isn’t it splendid to be that kind, teacher?”

“Splendid,” Anne agreed, gray shining eyes looking down into blue shining ones.  Anne and Paul both knew

     “How fair the realm
     Imagination opens to the view,”

and both knew the way to that happy land.  There the rose of joy bloomed immortal by dale and stream; clouds never darkened the sunny sky; sweet bells never jangled out of tune; and kindred spirits abounded.  The knowledge of that land’s geography . . . “east o’ the sun, west o’ the moon” . . . is priceless lore, not to be bought in any market place.  It must be the gift of the good fairies at birth and the years can never deface it or take it away.  It is better to possess it, living in a garret, than to be the inhabitant of palaces without it.

The Avonlea graveyard was as yet the grass-grown solitude it had always been.  To be sure, the Improvers had an eye on it, and Priscilla Grant had read a paper on cemeteries before the last meeting of the Society.  At some future time the Improvers meant to have the lichened, wayward old board fence replaced by a neat wire railing, the grass mown and the leaning monuments straightened up.

Anne put on Matthew’s grave the flowers she had brought for it, and then went over to the little poplar shaded corner where Hester Gray slept.  Ever since the day of the spring picnic Anne had put flowers on Hester’s grave when she visited Matthew’s.  The evening before she had made a pilgrimage back to the little deserted garden in the woods and brought therefrom some of Hester’s own white roses.

“I thought you would like them better than any others, dear,” she said softly.

Anne was still sitting there when a shadow fell over the grass and she looked up to see Mrs. Allan.  They walked home together.