“Everybody has been inviting me to supper … even Pauline Gibson. Old Mrs. Gibson died a few months ago, so Pauline dared do it. And I’ve been to Tomgallon House for another supper with Miss Minerva of that ilk and another onesided conversation. But I had a very good time, eating the delicious meal Miss Minerva provided, and she had a good time airing a few more tragedies. She couldn’t quite hide the fact that she was sorry for any one who was not a Tomgallon, but she paid me several nice compliments and gave me a lovely ring set with an aquamarine … a moonlight blend of blue and green … that her father had given her on her eighteenth birthday … ‘when I was young and handsome, dear … quite handsome. I may say that now, I suppose.’ I was glad it belonged to Miss Minerva and not to the wife of Uncle Alexander. I’m sure I could never have worn it if it had. It is very beautiful. There is a mysterious charm about the jewels of the sea.
“Tomgallon House is certainly very splendid, especially now when its grounds are all a-leaf and a-flower. But I wouldn’t give my as yet unfounded house of dreams for Tomgallon House and grounds with the ghosts thrown in.
“Not but what a ghost might be a nice, aristocratic sort of thing to have around. My only quarrel with Spook’s Lane is that there are no spooks.
“I went to my old graveyard yesterday evening for a last prowl … walked all round it and wondered if Herbert Pringle occasionally chuckled to himself in his grave. And I’m saying good-by tonight to the old Storm King, with the sunset on its brow, and my little winding valley full of dusk.
“I’m a wee bit tired after a month of exams and farewells and ‘last things.’ For a week after I get back to Green Gables I’m going to be lazy … do absolutely nothing but run free in a green world of summer loveliness. I’ll dream by the Dryad’s Bubble in the twilight. I’ll drift on the Lake of Shining Waters in a shallop shaped from a moonbeam … or in Mr. Barry’s flat, if moonbeam shallops are not in season. I’ll gather starflowers and June bells in the Haunted Wood. I’ll find plots of wild strawberries in Mr. Harrison’s hill pasture. I’ll join the dance of fireflies in Lover’s Lane and visit Hester Gray’s old, forgotten garden … and sit out on the back doorstep under the stars and listen to the sea calling in its sleep.
“And when the week is ended you will be home … and I won’t want anything else.”
When the time came the next day for Anne to say good-by to the folks at Windy Poplars, Rebecca Dew was not on hand. Instead, Aunt Kate gravely handed Anne a letter.
“Dear Miss Shirley,” wrote Rebecca Dew, “I am writing this to bid my farewell because I cannot trust myself to say it. For three years you have sojourned under our roof. The fortunate possessor of a cheerful spirit and a natural taste for the gaieties of youth, you have never surrendered yourself to the vain pleasures of the giddy and fickle crowd. You have conducted yourself on all occasions and to every one, especially the one who pens these lines, with the most refined delicacy. You have always been most considerate of my feelings and I find a heavy gloom on my spirits at the thought of your departure. But we must not repine at what Providence has ordained. (First Samuel, 29th and 18th.)
“You will be lamented by all in Summerside who had the privilege of knowing you, and the homage of one faithful though humble heart will ever be yours, and my prayer will ever be for your happiness and welfare in this world and your eternal felicity in that which is to come.
“Something whispers to me that you will not be long ‘Miss Shirley’ but that you will erelong be linked together in a union of souls with the choice of your heart, who, I understand from what I have heard, is a very exceptional young man. The writer, possessed of but few personal charms and beginning to feel her age (not but what I’m good for a good few years yet), has never permitted herself to cherish any matrimonial aspirations. But she does not deny herself the pleasure of an interest in the nuptials of her friends and may I express a fervent wish that your married life will be one of continued and uninterrupted Bliss? (Only do not expect too much of a man.)
“My esteem and, may I say, my affection for you will never lessen, and once in a while when you have nothing better to do will you kindly remember that there is such a person as
“Your obedient servant,
“REBECCA DEW.
“P.S. God bless you.”
Anne’s eyes were misty as she folded the letter up. Though she strongly suspected Rebecca Dew had got most of her phrases out of her favorite “Book of Deportment and Etiquette,” that did not make them any the less sincere, and the P. S. certainly came straight from Rebecca Dew’s affectionate heart.
“Tell dear Rebecca Dew I’ll never forget her and that I’m coming back to see you all every summer.”
“We have memories of you that nothing can take away,” sobbed Aunt Chatty.
“Nothing,” said Aunt Kate, emphatically.
But as Anne drove away from Windy Poplars the last message from it was a large white bath-towel fluttering frantically from the tower window. Rebecca Dew was waving it.
ANNE’S HOUSE OF DREAMS
I. In the Garret of Green Gables
IV. The First Bride of Green Gables
VIII. Miss Cornelia Bryant Comes to Call
IX. An Evening at Four Winds Point
XVI. New Year’s Eve at the Light