Chronicles of Avonlea by Lucy Maud Montgomery (funny books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
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âOh, I know Iâm not very strong, Maria.â said Aunty Nan pleadingly, âbut I am strong enough for that. Indeed I am. I could stay at Kensington over night with Georgeâs folks, you know, and so it wouldnât tire me much. I do so want to hear Joscelyn sing. Oh, how I love little Joscelyn.â
âIt passes my understanding, the way you hanker after that child,â cried Mrs. William impatiently. âWhy, she was a perfect stranger to you when she came here, and she was here only one summer!â
âBut oh, such a summer!â said Aunty Nan softly. âWe all loved little Joscelyn. She just seemed like one of our own. She was one of Godâs children, carrying love with them everywhere. In some ways that little Anne Shirley the Cuthberts have got up there at Green Gables reminds me of her, though in other ways theyâre not a bit alike. Joscelyn was a beauty.â
âWell, that Shirley snippet certainly isnât that,â said Mrs. William sarcastically. âAnd if Joscelynâs tongue was one third as long as Anne Shirleyâs the wonder to me is that she didnât talk you all to death out of hand.â
âLittle Joscelyn wasnât much of a talker,â said Aunty Nan dreamily. âShe was kind of a quiet child. But you remember what she did say. And Iâve never forgotten little Joscelyn.â
Mrs. William shrugged her plump, shapely shoulders.
âWell, it was fifteen years ago, Aunty Nan, and Joscelyn canât be very âlittleâ now. She is a famous woman, and she has forgotten all about you, you can be sure of that.â
âJoscelyn wasnât the kind that forgets,â said Aunty Nan loyally. âAnd, anyway, the point is, I havenât forgotten HER. Oh, Maria, Iâve longed for years and years just to hear her sing once more. It seems as if I MUST hear my little Joscelyn sing once again before I die. Iâve never had the chance before and I never will have it again. Do please ask William to take me to Kensington.â
âDear me, Aunty Nan, this is really childish,â said Mrs. William, whisking her bowlful of berries into the pantry. âYou must let other folks be the judge of what is best for you now. You arenât strong enough to drive to Kensington, and, even if you were, you know well enough that William couldnât go to Kensington to-morrow night. He has got to attend that political meeting at Newbridge. They canât do without him.â
âJordan could take me to Kensington,â pleaded Aunty Nan, with very unusual persistence.
âNonsense! You couldnât go to Kensington with the hired man. Now, Aunty Nan, do be reasonable. Arenât William and I kind to you? Donât we do everything for your comfort?â
âYes, oh, yes,â admitted Aunty Nan deprecatingly.
âWell, then, you ought to be guided by our opinion. And you must just give up thinking about the Kensington concert, Aunty, and not worry yourself and me about it any more. I am going down to the shore field now to call William to tea. Just keep an eye on the baby in chance he wakes up, and see that the teapot doesnât boil over.â
Mrs. William whisked out of the kitchen, pretending not to see the tears that were falling over Aunty Nanâs withered pink cheeks. Aunty Nan was really getting very childish, Mrs. William reflected, as she marched down to the shore field. Why, she cried now about every little thing! And such a notionâto want to go to the Old Timersâ concert at Kensington and be so set on it! Really, it was hard to put up with her whims. Mrs. William sighed virtuously.
As for Aunty Nan, she sat alone in the kitchen, and cried bitterly, as only lonely old age can cry. It seemed to her that she could not bear it, that she MUST go to Kensington. But she knew that it was not to be, since Mrs. William had decided otherwise. Mrs. Williamâs word was law at Gull Point Farm.
âWhatâs the matter with my old Aunty Nan?â cried a hearty young voice from the doorway. Jordan Sloane stood there, his round, freckled face looking as anxious and sympathetic as it was possible for such a very round, very freckled face to look. Jordan was the Morrisonsâ hired boy that summer, and he worshipped Aunty Nan.
âOh, Jordan,â sobbed Aunty Nan, who was not above telling her troubles to the hired help, although Mrs. William thought she ought to be, âI canât go to Kensington to-morrow night to hear little Joscelyn sing at the Old Timersâ concert. Maria says I canât.â
âThatâs too bad,â said Jordan. âOld cat,â he muttered after the retreating and serenely unconscious Mrs. William. Then he shambled in and sat down on the sofa beside Aunty Nan.
âThere, there, donât cry,â he said, patting her thin little shoulder with his big, sunburned paw. âYouâll make yourself sick if you go on crying, and we canât get along without you at Gull Point Farm.â
Aunty Nan smiled wanly.
âIâm afraid youâll soon have to get on without me, Jordan. Iâm not going to be here very long now. No, Iâm not, Jordan, I know it. Something tells me so very plainly. But I would be willing to goâ glad to go, for Iâm very tired, Jordanâif I could only have heard little Joscelyn sing once more.â
âWhy are you so set on hearing her?â asked Jordan. âShe ainât no kin to you, is she?â
âNo, but dearer to meâdearer to me than many of my own. Maria thinks that is silly, but you wouldnât if youâd known her, Jordan. Even Maria herself wouldnât, if she had known her. It is fifteen years since she came here one summer to board. She was a child of thirteen then, and hadnât any relations except an old uncle who sent her to school in winter and boarded her out in summer, and didnât care a rap about her. The child was just starving for love, Jordan, and she got it here. William and his brothers were just children then, and they hadnât any sister. We all just worshipped her. She was so sweet, Jordan. And pretty, oh my! like a little girl in a picture, with great long curls, all black and purply and fine as spun silk, and big dark eyes, and such pink cheeksâreal wild rose cheeks. And sing! My land! But couldnât she sing! Always singing, every hour of the day that voice was ringing round the old place. I used to hold my breath to hear it. She always said that she meant to be a famous singer some day, and I never doubted it a mite. It was born in her. Sunday evening she used to sing hymns for us. Oh, Jordan, it makes my old heart young again to remember it. A sweet child she was, my little Joscelyn! She used to write me for three or four years after she went away, but I havenât heard a word from her for long and long. I daresay she has forgotten me, as Maria says. âTwouldnât be any wonder. But I havenât forgotten her, and oh, I want to see and hear her terrible much. She is to sing at the Old Timersâ concert to-morrow night at Kensington. The folks who are getting the concert up are friends of hers, or, of course, sheâd never have come to a little country village. Only sixteen miles awayâand I canât go.â
Jordan couldnât think of anything to say. He reflected savagely that if he had a horse of his own he would take Aunty Nan to Kensington, Mrs. William or no Mrs. William. Though, to be sure, it WAS a long drive for her; and she was looking very frail this summer.
âAinât going to last long,â muttered Jordan, making his escape by the porch door as Mrs. William puffed in by the other. âThe sweetest old creetur that ever was createdâll go when she goes. Yah, ye old madam, Iâd like to give you a piece of my mind, that I would!â
This last was for Mrs. William, but was delivered in a prudent undertone. Jordan detested Mrs. William, but she was a power to be reckoned with, all the same. Meek, easy-going Billy Morrison did just what his wife told him to.
So Aunty Nan did not get to Kensington to hear little Joscelyn sing. She said nothing more about it but after that night she seemed to fail very rapidly. Mrs. William said it was the hot weather, and that Aunty Nan gave way too easily. But Aunty Nan could not help giving way now; she was very, very tired. Even her knitting wearied her. She would sit for hours in her rocking chair with the gray kitten in her lap, looking out of the window with dreamy, unseeing eyes. She talked to herself a good deal, generally about little Joscelyn. Mrs. William told Avonlea folk that Aunty Nan had got terribly childish and always accompanied the remark with a sigh that intimated how much she, Mrs. William, had to contend with.
Justice must be done to Mrs. William, however. She was not unkind to Aunty Nan; on the contrary, she was very kind to her in the letter. Her comfort was scrupulously attended to, and Mrs. William had the grace to utter none of her complaints in the old womanâs hearing. If Aunty Nan felt the absence of the spirit she never murmured at it.
One day, when the Avonlea slopes were golden-hued with the ripened harvest, Aunty Nan did not get up. She complained of nothing but great weariness. Mrs. William remarked to her husband that if SHE lay in bed every day she felt tired, there wouldnât be much done at Gull Point Farm. But she prepared an excellent breakfast and carried it patiently up to Aunty Nan, who ate little of it.
After dinner Jordan crept up by way of the back stairs to see her. Aunty Nan was lying with her eyes fixed on the pale pink climbing roses that nodded about the window. When she saw Jordan she smiled.
âThem roses put me so much in mind of little Joscelyn,â she said softly. âShe loved them so. If I could only see her! Oh, Jordan, if I could only see her! Maria says itâs terrible childish to be always harping on that string, and mebbe it is. Butâoh, Jordan, thereâs such a hunger in my heart for her, such a hunger!â
Jordan felt a queer sensation in his throat, and twisted his ragged straw hat about in his big hands. Just then a vague idea which had hovered in his brain all day crystallized into decision. But all he said was:
âI hope youâll feel better soon, Aunty Nan.â
âOh, yes, Jordan dear, Iâll be better soon,â said Aunty Nan with her own sweet smile. ââThe inhabitant shall not say I am sick,â you know. But if I could only see little Joscelyn first!â
Jordan went out and hurried downstairs. Billy Morrison was in the stable, when Jordan stuck his head over the half-door.
âSay, can I have the rest of the day off, sir? I want to go to Kensington.â
âWell, I donât mind,â said Billy Morrison amiably. âMayâs well get you jaunting done âfore harvest comes on. And here, Jord; take this quarter and get some oranges for Aunty Nan. Neednât mention it to headquarters.â
Billy Morrisonâs face was solemn, but Jordan winked as he pocketed the money.
âIf Iâve any luck, Iâll bring her something thatâll do her more good than the oranges,â he muttered, as he hurried off to the pasture. Jordan had a horse of his own now, a rather bony nag, answering to the name of Dan. Billy Morrison had agreed to pasture the animal if Jordan used him in the farm
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