“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 realize 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.”