XIII. A Golden Picnic

           Anne,onherwaytoOrchardSlope,metDiana,boundforGreenGables,justwherethemossyoldlogbridgespannedthebrookbelowtheHauntedWood,andtheysatdownbythemarginoftheDryad’sBubble,wheretinyfernswereunrollinglikecurly-headedgreenpixyfolkwakeningupfromanap.

           “IwasjustonmywayovertoinviteyoutohelpmecelebratemybirthdayonSaturday,”saidAnne.

           “Yourbirthday?ButyourbirthdaywasinMarch!”

           “Thatwasn’tmyfault,”laughedAnne.“Ifmyparentshadconsultedmeitwouldneverhavehappenedthen.Ishouldhavechosentobeborninspring,ofcourse.Itmustbedelightfultocomeintotheworldwiththemayflowersandviolets.Youwouldalwaysfeelthatyouweretheirfostersister.ButsinceIdidn’t,thenextbestthingistocelebratemybirthdayinthespring.PriscillaiscomingoverSaturdayandJanewillbehome.We’llallfourstartofftothewoodsandspendagoldendaymakingtheacquaintanceofthespring.Wenoneofusreallyknowheryet,butwe’llmeetherbackthereaswenevercananywhereelse.Iwanttoexploreallthosefieldsandlonelyplacesanyhow.IhaveaconvictionthattherearescoresofbeautifulnookstherethathaveneverreallybeenSEENalthoughtheymayhavebeenLOOKEDat.We’llmakefriendswithwindandskyandsun,andbringhomethespringinourhearts.”

           “ItSOUNDSawfullynice,”saidDiana,withsomeinwarddistrustofAnne’smagicofwords.“Butwon’titbeverydampinsomeplacesyet?”

           “Oh,we’llwearrubbers,”wasAnne’sconcessiontopracticalities.