But when I'm up in school it's all different and I care as much as ever.
There's such a lot of different Annes in me.

I sometimes think that is why I'm such a troublesome person.

If I was just the one Anne it would be ever so much more comfortable, but then it wouldn't be half so interesting." One June evening, when the orchards were pink blossomed again, when the frogs were singing silverly sweet in the marshes about the head of the Lake of Shining Waters, and the air was full of the savor of clover fields and balsamic fir woods, Anne was sitting by her gable window.
She had been studying her lessons, but it had grown too dark to see the book, so she had fallen into wide-eyed reverie, looking out past the boughs of the Snow Queen, once more bestarred with its tufts of blossom.
In all essential respects the little gable chamber was unchanged.

The walls were as white, the pincushion as hard, the chairs as stiffly and yellowly upright as ever.

Yet the whole character of the room was altered.