X. Davy in Search of a Sensation

           Anne,walkinghomefromschoolthroughtheBirchPathoneNovemberafternoon,feltconvincedafreshthatlifewasaverywonderfulthing.Thedayhadbeenagoodday;allhadgonewellinherlittlekingdom.St.ClairDonnellhadnotfoughtanyoftheotherboysoverthequestionofhisname;PrillieRogerson’sfacehadbeensopuffedupfromtheeffectsoftoothachethatshedidnotoncetrytocoquettewiththeboysinhervicinity.BarbaraShawhadmetwithonlyONEaccident...spillingadipperofwateroverthefloor...andAnthonyPyehadnotbeeninschoolatall.

           “WhatanicemonththisNovemberhasbeen!”saidAnne,whohadneverquitegotoverherchildishhabitoftalkingtoherself.“Novemberisusuallysuchadisagreeablemonth...asiftheyearhadsuddenlyfoundoutthatshewasgrowingoldandcoulddonothingbutweepandfretoverit.Thisyearisgrowingoldgracefully...justlikeastatelyoldladywhoknowsshecanbecharmingevenwithgrayhairandwrinkles.We’vehadlovelydaysanddelicioustwilights.Thislastfortnighthasbeensopeaceful,andevenDavyhasbeenalmostwell-behaved.Ireallythinkheisimprovingagreatdeal.Howquietthewoodsaretoday...notamurmurexceptthatsoftwindpurringinthetreetops!Itsoundslikesurfonafarawayshore.Howdearthewoodsare!Youbeautifultrees!Iloveeveryoneofyouasafriend.”

           Annepausedtothrowherarmaboutaslimyoungbirchandkissitscream-whitetrunk.Diana,roundingacurveinthepath,sawherandlaughed.

           “AnneShirley,you’reonlypretendingtobegrownup.