In the middle of the Rainbow Valley, stood Faith Meredith, and Una beside her sister, she was narrow, pale and dark-haired, and a basket on her arm as usual, pale, glimmering moon as Faith was the dazziling sun. "Walter Blythe, why do you have such great clothes, and it is not even Sunday. Have you forgotten that Rosemary waits for you at the Manse, right now, you should propably run and fast." Faith rebuked him in a strident tone of voice, glancing at him in a offhand manner, in her sparkling brown eyes. She glowed like a high summer rose, vibrant, vivid.

Walter glanced at Ken, his eyes were flooded with merriment, as he waved his hand lazily in a circle and said, "Well, Lord Poet, run a long now, women are never be left waiting, it's not polite."

Ken's laughter echoed in his ears, like a thrumming in his own blood, as Faith probably told some amusing anecdote, hopefully it was not that pig's story, but it was very likely, Walter wondered, as he was running up the grassy slope. Soon the romantic-looking Manse was in front of him.

Thick wild wines entangled in its walls, and hung, shading large windows. Walter picked up a few wild pansies, and cat bells, and hay from the yard, and quickly tied them in a bouquet. The living room of the Presbyterian Manse of Glen St Mary was beautiful and quiet, and clean. Full of love, and harmony. The love was still the only law in place, had been for years. Rosemary's pale graceful figure seemed to float towards Walter, in a nimbus. Rosemary glanced, once at Walter, and she nodded approvingly at the bouquet of flowers Walter handed her a little awkwardly as he said "Faith and Una reached me, I was in Rainbow Valley, apologies for being late."

Rosemary's serious, still girly features brightened as she smiled, the same sweet smile that had captured John Meredith's heart in that birch spring ten years earlier, and said, "I had no other students today, but now that you are here we can start."Lightly, Rosemary pointed toward the piano, which already had a few notes ready. Walter took a deep breath, and began to play the scales, the tones shimmering, bright, and light, and as Rosemary turned the page, Walter changed the pedal, and focused on Brahms. Walter heard in a distance Rosemary's soft voice say, "Walter, remember that your fingers, changing places at this point, and focus here, is a challenging point, that crossing of tones." Almost automatically, he made the required corrections, and the song changed. Almost too soon the hour was over, and little Bruce, walked into the room, calmly saying, "Mother, can you play some night music?" Walter glanced in amazement at Rosemary, who laughed glimmering, glittering strand of a sound, and said, "Walter can you bring up the notes of the Magic Flute, Bruce means a piece from there."Soon light and hilarious tone echoed in the room as Rosemary played the Papageno´s theme for her only son.

Suddenly the calm musical silence was broken by a soft bariton voice of Revered Meredith asking, "Rosemary, where are my collars, apparently today would be some prayer meeting where my presence would be desirable. Ah Walter, are you here for your piano class, it has ended right? I imagined for a moment that Una played, but it was you. If you want to play the church organ sometimes, no one uses them, after the previous organist retired and Una does not, as she does not like the attention of it brings."

Walter nodded, for being subject to all kinds of attention was horror to Una, as she much preferred to be useful in the background, quiet, but still so visible, if one knew where to look for, that elusive flash of blue and lace, and that clear pure soprano voice that floated high, if one ever happened to surprise Una, as she sometimes was singing hymns after Sunday service as she tidied the church up.

Faiths presence was always very clear, to him like a high note, utterly wonderful, and unattainable. The Rosamund's sonnets were just an experiment in form, an attempt to write open golden shimmering dreams. Rosamond was not Faith, not really, she just happened to be the closest golden ideal near at hand.

The Glen glimmered in the sunlight.

The bright summer air glowed, and at that moment Walter felt that he loved the whole world. It was quiet everywhere, the twins were somewhere and Jem was probably with Faith, but the living room wasn't empty at all, there was Ken.

He was sprawled in the couch, and he had some novel nearby, he had been reading, as if in passing Walter noticed that his blue-striped shirt matched Ken's colors much better, his olive toned skin, and clear features, than his own more pale colors. Ken grinned at him and that fond, archly teasing way asked "well Lord poet, did you get that Brahms in shape. Una happened to tell me what you were doing, at the Manse, but that took some persuasion, to get the information out of her, as she is shy. Faith went with Jem to somewhere, pretty soon after you had left. Mom has been trying for years to inspire me to play the piano, saying it would be a useful skill life-skill,but it doesn't interest me, too hard. I will stick to writing prose, and editing, poetry is your patch, not mine. It is well known fact that girls love men, who can play the piano, so it is good that you have that sorted here in this dearly beloved Island. Admittedly, if your sisters are not taken into account, there is no one really beautiful here in the Glen area except Faith Meredith, who is already spoken for, and Irene Howard, but she is too cold. If I ever find the girl of my dreams, she has to have a heart, and warmth. What do you think, Walt?"

Walter had listened quietly to Ken's monologue, and thought of Rilla, her delicate face that vivid change of color that had came and went, like a tide, as she saw Ken, who was dressed in the familiar clothes of her beloved brother. Walter shook his head without saying a word, and Ken stood up and said lightly "this clothing prank is an old, thing now. Funny that we are close the same size that this worked. I already miss my custom-made clothes, of course yours, are comfortable, very homely, but not on a same scale as mine, naturally. "

Whistling lightly, some hymn tune, Ken ran outside, with a wave and a smile to Walter, as he turned towards the road to the House of Dreams. His shadow was reflected on the vividly green grass for a moment, until it disappeared

Everything was as usual, like thousands of mornings, and days, before and yet it wasn't. Walter, felt the weight of the monogrammed cufflinks, and the soft, pigeon-gray coat, and the forest-green handkerchief, in his breast pocket, and he felt feverish, vague, and tense. It felt hard to breathe. The prank had been successful, but something else had emerged in its place, something he didn't want to examine too closely.

Suddenly Susan's friendly but firm voice was urging him "Walter, change your clothes, take off those Ken's showy feathers, I swear Toronto and all those posh schools and almost finished degrees have turned him into a right peacock, and help me frost the cake, for the Laidies Aid meeting, they will be here in a hour. Shirley had promised to do that, but that dear boy is out fishing, with Carl."

Walter smiled at Susan, pressed a light kiss to her cheek, and leaped up Ingelside's wide solid wood stairs, down one hallway to the left, and then he was in his room. A narrow iron bed with a thick duvet with greenish stripes, a blue-gray hand-woven oval rug on the floor, made by Marilla Cuthbert, and a mirror and a maple wardrobe, and a desk in the same shade with lockable drawers, and a bookshelf full of poetry.

The room still smelled of sandalwood, Walter closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened the window. Soft, warm, fragrant summer air flowed into the room, and linen curtains swayed in the breeze.

Quickly, Walter dressed in soft, light cotton, as it was too hot to dress anything more, heavy, and took his notebook, and went down to help Susan. Under Susan's critical eyes, Walter frosted the cake as instructed, and folded the linen apron back into the hanger. And then he quickly walked out of the house, wanting to avoid a meeting of Laidies Aid, he hadn't liked them when he had been eavesdropping under a tablecloth years ago. But that kind of charity and tea diplomacy was mandatory, but why? Suitability standards, and because it had always been done, but it was all excuse to women to be catty towards, somebody else, not present. The ever flowing tide of gossip, and small scandals were a bread and butter of these meetings, as much Susans cake and fresh, just poured tea, in the rosebud porcelain cups, - the Good China – of Walter´s childhood.

Walter walked to Rainbow Valley, the calm and fresh nature of the dell calmed his soul, as always. A mighty spruce, full of dim holes, a tree of lovers, birches, and thousands, other beloved places, in that enchanted, sparkling kingdom. Startled, Walter looked up as he approached his favorite spot, but it was already taken. There sat slim, girlish familiar figure dressed in blue, it was Una.

She looked at Walter, calmly and seriously, like a glass saint in a church window, and said in a quiet voice that he had to bow closer to hear, "Rosemary said the class went well. If, you want we can sometimes play together, but only if you have time " Walter nodded, and said, " Una, do you think there is someone for everyone, a person who is predestined." A light, hazy tint of red rose on Una's face, and for one moment she seemed to freeze in place, but in the end she muttered, " Walter, I'm not a theologian, but I think God has a plan for us all. You just have to trust that the right path will be found, in the end."Then gently Una passed him, as she walked towards Manse, her voice shone in the air like a silver flute as she called

"Take care Walter!"

Calmly, the hours intertwined.

The air around him was clean a hint of resinous odor, and sweet flowers, mingled, and a plentiful moon rose into the slowly darkening sky, and Walter quoted Tennyson in a low voice, but he soon realized that the familiar verses did not bring comfort, at all.

So feeling anxious and gloomy, he walked back to Ingelside, which was softly lit, lanterns hung in the garden, and his sisters walked in the yard, colorful, like butterflies.

Anne came up to him, in the cool moonlight, and said, sorrowful tone, "Walter, Ken suddenly had to go back to Toronto, he left you a message, it's in your room." Walter nodded, quickly, as there was nothing to be said, after all.

Soon he looked at the familiar, strong handwriting and opened the envelope. There were two objects, a small Eiffel Tower souvenir and a thin pure grey silk scarf, and a letter.

18.7.1913, The House of Dreams, Glen St. Mary

Lord Poet!

Toronto's temptations call again.

I'll leave you with a few memories of mine and advice.

I suggest that in your final year in Redmond, you focus on honing your French, because I thought we could go to Paris next summer, because art and food, as well as other attractions, are first class there.

Keep reading that Proust!

All the best, as always, K.F.

Walter leaned his head in his hands, humming, as he looked at the clear sky, and he smiled. His hazy image was momentarily reflected from the surface of the window, distorted. From downstairs came mother's bright voice that called out, "Walter, come to have some evening tea. "

In the lightest steps Walter tied a gray scarf, Ken's scarf, around his neck, and descended the stairs, his mood was suddenly very light, and happy.