`` I read somewhere once that souls were like flowers , '' said Priscilla . `` Then your soul is a golden narcissus , '' said Anne , `` and Diana 's is like a red , red rose . Jane 's is an apple blossom , pink and wholesome and sweet . '' `` And your own is a white violet , with purple streaks in its heart , '' finished Priscilla . Jane whispered to Diana that she really could not understand what they were talking about . Could she ? The girls went home by the light of a calm golden sunset , their baskets filled with narcissus blossoms from Hester 's garden , some of which Anne carried to the cemetery next day and laid upon Hester 's grave . Minstrel robins were whistling in the firs and the frogs were singing in the marshes . All the basins among the hills were brimmed with topaz and emerald light . `` Well , we have had a lovely time after all , '' said Diana , as if she had hardly expected to have it when she set out . `` It has been a truly golden day , '' said Priscilla . `` I 'm really awfully fond of the woods myself , '' said Jane . Anne said nothing . She was looking afar into the western sky and thinking of little Hester Gray . XIV A Danger Averted Anne , walking home from the post office one Friday evening , was joined by Mrs. Lynde , who was as usual cumbered with all the cares of church and state . `` I 've just been down to Timothy Cotton 's to see if I could get Alice Louise to help me for a few days , '' she said . `` I had her last week , for , though she 's too slow to stop quick , she 's better than nobody . But she 's sick and ca n't come . Timothy 's sitting there , too , coughing and complaining . He 's been dying for ten years and he 'll go on dying for ten years more .
That kind ca n't even die and have done XXXXX it ... they ca n't stick to anything , even to being sick , long enough to finish it .
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