CHAPTER ELEVEN
It had been three months since Gilbert left Avonlea, and still nobody except John Blythe knew where he had gone. Though a great disbeliever in lying, he felt it necessary in this exceptionally rare instance to do his son a favour and convince others that he knew not of his whereabouts. Each time he passed Anne in the street, he felt a sudden compulsion to beg her to write to Gilbert and sort out this mess before the whole thing was blown out of proportion. But the Blythe pride was certainly evident on these occasions; his courage failed him, and he continued on his way, though his heart would break, for he knew in his heart that Anne Shirley despaired for his son.
It had been three months since Gilbert left Avonlea, and still nobody except John Blythe knew where he had gone. Though a great disbeliever in lying, he felt it necessary in this exceptionally rare instance to do his son a favour and convince others that he knew not of his whereabouts. Each time he passed Anne in the street, he felt a sudden compulsion to beg her to write to Gilbert and sort out this mess before the whole thing was blown out of proportion. But the Blythe pride was certainly evident on these occasions; his courage failed him, and he continued on his way, though his heart would break, for he knew in his heart that Anne Shirley despaired for his son.