No, it isn't--I can't make THAT seem real." She danced up to the little looking-glass and peered into it.

Her pointed freckled face and solemn gray eyes peered back at her.
"You're only Anne of Green Gables," she said earnestly, "and I see you, just as you are looking now, whenever I try to imagine I'm the Lady Cordelia.

But it's a million times nicer to be Anne of Green Gables than Anne of nowhere in particular, isn't it ?" She bent forward, kissed her reflection affectionately, and betook herself to the open window.
"Dear Snow Queen, good afternoon.

And good afternoon dear birches down in the hollow.

And good afternoon, dear gray house up on the hill.