Chapter XXX. The Queens Class Is Organized

           

           Marillalaidherknittingonherlapandleanedbackinherchair.Hereyesweretired,andshethoughtvaguelythatshemustseeabouthavingherglasseschangedthenexttimeshewenttotown,forhereyeshadgrowntiredveryoftenoflate.

           Itwasnearlydark,forthefullNovembertwilighthadfallenaroundGreenGables,andtheonlylightinthekitchencamefromthedancingredflamesinthestove.

           AnnewascurledupTurk-fashiononthehearthrug,gazingintothatjoyousglowwherethesunshineofahundredsummerswasbeingdistilledfromthemaplecordwood.Shehadbeenreading,butherbookhadslippedtothefloor,andnowshewasdreaming,withasmileonherpartedlips.GlitteringcastlesinSpainwereshapingthemselvesoutofthemistsandrainbowsofherlivelyfancy;adventureswonderfulandenthrallingwerehappeningtoherincloudland—adventuresthatalwaysturnedouttriumphantlyandneverinvolvedherinscrapeslikethoseofactuallife.

           Marillalookedatherwithatendernessthatwouldneverhavebeensufferedtorevealitselfinanyclearerlightthanthatsoftminglingoffireshineandshadow.ThelessonofalovethatshoulddisplayitselfeasilyinspokenwordandopenlookwasoneMarillacouldneverlearn.Butshehadlearnedtolovethisslim,gray-eyedgirlwithanaffectionallthedeeperandstrongerfromitsveryundemonstrativeness.Herlovemadeherafraidofbeingundulyindulgent,indeed.

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