Anne's House of Dreams Index
LESLIE COMES OVER
Leslie came over to the house of dreams one frosty
October night, when moonlit mists were hanging over the
harbor and curling like silver ribbons along the
seaward glens. She looked as if she repented coming
when Gilbert answered her knock; but Anne flew past
him, pounced on her, and drew her in.
"I'm so glad you picked tonight for a call," she said
gaily. "I made up a lot of extra good fudge this
afternoon and we want someone to help us eat it--before
the fire--while we tell stories. Perhaps Captain Jim
will drop in, too. This is his night."
"No. Captain Jim is over home," said Leslie. "He--he
made me come here," she added, half defiantly.
"I'll say a thank-you to him for that when I see him,"
said Anne, pulling easy chairs before the fire.
"Oh, I don't mean that I didn't want to come,"
protested Leslie, flushing a little. "I--I've been
thinking of coming--but it isn't always easy for me to
get away."
"Of course it must be hard for you to leave Mr.
Moore," said Anne, in a matter-of-fact tone. She had
decided that it would be best to mention Dick Moore
occasionally as an accepted fact, and not give undue
morbidness to the subject by avoiding it. She was
right, for Leslie's air of constraint suddenly
vanished. Evidently she had been wondering how much
Anne knew of the conditions of her life and was
relieved that no explanations were needed. She allowed
her cap and jacket to be taken, and sat down with a
girlish snuggle in the big armchair by Magog. She was
dressed prettily and carefully, with the customary
touch of color in the scarlet geranium at her white
throat. Her beautiful hair gleamed like molten gold in
the warm firelight. Her sea-blue eyes were full of
soft laughter and allurement. For the moment, under the
influence of the little house of dreams, she was a
girl again--a girl forgetful of the past and its
bitterness. The atmosphere of the many loves that had
sanctified the little house was all about her; the
companionship of two healthy, happy, young folks of
her own generation encircled her; she felt and yielded
to the magic of her surroundings--Miss Cornelia and
Captain Jim would scarcely have recognized her; Anne
found it hard to believe that this was the cold,
unresponsive woman she had met on the shore--this
animated girl who talked and listened with the
eagerness of a starved soul. And how hungrily Leslie's
eyes looked at the bookcases between the windows!
"Our library isn't very extensive," said Anne, "but
every book in it is a FRIEND. We've picked our books
up through the years, here and there, never buying one
until we had first read it and knew that it belonged to
the race of Joseph."
Leslie laughed--beautiful laughter that seemed akin to
all the mirth that had echoed through the little house
in the vanished years.
"I have a few books of father's--not many," she said.
"
I've read them until I know them almost by heart. I
don't get many books. There's a circulating library at
the Glen store--but I don't think the committee who
pick the books for Mr. Parker know what books are of
Joseph's race--or perhaps they don't care. It was so
seldom I got one I really liked that I gave up getting
any."
"I hope you'll look on our bookshelves as your own,"
said Anne.
"You are entirely and wholeheartedly welcome to the
loan of any book on them."
"You are setting a feast of fat things before me,"
said Leslie, joyously. Then, as the clock struck ten,
she rose, half unwillingly.
"I must go. I didn't realise it was so late. Captain
Jim is always saying it doesn't take long to stay an
hour. But I've stayed two--and oh, but I've enjoyed
them," she added frankly.
"Come often," said Anne and Gilbert. They had risen
and stood together in the firelight's glow. Leslie
looked at them--youthful, hopeful, happy, typifying all
she had missed and must forever miss. The light went
out of her face and eyes; the girl vanished; it was the
sorrowful, cheated woman who answered the invitation
almost coldly and got herself away with a pitiful
haste.
Anne watched her until she was lost in the shadows of
the chill and misty night. Then she turned slowly back
to the glow of her own radiant hearthstone.
"Isn't she lovely, Gilbert? Her hair fascinates me.
Miss Cornelia says it reaches to her feet. Ruby Gillis
had beautiful hair--but Leslie's is ALIVE--every thread
of it is living gold."
"She is very beautiful," agreed Gilbert, so heartily
that Anne almost wished he were a LITTLE less
enthusiastic.
"Gilbert, would you like my hair better if it were like
Leslie's?" she asked wistfully.
"I wouldn't have your hair any color but just what it
is for the world," said Gilbert, with one or two
convincing accompaniments.
You wouldn't be ANNE if you had golden hair--or hair of
any color but"--
"Red," said Anne, with gloomy satisfaction.
"Yes, red--to give warmth to that milk-white skin and
those shining gray-green eyes of yours. Golden hair
wouldn't suit you at all Queen Anne--MY Queen
Anne--queen of my heart and life and home."
"Then you may admire Leslie's all you like," said Anne
magnanimously.