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Decoding GymShark's Marketing: How a Fitness Brand Navigated Sales vs. Communication Goals

জিমশার্কের মার্কেটিং ডিকোডিং: কিভাবে একটি ফিটনেস ব্র্যান্ড নেভিগেট সেলস বনাম যোগাযোগ লক্ষ্য

GymSharks Marketing entschlüsselt: Wie eine Fitnessmarke Verkaufs- und Kommunikationsziele unter einen Hut brachte

Decodificando el marketing de GymShark: cómo una marca de fitness navegó entre las ventas y los objetivos de comunicación

Décoder le marketing de GymShark : comment une marque de fitness a géré ses objectifs de vente et de communication

जिमशार्क की मार्केटिंग को समझना: एक फिटनेस ब्रांड ने बिक्री बनाम संचार लक्ष्यों को कैसे पार किया

GymShark のマーケティングを解読: フィットネス ブランドが販売目標とコミュニケーション目標をどのように両立させたか

GymShark의 마케팅 해석: 피트니스 브랜드가 판매와 커뮤니케이션 목표를 탐색하는 방법

Decodificando o marketing da GymShark: como uma marca de fitness navegou pelas vendas versus metas de comunicação

Расшифровка маркетинга GymShark: как фитнес-бренд управлял продажами и коммуникационными целями

GymShark'ın Pazarlamasının Çözümü: Bir Fitness Markası Satış ve İletişim Hedeflerini Nasıl Yönlendirdi?

Giải mã hoạt động tiếp thị của GymShark: Cách một thương hiệu thể hình điều hướng doanh số bán hàng so với các mục tiêu truyền thông

解读 GymShark 的营销：健身品牌如何实现销售与沟通目标

363 Stories To Learn About Investing

197 Stories To Learn About Startup Marketing

I LOVE Kevin Kelly. One of his core beliefs is that "Over the long term, the future is decided by optimists." In the present world of doom and gloom and the never-ending stream of X influencers, Kevin offers a well-thought-out philosophy he laid out in his book Excellent Advice For Living: Wisdom I Wish I Knew Earlier. I categorised 44 of his quotes into 7 different areas of your life: Wisdom for life Creating better relationships Making wiser decisions The concept of time How to master oneself How to gain inner peace How to achieve excellence LIFE Your passions should fit you exactly, but your purpose in life should exceed you. Work for something much larger than yourself. - fulfillment is found in working towards something that extends beyond personal satisfaction. Lesson You owe everyone a second chance, but not a third. - forgiveness is good, but boundaries are necessary. Lesson Whenever you have a choice between being right or being kind, be kind.
No exceptions. Don't confuse kindness with weakness. - prioritize empathy and compassion over ego. Lesson Everyone is shy.
Other people are waiting for you to introduce yourself to them; they are waiting for you to send them an email; they are waiting for you to ask them on a date.
Go ahead. - everyone else is waiting for you to make the first move. Lesson Don't be afraid to ask a question that may sound stupid, because 99% of the time everyone else is thinking of the same question and is too embarrassed to ask it. - don't save face - be curious. Lesson The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing. - don't get sidetracked by distractions or unnecessary details. Lesson Don't bother asking a barber if you need a haircut. Pay attention to incentives. - people's recommendations are always influenced by their own interests. Lesson Before you are old, attend as many funerals as you can bear and listen.
Nobody talks about the departed's achievements. The only thing people will remember is what kind of person you were while you were achieving. - people don't remember what you did; they remember how you made them feel. Lesson Relationship with others Be strict with yourself, and forgiving of others. The reverse is hell for everyone. - have high standards for yourself and be lenient towards others. Lesson Life gets better as you replace transactions with relationships. - life improves when we truly connect. Lesson Listening well is a superpower. While listening to someone you love, keep asking them,
"Is there more?" until there is no more. - probing, and curiosity over assuming you know what the other person means. Lesson Compliment people behind their backs. It'll come back to you. - how you speak of others shows more about you. Lesson Don't aim to have others like you; aim to have them respect you. - being likable means appealing to everyone. Being respected requires being true to yourself and standing up for it. Lesson Train employees well enough that they could get another job, but treat them well enough that they never want to. - give, and you'll be reciprocated. Lesson Don't reserve your kindest praise for a person until their eulogy. Tell them while they are alive, when it makes a difference to them, Write it in a letter they can keep. - people regret things they didn't say - say them. Lesson How to apologize: quickly, specifically, sincerely.
Don't ruin an apology with an excuse. - an apology is for deepening the relationship not finding faults. Lesson Friends are better than money. Almost anything money can do friends can do better.
In so many ways, a friend with a boat is better than owning a boat. - some things money can't buy. Lesson Decision-making Fear makes people do stupid things, so don't trust anything made in fear. - don't place trust in fear. Lesson If the cost of something is not advertised, it is a sign that it's more than you can afford. - when the cost of something is not disclosed, it's most likely beyond your budget. Lesson Whenever you can't decide which path to take, pick the one that produces change. - choose risk over comfort. Lesson The best way to get to yes in a negotiation is to truly understand what yes means for the other party. - develop a skill of tactical empathy. Lesson Shorten your to-do list by asking yourself, 'What is the worst that will happen if this does not get done?'
Eliminate all but the disasters. - prioritize based on the severity of potential outcomes. Lesson In all things except love - start with the exit strategy. Prepare for the ending. Almost anything is easier to get into than out of. - it's easier to get into something than to extricate yourself from it. Lesson The trick to making wise decisions is to evaluate your choices as if you were looking back 25 years from today. What would your future self think? - consider the long-term implications of your decisions. Lesson Time You don't need more time because you already have all the time that you will ever get; you need more focus. - time is a finite resource. Focus is the knife that cuts through BS. Lesson Most overnight successes - in fact, any significant successes - take at least 5 years. Budget your life accordingly. hope for the best, plan for the long-term. Lesson - If you are not embarrassed by your past self, you have probably not grown up yet. - maturity often involves changes in perspective. Lesson Self The foundation of maturity: Just because it's not your fault doesn't mean it's not your responsibility. - taking responsibility is the root of maturity. Lesson A great way to understand yourself is to seriously reflect on everything you find irritating in others. - introspection is a tool for self-understanding. Lesson Acquiring things will rarely bring you deep satisfaction. But acquiring experiences will. - focus on fulfillment over appearances. Lesson In 100 years a lot of what we take to be true now will be proved to be wrong, maybe even embarrassingly wrong.
A good question to ask yourself today is, What might I be wrong about? This is the only worry worth having. - wisdom is being open for change. Lesson To cultivate a habit switch your language from 'I can or can't do! to 'I do or don't do."
You shift the weight from a wavering choice to an unwavering identity. - frame choices as part of your identity. Lesson You are what you do.
Not what you say, not what you believe, not how you vote, but what you spend your time on. - how you spend your time is a reflection of who you are. Lesson Inner peace Forgiveness is accepting the apology you will never get. - letting go of resentment can bring closure and peace. Lesson You don't have to attend every argument you are invited to. - choose your battles wisely. Lesson Constantly asking yourself "what-if?" about your past is a waste of time; asking "what-if?" about your future is tremendously useful. - same question, different outcome. Develop a forward-looking mindset, focusing on opportunities rather than regrets. Lesson Your best response to an insult is 'You're probably right.' Often they are. - notice the possibility of truth even in insults. Lesson Excellence Don’t be the best. Be the only. - transcend the pursuit of being the best and aim to be unique. Lesson A multitude of bad ideas is required to produce one good idea. - don't be afraid to persevere and experiment. Lesson If you are the smartest person in the room, you are in the wrong room.
Hang out with, and learn from, people smarter than yourself.
Even better, find smart people who will disagree with you. - value diverse perspectives to achieve personal growth. Lesson If you ask for someone's feedback you'll get a critic.
But if instead you ask for advice, you'll get a partner. - how you frame your requests shapes the answers you receive. Lesson When crises strike, don't waste them.
No problems, no progress. - crises can be opportunities for growth and progress. Lesson Admitting that "I don't know" at least once a day will make you a better person. - admitting a lack of knowledge is a virtue. Lesson Finite games are played to win or lose. Infinite games are played to keep the game going. Seek out infinite games because they yield unlimited rewards. - engage in endeavors that promote continuous growth over mere competition. Focus on lasting rewards. Lesson Remember Everything in life is your responsibility (response-ability) if you're willing to play the game. Developing mastery is not about being perfect but striving to be better every day. Better living is about self-introspection and focusing on the power you have to change. Also published . here

 44 Quotes From Kevin Kelly That Will Change Your Life

119 Stories To Learn About Dapps

The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . The Prophecy Realized here The Prophecy Realized Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example. —Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. It were not best that we should all think alike; it is difference of opinion that makes horse-races. —Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. Dawson’s Landing was comfortably finishing its season of dull repose and waiting patiently for the duel. Count Luigi was waiting, too; but not patiently, rumor said. Sunday came, and Luigi insisted on having his challenge conveyed. Wilson carried it. Judge Driscoll declined to fight with an assassin—“that is,” he added significantly, “in the field of honor.” Elsewhere, of course, he would be ready. Wilson tried to convince him that if he had been present himself when Angelo told about the homicide committed by Luigi, he would not have considered the act discreditable to Luigi; but the obstinate old man was not to be moved. Wilson went back to his principal and reported the failure of his mission. Luigi was incensed, and asked how it could be that the old gentleman, who was by no means dull-witted, held his trifling nephew’s evidence and inferences to be of more value than Wilson’s. But Wilson laughed, and said— “That is quite simple; that is easily explicable. I am not his doll—his baby—his infatuation: his nephew is. The Judge and his late wife never had any children. The Judge and his wife were past middle age when this treasure fell into their lap. One must make allowances for a parental instinct that has been starving for twenty-five or thirty years. It is famished, it is crazed with hunger by that time, and will be entirely satisfied with anything that comes handy; its taste is atrophied, it can’t tell mud-cat from shad. A devil born to a young couple is measurably recognizable by them as a devil before long, but a devil adopted by an old couple is an angel to them, and remains so, through thick and thin. Tom is this old man’s angel; he is infatuated with him. Tom can persuade him into things which other people can’t—not all things; I don’t mean that, but a good many—particularly one class of things: the things that create or abolish personal partialities or prejudices in the old man’s mind. The old man liked both of you. Tom conceived a hatred for you. That was enough; it turned the old man around at once. The oldest and strongest friendship must go to the ground when one of these late-adopted darlings throws a brick at it.” “It’s a curious philosophy,” said Luigi. “It ain’t a philosophy at all—it’s a fact. And there is something pathetic and beautiful about it, too. I think there is nothing more pathetic than to see one of these poor old childless couples taking a menagerie of yelping little worthless dogs to their hearts; and then adding some cursing and squawking parrots and a jackass-voiced macaw; and next a couple of hundred screeching song-birds, and presently some fetid guinea-pigs and rabbits, and a howling colony of cats. It is all a groping and ignorant effort to construct out of base metal and brass filings, so to speak, something to take the place of that golden treasure denied them by Nature, a child. But this is a digression. The unwritten law of this region requires you to kill Judge Driscoll on sight, and he and the community will expect that attention at your hands—though of course your own death by his bullet will answer every purpose. Look out for him! Are you heeled—that is, fixed?” “Yes, he shall have his opportunity. If he attacks me I will respond.” As Wilson was leaving, he said— “The Judge is still a little used up by his campaign work, and will not get out for a day or so; but when he does get out, you want to be on the alert.” About eleven at night the twins went out for exercise, and started on a long stroll in the veiled moonlight. Tom Driscoll had landed at Hackett’s Store, two miles below Dawson’s, just about half an hour earlier, the only passenger for that lonely spot, and had walked up the shore road and entered Judge Driscoll’s house without having encountered any one either on the road or under the roof. He pulled down his window-blinds and lighted his candle. He laid off his coat and hat and began his preparations. He unlocked his trunk and got his suit of girl’s clothes out from under the male attire in it, and laid it by. Then he blacked his face with burnt cork and put the cork in his pocket. His plan was, to slip down to his uncle’s private sitting-room below, pass into the bedroom, steal the safe-key from the old gentleman’s clothes, and then go back and rob the safe. He took up his candle to start. His courage and confidence were high, up to this point, but both began to waver a little, now. Suppose he should make a noise, by some accident, and get caught—say, in the act of opening the safe? Perhaps it would be well to go armed. He took the Indian knife from its hiding-place, and felt a pleasant return of his wandering courage. He slipped stealthily down the narrow stair, his hair rising and his pulses halting at the slightest creak. When he was half-way down, he was disturbed to perceive that the landing below was touched by a faint glow of light. What could that mean? Was his uncle still up? No, that was not likely; he must have left his night-taper there when he went to bed. Tom crept on down, pausing at every step to listen. He found the door standing open, and glanced in. What he saw pleased him beyond measure. His uncle was asleep on the sofa; on a small table at the head of the sofa a lamp was burning low, and by it stood the old man’s small tin cash-box, closed. Near the box was a pile of bank-notes and a piece of paper covered with figures in pencil. The safe-door was not open. Evidently the sleeper had wearied himself with work upon his finances, and was taking a rest. Tom set his candle on the stairs, and began to make his way toward the pile of notes, stooping low as he went. When he was passing his uncle, the old man stirred in his sleep, and Tom stopped instantly—stopped, and softly drew the knife from its sheath, with his heart thumping, and his eyes fastened upon his benefactor’s face. After a moment or two he ventured forward again—one step—reached for his prize and seized it, dropping the knife-sheath. Then he felt the old man’s strong grip upon him, and a wild cry of “Help! help!” rang in his ear. Without hesitation he drove the knife home—and was free. Some of the notes escaped from his left hand and fell in the blood on the floor. He dropped the knife and snatched them up and started to fly; transferred them to his left hand, and seized the knife again, in his fright and confusion, but remembered himself and flung it from him, as being a dangerous witness to carry away with him. He jumped for the stair-foot, and closed the door behind him; and as he snatched his candle and fled upward, the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of urgent footsteps approaching the house. In another moment he was in his room and the twins were standing aghast over the body of the murdered man! Tom put on his coat, buttoned his hat under it, threw on his suit of girl’s clothes, dropped the veil, blew out his light, locked the room door by which he had just entered, taking the key, passed through his other door into the back hall, locked that door and kept the key, then worked his way along in the dark and descended the back stairs. He was not expecting to meet anybody, for all interest was centered in the other part of the house, now; his calculation proved correct. By the time he was passing through the back-yard, Mrs. Pratt, her servants, and a dozen half-dressed neighbors had joined the twins and the dead, and accessions were still arriving at the front door. As Tom, quaking as with a palsy, passed out at the gate, three women came flying from the house on the opposite side of the lane. They rushed by him and in at the gate, asking him what the trouble was there, but not waiting for an answer. Tom said to himself, “Those old maids waited to dress—they did the same thing the night Stevens’s house burned down next door.” In a few minutes he was in the haunted house. He lighted a candle and took off his girl-clothes. There was blood on him all down his left side, and his right hand was red with the stains of the blood-soaked notes which he had crushed in it; but otherwise he was free from this sort of evidence. He cleansed his hand on the straw, and cleaned most of the smut from his face. Then he burned his male and female attire to ashes, scattered the ashes, and put on a disguise proper for a tramp. He blew out his light, went below, and was soon loafing down the river road with the intent to borrow and use one of Roxy’s devices. He found a canoe and paddled off down-stream, setting the canoe adrift as dawn approached, and making his way by land to the next village, where he kept out of sight till a transient steamer came along, and then took deck passage for St. Louis. He was ill at ease until Dawson’s Landing was behind him; then he said to himself, “All the detectives on earth couldn’t trace me now; there’s not a vestige of a clue left in the world; that homicide will take its place with the permanent mysteries, and people won’t get done trying to guess out the secret of it for fifty years.” In St. Louis, next morning, he read this brief telegram in the papers—dated at Dawson’s Landing: Judge Driscoll, an old and respected citizen, was assassinated here about midnight by a profligate Italian nobleman or barber on account of a quarrel growing out of the recent election. The assassin will probably be lynched. “One of the twins!” soliloquized Tom; “how lucky! It is the knife that has done him this grace. We never know when fortune is trying to favor us. I actually cursed Pudd’nhead Wilson in my heart for putting it out of my power to sell that knife. I take it back, now.” Tom was now rich and independent. He arranged with the planter, and mailed to Wilson the new bill of sale which sold Roxana to herself; then he telegraphed his Aunt Pratt: Have seen the awful news in the papers and am almost prostrated with grief. Shall start by packet to-day. Try to bear up till I come. When Wilson reached the house of mourning and had gathered such details as Mrs. Pratt and the rest of the crowd could tell him, he took command as mayor, and gave orders that nothing should be touched, but everything left as it was until Justice Robinson should arrive and take the proper measures as coroner. He cleared everybody out of the room but the twins and himself. The sheriff soon arrived and took the twins away to jail. Wilson told them to keep heart, and promised to do his best in their defense when the case should come to trial. Justice Robinson came presently, and with him Constable Blake. They examined the room thoroughly. They found the knife and the sheath. Wilson noticed that there were finger-prints on the knife-handle. That pleased him, for the twins had required the earliest comers to make a scrutiny of their hands and clothes, and neither these people nor Wilson himself had found any blood-stains upon them. Could there be a possibility that the twins had spoken the truth when they said they found the man dead when they ran into the house in answer to the cry for help? He thought of that mysterious girl at once. But this was not the sort of work for a girl to be engaged in. No matter; Tom Driscoll’s room must be examined. After the coroner’s jury had viewed the body and its surroundings, Wilson suggested a search up-stairs, and he went along. The jury forced an entrance to Tom’s room, but found nothing, of course. The coroner’s jury found that the homicide was committed by Luigi, and that Angelo was accessory to it. The town was bitter against the unfortunates, and for the first few days after the murder they were in constant danger of being lynched. The grand jury presently indicted Luigi for murder in the first degree, and Angelo as accessory before the fact. The twins were transferred from the city jail to the county prison to await trial. Wilson examined the finger-marks on the knife-handle and said to himself, “Neither of the twins made those marks.” Then manifestly there was another person concerned, either in his own interest or as hired assassin. But who could it be? That, he must try to find out. The safe was not open, the cash-box was closed, and had three thousand dollars in it. Then robbery was not the motive, and revenge was. Where had the murdered man an enemy except Luigi? There was but that one person in the world with a deep grudge against him. The mysterious girl! The girl was a great trial to Wilson. If the motive had been robbery, the girl might answer; but there wasn’t any girl that would want to take this old man’s life for revenge. He had no quarrels with girls; he was a gentleman. Wilson had perfect tracings of the finger-marks of the knife-handle; and among his glass-records he had a great array of finger-prints of women and girls, collected during the last fifteen or eighteen years, but he scanned them in vain, they successfully withstood every test; among them were no duplicates of the prints on the knife. The presence of the knife on the stage of the murder was a worrying circumstance for Wilson. A week previously he had as good as admitted to himself that he believed Luigi had possessed such a knife, and that he still possessed it notwithstanding his pretense that it had been stolen. And now here was the knife, and with it the twins. Half the town had said the twins were humbugging when they claimed that they had lost their knife, and now these people were joyful, and said, “I told you so!” If their finger-prints had been on the handle—but it was useless to bother any further about that; the finger-prints on the handle were theirs—that he knew perfectly. not Wilson refused to suspect Tom; for first, Tom couldn’t murder anybody—he hadn’t character enough; secondly, if he could murder a person he wouldn’t select his doting benefactor and nearest relative; thirdly, self-interest was in the way; for while the uncle lived, Tom was sure of a free support and a chance to get the destroyed will revived again, but with the uncle gone, that chance was gone, too. It was true the will had really been revived, as was now discovered, but Tom could not have been aware of it, or he would have spoken of it, in his native talky, unsecretive way. Finally, Tom was in St. Louis when the murder was done, and got the news out of the morning journals, as was shown by his telegram to his aunt. These speculations were unemphasized sensations rather than articulated thoughts, for Wilson would have laughed at the idea of seriously connecting Tom with the murder. Wilson regarded the case of the twins as desperate—in fact, about hopeless. For he argued that if a confederate was not found, an enlightened Missouri jury would hang them, sure; if a confederate was found, that would not improve the matter, but simply furnish one more person for the sheriff to hang. Nothing could save the twins but the discovery of a person who did the murder on his sole personal account—an undertaking which had all the aspect of the impossible. Still, the person who made the finger-prints must be sought. The twins might have no case him, but they certainly would have none without him. with So Wilson mooned around, thinking, thinking, guessing, guessing, day and night, and arriving nowhere. Whenever he ran across a girl or a woman he was not acquainted with, he got her finger-prints, on one pretext or another; and they always cost him a sigh when he got home, for they never tallied with the finger-marks on the knife-handle. As to the mysterious girl, Tom swore he knew no such girl, and did not remember ever seeing a girl wearing a dress like the one described by Wilson. He admitted that he did not always lock his room, and that sometimes the servants forgot to lock the house doors; still, in his opinion the girl must have made but few visits or she would have been discovered. When Wilson tried to connect her with the stealing-raid, and thought she might have been the old woman’s confederate, if not the very thief herself disguised as an old woman, Tom seemed stuck, and also much interested, and said he would keep a sharp eye out for this person or persons, although he was afraid that she or they would be too smart to venture again into a town where everybody would now be on the watch for a good while to come. Everybody was pitying Tom, he looked so quiet and sorrowful, and seemed to feel his great loss so deeply. He was playing a part, but it was not all a part. The picture of his alleged uncle, as he had last seen him, was before him in the dark pretty frequently, when he was awake, and called again in his dreams, when he was asleep. He wouldn’t go into the room where the tragedy had happened. This charmed the doting Mrs. Pratt, who realized now, “as she had never done before,” she said, what a sensitive and delicate nature her darling had, and how he adored his poor uncle. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Mark Twain (2004). The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/102/pg102-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

The Prophecy Realized

164 Stories To Learn About Ios

Anne of the Island by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . In the Park Chapter VI - In the Park “What are you going to do with yourselves today, girls?” asked Philippa, popping into Anne’s room one Saturday afternoon. “We are going for a walk in the park,” answered Anne. “I ought to stay in and finish my blouse. But I couldn’t sew on a day like this. There’s something in the air that gets into my blood and makes a sort of glory in my soul. My fingers would twitch and I’d sew a crooked seam. So it’s ho for the park and the pines.” “Does ‘we’ include any one but yourself and Priscilla?” “Yes, it includes Gilbert and Charlie, and we’ll be very glad if it will include you, also.” “But,” said Philippa dolefully, “if I go I’ll have to be gooseberry, and that will be a new experience for Philippa Gordon.” “Well, new experiences are broadening. Come along, and you’ll be able to sympathize with all poor souls who have to play gooseberry often. But where are all the victims?” “Oh, I was tired of them all and simply couldn’t be bothered with any of them today. Besides, I’ve been feeling a little blue—just a pale, elusive azure. It isn’t serious enough for anything darker. I wrote Alec and Alonzo last week. I put the letters into envelopes and addressed them, but I didn’t seal them up. That evening something funny happened. That is, Alec would think it funny, but Alonzo wouldn’t be likely to. I was in a hurry, so I snatched Alec’s letter—as I thought—out of the envelope and scribbled down a postscript. Then I mailed both letters. I got Alonzo’s reply this morning. Girls, I had put that postscript to his letter and he was furious. Of course he’ll get over it—and I don’t care if he doesn’t—but it spoiled my day. So I thought I’d come to you darlings to get cheered up. After the football season opens I won’t have any spare Saturday afternoons. I adore football. I’ve got the most gorgeous cap and sweater striped in Redmond colors to wear to the games. To be sure, a little way off I’ll look like a walking barber’s pole. Do you know that that Gilbert of yours has been elected Captain of the Freshman football team?” “Yes, he told us so last evening,” said Priscilla, seeing that outraged Anne would not answer. “He and Charlie were down. We knew they were coming, so we painstakingly put out of sight or out of reach all Miss Ada’s cushions. That very elaborate one with the raised embroidery I dropped on the floor in the corner behind the chair it was on. I thought it would be safe there. But would you believe it? Charlie Sloane made for that chair, noticed the cushion behind it, solemnly fished it up, and sat on it the whole evening. Such a wreck of a cushion as it was! Poor Miss Ada asked me today, still smiling, but oh, so reproachfully, why I had allowed it to be sat upon. I told her I hadn’t—that it was a matter of predestination coupled with inveterate Sloanishness and I wasn’t a match for both combined.” “Miss Ada’s cushions are really getting on my nerves,” said Anne. “She finished two new ones last week, stuffed and embroidered within an inch of their lives. There being absolutely no other cushionless place to put them she stood them up against the wall on the stair landing. They topple over half the time and if we come up or down the stairs in the dark we fall over them. Last Sunday, when Dr. Davis prayed for all those exposed to the perils of the sea, I added in thought ‘and for all those who live in houses where cushions are loved not wisely but too well!’ There! we’re ready, and I see the boys coming through Old St. John’s. Do you cast in your lot with us, Phil?” “I’ll go, if I can walk with Priscilla and Charlie. That will be a bearable degree of gooseberry. That Gilbert of yours is a darling, Anne, but why does he go around so much with Goggle-eyes?” Anne stiffened. She had no great liking for Charlie Sloane; but he was of Avonlea, so no outsider had any business to laugh at him. “Charlie and Gilbert have always been friends,” she said coldly. “Charlie is a nice boy. He’s not to blame for his eyes.” “Don’t tell me that! He is! He must have done something dreadful in a previous existence to be punished with such eyes. Pris and I are going to have such sport with him this afternoon. We’ll make fun of him to his face and he’ll never know it.” Doubtless, “the abandoned P’s,” as Anne called them, did carry out their amiable intentions. But Sloane was blissfully ignorant; he thought he was quite a fine fellow to be walking with two such coeds, especially Philippa Gordon, the class beauty and belle. It must surely impress Anne. She would see that some people appreciated him at his real value. Gilbert and Anne loitered a little behind the others, enjoying the calm, still beauty of the autumn afternoon under the pines of the park, on the road that climbed and twisted round the harbor shore. “The silence here is like a prayer, isn’t it?” said Anne, her face upturned to the shining sky. “How I love the pines! They seem to strike their roots deep into the romance of all the ages. It is so comforting to creep away now and then for a good talk with them. I always feel so happy out here.” “‘And so in mountain solitudes o’ertaken As by some spell divine, Their cares drop from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine,’” quoted Gilbert. “They make our little ambitions seem rather petty, don’t they, Anne?” “I think, if ever any great sorrow came to me, I would come to the pines for comfort,” said Anne dreamily. “I hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne,” said Gilbert, who could not connect the idea of sorrow with the vivid, joyous creature beside him, unwitting that those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and that the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply. “But there must—sometime,” mused Anne. “Life seems like a cup of glory held to my lips just now. But there must be some bitterness in it—there is in every cup. I shall taste mine some day. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it. And I hope it won’t be through my own fault that it will come. Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sunday evening—that the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strength with them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear? But we mustn’t talk of sorrow on an afternoon like this. It’s meant for the sheer joy of living, isn’t it?” “If I had my way I’d shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, Anne,” said Gilbert in the tone that meant “danger ahead.” “Then you would be very unwise,” rejoined Anne hastily. “I’m sure no life can be properly developed and rounded out without some trial and sorrow—though I suppose it is only when we are pretty comfortable that we admit it. Come—the others have got to the pavilion and are beckoning to us.” They all sat down in the little pavilion to watch an autumn sunset of deep red fire and pallid gold. To their left lay Kingsport, its roofs and spires dim in their shroud of violet smoke. To their right lay the harbor, taking on tints of rose and copper as it stretched out into the sunset. Before them the water shimmered, satin smooth and silver gray, and beyond, clean shaven William’s Island loomed out of the mist, guarding the town like a sturdy bulldog. Its lighthouse beacon flared through the mist like a baleful star, and was answered by another in the far horizon. “Did you ever see such a strong-looking place?” asked Philippa. “I don’t want William’s Island especially, but I’m sure I couldn’t get it if I did. Look at that sentry on the summit of the fort, right beside the flag. Doesn’t he look as if he had stepped out of a romance?” “Speaking of romance,” said Priscilla, “we’ve been looking for heather—but, of course, we couldn’t find any. It’s too late in the season, I suppose.” “Heather!” exclaimed Anne. “Heather doesn’t grow in America, does it?” “There are just two patches of it in the whole continent,” said Phil, “one right here in the park, and one somewhere else in Nova Scotia, I forget where. The famous Highland Regiment, the Black Watch, camped here one year, and, when the men shook out the straw of their beds in the spring, some seeds of heather took root.” “Oh, how delightful!” said enchanted Anne. “Let’s go home around by Spofford Avenue,” suggested Gilbert. “We can see all ‘the handsome houses where the wealthy nobles dwell.’ Spofford Avenue is the finest residential street in Kingsport. Nobody can build on it unless he’s a millionaire.” “Oh, do,” said Phil. “There’s a perfectly killing little place I want to show you, Anne. it wasn’t built by a millionaire. It’s the first place after you leave the park, and must have grown while Spofford Avenue was still a country road. It did grow—it wasn’t built! I don’t care for the houses on the Avenue. They’re too brand new and plateglassy. But this little spot is a dream—and its name—but wait till you see it.” They saw it as they walked up the pine-fringed hill from the park. Just on the crest, where Spofford Avenue petered out into a plain road, was a little white frame house with groups of pines on either side of it, stretching their arms protectingly over its low roof. It was covered with red and gold vines, through which its green-shuttered windows peeped. Before it was a tiny garden, surrounded by a low stone wall. October though it was, the garden was still very sweet with dear, old-fashioned, unworldly flowers and shrubs—sweet may, southern-wood, lemon verbena, alyssum, petunias, marigolds and chrysanthemums. A tiny brick wall, in herring-bone pattern, led from the gate to the front porch. The whole place might have been transplanted from some remote country village; yet there was something about it that made its nearest neighbor, the big lawn-encircled palace of a tobacco king, look exceedingly crude and showy and ill-bred by contrast. As Phil said, it was the difference between being born and being made. “It’s the dearest place I ever saw,” said Anne delightedly. “It gives me one of my old, delightful funny aches. It’s dearer and quainter than even Miss Lavendar’s stone house.” “It’s the name I want you to notice especially,” said Phil. “Look—in white letters, around the archway over the gate. ‘Patty’s Place.’ Isn’t that killing? Especially on this Avenue of Pinehursts and Elmwolds and Cedarcrofts? ‘Patty’s Place,’ if you please! I adore it.” “Have you any idea who Patty is?” asked Priscilla. “Patty Spofford is the name of the old lady who owns it, I’ve discovered. She lives there with her niece, and they’ve lived there for hundreds of years, more or less—maybe a little less, Anne. Exaggeration is merely a flight of poetic fancy. I understand that wealthy folk have tried to buy the lot time and again—it’s really worth a small fortune now, you know—but ‘Patty’ won’t sell upon any consideration. And there’s an apple orchard behind the house in place of a back yard—you’ll see it when we get a little past—a real apple orchard on Spofford Avenue!” “I’m going to dream about ‘Patty’s Place’ tonight,” said Anne. “Why, I feel as if I belonged to it. I wonder if, by any chance, we’ll ever see the inside of it.” “It isn’t likely,” said Priscilla. Anne smiled mysteriously. “No, it isn’t likely. But I believe it will happen. I have a queer, creepy, crawly feeling—you can call it a presentiment, if you like—that ‘Patty’s Place’ and I are going to be better acquainted yet.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (2006). Anne of the Island. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/51/pg51-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html. The lead image was generated using HackerNoon's Stable Disffusion Al Image Generator feature, via the prompt "Anne of the Island".

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