"How dear the woods are! You beautiful trees! I love every one of you as a friend." Anne paused to throw her arm about a slim young birch and kiss its cream-white trunk. Diana, rounding a curve in the path, saw her and laughed. "Anne Shirley, you're only pretending to be grown up. I believe when you're alone you're as much a little girl as you ever were." "Well, one can't get over the habit of being a little girl all at once," said Anne gaily. "You see, I was little for fourteen years and I've only been grown-uppish for scarcely three. I'm sure I shall always feel like a child in the woods."
Anne of Avonlea, by L.M. Montgomery




















