Anne's House of Dreams by Lucy Maud Montgomery (free ebooks for android .txt) đ
- Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
- Performer: 0553213180
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âHow kind and thoughtful you are, Captain Jim. Nobody elseâ not even Gilbertââwith a shake of her head at himââremembered that I always long for mayflowers in spring.â
âWell, I had another errand, tooâI wanted to take Mr. Howard back yander a mess of trout. He likes one occasional, and itâs all I can do for a kindness he did me once. I stayed all the afternoon and talked to him. He likes to talk to me, though heâs a highly eddicated man and Iâm only an ignorant old sailor, because heâs one of the folks thatâs GOT to talk or theyâre miserable, and he finds listeners scarce around here. The Glen folks fight shy of him because they think heâs an infidel. He ainât that far gone exactlyâfew men is, I reckonâbut heâs what you might call a heretic. Heretics are wicked, but theyâre mighty intâresting. Itâs jest that theyâve got sorter lost looking for God, being under the impression that Heâs hard to findâwhich He ainât never. Most of âem blunder to Him after awhile, I guess. I donât think listening to Mr. Howardâs arguments is likely to do me much harm. Mind you, I believe what I was brought up to believe. It saves a vast of botherâand back of it all, God is good. The trouble with Mr. Howard is that heâs a leetle TOO clever. He thinks that heâs bound to live up to his cleverness, and that itâs smarter to thrash out some new way of getting to heaven than to go by the old track the common, ignorant folks is travelling. But heâll get there sometime all right, and then heâll laugh at himself.â
âMr. Howard was a Methodist to begin with,â said Miss Cornelia, as if she thought he had not far to go from that to heresy.
âDo you know, Cornelia,â said Captain Jim gravely, âIâve often thought that if I wasnât a Presbyterian Iâd be a Methodist.â
âOh, well,â conceded Miss Cornelia, âif you werenât a Presbyterian it wouldnât matter much what you were. Speaking of heresy, reminds me, doctorâIâve brought back that book you lent meâthat Natural Law in the Spiritual WorldâI didnât read moreân a third of it. I can read sense, and I can read nonsense, but that book is neither the one nor the other.â
âIt IS considered rather heretical in some quarters,â admitted Gilbert, âbut I told you that before you took it, Miss Cornelia.â
âOh, I wouldnât have minded its being heretical. I can stand wickedness, but I canât stand foolishness,â said Miss Cornelia calmly, and with the air of having said the last thing there was to say about Natural Law.
âSpeaking of books, A Mad Love come to an end at last two weeks ago,â remarked Captain Jim musingly. âIt run to one hundred and three chapters. When they got married the book stopped right off, so I reckon their troubles were all over. Itâs real nice that thatâs the way in books anyhow, isnât it, even if âtistnât so anywhere else?â
âI never read novels,â said Miss Cornelia. âDid you hear how Geordie Russell was today, Captain Jim?â
âYes, I called in on my way home to see him. Heâs getting round all rightâbut stewing in a broth of trouble, as usual, poor man.
âCourse he brews up most of it for himself, but I reckon that donât make it any easier to bear.â
âHeâs an awful pessimist,â said Miss Cornelia.
âWell, no, he ainât a pessimist exactly, Cornelia. He only jest never finds anything that suits him.â
âAnd isnât that a pessimist?â
âNo, no. A pessimist is one who never expects to find anything to suit him. Geordie hainât got THAT far yet.â
âYouâd find something good to say of the devil himself, Jim Boyd.â
âWell, youâve heard the story of the old lady who said he was persevering. But no, Cornelia, Iâve nothing good to say of the devil.â
âDo you believe in him at all?â asked Miss Cornelia seriously.
âHow can you ask that when you know what a good Presbyterian I am, Cornelia? How could a Presbyterian get along without a devil?â
âDO you?â persisted Miss Cornelia.
Captain Jim suddenly became grave.
âI believe in what I heard a minister once call `a mighty and malignant and INTELLIGENT power of evil working in the universe,ââ he said solemnly. âI do THAT, Cornelia. You can call it the devil, or the `principle of evil,â or the Old Scratch, or any name you like. Itâs THERE, and all the infidels and heretics in the world canât argue it away, any moreân they can argue God away. Itâs there, and itâs working. But, mind you, Cornelia, I believe itâs going to get the worst of it in the long run.â
âI am sure I hope so,â said Miss Cornelia, none too hopefully. âBut speaking of the devil, I am positive that Billy Booth is possessed by him now. Have you heard of Billyâs latest performance?â
âNo, what was that?â
âHeâs gone and burned up his wifeâs new, brown broadcloth suit, that she paid twenty-five dollars for in Charlottetown, because he declares the men looked too admiring at her when she wore it to church the first time. Wasnât that like a man?â
âMistress Booth IS mighty pretty, and brownâs her color,â said Captain Jim reflectively.
âIs that any good reason why he should poke her new suit into the kitchen stove? Billy Booth is a jealous fool, and he makes his wifeâs life miserable. Sheâs cried all the week about her suit. Oh, Anne, I wish I could write like you, believe ME. Wouldnât I score some of the men round here!â
âThose Booths are all a mite queer,â said Captain Jim. âBilly seemed the sanest of the lot till he got married and then this queer jealous streak cropped out in him. His brother Daniel, now, was always odd.â
âTook tantrums every few days or so and wouldnât get out of bed,â said Miss Cornelia with a relish. âHis wife would have to do all the barn work till he got over his spell. When he died people wrote her letters of condolence; if Iâd written anything it would have been one of congratulation. Their father, old Abram Booth, was a disgusting old sot. He was drunk at his wifeâs funeral, and kept reeling round and hiccuping `I didnât driâiâiânk much but I feel aâaâ awfully queâeâeâr.â I gave him a good jab in the back with my umbrella when he came near me, and it sobered him up until they got the casket out of the house. Young Johnny Booth was to have been married yesterday, but he couldnât be because heâs gone and got the mumps. Wasnât that like a man?â
âHow could he help getting the mumps, poor fellow?â
âIâd poor fellow him, believe ME, if I was Kate Sterns. I donât know how he could help getting the mumps, but I DO know the wedding supper was all prepared and everything will be spoiled before heâs well again. Such a waste! He should have had the mumps when he was a boy.â
âCome, come, Cornelia, donât you think youâre a mite unreasonable?â
Miss Cornelia disdained to reply and turned instead to Susan Baker, a grim-faced, kind-hearted elderly spinster of the Glen, who had been installed as maid-of-all-work at the little house for some weeks. Susan had been up to the Glen to make a sick call, and had just returned.
âHow is poor old Aunt Mandy tonight?â asked Miss Cornelia.
Susan sighed.
âVery poorlyâvery poorly, Cornelia. I am afraid she will soon be in heaven, poor thing!â
âOh, surely, itâs not so bad as that!â exclaimed Miss Cornelia, sympathetically .
Captain Jim and Gilbert looked at each other. Then they suddenly rose and went out.
âThere are times,â said Captain Jim, between spasms, âwhen it would be a sin NOT to laugh. Them two excellent women!â
In early June, when the sand hills were a great glory of pink wild roses, and the Glen was smothered in apple blossoms, Marilla arrived at the little house, accompanied by a black horsehair trunk, patterned with brass nails, which had reposed undisturbed in the Green Gables garret for half a century. Susan Baker, who, during her few weeksâ sojourn in the little house, had come to worship âyoung Mrs. Doctor,â as she called Anne, with blind fervor, looked rather jealously askance at Marilla at first. But as Marilla did not try to interfere in kitchen matters, and showed no desire to interrupt Susanâs ministrations to young Mrs. Doctor, the good handmaiden became reconciled to her presence, and told her cronies at the Glen that Miss Cuthbert was a fine old lady and knew her place.
One evening, when the skyâs limpid bowl was filled with a red glory, and the robins were thrilling the golden twilight with jubilant hymns to the stars of evening, there was a sudden commotion in the little house of dreams. Telephone messages were sent up to the Glen, Doctor Dave and a white-capped nurse came hastily down, Marilla paced the garden walks between the quahog shells, murmuring prayers between her set lips, and Susan sat in the kitchen with cotton wool in her ears and her apron over her head.
Leslie, looking out from the house up the brook, saw that every window of the little house was alight, and did not sleep that night.
The June night was short; but it seemed an eternity to those who waited and watched.
âOh, will it NEVER end?â said Marilla; then she saw how grave the nurse and Doctor Dave looked, and she dared ask no more questions. Suppose Anneâbut Marilla could not suppose it.
âDo not tell me,â said Susan fiercely, answering the anguish in Marillaâs eyes, âthat God could be so cruel as to take that darling lamb from us when we all love her so much.â
âHe has taken others as well beloved,â said Marilla hoarsely.
But at dawn, when the rising sun rent apart the mists hanging over the sandbar, and made rainbows of them, joy came to the little house. Anne was safe, and a wee, white lady, with her motherâs big eyes, was lying beside her. Gilbert, his face gray and haggard from his nightâs agony, came down to tell Marilla and Susan.
âThank God,â shuddered Marilla.
Susan got up and took the cotton wool out of her ears.
âNow for breakfast,â she said briskly. âI am of the opinion that we will all be glad of a bite and sup. You tell young Mrs. Doctor not to worry about a single thingâSusan is at the helm. You tell her just to think of her baby.â
Gilbert smiled rather sadly as he went away. Anne, her pale face blanched with its baptism of pain, her eyes aglow with the holy passion of motherhood, did not need to be told to think of her baby. She thought of nothing else. For a few hours she tasted of happiness so rare and exquisite that she wondered if the angels in heaven did not envy her.
âLittle Joyce,â she murmured, when Marilla came in to see the baby. âWe planned to call her that if she were a girlie. There were so many we would have liked to name her for; we couldnât choose between them, so we decided on Joyceâwe can call her Joy for shortâJoyâit suits so well. Oh, Marilla, I thought I was happy before. Now I know that I just dreamed a pleasant dream of happiness. THIS is the reality.â
âYou mustnât talk, Anneâwait till youâre stronger,â said Marilla warningly.
âYou know how hard it is for me NOT to talk,â smiled Anne.
At first she was too weak and too happy to notice that Gilbert and the nurse looked grave and Marilla sorrowful. Then, as subtly, and
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