she hoped my strength would hold out till I got through; and at

once I saw myself a hopelessvictim of nervous prostration at the
end of my third year; Mrs. Eben Wright said it must cost an awful

lot to put in four years at Redmond; and I felt all over me that
it was unpardonable of me to squander Marilla's money and my own

on such a folly. Mrs. Jasper Bell said she hoped I wouldn't let
college spoil me, as it did some people; and I felt in my bones

that the end of my four Redmond years would see me a most
insufferable creature, thinking I knew it all, and looking down

on everything and everybody in Avonlea; Mrs. Elisha Wright said
she understood that Redmond girls, especially those who belonged

to Kingsport, were 'dreadful dressy and stuck-up,' and she
guessed I wouldn't feel much at home among them; and I saw

myself, a snubbed, dowdy, humiliated country girl, shuffling
through Redmond's classic halls in coppertoned boots."

Anne ended with a laugh and a sigh commingled. With her sensitive
nature all disapproval had weight, even the disapproval of those

for whose opinions she had scant respect. For the time being life
was savorless, and ambition had gone out like a snuffed candle.

"You surely don't care for what they said," protested Gilbert.
"You know exactly how narrow their outlook on life is, excellent

creatures though they are. To do anything THEY have never done
is anathema maranatha. You are the first Avonlea girl who has

ever gone to college; and you know that all pioneers are considered
to be afflicted with moonstruck madness."

"Oh, I know. But FEELING is so different from KNOWING. My common
sense tells me all you can say, but there are times when common

sense has no power over me. Common nonsense takes possession of
my soul. Really, after Mrs. Elisha went away I hardly had the

heart to finish packing."
"You're just tired, Anne. Come, forget it all and take a walk

with me -- a ramble back through the woods beyond the marsh.
There should be something there I want to show you."

"Should be! Don't you know if it is there?"
"No. I only know it should be, from something I saw there in spring.

Come on. We'll pretend we are two children again and we'll go the
way of the wind."

They started gaily off. Anne, remembering the unpleasantness of
the preceding evening, was very nice to Gilbert; and Gilbert, who

was learningwisdom, took care to be nothing save the schoolboy
comrade again. Mrs. Lynde and Marilla watched them from the

kitchen window.
"That'll be a match some day," Mrs. Lynde said approvingly.

Marilla winced lightly" target="_blank" title="ad.轻微地；细长的">slightly. In her heart she hoped it would, but it
went against her grain to hear the matter spoken of in Mrs. Lynde's

gossipy matter-of-fact way.
"They're only children yet," she said shortly.

Mrs. Lynde laughed good-naturedly.
"Anne is eighteen; I was married when I was that age. We old

folks, Marilla, are too much given to thinking children never
grow up, that's what. Anne is a young woman and Gilbert's a man,

and he worships the ground she walks on, as any one can see.
He's a fine fellow, and Anne can't do better. I hope she won't

get any romanticnonsense into her head at Redmond. I don't
approve of them coeducational places and never did, that's what.

I don't believe," concluded Mrs. Lynde solemnly, "that the
students at such colleges ever do much else than flirt."

"They must study a little," said Marilla, with a smile.
"Precious little," sniffed Mrs. Rachel. "However, I think Anne

will. She never was flirtatious. But she doesn't appreciate
Gilbert at his full value, that's what. Oh, I know girls!

Charlie Sloane is wild about her, too, but I'd never advise her
to marry a Sloane. The Sloanes are good, honest, respectable people,

of course. But when all's said and done, they're SLOANES."
Marilla nodded. To an outsider, the statement that Sloanes were

Sloanes might not be very illuminating, but she understood.
Every village has such a family; good, honest, respectable people

they may be, but SLOANES they are and must ever remain, though
they speak with the tongues of men and angels.

Gilbert and Anne, happily unconscious that their future was thus
being settled by Mrs. Rachel, were sauntering through the shadows

of the Haunted Wood. Beyond, the harvest hills were basking in
an amber sunsetradiance, under a pale, aerial sky of rose and blue.

The distant spruce groves were burnished bronze, and their long shadows
barred the upland meadows. But around them a little wind sang among

the fir tassels, and in it there was the note of autumn.
"This wood really is haunted now -- by old memories," said Anne,

stooping to gather a spray of ferns, bleached to waxen whiteness
by frost. "It seems to me that the little girls Diana and I used

to be play here still, and sit by the Dryad's Bubble in the
twilights, trysting with the ghosts. Do you know, I can never go

up this path in the dusk without feeling a bit of the old fright
and shiver? There was one especially horrifying phantom which we

created -- the ghost of the murdered child that crept up behind
you and laid cold fingers on yours. I confess that, to this day,

I cannot help fancying its little, furtive footsteps behind me
when I come here after nightfall. I'm not afraid of the White

Lady or the headless man or the skeletons, but I wish I had never
imagined that baby's ghost into existence. How angry Marilla

and Mrs. Barry were over that affair," concluded Anne, with
reminiscent laughter.

The woods around the head of the marsh were full of purple vistas,
threaded with gossamers. Past a dour plantation of gnarled spruces

and a maple-fringed, sun-warm valley they found the "something"
Gilbert was looking for.

"Ah, here it is," he said with satisfaction.
"An apple tree -- and away back here!" exclaimed Anne delightedly.

"Yes, a veritable apple-bearing apple tree, too, here in the very
midst of pines and beeches, a mile away from any orchard. I was

here one day last spring and found it, all white with blossom.
So I resolved I'd come again in the fall and see if it had been

apples. See, it's loaded. They look good, too -- tawny as
russets but with a dusky red cheek. Most wild seedlings are

green and uninviting."
"I suppose it sprang years ago from some chance-sown seed," said

Anne dreamily." And how it has grown and flourished and held its
own here all alone among aliens, the brave determined thing!"

"Here's a fallen tree with a cushion of moss. Sit down, Anne --
it will serve for a woodlandthrone. I'll climb for some apples.

They all grow high -- the tree had to reach up to the sunlight."
The apples proved to be delicious. Under the tawny skin was a

white, white flesh, faintly veined with red; and, besides their
own proper apple taste, they had a certain wild, delightful tang

no orchard-grown apple ever possessed.
"The fatal apple of Eden couldn't have had a rarer flavor,"

commented Anne. "But it's time we were going home. See, it was
twilight three minutes ago and now it's moonlight. What a pity

we couldn't have caught the moment of transformation. But such
moments never are caught, I suppose."

"Let's go back around the marsh and home by way of Lover's Lane.
Do you feel as disgruntled now as when you started out, Anne?"

"Not I. Those apples have been as manna to a hungry soul. I feel
that I shall love Redmond and have a splendid four years there."

"And after those four years -- what?"
"Oh, there's another bend in the road at their end," answered

Anne lightly. "I've no idea what may be around it -- I don't
want to have. It's nicer not to know."

Lover's Lane was a dear place that night, still and mysteriously
dim in the pale radiance of the moonlight. They loitered through