Nan lifted her eyes from the pages of 'Persuasion', stiffened a little, and put the book aside, on her mother's old, white desk.

Rachel, at her needle, did not even notice, too busy to pay heed to Jane Austen. But Aunt Marilla turned her rather surprised eyes at Nan.

"Why did you stop?"

Nan shrugged her shoulders.

"You weren't listening."

She did not mean for her voice to sound so upset. But it ringed with a high, false tone of someone who had spent the last half hour reading aloud, numbing her neck and torturing a throat that was sore with teaching even beforehand. And apparently it was all in vain.

Aunt Marilla leaned her head down to flick some invisible crumbles off her quilt and Nan could swear that she was hiding a smirk.

"Are you angry?" Marilla asked suddenly and Nan flinched.

"I am not," she failed to control her tone again.

Marilla now smiled openly.

"You could have stamped your foot, too."

She lay her head on her pillow and smiled complacently.

"Don't mind me, Nan, but… If you really want to… entertain me, maybe try doing something I would enjoy?"

Nan did not say a word. She knew there was more to come.

"I am sure this book is a great read… for young girls like you, with that noble pursuit that most of you seem to have these days, to study and work and… What did Mary call it the other day? Ah, 'make your own name', isn't that right?" she waited for Nan to nod in acquiescence. "That's all very well, but… I am ninety- three years old and I suppose my name has been made already. So this book is all but abstract to me."

Nan opened her mouth with a whistle, ready to talk back. But then she bit her lip like someone caught red- handed, as a flush was crawling up her cheeks.

She had come with one of her own favorite books; the truth being that she wanted to read it just one more time before writing back to Faith Meredith who had sought her advice in an argument with Jerry.

"You have more experience," she persuaded in her funny, brash way. "My, but I do wish you were here! You seem to be the only person who can get my brother to shut his mouth for at least half a minute."

She should have done this back at home, in her little pink room. But with all those mid- semester dictations and geometry assignments to mark, she just didn't have the time. She had wanted to kill two birds with one stone… And all she ended up killing was Aunt Marilla's afternoon.

But that wasn't all, more's the pity! What she was mostly ashamed of was that she had expected Aunt Marilla to be grateful. Yes, grateful for Nan's time and attention!

Mary Vance was right after all when she called her a coxcomb!

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Nan asked, hoping that the bitter pill of Mary Vance's being right would be more palatable with other words.

"I didn't want to be unmannerly. And besides, I do enjoy your reading to me. I just think we could find something more truthful and interesting there," she waved her hand towards a pile of letters and sheets of paper which Nan had put on the desk.

At first Nan hesitated; she had already read to Marilla a letter from Jem and the long, collective one from Ingleside. The other was from Ken Ford and an awfully nice one; Kan had a knack for writing and Nan often wondered whether it was a heritage from his father- as Persis had the very same deft, buoyant way with words- or whether it stemmed from the fact that Ken was quite the ladies man and left all girls around him swooning with as much as a salutation. The fact that he did it consciously, was another pair of shoes.

But she had always been insusceptible. She took quite a hammering as a child. Ken was two years older than she and Di and before Persis arrived and grew big enough to be nudged and pushed, he settled for the twins. Di, the rambunctious little fatty, had enough strength to give him a taste of his own medicine. But Nan, frail and wobbly- kneed, was a perfect aim. The intrinsic pink ribbon in her brown curls seemed to be a special spur for Ken.

The tribulation went on until Susan intervened- and then, when Ken forgot the spanking, Nan brought in the big guns. Jem's smiting was not to be forgotten.

But then, as years went by, they started to value each other's company. Somehow, Ken seemed to be slightly at odds with the Glen boys. He never followed Jem's lead as naturally as the rest of them, there was always some rivalry between him and Jerry Meredith and, although he called Walter his best friend, he was sometimes a bit too outspoken on his poetic airs.

Nan, on the other hand, had always been all sugar and spice and all things nice. Ken, being a city- boy, was not that much of snips or snails or puppy dogs tails. In time, he grew more understanding- and then appreciative- of her girlish ways than any other lad that she knew. From tweaking her ribbons he turned to opening doors for her. They went a long way from a headsman and his resentful victim to especial chums, always rolling in the aisles together and sharing long, good- natured talks.

"Well?" Marilla's voice sounded a bit shrill and Nan budged. She finally understood that Marilla wanted her to read the newspaper and smiled apologetically; she was particularly pensive those days, counting days until Chrtistmas which she was to spend at Ingleside. She had really started to miss home and couldn't wait until they would all be together again.

She took up the letters and the rest of the paper sheets and speedily moved it under her blue scarf, hoping that Marilla would not ask after them. She took up The Enterprise and skipped a few pages to find Avonlea Notes. Then she scanned the page, looking for familiar names.

"The many friends of Miss Mary Dora Keith…" she started in a clear voice, but was instantly interrupted.

"I wonder who would that be," Rachel muttered without lifting her eyes from the dress she was trimming.

Nan suppressed a laugh and sent her a reprimanding look. But even Marilla seemed amused. Mary had quite a few conflicts going on with the Avonlea's young fry. Rachel was wont to say that a nose so high in the air looks toffee- hued to any other man in the street.

Nan made haste to another note- and stumbled upon it.

"Mister Matthew Davies has left Avonlea for Spencervale, where he will be in charge of the railway construction."

The next sentence made her clear her throat.

"We understand that he will be coming home as often as possible, since his engagement to Miss Janie Sloane was announced a week ago."

"Janie must be over the moon," Rachel remarked, pulling at her thread to finish the seaming. "She is already twenty six. To tell you the truth, we all have expected her to join Miss Pye in the church charity pretty soon."

This time Marilla had to tell Rachel off, but she did it quite absent- mindedly. She fixed her gaze on the strain which suddenly appeared in Nan's face. But Nan seemed reluctant to reveal her thoughts, which- by the look of her furrowed brow- must have been stormy.

Now, Nan knew that it was shallow and silly and simply wrong… But she couldn't help wondering, in quite a dismay. She wasn't similar to Janie Sloane in any way, was she?

Also, it wasn't how she had imagined her first romantic entanglement to look like. Certainly, Matt Davies did not waste time!

She recalled the letter which Mother sent her right after her birthday. It was really a long and deliciously funny narrative about a young man called Billy Andrews, who was too shy to propose to a girl himself.

Nan shook her head, as if to get rid of obtrusive thoughts. Well, when one is named after her mother, some experiences must be shared by the two, apparently.

"Mrs. Anthony Pye took the first prize for her knitted lace during this year's Exhibition in Charlottetown. Alongside Mr. Chester Sloane's first prize for pigs and Mrs. David Keith's second prize for home made butter tarts, she contributed to Avonlea's respectable representation which we take great pride in."

Nan lifted her eyes and sniffed her nose with a satisfied air. She had the awarded morsels at her fingertips.

"Was Mrs. Pye a student of Mother's, too?" she asked Aunt Marilla. "There are no Pyes at school and I don't remember her from the church."

Marilla nodded her head, smiling wistfully.

"She was. Little Barbara Shaw, the clumsiest girl to ever live in Avonlea. That little Davies girl you brought here once… Even she has more composure."

Nan laughed at the reminiscence of Sally's visit, but soon grew sullen at the connotation of the name.

"Sally is a sweetie. Which is quite surprising, considering what her mother is like. Two weeks ago I invited all the parents to school to talk about their children's progress. And, according to her, they have made no progress. Because I only waste time reading fairy tales to them," Nan stressed every single word because of the overwhelming worry .

Mrs. Richard Davies had also seen fit to inform Nan that it was inappropriate for a teacher to participate in the physical culture exercises. Then she torpedoed Nan's idea of building a tree house in the shrubbery near the school, even though most fathers seemed in favor of the project.

She didn't know what to do. Were all the Avonlea parents dissatisfied with her teaching? They hadn't said so- Mrs Davies had dominated the discussion- and she had been living with a presentiment ever since.

Rachel suddenly exclaimed in frustration and threw her hands up in the air.

"I give up! I will never sew this cravat on properly. Look what a bungle I've made of it!" she threw the garment on Nan's knees. "Are you sure they will be in fashion next year, Nan?"

Nan laughed, grateful for this distraction.

"Persis Ford says so. And she is quite an authority" she laughed again, when Rachel sighed deeply. "Here, let me help you."

Marilla looked at them two, poring over the dress in the dimmed light of the lamp; at Rachel's sweet, full- cheeked face and Nan's cameo- like profile.

Nan's looks had always been quite a pang to her; the girl was a spitting image of Elizabeth Gilis, who Marilla couldn't think of without a stir at the bottom of her heart. She had never hated her; she couldn't, because Liz- her husband's nickname for her- had been an admirable woman, inside and out, a perfect match for John Blythe. Marilla just couldn't help but wonder how she would have complied with this task.

But, having spent more time with Nan, she began to notice trinkets of John in her. There was something about her serene forehead and the line of her straight nose that endeared the girl to her, even if not as closely as Jem. She smiled before falling asleep, remembering that he had promised to pay her a visit after Christmas.

The girls left the room quietly, having cleaned up all the needles and patches of navy blue cotton.

"Nan..?" Rachel stopped insecurely right behind the door. "Did you think us… careless when you came here first?"

Nan said nothing. She didn't want to comfort Rachel by lying and she also wasn't guiltless herself.

Rachel hung her head miserably.

"You did," she stated flatly. "And now I think so, too. Especially of myself. But I was too busy with other things... I had troubles with geometry…"

Nan smiled slyly.

"Rachel, you puss! You only started having troubles with geometry when you realized that Thomas Fletcher was helping Minnie Bell with it!"

Rachel dropped the scissors and blushed a lovely shade of pink.

"Is it that obvious..?" she asked anxiously.

"When one knows what to look at," Nan tilted her head playfully and stretched her arm around Rachel's. "But I think I am the only one who does… Thomas himself could notice it if he wasn't so busy hiding behind his book to peep at you."

Rachel's eyes at once filled with peculiar luster.

"Would you come to my room with me? So that we could talk some more? There are so many people here today… I'll just go to the kitchen and bring us something…" she started prattling again, but then suddenly broke off, as if she had recalled something.

She approached Nan and whispered into her ear. Nan's eyebrows at first disappeared under her forelock- but then she laughed.

"Of course I can get Jack to do it. But what will we do when it starts snowing?"

"It won't. That's what the almanac says."

Rachel opened the door and the noise came in to the hall, surpassing Nan's disappointed groan.

Mrs. Ralph Andrews had paid her brother a visit. Her daughter Kathy was sitting on the floor at her feet, quite occupied with Emily, feeding her with little pieces of a scone. She kept cooing at the child and, with her long, auburn hair and bright blue eyes, as big as two saucers, looked as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. But Nan knew what an incorrigible little rouge she was. At ten, she was quite different from her twin brother Keith, despite their physical similarity. She was Paul's favorite cousin; usually she would be the one to play with him. But since she was busy, poor quiet Keith had to try and keep pace with him.

Jack spotted her and gladly escaped all the clamor. He was holding Tommy, his godson, in his arms and looked as proud as punch.

"Maybe it will snow after all," she looked at him hopefully. "I dread the very thought of green Christmas."

Jack only pouted.

"Easy for you to say, Blythe. I will be the one to shovel all the way to the gate."

Nan stretched her arms to take over the child; after all, it was her godson too.

"I could shovel all the way back to Ingleside if I had to!" she said laughingly, unaware of the evil hour that she chose for herself.

if some parts of it look confusing, it's actually good. everything will be explained later on.

and pheeeeew! it's so long I will congratulate enyone who manages to get through it. : )