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without having to pray about it。〃
〃I can't picture you as being unforgiving for long；〃 said Stella。
〃Oh； I used to be。 But holding spite doesn't seem worth while
when you get along in years。〃
〃That reminds me；〃 said Anne； and told the tale of John and Janet。
〃And now tell us about that romantic scene you hinted so darkly
at in one of your letters；〃 demanded Phil。
Anne acted out Samuel's proposal with great spirit。 The girls
shrieked with laughter and Aunt Jamesina smiled。
〃It isn't in good taste to make fun of your beaux；〃 she said
severely； 〃but；〃 she added calmly； 〃I always did it myself。〃
〃Tell us about your beaux； Aunty； 〃en treated Phil。 〃You must
have had any number of them。〃
〃They're not in the past tense；〃 retorted Aunt Jamesina。
〃I've got them yet。 There are three old widowers at home
who have been casting sheep's eyes at me for some time。
You children needn't think you own all the romance in the world。〃
〃Widowers and sheep's eyes don't sound very romantic； Aunty。〃
〃Well； no； but young folks aren't always romantic either。
Some of my beaux certainly weren't。 I used to laugh at them
scandalous； poor boys。 There was Jim Elwood he was always in
a sort of day…dream never seemed to sense what was going on。
He didn't wake up to the fact that I'd said ‘no' till a year
after I'd said it。 When he did get married his wife fell out of
the sleigh one night when they were driving home from church and
he never missed her。 Then there was Dan Winston。 He knew too much。
He knew everything in this world and most of what is in the next。
He could give you an answer to any question； even if you asked him
when the Judgment Day was to be。 Milton Edwards was real nice and
I liked him but I didn't marry him。 For one thing； he took a week
to get a joke through his head； and for another he never asked me。
Horatio Reeve was the most interesting beau I ever had。 But when he
told a story he dressed it up so that you couldn't see it for frills。
I never could decide whether he was lying or just letting his
imagination run loose。〃
〃And what about the others； Aunty？〃
〃Go away and unpack；〃 said Aunt Jamesina； waving Joseph at them by
mistake for a needle。 〃The others were too nice to make fun of。
I shall respect their memory。 There's a box of flowers in
your room； Anne。 They came about an hour ago。〃
After the first week the girls of Patty's Place settled down to a
steady grind of study； for this was their last year at Redmond
and graduation honors must be fought for persistently。 Anne
devoted herself to English； Priscilla pored over classics； and
Philippa pounded away at Mathematics。 Sometimes they grew tired；
sometimes they felt discouraged； sometimes nothing seemed worth
the struggle for it。 In one such mood Stella wandered up to the
blue room one rainy November evening。 Anne sat on the floor in a
little circle of light cast by the lamp beside her； amid a
surrounding snow of crumpled manuscript。
〃What in the world are you doing？〃
〃Just looking over some old Story Club yarns。 I wanted something
to cheer AND inebriate。 I'd studied until the world seemed azure。
So I came up here and dug these out of my trunk。 They are so drenched
in tears and tragedy that they are excruciatingly funny。〃
〃I'm blue and discouraged myself；〃 said Stella； throwing herself
on the couch。 〃Nothing seems worthwhile。 My very thoughts are
old。 I've thought them all before。 What is the use of living
after all； Anne？〃
〃Honey； it's just brain fag that makes us feel that way； and the weather。
A pouring rainy night like this； coming after a hard day's grind； would
squelch any one but a Mark Tapley。 You know it IS worthwhile to live。〃
〃Oh； I suppose so。 But I can't prove it to myself just now。〃
〃Just think of all the great and noble souls who have lived and
worked in the world；〃 said Anne dreamily。 〃Isn't it worthwhile
to come after them and inherit what they won and taught？ Isn't
it worthwhile to think we can share their inspiration？ And then；
all the great souls that will come in the future？ Isn't it
worthwhile to work a little and prepare the way for them
make just one step in their path easier？〃
〃Oh； my mind agrees with you； Anne。 But my soul remains doleful
and uninspired。 I'm always grubby and dingy on rainy nights。〃
〃Some nights I like the rain I like to lie in bed and hear it
pattering on the roof and drifting through the pines。〃
〃I like it when it stays on the roof；〃 said Stella。 〃It doesn't
always。 I spent a gruesome night in an old country farmhouse
last summer。 The roof leaked and the rain came pattering down on
my bed。 There was no poetry in THAT。 I had to get up in the
‘mirk midnight' and chivy round to pull the bedstead out of the
drip and it was one of those solid； old…fashioned beds that
weigh a ton more or less。 And then that drip…drop； drip…drop
kept up all night until my nerves just went to pieces。 You've no
idea what an eerie noise a great drop of rain falling with a
mushy thud on a bare floor makes in the night。 It sounds like
ghostly footsteps and all that sort of thing。 What are you
laughing over； Anne？〃
〃These stories。 As Phil would say they are killing in more senses
than one； for everybody died in them。 What dazzlingly lovely heroines
we had and how we dressed them！ Silks satins velvets jewels
laces they never wore anything else。 Here is one of Jane Andrews'
stories depicting her heroine as sleeping in a beautiful white satin
nightdress trimmed with seed pearls。〃
〃Go on；〃 said Stella。 〃I begin to feel that life is worth living
as long as there's a laugh in it。〃
〃Here's one I wrote。 My heroine is disporting herself at a ball
‘glittering from head to foot with large diamonds of the first
water。' But what booted beauty or rich attire？ ‘The paths of
glory lead but to the grave。' They must either be murdered or die
of a broken heart。 There was no escape for them。〃
〃Let me read some of your stories。〃
〃Well； here's my masterpiece。 Note its cheerful title ‘My Graves。'
I shed quarts of tears while writing it； and the other girls shed gallons
while I read it。 Jane Andrews' mother scolded her frightfully because
she had so many handkerchiefs in the wash that week。 It's a harrowing
tale of the wanderings of a Methodist minister's wife。 I made her a
Methodist because it was necessary that she should wander。 She buried
a child every place she lived in。 There were nine of them and their
graves were severed far apart； ranging from Newfoundland to Vancouver。
I described the children； pictured their several death beds； and
detailed their tombstones and epitaphs。 I had intended to bury the
whole nine but when I had disposed of eight my invention of horrors
gave out and I permitted the ninth to live as a hopeless cripple。〃
While Stella read My Graves； punctuating its tragic paragraphs
with chuckles； and Rusty slept the sleep of a just cat who has
been out all night curled up on a Jane Andrews tale of a beautiful
maiden of fifteen who went to nurse in a leper colony of course
dying of the loathsome disease finally Anne glanced over the other
manuscripts and recalled the old days at Avonlea school when the members
of the Story Club； sitting under the spruce trees or down among the
ferns by the brook； had written them。 What fun they had had！
How the sunshine and mirth of those olden summers returned as she read。
Not all the glory that was Greece or the grandeur that was Rome could
weave such wizardry as those funny； tearful tales of the Story Club。
Among the manuscripts Anne found one written on sheets of wrapping paper。
A wave of laughter filled her gray eyes as she recalled the time and
place of its genesis。 It was the sketch she had written the day she
fell through the roof of the Cobb duckhouse on the Tory Road。
Anne glanced over it； then fell to reading it intently。 It was a
little dialogue between asters and sweet…peas； wild canaries in the
lilac bush； and the guardian spirit of the garden。 After she had
read it； she sat； staring into space； and when Stella had gone she
smoothed out the crumpled manuscript。
〃I believe I will；〃 she said resolutely。
Chapter XXXVI
The Gardners'Call
〃Here is a letter with an Indian stamp for you； Aunt Jimsie；〃
said Phil。 〃Here are three for Stella； and two for Pris； and a
glorious fat one for me from Jo。 There's nothing for you； Anne；
except a circular。〃
Nobody noticed Anne's flush as she took the thin letter Phil tossed
her carelessly。 But a few minutes later Phil looked up to see a
transfigured Anne。
〃Honey； what good thing has happened？〃
〃The Youth's Friend has accepted a little sketch I sent them a
fortnight ago；〃 said Anne； trying hard to speak as if she were
accustomed to having sketches