LESLIE came over to the house of dreams one frosty October night, when moonlit mists were hanging over the harbor and curling like silver ribbons along the seaward glens. She looked as if she repented coming when Gilbert answered her knock; but Anne flew past him, pounced on her, and drew her in.
“I’m so glad you picked tonight for a call,” she said gaily. “I made up a lot of extra good fudge this afternoon and we want someone to help us eat it—before the fire—while we tell stories. Perhaps Captain Jim will drop in, too. This is his night.”
“No. Captain Jim is over home,” said Leslie. “He—he made me come here,” she added, half defiantly.
“I’ll say a thank-you to him for that when I see him,” said Anne, pulling easy chairs before the fire.
“Oh, I don’t mean that I didn’t want to come,” protested Leslie, flushing a little. “I—I’ve been thinking of coming—but it isn’t always easy for me to get away.”
“Of course it must be hard for you to leave Mr.
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