'What are you going to do with yourselves today, girls? ' asked Philippa, popping into Anne’s room one Saturday afternoon. 'We are going for a walk in the park,' answered Anne. 'I ought to stay in and finish my blouse. But I couldn’t sew on a day like this.
There’s something in the air that gets into my blood and makes a sort of glory in my soul. My fingers would twitch and I’d sew a crooked seam. So it’s ho for the park and the pines. ' 'Does ‘we’ include any one but yourself and Priscilla?
' 'Yes, it includes Gilbert and Charlie, and we’ll be very glad if it will include you, also. ' 'But,' said Philippa dolefully, 'if I go I’ll have to be gooseberry, and that will be a new experience for Philippa Gordon. ' 'Well, new experiences are broadening.
Come along, and you’ll be able to sympathize with all poor souls who have to play gooseberry often. But where are all the victims? ' 'Oh, I was tired of them all and simply couldn’t be bothered with any of them today.
Besides, I’ve been feeling a little blue—just a pale, elusive azure. It isn’t serious enough for anything darker. I wrote Alec and Alonzo last week. I put the letters into envelopes and addressed them, but I didn’t seal them up. That evening something funny happened.
That is, Alec would think it funny, but Alonzo wouldn’t be likely to. I was in a hurry, so I snatched Alec’s letter—as I thought—out of the envelope and scribbled down a postscript. Then I mailed both letters. I got Alonzo’s reply this morning.
Girls, I had put that postscript to his letter and he was furious. Of course he’ll get over it—and I don’t care if he doesn’t—but it spoiled my day. So I