“Not nowadays,” said Anne, absently, as the wind blew a scud of snow against the window.  “Oh, dear, will it ever stop storming.”

“God knows,” said Davy airily, preparing to resume his reading.

Anne was shocked this time.

“Davy!” she exclaimed reproachfully.

“Mrs. Lynde says that,” protested Davy.  “One night last week Marilla said ’Will Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix ever get married?” and Mrs. Lynde said, “’God knows’—­just like that.”

“Well, it wasn’t right for her to say it,” said Anne, promptly deciding upon which horn of this dilemma to empale herself.  “It isn’t right for anybody to take that name in vain or speak it lightly, Davy.  Don’t ever do it again.”

“Not if I say it slow and solemn, like the minister?” queried Davy gravely.

“No, not even then.”

“Well, I won’t.  Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix live in Middle Grafton and Mrs. Rachel says he has been courting her for a hundred years.  Won’t they soon be too old to get married, Anne?  I hope Gilbert won’t court you that long.  When are you going to be married, Anne?  Mrs. Lynde says it’s a sure thing.”

“Mrs. Lynde is a—­” began Anne hotly; then stopped.  “Awful old gossip,” completed Davy calmly.  “That’s what every one calls her.  But is it a sure thing, Anne?  I want to know.”

“You’re a very silly little boy, Davy,” said Anne, stalking haughtily out of the room.  The kitchen was deserted and she sat down by the window in the fast falling wintry twilight.  The sun had set and the wind had died down.  A pale chilly moon looked out behind a bank of purple clouds in the west.  The sky faded out, but the strip of yellow along the western horizon grew brighter and fiercer, as if all the stray gleams of light were concentrating in one spot; the distant hills, rimmed with priest-like firs, stood out in dark distinctness against it.  Anne looked across the still, white fields, cold and lifeless in the harsh light of that grim sunset, and sighed.  She was very lonely; and she was sad at heart; for she was wondering if she would be able to return to Redmond next year.  It did not seem likely.  The only scholarship possible in the Sophomore year was a very small affair.  She would not take Marilla’s money; and there seemed little prospect of being able to earn enough in the summer vacation.

“I suppose I’ll just have to drop out next year,” she thought drearily, “and teach a district school again until I earn enough to finish my course.  And by that time all my old class will have graduated and Patty’s Place will be out of the question.  But there!  I’m not going to be a coward.  I’m thankful I can earn my way through if necessary.”

“Here’s Mr. Harrison wading up the lane,” announced Davy, running out.  “I hope he’s brought the mail.  It’s three days since we got it.  I want to see what them pesky Grits are doing.  I’m a Conservative, Anne.  And I tell you, you have to keep your eye on them Grits.”