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I'm trying to be as much like Mrs. Allan as I possibly can, for I think she's perfect.

Mr. Allan thinks so too.

Mrs. Lynde says he just worships the ground she treads on and she doesn't really think it right for a minister to set his affections so much on a mortal being.

But then, Diana, even ministers are human and have their besetting sins just like everybody else.

I had such an interesting talk with Mrs. Allan about besetting sins last Sunday afternoon.

There are just a few things it's proper to talk about on Sundays and that is one of them.

My besetting sin is imagining too much and forgetting my duties.

I'm striving very hard to overcome it and now that I'm really thirteen perhaps I'll get on better."

"In four more years we'll be able to put our hair up," said Diana. "Alice Bell is only sixteen and she is wearing hers up, but I think that's ridiculous. I shall wait until I'm seventeen."

"If I had Alice Bell's crooked nose," said Anne decidedly, "I wouldn't-but there! I won't say what I was going to because it was extremely uncharitable.

Besides, I was comparing it with my own nose and that's vanity.

I'm afraid I think too much about my nose ever since I heard that compliment about it long ago.

It really is a great comfort to me.

Oh, Diana, look, there's a rabbit.

That's something to remember for our woods composition.

I really think the woods are just as lovely in winter as in summer.

They're so white and still, as if they were asleep and dreaming pretty dreams."

"I won't mind writing that composition when its time comes," sighed Diana. "I can manage to write about the woods, but the one we're to hand in Monday is terrible. The idea of Miss Stacy telling us to write a story out of our own heads!"

"Why, it's as easy as wink," said Anne.

"It's easy for you because you have an imagination," retorted Diana, "but what would you do if you had been born without one? I suppose you have your composition all done?"

Anne nodded, trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failing miserably.

"I wrote it last Monday evening.

It's called 'The Jealous Rival; or In Death Not Divided.' I read it to Marilla and she said it was stuff and nonsense.

Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine.

That is the kind of critic I like.

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