Phil is sitting at a small table gazing very hard at the small box in front of her. Those who observe her closely will see that it is full of chocolates, and if you perhaps wonder why a small box of chocolates is worthy of such intense scrutiny, then you can't have met Phil yet.

After all, how ever is she to decide which one to eat? It is clearly ( Read more... )

Phil is curled up by the fire with the latest issue of The Canadian Woman. She has flipped right past the articles on new crochet techniques and moved directly on to the short serials at the back. There's this simply darling one about the wife of a Methodist missionary, but that's beside the point ( Read more... )

Here's someone you wouldn't have seen in a while, sitting at a table and sewing upon her brother's jacket, tiny, careful stitches ( Read more... )

Phil is sitting at a small table with, surprise surprise, a cup of tea. She has some stationery out and every once in a while she even writes a few lines, but doesn't seem to be enjoying it much. Come and interrupt this dutiful writer of thank-you notes.

If there were anyway to avoid using the door to the White Sands schoolhouse, Gilbert Blythe would take it. But since neither skipping work nor living in the schoolhouse is really an option, all he can do when the door brings him to the bar again is to sigh, get his tea, and sit in the most out of the way place he can find until the door decides to ( Read more... )

The door opens and in strolls Phil. In one hand she's carrying a folded up slip of paper and in the other a ball of yarn, some knitting needles, and what appears to be a crumpled up knitting project of some sort ( Read more... )

Tired though she is, from a restless night spent largely at the window of room 203, Anne can't hide herself away forever, and so comes downstairs, looking rather pale.

Her hand tightens on the banister, but she makes no motion to move over to where Gilbert is talking with another redhead ( Read more... )

It's been almost a week, for him, since Gilbert spoke and Anne refused him. He hasn't been back to Avonlea since, staying in White Sands, working and studying and trying not to think about Anne ( Read more... )

[OOM: Why friendly visits should be outlawed in Ambergeldar, and why does everyone insist on calling him Algernon?]

Someone comes in through the front door, whistling cheerfully.

"Lavender's blue," the tune goes,

"Rosemary's green,
When I am King,
You shall be--hullo," says the nice young man who had been whistling, to no one in particular, ( Read more... )

Amy has, apparently, finished whatever she's been working on for the past couple of days, because the pen and paper are no where in sight this evening ( Read more... )