For There Is No Bond More Lasting

Marilla Felt More Embarrassed Than Ever. She Had Intended To Teach Anne The Childish Classic, "now I Lay Me Down To Sleep." But She Had, As I Have Told You, The Glimmerings Of A Sense Of Humor--which Is Simply Another Name For A Sense Of The Fitness Of Things; And It Suddenly Occurred To Her That Simple Little Prayer, Sacred To The White-robed Childhood Lisping At Motherly Knees, Was Entirely Unsuited To This Freckled Witch Of A Girl Who Knew And Cared Nothing About God's Love, Since She Had Never Had It Translated To Her Through The Medium Of Human Love.

We Belong To The Race That Knows Joseph

You'd Find It Easier To Be Bad Than Good If You Had Red Hair," Said Anne Reproachfully. "people Who Haven't Red Hair Don't Know What Trouble Is.

Behind Them In The Garden The Little Stone House Brooded Among The Shadows. It Was Lonely But Not Forsaken. It Had Not Yet Done With Dreams And Laughter And The Joy Of Life; There Were To Be Future Summers For The Little Stone House; Meanwhile, It Could Wait. And Over The River In Purple Durance The Echoes Bided Their Time.

The Woods Are Never Solitary — They Are Full Of Whispering, Beckoning, Friendly Life. But The Sea Is A Mighty Soul, Forever Moaning Of Some Great, Unshareable Sorrow, Which Shuts It Up Into Itself For All Eternity. We Can Never Pierce Its Infinite Mystery — We May Only Wander, Awed And Spellbound, On The Outer Fringe Of It. The Woods Call To Us With A Hundred Voices, But The Sea Has One Only — A Mighty Voice.