Rainbow Valley (Unabridged). Lucy Maud Montgomery

in talking gossip about my neighbours. He tore them something scandalous last night in Rainbow Valley.”

      “Where is Walter?” asked Anne.

      “He is up to no good, I fear, Mrs. Dr. dear. He is in the attic writing something in an exercise book. And he has not done as well in arithmetic this term as he should, so the teacher tells me. Too well I know the reason why. He has been writing silly rhymes when he should have been doing his sums. I am afraid that boy is going to be a poet, Mrs. Dr. dear.”

      “He is a poet now, Susan.”

      “Well, you take it real calm, Mrs. Dr. dear. I suppose it is the best way, when a person has the strength. I had an uncle who began by being a poet and ended up by being a tramp. Our family were dreadfully ashamed of him.”

      “You don’t seem to think very highly of poets, Susan,” said Anne, laughing.

      “Who does, Mrs. Dr. dear?” asked Susan in genuine astonishment.

      “What about Milton and Shakespeare? And the poets of the Bible?”

      “They tell me Milton could not get along with his wife, and Shakespeare was no more than respectable by times. As for the Bible, of course things were different in those sacred days — although I never had a high opinion of King David, say what you will. I never knew any good to come of writing poetry, and I hope and pray that blessed boy will outgrow the tendency. If he does not — we must see what emulsion of cod-liver oil will do.”