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“
He
.
.
.
he
.
.
.
isn
’
t
like
Mirabel
Cotton
’
s
uncle
,
is
he
?
”
in
a
still
more
agitated
whisper
.
“
He
won
’
t
walk
about
houses
after
being
buried
,
will
he
,
Anne
?
”
“
I
think
I
’
ll
take
a
walk
through
to
Echo
Lodge
this
evening
,
”
said
Anne
,
one
Friday
afternoon
in
December
.
“
It
looks
like
snow
,
”
said
Marilla
dubiously
.
“
I
’
ll
be
there
before
the
snow
comes
and
I
mean
to
stay
all
night
.
Diana
can
’
t
go
because
she
has
company
,
and
I
’
m
sure
Miss
Lavendar
will
be
looking
for
me
tonight
.
It
’
s
a
whole
fortnight
since
I
was
there
.
”
Anne
had
paid
many
a
visit
to
Echo
Lodge
since
that
October
day
.
Sometimes
she
and
Diana
drove
around
by
the
road
;
sometimes
they
walked
through
the
woods
.
When
Diana
could
not
go
Anne
went
alone
.
Between
her
and
Miss
Lavendar
had
sprung
up
one
of
those
fervent
,
helpful
friendships
possible
only
between
a
woman
who
has
kept
the
freshness
of
youth
in
her
heart
and
soul
,
and
a
girl
whose
imagination
and
intuition
supplied
the
place
of
experience
.
Anne
had
at
last
discovered
a
real
“
kindred
spirit
,
”
while
into
the
little
lady
’
s
lonely
,
sequestered
life
of
dreams
Anne
and
Diana
came
with
the
wholesome
joy
and
exhilaration
of
the
outer
existence
,
which
Miss
Lavendar
,
“
the
world
forgetting
,
by
the
world
forgot
,
”
had
long
ceased
to
share
;
they
brought
an
atmosphere
of
youth
and
reality
to
the
little
stone
house
.
Charlotta
the
Fourth
always
greeted
them
with
her
very
widest
smile
.
.
.
and
Charlotta
’
s
smiles
WERE
fearfully
wide
.
.
.
loving
them
for
the
sake
of
her
adored
mistress
as
well
as
for
their
own
.
Never
had
there
been
such
“
high
jinks
”
held
in
the
little
stone
house
as
were
held
there
that
beautiful
,
late
-
lingering
autumn
,
when
November
seemed
October
over
again
,
and
even
December
aped
the
sunshine
and
hazes
of
summer
.
But
on
this
particular
day
it
seemed
as
if
December
had
remembered
that
it
was
time
for
winter
and
had
turned
suddenly
dull
and
brooding
,
with
a
windless
hush
predictive
of
coming
snow
.
Nevertheless
,
Anne
keenly
enjoyed
her
walk
through
the
great
gray
maze
of
the
beechlands
;
though
alone
she
never
found
it
lonely
;
her
imagination
peopled
her
path
with
merry
companions
,
and
with
these
she
carried
on
a
gay
,
pretended
conversation
that
was
wittier
and
more
fascinating
than
conversations
are
apt
to
be
in
real
life
,
where
people
sometimes
fail
most
lamentably
to
talk
up
to
the
requirements
.
In
a
“
make
believe
”
assembly
of
choice
spirits
everybody
says
just
the
thing
you
want
her
to
say
and
so
gives
you
the
chance
to
say
just
what
YOU
want
to
say
.
Attended
by
this
invisible
company
,
Anne
traversed
the
woods
and
arrived
at
the
fir
lane
just
as
broad
,
feathery
flakes
began
to
flutter
down
softly
.
At
the
first
bend
she
came
upon
Miss
Lavendar
,
standing
under
a
big
,
broad
-
branching
fir
.
She
wore
a
gown
of
warm
,
rich
red
,
and
her
head
and
shoulders
were
wrapped
in
a
silvery
gray
silk
shawl
.
“
You
look
like
the
queen
of
the
fir
wood
fairies
,
”
called
Anne
merrily
.
“
I
thought
you
would
come
tonight
,
Anne
,
”
said
Miss
Lavendar
,
running
forward
.
“
And
I
’
m
doubly
glad
,
for
Charlotta
the
Fourth
is
away
.
Her
mother
is
sick
and
she
had
to
go
home
for
the
night
.
I
should
have
been
very
lonely
if
you
hadn
’
t
come
.
.
.
even
the
dreams
and
the
echoes
wouldn
’
t
have
been
enough
company
.
Oh
,
Anne
,
how
pretty
you
are
,
”
she
added
suddenly
,
looking
up
at
the
tall
,
slim
girl
with
the
soft
rose
-
flush
of
walking
on
her
face
.
“
How
pretty
and
how
young
!
It
’
s
so
delightful
to
be
seventeen
,
isn
’
t
it
?
I
do
envy
you
,
”
concluded
Miss
Lavendar
candidly
.
