For the first time in quite a long spell, Gilbert Bylthe felt alive. Sure, he was still recovering from his typhoid fever, and he was still feeling a bit weak, but with the freshness of the air and the letter in his coat pocket he felt very well. Very well, indeed. Gilbert took out the letter again, reading the brief note one last time, smiling softly.

Gil,

I'm afraid there's no way but to put this bluntly—Anne has refused Roy. At first I thought she was just flirting scandalously with him, like she didn't care at all, but then I figured that Anne couldn't lower herself to that kind of behavior. Then that she had planned on marry him for his money, and her better self kicked in, but again, even if it wasn't below Anne, she is too wrapped up in her romantic fantasy that she wouldn't dare ruin the picture with a person she didn't love.

And with that gone, there was only one possible explanation left. Try again, Gil. You just might succeed.

Phil Blake

Post Script: Don't you just love my new name? The feeling I get inside of me is like a thousand new hats.

As he rode his buggy around the corner, he caught the familiar sight of Green Gables in all its glory of autumn bloom. And sitting on the front porch of the house, was a very beloved redhead.

"I have come to ask you to one of our old-time rambles this afternoon." Anne looked up quite suddenly, and Gilbert guessed she had been daydreaming again, but nodded her consent. They walked aimlessly though the Avonlea wilderness, drinking in the beautiful autumn day. After a while, they found themselves in Hester Gray's garden. Gilbert looked sideways at Anne, her serene gray eyes, the lovely nose, and her pink lips. Red hair and freckles, indeed! Anne Shirley was pretty—beautiful.

She spoke. "I think that 'the land where dreams come true' is the blue haze yonder, over that little valley."

Very fitting. Poetic. Typically Anne. "Have you unfulfilled dreams, Anne?" He asked her softly. Now. He would try again. Now.

"Of course," Anne almost scoffed, "everyone has. It wouldn't do to have nothing to dream about—we would be as good as dead! For example, I do wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them. They would be so beautiful."

Anne was trying to change the subject again—and she wasn't looking at him! Remembrance occurred suddenly, and Gilbert almost lost courage, panicked, and said nothing more. But something in the midst of the reaction made him continue. He wanted to know, now, better to be hurt again then live in doubt. Of course, Gilbert might've much preferred to be in doubt the first time.

"I have a dream that I persist in dreaming, although it often seemed to me it would never come true." He chuckled slightly, but began again, his tone serious. "I have a dream of a home with a hearth-fire, a cat and dog, friend's footsteps, and you." He waited for Anne to lift her head. She didn't. Gilbert decided to elaborate. "I asked you a question over two years ago. Anne," he said, his tone soft, "will you not give me a different answer?" Silence. Familiar silence. Anxious silence.

Then, as an answer, a certain red head lifted up, Anne's eyes shining with all the emotion she was too stubborn to admit over two years ago. Gilbert saw it, and he knew. He knew, and he needn't any more words. Anne was his. Long, sought-after Anne was his. Perfectly lovely and beautiful and smart and—Gilbert could go on and on and the present author doesn't feel the need to list all Anne's praises. Anne was his and he was hers. But--

"I have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne. It will be thee years till I am out of medical school, and even then it won't be any sun bursts or marble halls"

"I don't want sun bursts or marble halls," Anne emphasized, "I just want you. Besides," she said, laughing, "I need some to break my slate over their head."

Gilbert smiled softly. "I've loved ever since that one day in school."

And Anne turned a bit to look him straight in the eye, and smiled, a genuine smile of sheer happiness and bliss. And then Gilbert kissed her.

0000

I'm afraid that turned out less than ideal. I didn't faithfully follow the book as much as Much More Than A Scraped Knee , but I hope this is good anyway.

This was a request.! Hope you like it, hondagirl!

Have a nice…quarter of an hour until Monday. Going to bed now. P