night the east wind was moaning around Green Gables with an ominous
prophecy which was fulfilled in the morning. Anne awoke to find
raindrops pattering against her window and shadowing the pond's gray
surface with widening rings; hills and sea were hidden in mist, and the
whole world seemed dim and dreary. Anne dressed in the cheerless gray
dawn, for an early start was necessary to catch the boat train; she
struggled against the tears that WOULD well up in her eyes in spite of
herself. She was leaving the home that was so dear to her, and something
told her that she was leaving it forever, save as a holiday refuge.
Things would never be the same again; coming back for vacations would
not be living there. And oh, how dear and beloved everything was--that
little white porch room, sacred to the dreams of girlhood, the old Snow
Queen at the window, the brook in the hollow, the Dryad's Bubble, the
Haunted Woods, and Lover's Lane--all the thousand and one dear spots
where memories of the old years bided. Could she ever be really happy
anywhere else?

Breakfast at Green Gables that morning was a rather doleful meal. Davy,
for the first time in his life probably, could not eat, but blubbered
shamelessly over his porridge. Nobody else seemed to have much appetite,
save Dora, who tucked away her rations comfortably. Dora, like the
immortal and most prudent Charlotte, who "went on cutting bread and
butter" when her frenzied lover's body had been carried past on a
shutter, was one of those fortunate creatures who are seldom disturbed
by anything. Even at eight it took a great deal to ruffle Dora's
placidity. She was sorry Anne was going away, of course, but was that
any reason why she should fail to appreciate a poached egg on toast? Not
at all. And, seeing that Davy could not eat his, Dora ate it for him.

Promptly on time Diana appeared with horse and buggy, her rosy face