They walked slowly along the brick path towards the shop. The sunset had faded into a grayish purple, with a few splashes of pink on the horizon. Gilbert, looking sideways at Anne as they walked arm in arm, observed that she had one of the finest profiles he had ever seen – that nose! And the curve of her neck, slipping away into the folds of her gown…he inhaled deeply.

"Yes, definitely," he said, as if continuing a conversation. "You are one."

"One what?"

"I don't know how to describe it," Gilbert said thoughtfully. "I met you a few hours ago, but I feel like I've known you much longer. Anne, we are going to be great friends!"

Anne's heart beat rapidly. It was thrilling to hear the word "friend."

"You mean we're kindred spirits, I suppose." It had been years since she had allowed herself to dream about having a kindred spirit. She smiled as she uttered the old familiar phrase.

"Yes, that's it! So you agree? I'm so glad, Anne. It will be refreshing to have a friend outside the usual circle. Although, I will have to introduce you to all my other chums. Don't worry," he said, noticing the anxious look on her face. "You'll be a smashing hit. I have no doubt."

Anne was silent for awhile. Looking down at her, Gilbert was surprised by the fear in her eyes.

"I don't know," she said quietly, biting her lip.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"You couldn't possibly understand," she replied shortly, angry at herself for betraying weakness.

Gilbert saw that he had touched a sore spot. His heart reached out to this pale, lonely girl; he longed to wrap his arm around her protectively and assure her that she had nothing to fear. But he knew so little of her history, and he had known her for so short a time. He didn't want to risk angering her. He had often heard that red heads had fiery tempers. So, rather than pressing it, he decided to direct the conversation towards a lighter topic.

"Did you decide what to write your essay on?" he asked her.

"I'm not sure yet. I hate the topic. Do you know what it is?"

"Isn't it something like, 'Describe the experience that inspired you to pursue higher education'?"

"Yes," said Anne with a sigh. "How can I narrow it down to one experience? My whole life I've wanted to go to college, as long as I can remember. It wasn't like I was trampled by a herd of wild antelope, and as I lie paralyzed in bed, struggling between life and death, a voice came to me, saying 'Anne, go to college; it is your destiny.'"

"Strange. That's exactly how I decided to come here." said Gilbert.

Anne could not subdue a giggle, and so the two shared their first chummy laugh.

"Seriously, though," she began, after they had both composed themselves. "I would have a much easier time with the essay if I could only describe the passion I feel while watching a beautiful sunset, or the listening to the song of a babbling brook."

"Well, if that's what you're set on writing about, I'm sure you could work it into the essay."

"How?"

"I haven't known you very long, Anne, but it's obvious you have a love of nature and a gift for words. You want to be a writer, I assume."

"How did you know that?" Anne asked with surprise. She had always wanted to be a writer. But it had been a very long time since she had given thought to pursuing that dream.

"You just seem like the writerly type. Anyway, you should write about how you want to write. Describe the passion you feel for nature, and how that passion inspires you to write poetry and stories, and how that dream in turn inspired you to go to college, where you could learn to write better."

"Hmm," Anne murmured thoughtfully.

"It's just a start. But in a vague, open-ended essay like the one for the scholarship, you'll find you can pretty much write about anything you like."

"Well, aren't you a smug one?" said Anne, with a twinkle in her eye. "You seem to know all there is to know about writing essays."

"Not really," Gilbert replied modestly. "I'm studying the sciences. I was always better at chemistry and math than English. In fact, my dream is to be a doctor some day."

Anne grimaced, remembering her painful experiences with geometry at the orphanage school. Why anyone would willingly subject themselves to math, she could not tell. Still, being a doctor was a noble profession. She said so to Gilbert.

"It's not the profession that makes you noble, Anne; it's the reason you do it. My father has been a farmer all his life. He never went to high school or college. But if I am ever half as noble as him, I will be perfectly satisfied with myself."

"I suppose you are right," she said, thinking of the social workers that had run the various orphanages she inhabited. Surely devoting your life to caring for orphans sounded noble. But she could not use that word to describe those cold-hearted, penny-pinching, irritable women that caused her so much pain and humiliation over the years.

"Well, here we are." They had finally arrived at the shop, which sat directly underneath Anne's apartment. "Thank you for walking me home. I had a lovely time."

"It was my pleasure, Anne," said Gilbert, reluctantly releasing the slender arm which had been tucked inside his strong, masculine one for the last quarter of an hour.

"Well, goodnight," said Anne, turning to go inside.

"Wait!" said Gilbert suddenly.

"Yes?"

"I'm throwing a picnic tomorrow afternoon with a few friends. Nothing too extravagant – we'll sit by the river and maybe have a game of football. I'd love for you to come."

"Oh, I don't know," Anne said nervously.

"Please come! We're meeting at one tomorrow. It's Sunday, so you don't have work as an excuse."

"We'll see," Anne said. She did want to go. It was refreshing to want something again. She had reconciled herself to a life of dullness and had really, as much as it is possible for a girl of 18, given up wanting anything. But she had enjoyed her walk home with this cheerful Gilbert Blythe. Somehow he had managed to slip an arrow of friendship beyond her cold exterior. The harm was done; Anne found herself caring about him. To care about ianything/i, after these months of numbness that seemed to stretch into infinity, was surely a blessing.

As Gilbert walked back to his boarding house that night, the sound of Anne's quiet, heartfelt laughter echoed in his ears. And when he reached his home and found a note from Christine, playfully reminding him to pick her up before tomorrow's picnic, he could not understand why a pair of large gray eyes kept intruding his thoughts.