All things considered, it was a relief when going-away time came.  And it was very jolly to be back at Redmond, a wise, experienced Soph with hosts of friends to greet on the merry opening day.  Pris and Stella and Gilbert were there, Charlie Sloane, looking more important than ever a Sophomore looked before, Phil, with the Alec-and-Alonzo question still unsettled, and Moody Spurgeon MacPherson.  Moody Spurgeon had been teaching school ever since leaving Queen’s, but his mother had concluded it was high time he gave it up and turned his attention to learning how to be a minister.  Poor Moody Spurgeon fell on hard luck at the very beginning of his college career.  Half a dozen ruthless Sophs, who were among his fellow-boarders, swooped down upon him one night and shaved half of his head.  In this guise the luckless Moody Spurgeon had to go about until his hair grew again.  He told Anne bitterly that there were times when he had his doubts as to whether he was really called to be a minister.

Aunt Jamesina did not come until the girls had Patty’s Place ready for her.  Miss Patty had sent the key to Anne, with a letter in which she said Gog and Magog were packed in a box under the spare-room bed, but might be taken out when wanted; in a postscript she added that she hoped the girls would be careful about putting up pictures.  The living room had been newly papered five years before and she and Miss Maria did not want any more holes made in that new paper than was absolutely necessary.  For the rest she trusted everything to Anne.

How those girls enjoyed putting their nest in order!  As Phil said, it was almost as good as getting married.  You had the fun of homemaking without the bother of a husband.  All brought something with them to adorn or make comfortable the little house.  Pris and Phil and Stella had knick-knacks and pictures galore, which latter they proceeded to hang according to taste, in reckless disregard of Miss Patty’s new paper.

“We’ll putty the holes up when we leave, dear—­she’ll never know,” they said to protesting Anne.

Diana had given Anne a pine needle cushion and Miss Ada had given both her and Priscilla a fearfully and wonderfully embroidered one.  Marilla had sent a big box of preserves, and darkly hinted at a hamper for Thanksgiving, and Mrs. Lynde gave Anne a patchwork quilt and loaned her five more.

“You take them,” she said authoritatively.  “They might as well be in use as packed away in that trunk in the garret for moths to gnaw.”

No moths would ever have ventured near those quilts, for they reeked of mothballs to such an extent that they had to be hung in the orchard of Patty’s Place a full fortnight before they could be endured indoors.  Verily, aristocratic Spofford Avenue had rarely beheld such a display.  The gruff old millionaire who lived “next door” came over and wanted to buy the gorgeous red and yellow “tulip-pattern” one which Mrs. Rachel