“Saying one’s prayers isn’t exactly the same thing as praying,” said Anne meditatively. “But I’m going to imagine that I’m the wind that is blowing up there in those treetops. When I get tired of the trees I’ll imagine I’m gently waving down here in the ferns⁠—and then I’ll fly over to Mrs. Lynde’s garden and set the flowers dancing⁠—and then I’ll go with one great swoop over the clover field⁠—and then I’ll blow over the Lake of Shining Waters and ripple it all up into little sparkling waves. Oh, there’s so much scope for imagination in a wind! So I’ll not talk any more just now, Marilla.”

“Thanks be to goodness for that,” breathed Marilla in devout relief.