Gossip, As Usual, Was One-third Right And

It Seems To Me A Most Dreadful Thing To Go Out Of The World And Not Leave One Person Behind You Who Is Sorry You Are Gone,' Said Anne, Shuddering.

That's All The Freedom We Canhope For - The Freedom To Choose Our Prison. [...]

For There Is No Bond More Lasting Than That Formed By The Mutual Confidences Of That Magic Time When Youth Is Slipping From The Sheath Of Childhood And Beginning To Wonder What Lies For It Beyond Those Misty Hills That Bound The Golden Road.

Hark, I Hear A Robin Calling! List, The Wind Is From The South! And The Orchard-bloom Is Falling Sweet As Kisses On The Mouth. In The Dreamy Vale Of Beeches Fair And Faint Is Woven Mist, And The River's Orient Reaches Are The Palest Amethyst. Every Limpid Brook Is Singing Of The Lure Of April Days; Every Piney Glen Is Ringing With The Maddest Roundelays. Come And Let Us Seek Together Springtime Lore Of Daffodils, Giving To The Golden Weather Greeting On The Sun-warm Hills.

I Wonder If It Will Be—can Be—any More Beautiful Than This,’ Murmured Anne, Looking Around Her With The Loving, Enraptured Eyes Of Those To Whom ‘home’ Must Always Be The Loveliest Spot In The World, No Matter What Fairer Lands May Lie Under Alien Stars.