Anne of the Island | Page 7

Say, Anne, Milty Boulter says his mother
says you're going to college to see if you can catch a man. Are you,
Anne? I want to know."
For a second Anne burned with resentment. Then she laughed,
reminding herself that Mrs. Boulter's crude vulgarity of thought and
speech could not harm her.
"No, Davy, I'm not. I'm going to study and grow and learn about many
things."
"What things?"
"`Shoes and ships and sealing wax And cabbages and kings,'"
quoted Anne.
"But if you DID want to catch a man how would you go about it? I
want to know," persisted Davy, for whom the subject evidently
possessed a certain fascination.

"You'd better ask Mrs. Boulter," said Anne thoughtlessly. "I think it's
likely she knows more about the process than I do."
"I will, the next time I see her," said Davy gravely.
"Davy! If you do!" cried Anne, realizing her mistake.
"But you just told me to," protested Davy aggrieved.
"It's time you went to bed," decreed Anne, by way of getting out of the
scrape.
After Davy had gone to bed Anne wandered down to Victoria Island
and sat there alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, while the
water laughed around her in a duet of brook and wind. Anne had
always loved that brook. Many a dream had she spun over its sparkling
water in days gone by. She forgot lovelorn youths, and the cayenne
speeches of malicious neighbors, and all the problems of her girlish
existence. In imagination she sailed over storied seas that wash the
distant shining shores of "faery lands forlorn," where lost Atlantis and
Elysium lie, with the evening star for pilot, to the land of Heart's Desire.
And she was richer in those dreams than in realities; for things seen
pass away, but the things that are unseen are eternal.



Chapter II
Garlands of Autumn
The following week sped swiftly, crowded with innumerable "last
things," as Anne called them. Good-bye calls had to be made and
received, being pleasant or otherwise, according to whether callers and
called-upon were heartily in sympathy with Anne's hopes, or thought
she was too much puffed-up over going to college and that it was their

duty to "take her down a peg or two."
The A.V.I.S. gave a farewell party in honor of Anne and Gilbert one
evening at the home of Josie Pye, choosing that place, partly because
Mr. Pye's house was large and convenient, partly because it was
strongly suspected that the Pye girls would have nothing to do with the
affair if their offer of the house for the party was not accepted. It was a
very pleasant little time, for the Pye girls were gracious, and said and
did nothing to mar the harmony of the occasion -- which was not
according to their wont. Josie was unusually amiable -- so much so that
she even remarked condescendingly to Anne,
"Your new dress is rather becoming to you, Anne. Really, you look
ALMOST PRETTY in it."
"How kind of you to say so," responded Anne, with dancing eyes. Her
sense of humor was developing, and the speeches that would have hurt
her at fourteen were becoming merely food for amusement now. Josie
suspected that Anne was laughing at her behind those wicked eyes; but
she contented herself with whispering to Gertie, as they went
downstairs, that Anne Shirley would put on more airs than ever now
that she was going to college -- you'd see!
All the "old crowd" was there, full of mirth and zest and youthful
lightheartedness. Diana Barry, rosy and dimpled, shadowed by the
faithful Fred; Jane Andrews, neat and sensible and plain; Ruby Gillis,
looking her handsomest and brightest in a cream silk blouse, with red
geraniums in her golden hair; Gilbert Blythe and Charlie Sloane, both
trying to keep as near the elusive Anne as possible; Carrie Sloane,
looking pale and melancholy because, so it was reported, her father
would not allow Oliver Kimball to come near the place; Moody
Spurgeon MacPherson, whose round face and objectionable ears were
as round and objectionable as ever; and Billy Andrews, who sat in a
corner all the evening, chuckled when any one spoke to him, and
watched Anne Shirley with a grin of pleasure on his broad, freckled
countenance.
Anne had known beforehand of the party, but she had not known that

she and Gilbert were, as the founders of the Society, to be presented
with a very complimentary "address" and "tokens of respect" -- in her
case a volume of Shakespeare's plays, in Gilbert's a fountain pen. She
was so taken by surprise and pleased by the nice things said in the
address, read in Moody Spurgeon's most solemn and ministerial tones,
that the tears quite drowned the sparkle