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young woman.ā€™ Iā€™d have done it too, believe ME. Mr. Leavitt did put a stop to it, but Fiske kept on with his meetings until Charley Douglas put an end to his career in the Glen. Mrs. Charley had been out in California all winter. Sheā€™d been real melancholy in the fallā€”religious melancholyā€”it ran in her family. Her father worried so much over believing that he had committed the unpardonable sin that he died in the asylum. So when Rose Douglas got that way Charley packed her off to visit her sister in Los Angeles. She got perfectly well and came home just when the Fiske revival was in full swing. She stepped off the train at the Glen, real smiling and chipper, and the first thing she saw staring her in the face on the black, gable-end of the freight shed, was the question, in big white letters, two feet high, `Whither goest thouā€”to heaven or hell?ā€™ That had been one of Fiskeā€™s ideas, and he had got Henry Hammond to paint it. Rose just gave a shriek and fainted; and when they got her home she was worse than ever. Charley Douglas went to Mr. Leavitt and told him that every Douglas would leave the church if Fiske was kept there any longer. Mr. Leavitt had to give in, for the Douglases paid half his salary, so Fiske departed, and we had to depend on our Bibles once more for instructions on how to get to heaven. After he was gone Mr. Leavitt found out he was just a masquerading Methodist, and he felt pretty sick, believe ME. Mr. Leavitt fell short in some ways, but he was a good, sound Presbyterian.ā€

ā€œBy the way, I had a letter from Mr. Ford yesterday,ā€ said Anne. ā€œHe asked me to remember him kindly to you.ā€

ā€œI donā€™t want his remembrances,ā€ said Miss Cornelia, curtly.

ā€œWhy?ā€ said Anne, in astonishment. ā€œI thought you liked him.ā€

ā€œWell, so I did, in a kind of way. But Iā€™ll never forgive him for what he done to Leslie. Thereā€™s that poor child eating her heart out about himā€”as if she hadnā€™t had trouble enoughā€”and him ranting round Toronto, Iā€™ve no doubt, enjoying himself same as ever. Just like a man.ā€

ā€œOh, Miss Cornelia, how did you find out?ā€

ā€œLord, Anne, dearie, Iā€™ve got eyes, havenā€™t I? And Iā€™ve known Leslie since she was a baby . Thereā€™s been a new kind of heartbreak in her eyes all the fall, and I know that writer-man was behind it somehow. Iā€™ll never forgive myself for being the means of bringing him here. But I never expected heā€™d be like he was. I thought heā€™d just be like the other men Leslie had boardedā€”conceited young asses, every one of them, that she never had any use for. One of them did try to flirt with her once and she froze him outā€”so bad, I feel sure heā€™s never got himself thawed since. So I never thought of any danger.ā€

ā€œDonā€™t let Leslie suspect you know her secret,ā€ said Anne hurriedly. ā€œI think it would hurt her.ā€

ā€œTrust me, Anne, dearie. I wasnā€™t born yesterday. Oh, a plague on all the men! One of them ruined Leslieā€™s life to begin with, and now another of the tribe comes and makes her still more wretched. Anne, this world is an awful place, believe me.ā€

ā€œThereā€™s something in the world amiss Will be unriddled by and by,ā€

quoted Anne dreamily.

ā€œIf it is, itā€™ll be in a world where there arenā€™t any men,ā€ said Miss Cornelia gloomily.

ā€œWhat have the men been doing now?ā€ asked Gilbert, entering.

ā€œMischiefā€”mischief! What else did they ever do?ā€

ā€œIt was Eve ate the apple, Miss Cornelia.ā€

ā€ ā€˜Twas a he-creature tempted her,ā€ retorted Miss Cornelia triumphantly.

Leslie, after her first anguish was over, found it possible to go on with life after all, as most of us do, no matter what our particular form of torment has been. It is even possible that she enjoyed moments of it, when she was one of the gay circle in the little house of dreams. But if Anne ever hoped that she was forgetting Owen Ford she would have been undeceived by the furtive hunger in Leslieā€™s eyes whenever his name was mentioned. Pitiful to that hunger, Anne always contrived to tell Captain Jim or Gilbert bits of news from Owenā€™s letters when Leslie was with them. The girlā€™s flush and pallor at such moments spoke all too eloquently of the emotion that filled her being. But she never spoke of him to Anne, or mentioned that night on the sandbar.

One day her old dog died and she grieved bitterly over him.

ā€œHeā€™s been my friend so long,ā€ she said sorrowfully to Anne. ā€œHe was Dickā€™s old dog, you knowā€”Dick had him for a year or so before we were married. He left him with me when he sailed on the Four Sisters. Carlo got very fond of meā€”and his dog-love helped me through that first dreadful year after mother died, when I was alone. When I heard that Dick was coming back I was afraid Carlo wouldnā€™t be so much mine. But he never seemed to care for Dick, though he had been so fond of him once. He would snap and growl at him as if he were a stranger. I was glad. It was nice to have one thing whose love was all mine. That old dog has been such a comfort to me, Anne. He got so feeble in the fall that I was afraid he couldnā€™t live longā€”but I hoped I could nurse him through the winter. He seemed pretty well this morning. He was lying on the rug before the fire; then, all at once, he got up and crept over to me; he put his head on my lap and gave me one loving look out of his big, soft, dog eyesā€”and then he just shivered and died. I shall miss him so.ā€

ā€œLet me give you another dog, Leslie,ā€ said Anne . ā€œIā€™m getting a lovely Gordon setter for a Christmas present for Gilbert. Let me give you one too.ā€

Leslie shook her head.

ā€œNot just now, thank you, Anne. I donā€™t feel like having another dog yet. I donā€™t seem to have any affection left for another. Perhapsā€”in timeā€”Iā€™ll let you give me one. I really need one as a kind of protection. But there was something almost human about Carloā€” it wouldnā€™t be DECENT to fill his place too hurriedly, dear old fellow .ā€

Anne went to Avonlea a week before Christmas and stayed until after the holidays. Gilbert came up for her, and there was a glad New Year celebration at Green Gables, when Barrys and Blythes and Wrights assembled to devour a dinner which had cost Mrs. Rachel and Marilla much careful thought and preparation. When they went back to Four Winds the little house was almost drifted over, for the third storm of a winter that was to prove phenomenally stormy had whirled up the harbor and heaped huge snow mountains about everything it encountered. But Captain Jim had shovelled out doors and paths, and Miss Cornelia had come down and kindled the hearth-fire.

ā€œItā€™s good to see you back, Anne, dearie! But did you ever see such drifts? You canā€™t see the Moore place at all unless you go upstairs. Leslieā€™ll be so glad youā€™re back. Sheā€™s almost buried alive over there. Fortunately Dick can shovel snow, and thinks itā€™s great fun. Susan sent me word to tell you she would be on hand tomorrow. Where are you off to now, Captain?ā€

ā€œI reckon Iā€™ll plough up to the Glen and sit a bit with old Martin Strong. Heā€™s not far from his end and heā€™s lonesome. He hasnā€™t many friendsā€”been too busy all his life to make any. Heā€™s made heaps of money, though.ā€

ā€œWell, he thought that since he couldnā€™t serve God and Mammon heā€™d better stick to Mammon,ā€ said Miss Cornelia crisply. ā€œSo he shouldnā€™t complain if he doesnā€™t find Mammon very good company now.ā€

Captain Jim went out, but remembered something in the yard and turned back for a moment.

ā€œIā€™d a letter from Mr. Ford, Mistress Blythe, and he says the life-book is accepted and is going to be published next fall. I felt fair uplifted when I got the news. To think that Iā€™m to see it in print at last.ā€

ā€œThat man is clean crazy on the subject of his life-book,ā€ said Miss Cornelia compassionately. ā€œFor my part, I think thereā€™s far too many books in the world now.ā€

CHAPTER 29 GILBERT AND ANNE DISAGREE

Gilbert laid down the ponderous medical tome over which he had been poring until the increasing dusk of the March evening made him desist. He leaned back in his chair and gazed meditatively out of the window. It was early springā€”probably the ugliest time of the year. Not even the sunset could redeem the dead, sodden landscape and rotten black harbor ice upon which he looked. No sign of life was visible, save a big black crow winging his solitary way across a leaden field. Gilbert speculated idly concerning that crow. Was he a family crow, with a black but comely crow wife awaiting him in the woods beyond the Glen? Or was he a glossy young buck of a crow on courting thoughts intent? Or was he a cynical bachelor crow, believing that he travels the fastest who travels alone? Whatever he was, he soon disappeared in congenial gloom and Gilbert turned to the cheerier view indoors.

The firelight flickered from point to point, gleaming on the white and green coats of Gog and Magog, on the sleek, brown head of the beautiful setter basking on the rug, on the picture frames on the walls, on the vaseful of daffodils from the window garden, on Anne herself, sitting by her little table, with her sewing beside her and her hands clasped over her knee while she traced out pictures in the fireā€”Castles in Spain whose airy turrets pierced moonlit cloud and sunset bar-ships sailing from the Haven of Good Hopes straight to Four Winds Harbor with precious burthen. For Anne was again a dreamer of dreams, albeit a grim shape of fear went with her night and day to shadow and darken her visions.

Gilbert was accustomed to refer to himself as ā€œan old married man.ā€ But he still looked upon Anne with the incredulous eyes of a lover. He couldnā€™t wholly believe yet that she was really his. It MIGHT be only a dream after all, part and parcel of this magic house of dreams. His soul still went on tip-toe before her, lest the charm be shattered and the dream dispelled.

ā€œAnne,ā€ he said slowly, ā€œlend me your ears. I want to talk with you about something.ā€

Anne looked across at him through the firelit gloom.

ā€œWhat is it?ā€ she asked gaily. ā€œYou look fearfully solemn, Gilbert. I really havenā€™t done anything naughty today. Ask Susan.ā€

ā€œItā€™s not of youā€”or ourselvesā€”I want to talk. Itā€™s about Dick Moore.ā€

ā€œDick Moore?ā€ echoed Anne, sitting up alertly. ā€œWhy, what in the world have you to say about Dick Moore?ā€

ā€œIā€™ve been thinking a great deal about him lately. Do you remember that time last summer I treated him for those carbuncles on his neck?ā€

ā€œYesā€”yes.ā€

ā€ I took the opportunity to examine the scars on his head thoroughly. Iā€™ve always thought Dick was a very interesting case from a medical point of view. Lately Iā€™ve been studying the history of trephining and the cases where it has been employed. Anne, I have come to the conclusion that if Dick Moore were taken to a good hospital and the operation of trephining performed on several places in his skull, his memory and faculties might be restored.ā€

ā€œGilbert!ā€ Anneā€™s voice was full of protest. ā€œSurely you

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