The firs in the Haunted Wood were all feathery and wonderful ; the birches and wild cherry trees were outlined in pearl ; the plowed fields were stretches of snowy dimples ; and there was a crisp tang in the air that was glorious . Anne ran downstairs singing until her voice reechoed through Green Gables . `` Merry Christmas , Marilla ! Merry Christmas , Matthew ! Is n't it a lovely Christmas ? I 'm so glad it 's white . Any other kind of Christmas does n't seem real , does it ? I do n't like green Christmases . They 're not green -- they 're just nasty faded browns and grays . What makes people call them green ? Why -- why -- Matthew , is that for me ? Oh , Matthew ! '' Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and held it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla , who feigned to be contemptuously filling the teapot , but nevertheless watched the scene out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air . Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence . Oh , how pretty it was -- a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk ; a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings ; a waist elaborately pintucked in the most fashionable way , with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck . But the sleeves -- they were the crowning glory ! Long elbow cuffs , and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of brown-silk ribbon . `` That 's a Christmas present for you , Anne , '' said Matthew shyly . `` Why -- why -- Anne , do n't you like it ? Well now -- well now . ''
For Anne 's eyes had suddenly filled XXXXX tears .
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