Anne Shirley is off to college in this artfully packaged edition of the third book in the Anne of Green Gables series. Anne is finally off to Redmond College! While she’s sad to be leaving Marilla and the twins, she’s excited to finally become a full-fledged BA, and to embark on new adventures with the other Avonlea folks attending Redmond—a group that includes her friend Gilbert Blythe. At Redmond Anne meets Philippa Gordon, a frivolous but charming girl who pulls Anne into the center of the Redmond social scene. As Anne becomes the object of several boys’ affection, she’s faced with numerous proposals she can’t possibly accept. Then Gilbert ruins everything by declaring his own feelings for her, and Anne worries that she’s lost one of her best friends…and possibly so much more. This addition to the renowned Anne of Green Gables series makes a wonderful gift and keepsake. Lucy Maud Montgomery (November 30, 1874–April 24, 1942) publicly known as L.M. Montgomery, was a Canadian author best known for a series of novels beginning with Anne of Green Gables , published in 1908. Anne of Green Gables was an immediate success. The central character, Anne, an orphaned girl, made Montgomery famous in her lifetime and gave her an international following. The first novel was followed by a series of sequels. Montgomery went on to publish twenty novels as well as 500 short stories and poems. Because many of the novels were set on Prince Edward Island, Canada and the Canadian province became literary landmarks. She was awarded Officer of the Order of the British Empire in 1935. Anne of the Island THE SHADOW OF CHANGE Harvest is ended and summer is gone,” quoted Anne Shirley, gazing across the shorn fields dreamily. She and Diana Barry had been picking apples in the Green Gables orchard, but were now resting from their labors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of thistledown drifted by on the wings of a wind that was still summer-sweet with the incense of ferns in the Haunted Wood. But everything in the landscape around them spoke of autumn. The sea was roaring hollowly in the distance, the fields were bare and sere, scarfed with golden rod, the brook valley below Green Gables overflowed with asters of ethereal purple, and the Lake of Shining Waters was blue—blue—blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor the pale azure of summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if the water were past all moods and tenses of emotion and had settled down to a tranquility unbroken by fickle dreams. “It has been a nice summer,” said Diana, twisting the new ring on her left hand with a smile. “And Miss Lavendar’s wedding seemed to come as a sort of crown to it. I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Irving are on the Pacific coast now.” “It seems to me they have been gone long enough to go around the world,” sighed Anne. “I can’t believe it is only a week since they were married. Everything has changed. Miss Lavendar and Mr. and Mrs. Allan gone—how lonely the manse looks with the shutters all closed! I went past it last night, and it made me feel as if everybody in it had died.” “We’ll never get another minister as nice as Mr. Allan,” said Diana, with gloomy conviction. “I suppose we’ll have all kinds of supplies this winter, and half the Sundays no preaching at all. And you and Gilbert gone—it will be awfully dull.” “Fred will be here,” insinuated Anne slyly. “When is Mrs. Lynde going to move up?” asked Diana, as if she had not heard Anne’s remark. “Tomorrow. I’m glad she’s coming—but it will be another change. Marilla and I cleared everything out of the spare room yesterday. Do you know, I hated to do it? Of course, it was silly—but it did seem as if we were committing sacrilege. That old spare room has always seemed like a shrine to me. When I was a child I thought it the most wonderful apartment in the world. You remember what a consuming desire I had to sleep in a spare room bed—but not the Green Gables spare room. Oh, no, never there! It would have been too terrible—I couldn’t have slept a wink from awe. I never walked through that room when Marilla sent me in on an errand—no, indeed, I tiptoed through it and held my breath, as if I were in church, and felt relieved when I got out of it. The pictures of George Whitefield and the Duke of Wellington hung there, one on each side of the mirror, and frowned so sternly at me all the time I was in, especially if I dared peep in the mirror, which was the only one in the house that didn’t twist my face a little. I always wondered how Marilla dared houseclean that room. And now it’s not only cleaned but stripped bare. George Whitefield and the Duke have been relegated to the upstairs hall. ‘So passes the glory of this world,’ ” concluded Anne, with a laugh in which there was a little note of regret. It is never pleasant to have our old shrines desecrated, even when we have outgrown them. “I’ll be so lonesome when you go,” moaned Diana for the hundredth time. “And to think y