“Oh, Anne, here’s a letter for you.  I was at the office, so I thought I’d bring it along.  Do open it quick.  If it is what I believe it is I shall just be wild with delight.”  Anne, puzzled, opened the letter and glanced over the typewritten contents.

Miss Anne Shirley,

Green Gables,

Avonlea, P.E.  Island.

“Dear madam:  We have much pleasure in informing you that your charming story ‘Averil’s Atonement’ has won the prize of twenty-five dollars offered in our recent competition.  We enclose the check herewith.  We are arranging for the publication of the story in several prominent Canadian newspapers, and we also intend to have it printed in pamphlet form for distribution among our patrons.  Thanking you for the interest you have shown in our enterprise, we remain,

“Yours very truly,

“The Rollings reliable

“Baking powder Co.”

“I don’t understand,” said Anne, blankly.

Diana clapped her hands.

“Oh, I knew it would win the prize—­I was sure of it. I sent your story into the competition, Anne.”

“Diana—­Barry!”

“Yes, I did,” said Diana gleefully, perching herself on the bed.  “When I saw the offer I thought of your story in a minute, and at first I thought I’d ask you to send it in.  But then I was afraid you wouldn’t—­you had so little faith left in it.  So I just decided I’d send the copy you gave me, and say nothing about it.  Then, if it didn’t win the prize, you’d never know and you wouldn’t feel badly over it, because the stories that failed were not to be returned, and if it did you’d have such a delightful surprise.”

Diana was not the most discerning of mortals, but just at this moment it struck her that Anne was not looking exactly overjoyed.  The surprise was there, beyond doubt—­but where was the delight?

“Why, Anne, you don’t seem a bit pleased!” she exclaimed.

Anne instantly manufactured a smile and put it on.

“Of course I couldn’t be anything but pleased over your unselfish wish to give me pleasure,” she said slowly.  “But you know—­I’m so amazed—­I can’t realize it—­and I don’t understand.  There wasn’t a word in my story about—­about—­” Anne choked a little over the word—­“baking powder.”

“Oh, I put that in,” said Diana, reassured.  “It was as easy as wink—­and of course my experience in our old Story Club helped me.  You know the scene where Averil makes the cake?  Well, I just stated that she used the Rollings Reliable in it, and that was why it turned out so well; and then, in the last paragraph, where Perceval clasps Averil in his arms and says, ’Sweetheart, the beautiful coming years will bring us the fulfilment of our home of dreams,’ I added, ’in which we will never use any baking powder except Rollings Reliable.’”

“Oh,” gasped poor Anne, as if some one had dashed cold water on her.