a very vain little girl.
How can I be vain when I know I m homely? protested Anne. I love
pretty things; and I hate to look in the glass and see something that
isn t pretty. It makes me feel so sorrowful--just as I feel when I look
at any ugly thing. I pity it because it isn t beautiful.
Handsome is as handsome does, quoted Marilla. I ve had that said
to me before, but I have my doubts about it, remarked skeptical Anne,
sniffing at her narcissi. Oh, aren t these flowers sweet! It was lovely
of Mrs. Lynde to give them to me. I have no hard feelings against Mrs.
Lynde now. It gives you a lovely, comfortable feeling to apologize and
be forgiven, doesn t it? Aren t the stars bright tonight? If you could
live in a star, which one would you pick? I d like that lovely clear big
one away over there above that dark hill.
Anne, do hold your tongue, said Marilla, thoroughly worn out trying to
follow the gyrations of Anne s thoughts.
Anne said no more until they turned into their own lane. A little gypsy
wind came down it to meet them, laden with the spicy perfume of young
dew-wet ferns. Far up in the shadows a cheerful light gleamed out
through the trees from the kitchen at Green Gables. Anne suddenly came
close to Marilla and slipped her hand into the older woman s hard palm.
It s lovely to be going home and know it s home, she said. I love
Green Gables already, and I never loved any place before. No place ever
seemed like home. Oh, Marilla, I m so happy. I could pray right now and
not find it a bit hard.
Something warm and pleasant welled up in Marilla s heart at touch of
that thin little hand in her own--a throb of the maternity she had
missed, perhaps. Its very unaccustomedness and sweetness disturbed
her. She hastened to restore her sensations to their normal calm by
inculcating a moral.
If you ll be a good girl you ll always be happy, Anne. And you should
never find it hard to say your prayers.
Saying one s prayers isn t exactly the same thing as praying, said
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