Anne of the Island

by L. M. Montgomery

  Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger

  ANNE of the ISLAND

  by Lucy Maud Montgomery

  to

  all the girls all over the world who have "wanted more" about ANNE

  All precious things discovered late To those that seek them issue forth, For Love in sequel works with Fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth. --TENNYSON

  Table of Contents

  I The Shadow of Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 II Garlands of Autumn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 III Greeting and Farewell. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36 IV April's Lady . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46 V Letters from Home. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 VI In the Park. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 VII Home Again . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 VIII Anne's First Proposal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .105 IX An Unwelcome Lover and a Welcome Friend. . . . . . .113 X Patty's Place. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .126 XI The Round of Life. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .139 XII "Averil's Atonement" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .153 XIII The Way of Transgressors . . . . . . . . . . . . . .165 XIV The Summons. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .181 XV A Dream Turned Upside Down . . . . . . . . . . . . .194 XVI Adjusted Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .202 XVII A Letter from Davy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .219 XVIII Miss Josephine Remembers the Anne-girl . . . . . . .225 XIX An Interlude . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .234 XX Gilbert Speaks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .240 XXI Roses of Yesterday . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .249 XXII Spring and Anne Return to Green Gables . . . . . . .256 XXIII Paul Cannot Find the Rock People . . . . . . . . . .263 XXIV Enter Jonas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .269 XXV Enter Prince Charming. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .278 XXVI Enter Christine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .288 XXVII Mutual Confidences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .294 XXVIII A June Evening . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .303 XXIX Diana's Wedding. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .311 XXX Mrs. Skinner's Romance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .317 XXXI Anne to Philippa . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .323 XXXII Tea with Mrs. Douglas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .328 XXXIII "He Just Kept Coming and Coming" . . . . . . . . . .336 XXXIV John Douglas Speaks at Last. . . . . . . . . . . . .342 XXXV The Last Redmond Year Opens. . . . . . . . . . . . .350 XXXV1 The Gardners' Call . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .361 XXXVII Full-fledged B.A.'s. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .370 XXXVIII False Dawn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .379 XXXIX Deals with Weddings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .388 XL A Book of Revelation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .400 XLI Love Takes Up the Glass of Time. . . . . . . . . . .407

  ANNE of the ISLAND

  by Lucy Maud Montgomery

  Chapter I

  The Shadow of Change

  "Harvest is ended and summer is gone," quoted Anne Shirley, gazingacross the shorn fields dreamily. She and Diana Barry had been pickingapples in the Green Gables orchard, but were now resting from theirlabors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of thistledown drifted byon the wings of a wind that was still summer-sweet with the incense offerns in the Haunted Wood.

  But everything in the landscape around them spoke of autumn. The sea wasroaring hollowly in the distance, the fields were bare and sere, scarfedwith golden rod, the brook valley below Green Gables overflowedwith asters of ethereal purple, and the Lake of Shining Waters wasblue--blue--blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor the pale azureof summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if the waterwere past all moods and tenses of emotion and had settled down to atranquility unbroken by fickle dreams.

  "It has been a nice summer," said Diana, twisting the new ring on herleft hand with a smile. "And Miss Lavendar's wedding seemed to come asa sort of crown to it. I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Irving are on the Pacificcoast 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. Everythinghas changed. Miss Lavendar and Mr. and Mrs. Allan gone--how lonely themanse looks with the shutters all closed! I went past it last night, andit 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 thiswinter, and half the Sundays no preaching at all. And you and Gilbertgone--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 notheard Anne's remark.

  "Tomorrow. I'm glad she's coming--but it will be another change. Marillaand 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 wewere committing sacrilege. That old spare room has always seemed likea shrine to me. When I was a child I thought it the most wonderfulapartment in the world. You remember what a consuming desire I had tosleep 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 awink from awe. I never WALKED through that room when Marilla sent me inon an errand--no, indeed, I tiptoed through it and held my breath, as ifI were in church, and felt relieved when I got out of it. The picturesof George Whitefield and the Duke of Wellington hung there, one on eachside 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 thehouse that didn't twist my face a little. I always wondered how Marilladared houseclean that room. And now it's not only cleaned but strippedbare. George Whitefield and the Duke have been relegated to the upstairshall. 'So passes the glory of this world,'" concluded Anne, with alaugh in which there was a little note of regret. It is never pleasantto 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 nextweek rob us of this week's joy. I hate the thought of going myself--homeand I are such good friends. Talk of being lonesome! It's I who shouldgroan. 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'sitalics and slyness.

  "Charlie Sloane will be a great comfort, of course," agreed Annesarcastically; whereupon both those irresponsible damsels laughed. Dianaknew exactly what Anne thought of Charlie Sloane; but, despite sundryconfidential talks, she did not know just what Anne thought of GilbertBlythe. To be sure, Anne herself did not know that.

  "The boys may be boarding at the other end of Kingsport, for all Iknow," Anne went on. "I am glad I'm going to Redmond, and I am sure Ishall 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 visithome, as I had when I went to Queen's. Christmas will seem like athousand years away."

  "Everything is changing--or going to change," said Diana sadly. "I havea feeling that things will never be the same again, Anne."

  "We have come to a parting of the ways, I suppose," said Annethoughtfully. "We had to come to it. Do you think, Diana, that beinggrown-up is really as nice as we used to imagine it would be when wewere 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 theeffect of m
aking Anne feel suddenly left out and inexperienced. "Butthere are so many puzzling things, too. Sometimes I feel as if beinggrown-up just frightened me--and then I would give anything to be alittle girl again."

  "I suppose we'll get used to being grownup in time," said Annecheerfully. "There won't be so many unexpected things about it by andby--though, after all, I fancy it's the unexpected things that givespice 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'llbe 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'taspire to spare rooms, and I shall be as 'umble as Uriah Heep, and quitecontent with a little over-the-porch or off-the-parlor cubby hole."

  "What nonsense you do talk, Anne," laughed Diana. "You'll marry somebodysplendid and handsome and rich--and no spare room in Avonlea will behalf gorgeous enough for you--and you'll turn up your nose at all thefriends of your youth."

  "That would be a pity; my nose is quite nice, but I fear turning it upwould spoil it," said Anne, patting that shapely organ. "I haven't somany good features that I could afford to spoil those I have; so, evenif I should marry the King of the Cannibal Islands, I promise you Iwon't turn up my nose at you, Diana."

  With another gay laugh the girls separated, Diana to return to OrchardSlope, Anne to walk to the Post Office. She found a letter awaiting herthere, and when Gilbert Blythe overtook her on the bridge over the Lakeof Shining Waters she was sparkling with the excitement of it.

  "Priscilla Grant is going to Redmond, too," she exclaimed. "Isn't thatsplendid? I hoped she would, but she didn't think her father wouldconsent. He has, however, and we're to board together. I feel that I canface an army with banners--or all the professors of Redmond in one fellphalanx--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 heardthat the scenery in it is magnificent."

  "I wonder if it will be--can be--any more beautiful than this," murmuredAnne, looking around her with the loving, enraptured eyes of those towhom "home" must always be the loveliest spot in the world, no matterwhat fairer lands may lie under alien stars.

  They were leaning on the bridge of the old pond, drinking deep of theenchantment of the dusk, just at the spot where Anne had climbed fromher sinking Dory on the day Elaine floated down to Camelot. The fine,empurpling dye of sunset still stained the western skies, but the moonwas 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 willvanish just like a broken silence," breathed Anne.

  Gilbert suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying on therail of the bridge. His hazel eyes deepened into darkness, his stillboyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope that thrilledhis soul. But Anne snatched her hand away and turned quickly. The spellof 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 bein some dreadful mischief by this time. I really shouldn't have stayedaway so long."

  She chattered ceaselessly and inconsequently until they reached theGreen Gables lane. Poor Gilbert hardly had a chance to get a word inedgewise. Anne felt rather relieved when they parted. There had been anew, secret self-consciousness in her heart with regard to Gilbert, eversince that fleeting moment of revelation in the garden of EchoLodge. Something alien had intruded into the old, perfect, school-daycomradeship--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 justsensible!"

  Anne had an uneasy doubt that it was not strictly "sensible" thatshe should still feel on her hand the warm pressure of Gilbert's, asdistinctly as she had felt it for the swift second his had restedthere; and still less sensible that the sensation was far from being anunpleasant one--very different from that which had attended a similardemonstration on Charlie Sloane's part, when she had been sitting out adance with him at a White Sands party three nights before. Anne shiveredover the disagreeable recollection. But all problems connected withinfatuated swains vanished from her mind when she entered thehomely, unsentimental atmosphere of the Green Gables kitchen where aneight-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 'causeDora fell down the outside cellar steps, heels over head, and scrapedall 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. Cryingnever helps any one, Davy-boy, and--"

  "I ain't crying 'cause Dora fell down cellar," said Davy, cutting shortAnne's wellmeant preachment with increasing bitterness. "I'm crying,cause I wasn't there to see her fall. I'm always missing some fun orother, seems to me."

  "Oh, Davy!" Anne choked back an unholy shriek of laughter. "Would youcall 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 beenkilled I'd have been real sorry, Anne. But the Keiths ain't so easykilled. They're like the Blewetts, I guess. Herb Blewett fell off thehayloft last Wednesday, and rolled right down through the turnip chuteinto the box stall, where they had a fearful wild, cross horse, androlled right under his heels. And still he got out alive, with onlythree bones broke. Mrs. Lynde says there are some folks you can't killwith 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 prayersbefore 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'llwait 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 andleave 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 grownup 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 wantto do."

  "I won't," said Davy flatly. "Catch me! I have to do things I don't wantto now 'cause you and Marilla'll send me to bed if I don't. But when Igrow up you can't do that, and there'll be nobody to tell me not to dothings. Won't I have the time! Say, Anne, Milty Boulter says his mothersays 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, remindingherself that Mrs. Boulter's crude vulgarity of thought and speech couldnot harm her.

  "No, Davy, I'm not. I'm going to study and grow and learn about manythings."

  "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 wantto know," persisted Da
vy, for whom the subject evidently possessed acertain fascination.

  "You'd better ask Mrs. Boulter," said Anne thoughtlessly. "I think it'slikely 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 thescrape.

  After Davy had gone to bed Anne wandered down to Victoria Island and satthere alone, curtained with fine-spun, moonlit gloom, while the waterlaughed around her in a duet of brook and wind. Anne had always lovedthat brook. Many a dream had she spun over its sparkling water indays gone by. She forgot lovelorn youths, and the cayenne speeches ofmalicious neighbors, and all the problems of her girlish existence. Inimagination she sailed over storied seas that wash the distant shiningshores of "faery lands forlorn," where lost Atlantis and Elysium lie,with the evening star for pilot, to the land of Heart's Desire. And shewas richer in those dreams than in realities; for things seen pass away,but the things that are unseen are eternal.