on Sunday evenings, and all the church members present would get up and pray in turn, or say a few words on some Bible verse.  But one evening Aunt Atossa bounced up.  She didn’t either pray or preach.  Instead, she lit into everybody else in the church and gave them a fearful raking down, calling them right out by name and telling them how they all had behaved, and casting up all the quarrels and scandals of the past ten years.  Finally she wound up by saying that she was disgusted with Spencervale church and she never meant to darken its door again, and she hoped a fearful judgment would come upon it.  Then she sat down out of breath, and the minister, who hadn’t heard a word she said, immediately remarked, in a very devout voice, ’amen!  The Lord grant our dear sister’s prayer!’ You ought to hear father tell the story.”

“Speaking of stories, Diana,” remarked Anne, in a significant, confidential tone, “do you know that lately I have been wondering if I could write a short story—­a story that would be good enough to be published?”

“Why, of course you could,” said Diana, after she had grasped the amazing suggestion.  “You used to write perfectly thrilling stories years ago in our old Story Club.”

“Well, I hardly meant one of that kind of stories,” smiled Anne.  “I’ve been thinking about it a little of late, but I’m almost afraid to try, for, if I should fail, it would be too humiliating.”

“I heard Priscilla say once that all Mrs. Morgan’s first stories were rejected.  But I’m sure yours wouldn’t be, Anne, for it’s likely editors have more sense nowadays.”

“Margaret Burton, one of the Junior girls at Redmond, wrote a story last winter and it was published in the Canadian Woman.  I really do think I could write one at least as good.”

“And will you have it published in the Canadian Woman?”

“I might try one of the bigger magazines first.  It all depends on what kind of a story I write.”

“What is it to be about?”

“I don’t know yet.  I want to get hold of a good plot.  I believe this is very necessary from an editor’s point of view.  The only thing I’ve settled on is the heroine’s name.  It is to be Averil Lester.  Rather pretty, don’t you think?  Don’t mention this to any one, Diana.  I haven’t told anybody but you and Mr. Harrison.  He wasn’t very encouraging—­he said there was far too much trash written nowadays as it was, and he’d expected something better of me, after a year at college.”

“What does Mr. Harrison know about it?” demanded Diana scornfully.

They found the Gillis home gay with lights and callers.  Leonard Kimball, of Spencervale, and Morgan Bell, of Carmody, were glaring at each other across the parlor.  Several merry girls had dropped in.  Ruby was dressed in white and her eyes and cheeks were very brilliant.  She laughed and chattered incessantly, and after the other girls had gone she took Anne upstairs to display her new summer dresses.