Winter set in very late that year, and Mr. Barry was still boiling the pigs' potatoes until the first of December. There had been a wonderful crop that year, and a busy harvest was followed by the livestock auction, but at last George Barry found time to attend to simpler matters. When the year was waning and the twilights cool and starry, Mr. Barry and Jerry Buote got out the old iron pot that had belonged to Matthew Cuthbert's father, and hung it over the circle of stones he had asked Davy and Dora to build. Then they poured in a big batch of potatoes and lit the fire, and Davy poked it with a long stick that sent trailing sparks into the night. Anne came out to sit by the fire and correct her lessons, and Diana to crochet. Minnie May and Dora danced around, hand-in-hand, casting goblin shadows all over the orchard.

"Oh, isn't the world lovely at night?" Anne cried ecstatically.

Dora did not completely agree with her. Ever since her fright in the Harrison barn, she had developed a terror for the dark unknown - although she still went to bed meekly, making sure to fall asleep before it grew completely dark. But here - where she was amongst a circle of friends, it was alright.

Minnie May's kitten purred mellifluously. It was the selfsame midnight black, topaz-eyed creature that had comforted Dora in the Harrison barn, growing rapidly into a plump and cuddly being in its own right. Davy had got her from John Henry Carter and had given it to Dora for an apology, although he swore that he had no use for cats.

"John Henry Carter told me cats belong to the Old Nick," he scoffed, "and anyway dolls and cats are only good for girls."

Dora already loved the little kitten dearly. She knew she wouldn't be afraid of going to bed in the dark if she had a cat for company. "I'm afraid Marilla won't let us keep her. Mrs. Sprotts said she was only taking us 'til the spring." Dora reasoned.

Davy shrugged his shoulders philosophically. "It don't hurt to ask."

But Dora never found the courage to ask. Marilla had no love for animals of any sort and Dora dreaded her grim responses. It was useless for her to avail to Anne. No; Dora reflected, it would be entirely insensible to get overmuch attached to anything at Green Gables if their uncle was going to take them in the spring. Well - anything, except a certain person. She carried the kitten regretfully over to Orchard Slope, and made Minnie May its delighted owner.

--

Then the potatoes were done and Mr. Barry packed away the farm equipment. Winter set in all at once, and very fiercely. Dora woke up one frosty morning to see fat snowflakes falling over the fields. In a few hours they were enveloped in a heavy white blanket and the pond was frozen over. Many a night, the Avonlea young fry turned out for merry hours of skating.

Neither Davy nor Dora had ice-skates, for Marilla did not believe in such superfluities and forbade Anne from spending her lean savings on skates for the twins. Anne did buy a pair of her own, so she and Diana and Gilbert and Charlie Sloane took the twins between them for long "slides." Minnie May and Stella Fletcher whirled ahead in circles. Minnie May was an expert skater and she wove through the group with the grace and agility of a darting chipmunk. Stella rivalled her, pirouetting in loops and jumps that made the Avonlea boys cheer. Lily Sloane sat patiently on the bank, warming her hands in a little beaver muff, breathing in puffs to warm her very red cheeks.

"Come out for a spin?" Gilbert called to her jovially.

"No-no-no, i'm-m sc-a-ared." Lily chattered.

Gilbert returned his attentions to Anne. It was a magical night. The birches on the banks were threaded with ice. There was the click of horse-hoofs on thin ice over the bridge. Impulsively, Gilbert took Anne's hand in his and lead her toward the pier where he had rescued her from her lily-maid foray some years ago. Davy was scraping up a snowball to throw at Stella Fletcher, so Anne jerked Dora along unceremoniously.

Gilbert eyed Dora rather balefully, then softened his glance and began a rollicking whistle. Anne and Dora joined in, singing. The wended their way under the bridge and out into the open, starry night again and again. They "cannoodled" into Diana and Fred who had picked up Davy on their spins. Priscilla and Charlie lagged behind, forced into one another's company. Peals of laughter rang out amongst them.

"I can't imagine there was a time when I wasn't Anne of Green Gables," Anne declared to Gilbert, who agreed heartily.

Dora thought it would be rather nice to be Dora of Green Gables, too, but knowing that she had no imagination, as Anne was wont to say of her - she did not try to imagine so.

--

Spring came rapidly. The misty April days were brief, the showers spent themselves and gave way to the gentle breezes of May. Dora regarded the coming of spring with mixed feelings. In a way, she was glad - she had seen very little of Paul Irving all winter, his grandmother not allowing him to skate or make the long trek up to Green Gables in the snow. To be sure, she saw him every week at church -- perhaps, though neither Anne nor Marilla guessed it, that was why Dora learned her catechism so readily. But she did not know how long she would have left at Green Gables, and the uncertainty rent her days with worry.

One afternoon Mr. Barry began to sow the turnip field.

"How'd you two young scalawags like to come along?" He asked as he hitched up the team. "Come, see the fields a bit - nothing like a nice drive when spring's in the air."

Dora did not like to be called a young scalawag, but she did relish a drive. The twins scrambled in eagerly. They rattled down the lovely, whispering path that was called Lover's Lane, winding through the woods where the brook laughed and gurgled until they reached the old log bridge. Then Mr. Barry turned onto a deep, rutted cowpath, and broke into the open fields.

All of Green Gables spread out before their eyes, then: it was a large, fertile farm of many acres. Dora had never seen it before - she was not inclined to explore on her own, or stray too far from home. Dora had not prepared herself for the feeling of wonder and longing that washed over her.

The many fields ran over the rolling hills - large, tilled fields with rich brown soil ready for sowing, little dimpled fields full of the fragrance of spring flowers, uncleared fields where young spruces sprang up to greet them like eager children, and yellowed pastures by the brook, where doe-eyed cattle peered mildly at them as they passed. But they did not appear mild to Dora, who shrank closer to Davy at the stare of such a large animal. As they crested a hill, the Lake of Shining Waters came into view, with the dunes and salt breath of the open sea beyond.

"It's a fine farm," Davy said affably to Mr. Barry.

"Isn't it, now?" Mr. Barry replied proudly.

Dora said nothing, mute with wonder at the loveliness before her eyes. What a wonderful place on earth Davy and herself had landed in! How dearly she would like to stay here! As she stood there she began to weave a dream, where she would be grown up, Davy would run the Green Gables farm manfully, and Marilla and herself would gather fruit from the orchard year in and year out to bake apple damsons, and - and - and a certain tall, inscrutably handsome Mr. Irving would come up the long lonely lane, and ask her to go for a walk!

The speed with which she had built her castle in the air made herself dizzy. She just wanted so badly to stay here - and such an extreme, unchecked feeling made, instead of bringing any passionate fire into her face, made her turn pale and green.
Mr. Barry opined that the ride was too rough for her, and told Davy to walk her home.

Davy was eager and energetic and happy from all her saw of Green Gables, and began to tear through the woods. Dora did not really like to run - she thought it was so unladlylike, but did not want to get lost alone, so she went after recklessly. They arrived in the kitchen just in time.

Marilla was getting tea, and Anne was opening the mail to read to Marilla. "Why, here's a letter from Richard Keith saying he can't take the twins until next year! He hopes to be married then."

Davy gave a yelp of joy and rushed to Anne with a bear-hug. Dora, who was out-of-breath and so hot and red-cheeked that she could not even flush with delight, merely sank into her seat. Whereupon Anne opined, once again, that Dora was the most unfeeling child in the world.