The Delights of Anticipation

"It's time Anne was in to do her sewing," said Marilla, glancing
at the clock and then out into the yellow August afternoon where
everything drowsed in the heat. "She stayed playing with Diana
more than half an hour more'n I gave her leave to; and now she's
perched out there on the woodpile talking to Matthew, nineteen to
the dozen, when she knows perfectly well she ought to be at her
work. And of course he's listening to her like a perfect ninny.
I never saw such an infatuated man. The more she talks and the
odder the things she says, the more he's delighted evidently.
Anne Shirley, you come right in here this minute, do you hear me!"

A series of staccato taps on the west window brought Anne flying
in from the yard, eyes shining, cheeks faintly flushed with pink,
unbraided hair streaming behind her in a torrent of brightness.

"Oh, Marilla," she exclaimed breathlessly, "there's going to be a
Sunday-school picnic next week--in Mr. Harmon Andrews's field,
right near the lake of Shining Waters. And Mrs. Superintendent
Bell and Mrs. Rachel Lynde are going to make ice cream--think of
it, Marilla--ICE CREAM! And, oh, Marilla, can I go to it?"

"Just look at the clock, if you please, Anne. What time did I
tell you to come in?"

"Two o'clock--but isn't it splendid about the picnic, Marilla?
Please can I go? Oh, I've never been to a picnic--I've dreamed of
picnics, but I've never--"