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poke round a bitā€”Captain Jim was always meddlesome, just like a manā€”and he went to inquiring round among the sailorsā€™ boarding houses and places like that, to see if he could find out anything about the crew of the Four Sisters. Heā€™d better have let sleeping dogs lie, in my opinion! Well, he went to one out-of-the-way place, and there he found a man he knew at first sight it was Dick Moore, though he had a big beard. Captain Jim got it shaved off and then there was no doubtā€”Dick Moore it wasā€”his body at least. His mind wasnā€™t thereā€”as for his soul, in my opinion he never had one!ā€

ā€œWhat had happened to him?ā€

ā€œNobody knows the rights of it. All the folks who kept the boarding house could tell was that about a year before they had found him lying on their doorstep one morning in an awful conditionā€”his head battered to a jelly almost. They supposed heā€™d got hurt in some drunken row, and likely thatā€™s the truth of it. They took him in, never thinking he could live. But he didā€”and he was just like a child when he got well. He hadnā€™t memory or intellect or reason. They tried to find out who he was but they never could. He couldnā€™t even tell them his nameā€”he could only say a few simple words. He had a letter on him beginning `Dear Dickā€™ and signed `Leslie,ā€™ but there was no address on it and the envelope was gone. They let him stay onā€”he learned to do a few odd jobs about the placeā€”and there Captain Jim found him. He brought him homeā€” Iā€™ve always said it was a bad dayā€™s work, though I sā€™pose there was nothing else he could do. He thought maybe when Dick got home and saw his old surroundings and familiar faces his memory would wake up. But it hadnā€™t any effect. There heā€™s been at the house up the brook ever since. Heā€™s just like a child, no more nor less. Takes fractious spells occasionally, but mostly heā€™s just vacant and good humored and harmless. Heā€™s apt to run away if he isnā€™t watched. Thatā€™s the burden Leslie has had to carry for eleven yearsā€”and all alone. Old Abner Moore died soon after Dick was brought home and it was found he was almost bankrupt. When things were settled up there was nothing for Leslie and Dick but the old West farm. Leslie rented it to John Ward, and the rent is all she has to live on. Sometimes in summer she takes a boarder to help out. But most visitors prefer the other side of the harbor where the hotels and summer cottages are. Leslieā€™s house is too far from the bathing shore. Sheā€™s taken care of Dick and sheā€™s never been away from him for eleven yearsā€”sheā€™s tied to that imbecile for life. And after all the dreams and hopes she once had! You can imagine what it has been like for her, Anne, dearieā€”with her beauty and spirit and pride and cleverness. Itā€™s just been a living death.ā€

ā€œPoor, poor girl!ā€ said Anne again. Her own happiness seemed to reproach her. What right had she to be so happy when another human soul must be so miserable?

ā€œWill you tell me just what Leslie said and how she acted the night you met her on the shore?ā€ asked Miss Cornelia.

She listened intently and nodded her satisfaction.

ā€œYOU thought she was stiff and cold, Anne, dearie, but I can tell you she thawed out wonderful for her. She must have taken to you real strong. Iā€™m so glad. You may be able to help her a good deal. I was thankful when I heard that a young couple was coming to this house, for I hoped it would mean some friends for Leslie; especially if you belonged to the race that knows Joseph. You WILL be her friend, wonā€™t you, Anne, dearie?ā€

ā€œIndeed I will, if sheā€™ll let me,ā€ said Anne, with all her own sweet, impulsive earnestness.

ā€œNo, you must be her friend, whether sheā€™ll let you or not,ā€ said Miss Cornelia resolutely. ā€œDonā€™t you mind if sheā€™s stiff by timesā€” donā€™t notice it. Remember what her life has beenā€”and isā€”and must always be, I suppose, for creatures like Dick Moore live forever, I understand. You should see how fat heā€™s got since he came home. He used to be lean enough. Just MAKE her be friendsā€”you can do itā€”youā€™re one of those who have the knack. Only you mustnā€™t be sensitive. And donā€™t mind if she doesnā€™t seem to want you to go over there much. She knows that some women donā€™t like to be where Dick isā€”they complain he gives them the creeps. Just get her to come over here as often as she can. She canā€™t get away so very muchā€”she canā€™t leave Dick long, for the Lord knows what heā€™d doā€”burn the house down most likely. At nights, after heā€™s in bed and asleep, is about the only time sheā€™s free. He always goes to bed early and sleeps like the dead till next morning. That is how you came to meet her at the shore likely. She wanders there considerable.ā€

ā€œI will do everything I can for her,ā€ said Anne. Her interest in Leslie Moore, which had been vivid ever since she had seen her driving her geese down the hill, was intensified a thousand fold by Miss Corneliaā€™s narration. The girlā€™s beauty and sorrow and loneliness drew her with an irresistible fascination. She had never known anyone like her; her friends had hitherto been wholesome, normal, merry girls like herself, with only the average trials of human care and bereavement to shadow their girlish dreams. Leslie Moore stood apart, a tragic, appealing figure of thwarted womanhood. Anne resolved that she would win entrance into the kingdom of that lonely soul and find there the comradeship it could so richly give, were it not for the cruel fetters that held it in a prison not of its own making.

ā€œAnd mind you this, Anne, dearie,ā€ said Miss Cornelia, who had not yet wholly relieved her mind, ā€œYou mustnā€™t think Leslie is an infidel because she hardly ever goes to churchā€”or even that sheā€™s a Methodist. She canā€™t take Dick to church, of courseā€”not that he ever troubled church much in his best days. But you just remember that sheā€™s a real strong Presbyterian at heart, Anne, dearie.ā€

CHAPTER 12 LESLIE COMES OVER

Leslie came over to the house of dreams one frosty October night, when moonlit mists were hanging over the harbor and curling like silver ribbons along the seaward glens. She looked as if she repented coming when Gilbert answered her knock; but Anne flew past him, pounced on her, and drew her in.

ā€œIā€™m so glad you picked tonight for a call,ā€ she said gaily. ā€œI made up a lot of extra good fudge this afternoon and we want someone to help us eat itā€”before the fireā€”while we tell stories. Perhaps Captain Jim will drop in, too. This is his night.ā€

ā€œNo. Captain Jim is over home,ā€ said Leslie. ā€œHeā€”he made me come here,ā€ she added, half defiantly.

ā€œIā€™ll say a thank-you to him for that when I see him,ā€ said Anne, pulling easy chairs before the fire.

ā€œOh, I donā€™t mean that I didnā€™t want to come,ā€ protested Leslie, flushing a little. ā€œIā€”Iā€™ve been thinking of comingā€”but it isnā€™t always easy for me to get away.ā€

ā€œOf course it must be hard for you to leave Mr. Moore,ā€ said Anne, in a matter-of-fact tone. She had decided that it would be best to mention Dick Moore occasionally as an accepted fact, and not give undue morbidness to the subject by avoiding it. She was right, for Leslieā€™s air of constraint suddenly vanished. Evidently she had been wondering how much Anne knew of the conditions of her life and was relieved that no explanations were needed. She allowed her cap and jacket to be taken, and sat down with a girlish snuggle in the big armchair by Magog. She was dressed prettily and carefully, with the customary touch of color in the scarlet geranium at her white throat. Her beautiful hair gleamed like molten gold in the warm firelight. Her sea-blue eyes were full of soft laughter and allurement. For the moment, under the influence of the little house of dreams, she was a girl againā€”a girl forgetful of the past and its bitterness. The atmosphere of the many loves that had sanctified the little house was all about her; the companionship of two healthy, happy, young folks of her own generation encircled her; she felt and yielded to the magic of her surroundingsā€”Miss Cornelia and Captain Jim would scarcely have recognized her; Anne found it hard to believe that this was the cold, unresponsive woman she had met on the shoreā€”this animated girl who talked and listened with the eagerness of a starved soul. And how hungrily Leslieā€™s eyes looked at the bookcases between the windows!

ā€œOur library isnā€™t very extensive,ā€ said Anne, ā€œbut every book in it is a FRIEND. Weā€™ve picked our books up through the years, here and there, never buying one until we had first read it and knew that it belonged to the race of Joseph.ā€

Leslie laughedā€”beautiful laughter that seemed akin to all the mirth that had echoed through the little house in the vanished years.

ā€œI have a few books of fatherā€™sā€”not many,ā€ she said. ā€œIā€™ve read them until I know them almost by heart. I donā€™t get many books. Thereā€™s a circulating library at the Glen storeā€”but I donā€™t think the committee who pick the books for Mr. Parker know what books are of Josephā€™s raceā€”or perhaps they donā€™t care. It was so seldom I got one I really liked that I gave up getting any.ā€

ā€œI hope youā€™ll look on our bookshelves as your own,ā€ said Anne.

ā€œYou are entirely and wholeheartedly welcome to the loan of any book on them.ā€

ā€œYou are setting a feast of fat things before me,ā€ said Leslie, joyously. Then, as the clock struck ten, she rose, half unwillingly.

ā€œI must go. I didnā€™t realise it was so late. Captain Jim is always saying it doesnā€™t take long to stay an hour. But Iā€™ve stayed twoā€”and oh, but Iā€™ve enjoyed them,ā€ she added frankly.

ā€œCome often,ā€ said Anne and Gilbert. They had risen and stood together in the firelightā€™s glow. Leslie looked at themā€”youthful, hopeful, happy, typifying all she had missed and must forever miss. The light went out of her face and eyes; the girl vanished; it was the sorrowful, cheated woman who answered the invitation almost coldly and got herself away with a pitiful haste.

Anne watched her until she was lost in the shadows of the chill and misty night. Then she turned slowly back to the glow of her own radiant hearthstone.

ā€œIsnā€™t she lovely, Gilbert? Her hair fascinates me. Miss Cornelia says it reaches to her feet. Ruby Gillis had beautiful hairā€”but Leslieā€™s is ALIVEā€”every thread of it is living gold.ā€

ā€œShe is very beautiful,ā€ agreed Gilbert, so heartily that Anne almost wished he were a LITTLE less enthusiastic.

ā€œGilbert, would you like my hair better if it were like Leslieā€™s?ā€ she asked wistfully.

ā€œI wouldnā€™t have your hair any color but just what it is for the world,ā€ said Gilbert, with one or two convincing accompaniments.

You wouldnā€™t be ANNE if you had golden hairā€”or hair of any color butā€ā€”

ā€œRed,ā€ said Anne, with gloomy satisfaction.

ā€œYes, redā€”to give warmth to that milk-white skin and those shining gray-green eyes of yours. Golden hair wouldnā€™t suit you at all Queen Anneā€”MY Queen Anneā€”queen of my heart and life and home.ā€

ā€œThen you may admire Leslieā€™s all you like,ā€ said Anne magnanimously.

CHAPTER 13 A GHOSTLY EVENING

One evening, a week later, Anne decided

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