dismally.
You oughtn t to feel half as badly as I do, said Anne, hunting vainly
for a dry spot on her handkerchief. You ll be back again next winter,
but I suppose I ve left the dear old school forever--if I have good
luck, that is.
It won t be a bit the same. Miss Stacy won t be there, nor you nor Jane
nor Ruby probably. I shall have to sit all alone, for I couldn t bear
to have another deskmate after you. Oh, we have had jolly times, haven t
we, Anne? It s dreadful to think they re all over.
Two big tears rolled down by Diana s nose.
If you would stop crying I could, said Anne imploringly. Just as
soon as I put away my hanky I see you brimming up and that starts me off
again. As Mrs. Lynde says, If you can t be cheerful, be as cheerful as
you can. After all, I dare say I ll be back next year. This is one
of the times I _know_ I m not going to pass. They re getting alarmingly
frequent.
Why, you came out splendidly in the exams Miss Stacy gave.
Yes, but those exams didn t make me nervous. When I think of the real
thing you can t imagine what a horrid cold fluttery feeling comes round
my heart. And then my number is thirteen and Josie Pye says it s so
unlucky. I am _not_ superstitious and I know it can make no difference.
But still I wish it wasn t thirteen.
I do wish I was going in with you, said Diana. Wouldn t we have
a perfectly elegant time? But I suppose you ll have to cram in the
evenings.
No; Miss Stacy has made us promise not to open a book at all. She says
it would only tire and confuse us and we are to go out walking and not
think about the exams at all and go to bed early. It s good advice, but
I expect it will be hard to follow; good advice is apt to be, I think.
Prissy Andrews told me that she sat up half the night every night of her
Entrance week and crammed for dear life; and I had determined to sit up
_at least_ as long as she did. It was so kind of your Aunt Josephine to
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