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She
had
sat
up
until
nearly
twelve
the
preceding
night
composing
a
speech
she
meant
to
make
to
her
pupils
upon
opening
the
school
.
She
had
revised
and
improved
it
painstakingly
,
and
then
she
had
learned
it
off
by
heart
.
It
was
a
very
good
speech
and
had
some
very
fine
ideas
in
it
,
especially
about
mutual
help
and
earnest
striving
after
knowledge
.
The
only
trouble
was
that
she
could
not
now
remember
a
word
of
it
.
After
what
seemed
to
her
a
year
.
.
.
about
ten
seconds
in
reality
.
.
.
she
said
faintly
,
“
Take
your
Testaments
,
please
,
”
and
sank
breathlessly
into
her
chair
under
cover
of
the
rustle
and
clatter
of
desk
lids
that
followed
.
While
the
children
read
their
verses
Anne
marshalled
her
shaky
wits
into
order
and
looked
over
the
array
of
little
pilgrims
to
the
Grownup
Land
.
Most
of
them
were
,
of
course
,
quite
well
known
to
her
.
Her
own
classmates
had
passed
out
in
the
preceding
year
but
the
rest
had
all
gone
to
school
with
her
,
excepting
the
primer
class
and
ten
newcomers
to
Avonlea
.
Anne
secretly
felt
more
interest
in
these
ten
than
in
those
whose
possibilities
were
already
fairly
well
mapped
out
to
her
.
To
be
sure
,
they
might
be
just
as
commonplace
as
the
rest
;
but
on
the
other
hand
there
MIGHT
be
a
genius
among
them
.
It
was
a
thrilling
idea
.
Sitting
by
himself
at
a
corner
desk
was
Anthony
Pye
.
He
had
a
dark
,
sullen
little
face
,
and
was
staring
at
Anne
with
a
hostile
expression
in
his
black
eyes
.
Anne
instantly
made
up
her
mind
that
she
would
win
that
boy
’
s
affection
and
discomfit
the
Pyes
utterly
.
In
the
other
corner
another
strange
boy
was
sitting
with
Arty
Sloane
.
.
.
a
jolly
looking
little
chap
,
with
a
snub
nose
,
freckled
face
,
and
big
,
light
blue
eyes
,
fringed
with
whitish
lashes
.
.
.
probably
the
DonNELL
boy
;
and
if
resemblance
went
for
anything
,
his
sister
was
sitting
across
the
aisle
with
Mary
Bell
.
Anne
wondered
what
sort
of
mother
the
child
had
,
to
send
her
to
school
dressed
as
she
was
.
She
wore
a
faded
pink
silk
dress
,
trimmed
with
a
great
deal
of
cotton
lace
,
soiled
white
kid
slippers
,
and
silk
stockings
.
Her
sandy
hair
was
tortured
into
innumerable
kinky
and
unnatural
curls
,
surmounted
by
a
flamboyant
bow
of
pink
ribbon
bigger
than
her
head
.
Judging
from
her
expression
she
was
very
well
satisfied
with
herself
.
A
pale
little
thing
,
with
smooth
ripples
of
fine
,
silky
,
fawn
-
colored
hair
flowing
over
her
shoulders
,
must
,
Anne
thought
,
be
Annetta
Bell
,
whose
parents
had
formerly
lived
in
the
Newbridge
school
district
,
but
,
by
reason
of
hauling
their
house
fifty
yards
north
of
its
old
site
were
now
in
Avonlea
.
Three
pallid
little
girls
crowded
into
one
seat
were
certainly
Cottons
;
and
there
was
no
doubt
that
the
small
beauty
with
the
long
brown
curls
and
hazel
eyes
,
who
was
casting
coquettish
looks
at
Jack
Gills
over
the
edge
of
her
Testament
,
was
Prillie
Rogerson
,
whose
father
had
recently
married
a
second
wife
and
brought
Prillie
home
from
her
grandmother
’
s
in
Grafton
.
A
tall
,
awkward
girl
in
a
back
seat
,
who
seemed
to
have
too
many
feet
and
hands
,
Anne
could
not
place
at
all
,
but
later
on
discovered
that
her
name
was
Barbara
Shaw
and
that
she
had
come
to
live
with
an
Avonlea
aunt
.
She
was
also
to
find
that
if
Barbara
ever
managed
to
walk
down
the
aisle
without
falling
over
her
own
or
somebody
else
’
s
feet
the
Avonlea
scholars
wrote
the
unusual
fact
up
on
the
porch
wall
to
commemorate
it
.
But
when
Anne
’
s
eyes
met
those
of
the
boy
at
the
front
desk
facing
her
own
,
a
queer
little
thrill
went
over
her
,
as
if
she
had
found
her
genius
.
She
knew
this
must
be
Paul
Irving
and
that
Mrs
.
Rachel
Lynde
had
been
right
for
once
when
she
prophesied
that
he
would
be
unlike
the
Avonlea
children
.
More
than
that
,
Anne
realized
that
he
was
unlike
other
children
anywhere
,
and
that
there
was
a
soul
subtly
akin
to
her
own
gazing
at
her
out
of
the
very
dark
blue
eyes
that
were
watching
her
so
intently
.
She
knew
Paul
was
ten
but
he
looked
no
more
than
eight
.
He
had
the
most
beautiful
little
face
she
had
ever
seen
in
a
child
.
.
.
features
of
exquisite
delicacy
and
refinement
,
framed
in
a
halo
of
chestnut
curls
.
