Gilbert Put His Arm About Them. 'oh,

Nothing Mattered Much To Me For A Time There, After You Told Me You Could Never Love Me, Anne. There Was Nobody Else -- There Never Could Be Anybody Else For Me But You. I've Loved You Ever Since That Day You Broke Your Slate Over My Head In School.

Anne’s Horizons Had Closed In Since The Night She Had Sat There After Coming Home From Queen’s; But If The Path Set Before Her Feet Was To Be Narrow She Knew That Flowers Of Quiet Happiness Would Bloom Along It. The Joys Of Sincere Work And Worthy Aspiration And Congenial Friendship Were To Be Hers; Nothing Could Rob Her Of Her Birthright Of Fancy Or Her Ideal World Of Dreams. And There Was Always The Bend In The Road!

It's So Easy To Be Wicked Without Knowing It, Isn't It?

Trees Have As Much Individuality As Human Beings. Not Even Two Spruces Are Alike. There Is Always Some Kink Or Curve Or Bend Of Bough To Single Each One Out From Its Fellows.

Trees, Unlike So Many Humans, Always Improve On Acquaintance. No Matter How Much You Like Them At The Start You Are Sure To Like Them Much Better Further On, And Best Of All When You Have Known Them For Years And Enjoyed Intercourse With Them In All Seasons.