CHAPTER 28.
ODDS AND ENDS "I've been reading obituary notices," said Miss Cornelia, laying down the Daily Enterprise and taking up her sewing.
The harbor was lying black and sullen under a dour November sky; the wet, dead leaves clung drenched and sodden to the window sills; but the little house was gay with firelight and spring-like with Anne's ferns and geraniums.
"It's always summer here, Anne," Leslie had said one day; and all who were the guests of that house of dreams felt the same.
"The Enterprise seems to run to obituaries these days," quoth Miss Cornelia.

"It always has a couple of columns of them, and I read every line.

It's one of my forms of recreation, especially when there's some original poetry attached to them.

Here's a choice sample for you: She's gone to be with her Maker, Never more to roam.
She used to play and sing with joy The song of Home, Sweet Home.
Who says we haven't any poetical talent on the Island! Have you ever noticed what heaps of good people die, Anne, dearie?
It's kind of pitiful.

Here's ten obituaries, and every one of them saints and models, even the men.