The day was beautiful and the way was beautiful . Anne was almost sorry when they reached Hester Gray 's garden , and sat down on the old bench . But it was beautiful there , too -- as beautiful as it had been on the faraway day of the Golden Picnic , when Diana and Jane and Priscilla and she had found it . Then it had been lovely with narcissus and violets ; now golden rod had kindled its fairy torches in the corners and asters dotted it bluely . The call of the brook came up through the woods from the valley of birches with all its old allurement ; the mellow air was full of the purr of the sea ; beyond were fields rimmed by fences bleached silvery gray in the suns of many summers , and long hills scarfed with the shadows of autumnal clouds ; with the blowing of the west wind old dreams returned . `` I think , '' said Anne softly , `` that ` the land where dreams come true ' is in the blue haze yonder , over that little valley . '' `` Have you any unfulfilled dreams , Anne ? '' asked Gilbert . Something in his tone -- something she had not heard since that miserable evening in the orchard at Patty 's Place -- made Anne 's heart beat wildly . But she made answer lightly . `` Of course . Everybody has . It would n't do for us to have all our dreams fulfilled . We would be as good as dead if we had nothing left to dream about . What a delicious aroma that low-descending sun is extracting from the asters and ferns . I wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them . I 'm sure they would be very beautiful . '' Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked . `` I have a dream , '' he said slowly . `` I persist in dreaming it , although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true .
I dream XXXXX a home with a hearth-fire in it , a cat and dog , the footsteps of friends -- and YOU ! ''
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