Spring and Anne Return to Green Gables

           

           ThefirelightshadowsweredancingoverthekitchenwallsatGreenGables,forthespringeveningwaschilly;throughtheopeneastwindowdriftedinthesubtlysweetvoicesofthenight.Marillawassittingbythefireatleast,inbody.Inspiritshewasroamingoldenways,withfeetgrownyoung.OflateMarillahadthusspentmanyanhour,whenshethoughtsheshouldhavebeenknittingforthetwins.

           “IsupposeI’mgrowingold,”shesaid.

           YetMarillahadchangedbutlittleinthepastnineyears,savetogrowsomethingthinner,andevenmoreangular;therewasalittlemoregrayinthehairthatwasstilltwistedupinthesamehardknot,withtwohairpinsWEREtheythesamehairpins?stillstuckthroughit.Butherexpressionwasverydifferent;thesomethingaboutthemouthwhichhadhintedatasenseofhumorhaddevelopedwonderfully;hereyesweregentlerandmilder,hersmilemorefrequentandtender.

           Marillawasthinkingofherwholepastlife,hercrampedbutnotunhappychildhood,thejealouslyhiddendreamsandtheblightedhopesofhergirlhood,thelong,gray,narrow,monotonousyearsofdullmiddlelifethatfollowed.AndthecomingofAnnethevivid,imaginative,impetuouschildwithherheartoflove,andherworldoffancy,bringingwithhercolorandwarmthandradiance,untilthewildernessofexistencehadblossomedliketherose.MarillafeltthatoutofhersixtyyearsshehadlivedonlytheninethathadfollowedtheadventofAnne.AndAnnewouldbehometomorrownight.

           Thekitchendooropened.MarillalookedupexpectingtoseeMrs.Lynde.

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