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Gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne's long red braid, held it out at arm's length and said in a piercing whisper: "Carrots! Carrots!" Then Anne looked at him with a vengeance! She did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright fancies fallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant glance at Gilbert from eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angry tears. "You mean, hateful boy!" she exclaimed passionately. "How dare you!" And then—thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head and cracked it—slate not head—clear across.
"Marilla, isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"
"Anne Shirley, what have you done to your hair? Why, it's GREEN!"
"Dear old world," she murmured, "you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you."
"'God's in his heaven, all's right with the world,'" whispered Anne softly.
Anne paused to throw her arm about a slim young birch and kiss its cream-white trunk. Diana, rounding a curve in the path, saw her and laughed.