“I won’t cry. It’s silly⁠—and weak⁠—there’s the third tear splashing down by my nose. There are more coming! I must think of something funny to stop them. But there’s nothing funny except what is connected with Avonlea, and that only makes things worse⁠—four⁠—five⁠—I’m going home next Friday, but that seems a hundred years away. Oh, Matthew is nearly home by now⁠—and Marilla is at the gate, looking down the lane for him⁠—six⁠—seven⁠—eight⁠—oh, there’s no use in counting them! They’re coming in a flood presently. I can’t cheer up⁠—I don’t want to cheer up. It’s nicer to be miserable!”

The flood of tears would have come, no doubt, had not Josie Pye appeared at that moment. In the joy of seeing a familiar face Anne forgot that there had never been much love lost between her and Josie. As a part of Avonlea life even a Pye was welcome.

“I’m so glad you came up,” Anne said sincerely.