L. M. Montgomery
Anne of the Island
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Table of contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
XLI
All
precious things discovered lateTo
those that seek them issue forth,For
Love in sequel works with Fate,And
draws the veil from hidden worth.—TENNYSON
Chapter I
The
Shadow of Change"Harvest
is ended and summer is gone," quoted Anne Shirley, gazing across
the shorn fields dreamily. She and Diana Barry had been picking
apples in the Green Gables orchard, but were now resting from their
labors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of thistledown drifted by
on the wings of a wind that was still summer-sweet with the incense
of ferns in the Haunted Wood.But
everything in the landscape around them spoke of autumn. The sea was
roaring hollowly in the distance, the fields were bare and sere,
scarfed with golden rod, the brook valley below Green Gables
overflowed with asters of ethereal purple, and the Lake of Shining
Waters was blue—blue—blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor
the pale azure of summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if
the water were past all moods and tenses of emotion and had settled
down to a tranquility unbroken by fickle dreams."It
has been a nice summer," said Diana, twisting the new ring on
her left hand with a smile. "And Miss Lavendar's wedding seemed
to come as a sort of crown to it. I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Irving are
on the Pacific coast now.""It
seems to me they have been gone long enough to go around the world,"
sighed Anne."I
can't believe it is only a week since they were married. Everything
has changed. Miss Lavendar and Mr. and Mrs. Allan gone—how lonely
the manse looks with the shutters all closed! I went past it last
night, and it made me feel as if everybody in it had died.""We'll
never get another minister as nice as Mr. Allan," said Diana,
with gloomy conviction. "I suppose we'll have all kinds of
supplies this winter, and half the Sundays no preaching at all. And
you and Gilbert gone—it will be awfully dull.""Fred
will be here," insinuated Anne slyly."When
is Mrs. Lynde going to move up?" asked Diana, as if she had not
heard Anne's remark."Tomorrow.
I'm glad she's coming—but it will be another change. Marilla and I
cleared everything out of the spare room yesterday. Do you know, I
hated to do it? Of course, it was silly—but it did seem as if we
were committing sacrilege. That old spare room has always seemed like
a shrine to me. When I was a child I thought it the most wonderful
apartment in the world. You remember what a consuming desire I had to
sleep in a spare room bed—but not the Green Gables spare room. Oh,
no, never there! It would have been too terrible—I couldn't have
slept a wink from awe. I never WALKED through that room when Marilla
sent me in on an errand—no, indeed, I tiptoed through it and held
my breath, as if I were in church, and felt relieved when I got out
of it. The pictures of George Whitefield and the Duke of Wellington
hung there, one on each side of the mirror, and frowned so sternly at
me all the time I was in, especially if I dared peep in the mirror,
which was the only one in the house that didn't twist my face a
little. I always wondered how Marilla dared houseclean that room. And
now it's not only cleaned but stripped bare. George Whitefield and
the Duke have been relegated to the upstairs hall. 'So passes the
glory of this world,'" concluded Anne, with a laugh in which
there was a little note of regret. It is never pleasant to have our
old shrines desecrated, even when we have outgrown them."I'll
be so lonesome when you go," moaned Diana for the hundredth
time. "And to think you go next week!""But
we're together still," said Anne cheerily. "We mustn't let
next week rob us of this week's joy. I hate the thought of going
myself—home and I are such good friends. Talk of being lonesome!
It's I who should groan. YOU'LL be here with any number of your old
friends—AND Fred! While I shall be alone among strangers, not
knowing a soul!""EXCEPT
Gilbert—AND Charlie Sloane," said Diana, imitating Anne's
italics and slyness."Charlie
Sloane will be a great comfort, of course," agreed Anne
sarcastically; whereupon both those irresponsible damsels laughed.
Diana knew exactly what Anne thought of Charlie Sloane; but, despite
sundry confidential talks, she did not know just what Anne thought of
Gilbert Blythe. To be sure, Anne herself did not know that."The
boys may be boarding at the other end of Kingsport, for all I know,"
Anne went on. "I am glad I'm going to Redmond, and I am sure I
shall like it after a while. But for the first few weeks I know I
won't. I shan't even have the comfort of looking forward to the
weekend visit home, as I had when I went to Queen's. Christmas will
seem like a thousand years away.""Everything
is changing—or going to change," said Diana sadly. "I
have a feeling that things will never be the same again, Anne.""We
have come to a parting of the ways, I suppose," said Anne
thoughtfully. "We had to come to it. Do you think, Diana, that
being grown-up is really as nice as we used to imagine it would be
when we were children?""I
don't know—there are SOME nice things about it," answered
Diana, again caressing her ring with that little smile which always
had the effect of making Anne feel suddenly left out and
inexperienced. "But there are so many puzzling things, too.
Sometimes I feel as if being grown-up just frightened me—and then I
would give anything to be a little girl again.""I
suppose we'll get used to being grownup in time," said Anne
cheerfully. "There won't be so many unexpected things about it
by and by—though, after all, I fancy it's the unexpected things
that give spice to life. We're eighteen, Diana. In two more years
we'll be twenty. When I was ten I thought twenty was a green old age.
In no time you'll be a staid, middle-aged matron, and I shall be
nice, old maid Aunt Anne, coming to visit you on vacations. You'll
always keep a corner for me, won't you, Di darling? Not the spare
room, of course—old maids can't aspire to spare rooms, and I shall
be as 'umble as Uriah Heep, and quite content with a little
over-the-porch or off-the-parlor cubby hole.""What
nonsense you do talk, Anne," laughed Diana. "You'll marry
somebody splendid and handsome and rich—and no spare room in
Avonlea will be half gorgeous enough for you—and you'll turn up
your nose at all the friends of your youth.""That
would be a pity; my nose is quite nice, but I fear turning it up
would spoil it," said Anne, patting that shapely organ. "I
haven't so many good features that I could afford to spoil those I
have; so, even if I should marry the King of the Cannibal Islands, I
promise you I won't turn up my nose at you, Diana."With
another gay laugh the girls separated, Diana to return to Orchard
Slope, Anne to walk to the Post Office. She found a letter awaiting
her there, and when Gilbert Blythe overtook her on the bridge over
the Lake of Shining Waters she was sparkling with the excitement of
it."Priscilla
Grant is going to Redmond, too," she exclaimed. "Isn't that
splendid? I hoped she would, but she didn't think her father would
consent. He has, however, and we're to board together. I feel that I
can face an army with banners—or all the professors of Redmond in
one fell phalanx—with a chum like Priscilla by my side.""I
think we'll like Kingsport," said Gilbert. "It's a nice old
burg, they tell me, and has the finest natural park in the world.
I've heard that the scenery in it is magnificent.""I
wonder if it will be—can be—any more beautiful than this,"
murmured Anne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of
those to whom "home" must always be the loveliest spot in
the world, no matter what fairer lands may lie under alien stars.They
were leaning on the bridge of the old pond, drinking deep of the
enchantment of the dusk, just at the spot where Anne had climbed from
her sinking Dory on the day Elaine floated down to Camelot. The fine,
empurpling dye of sunset still stained the western skies, but the
moon was rising and the water lay like a great, silver dream in her
light. Remembrance wove a sweet and subtle spell over the two young
creatures."You
are very quiet, Anne," said Gilbert at last."I'm
afraid to speak or move for fear all this wonderful beauty will
vanish just like a broken silence," breathed Anne.Gilbert
suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying on the rail
of the bridge. His hazel eyes deepened into darkness, his still
boyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope that
thrilled his soul. But Anne snatched her hand away and turned
quickly. The spell of the dusk was broken for her."I
must go home," she exclaimed, with a rather overdone
carelessness. "Marilla had a headache this afternoon, and I'm
sure the twins will be in some dreadful mischief by this time. I
really shouldn't have stayed away so long."She
chattered ceaselessly and inconsequently until they reached the Green
Gables lane. Poor Gilbert hardly had a chance to get a word in
edgewise. Anne felt rather relieved when they parted. There had been
a new, secret self-consciousness in her heart with regard to Gilbert,
ever since that fleeting moment of revelation in the garden of Echo
Lodge. Something alien had intruded into the old, perfect, school-day
comradeship—something that threatened to mar it."I
never felt glad to see Gilbert go before," she thought,
half-resentfully, half-sorrowfully, as she walked alone up the lane.
"Our friendship will be spoiled if he goes on with this
nonsense. It mustn't be spoiled—I won't let it. Oh, WHY can't boys
be just sensible!"Anne
had an uneasy doubt that it was not strictly "sensible"
that she should still feel on her hand the warm pressure of
Gilbert's, as distinctly as she had felt it for the swift second his
had rested there; and still less sensible that the sensation was far
from being an unpleasant one—very different from that which had
attended a similar demonstration on Charlie Sloane's part, when she
had been sitting out a dance with him at a White Sands party three
nights before. Anne shivered over the disagreeable recollection. But
all problems connected with infatuated swains vanished from her mind
when she entered the homely, unsentimental atmosphere of the Green
Gables kitchen where an eight-year-old boy was crying grievously on
the sofa."What
is the matter, Davy?" asked Anne, taking him up in her arms.
"Where are Marilla and Dora?""Marilla's
putting Dora to bed," sobbed Davy, "and I'm crying 'cause
Dora fell down the outside cellar steps, heels over head, and scraped
all the skin off her nose, and—""Oh,
well, don't cry about it, dear. Of course, you are sorry for her, but
crying won't help her any. She'll be all right tomorrow. Crying never
helps any one, Davy-boy, and—""I
ain't crying 'cause Dora fell down cellar," said Davy, cutting
short Anne's wellmeant preachment with increasing bitterness. "I'm
crying, cause I wasn't there to see her fall. I'm always missing some
fun or other, seems to me.""Oh,
Davy!" Anne choked back an unholy shriek of laughter. "Would
you call it fun to see poor little Dora fall down the steps and get
hurt?""She
wasn't MUCH hurt," said Davy, defiantly. "'Course, if she'd
been killed I'd have been real sorry, Anne. But the Keiths ain't so
easy killed. They're like the Blewetts, I guess. Herb Blewett fell
off the hayloft last Wednesday, and rolled right down through the
turnip chute into the box stall, where they had a fearful wild, cross
horse, and rolled right under his heels. And still he got out alive,
with only three bones broke. Mrs. Lynde says there are some folks you
can't kill with a meat-axe. Is Mrs. Lynde coming here tomorrow,
Anne?""Yes,
Davy, and I hope you'll be always very nice and good to her.""I'll
be nice and good. But will she ever put me to bed at nights, Anne?""Perhaps.
Why?""'Cause,"
said Davy very decidedly, "if she does I won't say my prayers
before her like I do before you, Anne.""Why
not?""'Cause
I don't think it would be nice to talk to God before strangers, Anne.
Dora can say hers to Mrs. Lynde if she likes, but
I won't. I'll wait
till she's gone and then say 'em. Won't that be all right, Anne?""Yes,
if you are sure you won't forget to say them, Davy-boy.""Oh,
I won't forget, you bet. I think saying my prayers is great fun. But
it won't be as good fun saying them alone as saying them to you. I
wish you'd stay home, Anne. I don't see what you want to go away and
leave us for.""I
don't exactly WANT to, Davy, but I feel I ought to go.""If
you don't want to go you needn't. You're grown up. When
I'm grown up I'm
not going to do one single thing I don't want to do, Anne.""All
your life, Davy, you'll find yourself doing things you don't want to
do.""I
won't," said Davy flatly. "Catch me! I have to do things I
don't want to now 'cause you and Marilla'll send me to bed if I
don't. But when I grow up you can't do that, and there'll be nobody
to tell me not to do things. Won't I have the time! Say, Anne, Milty
Boulter says his mother says you're going to college to see if you
can catch a man. Are you, Anne? I want to know."For
a second Anne burned with resentment. Then she laughed, reminding
herself that Mrs. Boulter's crude vulgarity of thought and speech
could not harm her."No,
Davy, I'm not. I'm going to study and grow and learn about many
things.""What
things?""'Shoes
and ships and sealing wax
And cabbages and kings,'"quoted
Anne."But
if you DID want to catch a man how would you go about it? I want to
know," persisted Davy, for whom the subject evidently possessed
a certain fascination."You'd
better ask Mrs. Boulter," said Anne thoughtlessly. "I think
it's likely she knows more about the process than I do.""I
will, the next time I see her," said Davy gravely."Davy!
If you do!" cried Anne, realizing her mistake."But
you just told me to," protested Davy aggrieved."It's
time you went to bed," decreed Anne, by way of getting out of
the scrape.After
Davy had gone to bed Anne wandered down to Victoria Island and sat
there alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, while the water
laughed around her in a duet of brook and wind. Anne had always loved
that brook. Many a dream had she spun over its sparkling water in
days gone by. She forgot lovelorn youths, and the cayenne speeches of
malicious neighbors, and all the problems of her girlish existence.
In imagination she sailed over storied seas that wash the distant
shining shores of "faery lands forlorn," where lost
Atlantis and Elysium lie, with the evening star for pilot, to the
land of Heart's Desire. And she was richer in those dreams than in
realities; for things seen pass away, but the things that are unseen
are eternal.
Chapter II
Garlands
of Autumn
The
following week sped swiftly, crowded with innumerable "last
things," as Anne called them. Good-bye calls had to be made and
received, being pleasant or otherwise, according to whether callers
and called-upon were heartily in sympathy with Anne's hopes, or
thought she was too much puffed-up over going to college and that it
was their duty to "take her down a peg or two."
The
A.V.I.S. gave a farewell party in honor of Anne and Gilbert one
evening at the home of Josie Pye, choosing that place, partly because
Mr. Pye's house was large and convenient, partly because it was
strongly suspected that the Pye girls would have nothing to do with
the affair if their offer of the house for the party was not
accepted. It was a very pleasant little time, for the Pye girls were
gracious, and said and did nothing to mar the harmony of the
occasion—which was not according to their wont. Josie was unusually
amiable—so much so that she even remarked condescendingly to Anne,
"Your
new dress is rather becoming to you, Anne. Really, you look ALMOST
PRETTY in it."
"How
kind of you to say so," responded Anne, with dancing eyes. Her
sense of humor was developing, and the speeches that would have hurt
her at fourteen were becoming merely food for amusement now. Josie
suspected that Anne was laughing at her behind those wicked eyes; but
she contented herself with whispering to Gertie, as they went
downstairs, that Anne Shirley would put on more airs than ever now
that she was going to college—you'd see!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!