“Yes, I think she will,” said Anne.

“Oh, Anne,” protested Diana, with a rather shocked smile.

“Well, why not, Diana?” asked Anne seriously.  “Do you think we’ll never laugh in heaven?”

“Oh—­I—­I don’t know” floundered Diana.  “It doesn’t seem just right, somehow.  You know it’s rather dreadful to laugh in church.”

“But heaven won’t be like church—­all the time,” said Anne.

“I hope it ain’t,” said Davy emphatically.  “If it is I don’t want to go.  Church is awful dull.  Anyway, I don’t mean to go for ever so long.  I mean to live to be a hundred years old, like Mr. Thomas Blewett of White Sands.  He says he’s lived so long ’cause he always smoked tobacco and it killed all the germs.  Can I smoke tobacco pretty soon, Anne?”

“No, Davy, I hope you’ll never use tobacco,” said Anne absently.

“What’ll you feel like if the germs kill me then?” demanded Davy.

Chapter XV

A Dream Turned Upside Down

“Just one more week and we go back to Redmond,” said Anne.  She was happy at the thought of returning to work, classes and Redmond friends.  Pleasing visions were also being woven around Patty’s Place.  There was a warm pleasant sense of home in the thought of it, even though she had never lived there.

But the summer had been a very happy one, too—­a time of glad living with summer suns and skies, a time of keen delight in wholesome things; a time of renewing and deepening of old friendships; a time in which she had learned to live more nobly, to work more patiently, to play more heartily.

“All life lessons are not learned at college,” she thought.  “Life teaches them everywhere.”

But alas, the final week of that pleasant vacation was spoiled for Anne, by one of those impish happenings which are like a dream turned upside down.

“Been writing any more stories lately?” inquired Mr. Harrison genially one evening when Anne was taking tea with him and Mrs. Harrison.

“No,” answered Anne, rather crisply.

“Well, no offense meant.  Mrs. Hiram Sloane told me the other day that a big envelope addressed to the Rollings Reliable Baking Powder Company of Montreal had been dropped into the post office box a month ago, and she suspicioned that somebody was trying for the prize they’d offered for the best story that introduced the name of their baking powder.  She said it wasn’t addressed in your writing, but I thought maybe it was you.”

“Indeed, no!  I saw the prize offer, but I’d never dream of competing for it.  I think it would be perfectly disgraceful to write a story to advertise a baking powder.  It would be almost as bad as Judson Parker’s patent medicine fence.”

So spake Anne loftily, little dreaming of the valley of humiliation awaiting her.  That very evening Diana popped into the porch gable, bright-eyed and rosy cheeked, carrying a letter.