Anne promptly departed for the sitting-room across the hall;
she failed to return; after waiting ten minutes Marilla laid
down her knitting and marched after her with a grim expression.
She found Anne standing motionless before a picture hanging on
the wall between the two windows, with her eyes astar with
dreams. The white and green light strained through apple trees
and clustering vines outside fell over the rapt little figure
with a half-unearthly radiance.

"Anne, whatever are you thinking of?" demanded Marilla sharply.

Anne came back to earth with a start.

"That," she said, pointing to the picture--a rather vivid
chromo entitled, "Christ Blessing Little Children"--"and I
was just imagining I was one of them--that I was the little
girl in the blue dress, standing off by herself in the
corner as if she didn't belong to anybody, like me. She
looks lonely and sad, don't you think? I guess she hadn't
any father or mother of her own. But she wanted to be
blessed, too, so she just crept shyly up on the outside of
the crowd, hoping nobody would notice her--except Him. I'm
sure I know just how she felt. Her heart must have beat and
her hands must have got cold, like mine did when I asked you
if I could stay. She was afraid He mightn't notice her.
But it's likely He did, don't you think? I've been trying
to imagine it all out--her edging a little nearer all the
time until she was quite close to Him; and then He would
look at her and put His hand on her hair and oh, such a
thrill of joy as would run over her! But I wish the artist