There’s a hair ribbon Mrs. Lynde left for you.
It’s brown, to match the dress.
Come now, sit in.”
“I don’t see how I’m going to eat breakfast,” said Anne rapturously.
“Breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment.
I’d rather feast my eyes on that dress.
I’m so glad that puffed sleeves are still fashionable.
It did seem to me that I’d never get over it if they went out before I had a dress with them.
I’d never have felt quite satisfied, you see.
It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give me the ribbon too.
I feel that I ought to be a very good girl indeed.
It’s at times like this I’m sorry I’m not a model little girl; and I always resolve that I will be in future.
But somehow it’s hard to carry out your resolutions when irresistible temptations come.
Still, I really will make an extra effort after this.”
When the commonplace breakfast was over Diana appeared, crossing the white log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimson ulster.
Anne flew down the slope to meet her.
“Merry Christmas, Diana!
And oh, it’s a wonderful Christmas.
I’ve something splendid to show you. Matthew has given me the loveliest dress, with such sleeves.
I couldn’t even imagine any nicer.”
“I’ve got something more for you,” said Diana breathlessly.
“Here—this box.
Aunt Josephine sent us out a big box with ever so many things in it—and this is for you.
I’d have brought it over last night, but it didn’t come until after dark, and I never feel very comfortable coming through the Haunted Wood in the dark now.”
Anne opened the box and peeped in.
First a card with
“For the Anne-girl and Merry Christmas,” written on it; and then, a pair of the daintiest little kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and glistening buckles.
“Oh,” said Anne, “Diana, this is too much.
I must be dreaming.”
“I call it providential,” said Diana.
“You won’t have to borrow Ruby’s slippers now, and that’s a blessing, for they’re two sizes too big for you, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling.
Josie Pye would be delighted.
Mind you, Rob Wright went home with Gertie Pye from the practice night before last.
Did you ever hear anything equal to that?”
All the Avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for the hall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held.
The concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success.
The little hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, but Anne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, in the shape of Josie Pye, dared not deny.
“Oh, hasn’t it been a brilliant evening?” sighed Anne, when it was all over and she and Diana were walking home together under a dark, starry sky.
“Everything went off very well,” said Diana practically.
“I guess we must have made as much as ten dollars.
Mind you, Mr. Allan is going to send an account of it to the Charlottetown papers.”
“Oh, Diana, will we really see our names in print?
It makes me thrill to think of it.
Your solo was perfectly elegant, Diana.
I felt prouder than you did when it was encored.
I just said to myself,
‘It is my dear bosom friend who is so honored.’”
“Well, your recitations just brought down the house, Anne.
That sad one was simply splendid.”
“Oh, I was so nervous, Diana.