in the child's heart, a keen and dreadful fear of the future. The past
seemed so secure and pleasant, as she looked back, and now she was in
the power of a fateful future which had begun with something like a
whirlwind that had swept over her, leaving nothing unchanged. It
seemed to her that this was to be incessant, and that being grown up
was to be at the mercy of sorrow and uncertainty. She was pale and
quiet during her last days in the old home, answering questions and
obeying directions mechanically; but usually sitting in the least
visited part of the kitchen, watching the neighbors as they examined
her grandmother's possessions, and properly disposed of the contents
of the house. Sometimes a spark flew from her sad and angry eyes, but
she made no trouble, and seemed dull and indifferent. Late in the
evening Dr. Leslie carried her home with him through the first heavy
snow-storm of the year, and between the excitement of being covered
from the fast-falling flakes, and so making a journey in the dark, and
of keeping hold of the basket which contained the enraged kitten, the
grief at leaving home was not dwelt upon.

When she had been unwound from one of the doctor's great cloaks, and
her eyes had grown used to the bright light in the dining-room, and
Marilla had said that supper had been waiting half an hour, and she
did not know how she should get along with a black cat, and then
bustled about talking much faster than usual, because the sight of the
lonely child had made her ready to cry, Nan began to feel comforted.
It seemed a great while ago that she had cried at her grandmother's
funeral. If this were the future it was certainly very welcome and
already very dear, and the time of distress was like a night of bad
dreams between two pleasant days.