Anne Of Avonlea - Chapter 2

"Anne of Avonlea" was written by L. M. Montgomery and published in 1909, following the enormous success of Anne of Green Gables the prior year.

In this second book, Anne Shirley is sixteen years old and returning to Avonlea as the local schoolteacher, determined to be sensible, responsible and worthy of the life she’s been given...

Chapter Two introduces Anne’s first steps into adult community life.

Avonlea is stirred by talk of progress and improvement and Anne becomes involved in forming the Avonlea Improvement Society, full of hopeful plans to beautify and modernise the village...

Transcript

Hello there, Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Anne of Avonlea. This is considered the second book in the Anne of Green Gables series. This was published in 1909, The original book in 1908, And these are all by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery. In this book we encounter the indomitable, Fiery redhead Anne Shirley as a 16-year-old who is beginning her teaching career in Avonlea. If you want to see all the parts of this story together you can certainly look for the playlist for Anne of Avonlea and that makes it easy to keep track of the chapters. But for now let's just take a moment here to have a nice deep exhale, Letting go of the day, Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment. For right now there's nowhere else we have to go, Nothing else we have to be doing. So we can just relax, Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the charming old tale of Anne of Avonlea. Chapter two. Selling in haste and repenting at leisure. Anne drove over to Carmody on a shopping expedition the next afternoon and took Diana Barry with her. Diana was of course a pledged member of the Improvement Society and the two girls talked about little else all the way to Carmody and back. The very first thing we ought to do when we get started is to have that hall painted, Said Diana as they drove past the Avonlea Hall. A rather shabby building set down in a wooded hollow with spruce trees hooding it about on all sides. It's a disgraceful looking place and we must attend to it even before we try to get Mr Levi Boulder to pull his house down. Father says we'll never succeed in doing that. Levi Boulder is too mean to spend the time it would take. Perhaps he'll let the boys take it down if they promise to haul the boards and split them up for him for kindling wood, Said Anne, Hopefully. We must do our best and be content to go slowly at first. We can't expect to improve everything all at once. We'll have to educate public sentiment first of course. Diana wasn't exactly sure what educating public sentiment meant but it sounded fine and she felt rather proud that she was going to belong to a society with such an aim in view. I thought of something last night that we could do, Anne. You know, That three-cornered piece of ground where the roads from Carmody and Newbridge and Whitesands meet. It's all grown over with young spruce but wouldn't it be nice to have them all cleared out and just leave the two or three birch trees that are on it? Splendid, Agreed Anne gaily, And have a rustic seat put under the birches. And when spring comes we'll have a flower bed made in the middle of it and plant geraniums. Yes, Only we'll have to devise some way of getting old Mrs Hereham Sloan to keep her cow off the road or she'll eat our geraniums up, Laughed Diana. I begin to see what you mean by educating public sentiment, Anne. There's the old boulter house now. Did you ever see such a rookery? And perched right close to the road too. An old house with its windows gone always makes me think of something dead with its eyes picked out. I think an old deserted house is such a sad sight, Said Anne dreamily. It always seems to me to be thinking about its past and mourning for its old time joys. Marilla says that a large family was raised in that old house long ago and that it was a real pretty place with a lovely garden and roses climbing all over it. It was full of little children and laughter and songs. And now it's empty and nothing ever wanders through it but the wind. How lonely and sorrowful it must feel. Perhaps they all come back on moonlit nights, The ghosts of the little children of long ago and the roses and the songs. And for a little while the old house can dream it is young and joyous again. Diana shook her head. I never imagined things like that about places now, Anne. Don't you remember how cross Mother and Marilla were when we imagined ghosts into the haunted wood? To this day I can't go through that bush comfortably after dark. And if I began imagining such things about the old boulter house I'd be frightened to pass it too. Besides, Those children aren't dead. They're all grown up and doing well. And one of them is a butcher. And flowers and songs. Couldn't have ghosts anyhow. Anne smothered a little sigh. She loved Diana dearly and they had always been good comrades. But she had long ago learned that when she wandered into the realm of fancy she must go alone. The way to it was by an enchanted path where not even her dearest might follow her. A thundershower came up while the girls were at Carmody. It did not last long, However, And the drive home through lanes where the raindrops sparkled on the boughs and little leafy valleys where the drenched ferns gave out spicy odours was delightful. But just as they turned into the Cuthbert Lane, Anne saw something that spoiled the beauty of the landscape for her. Before them, On the right, Extended Mr Harrison's broad grey-green field of late oats, Wet and luxuriant, And there, Standing squarely in the middle of it, Up to her sleek sides in the lush growth and blinking at them calmly over the intervening tassels, Was a jersey cow. Anne dropped the reins and stood up with a tightening of the lips that boded no good to the predatory quadruped. Not a word, Said she, But she climbed nimbly down over the wheels and whisked across the fence before Diana understood what had happened. Anne, Come back, Shrieked the latter. As soon as she found her voice, You'll ruin your dress in that wet grain. Ruin it! She doesn't hear me. Well, She'll never get that cow out by herself. I must go and help her, Of course. Anne was charging through the grain like a mad thing. Diana hopped briskly down, Tied the horse securely to a post, Turned the skirt of her pretty gingham dress over her shoulders, Mounted the fence, And started in pursuit of her frantic friend. She could run faster than Anne, Who was hampered by her clinging and drenched skirt, And soon overtook her. Behind them, They left a trail that would break Mr Harrison's heart when he should see it. Anne, For mercy's sake, Stop, Panted poor Diana. I'm right out of breath, And you are wet to the skin. I must get that cow out before Mr Harrison sees her, Gasped Anne. I don't care if I'm drowned if we can only do that. But the Jersey cow appeared to see no good reason for being hustled out of her luscious browsing ground. No sooner had the two breathless girls got near her than she turned and bolted squarely for the opposite corner of the field. Head her off, Screamed Anne. Run, Diana, Run. Diana did run. Anne tried to, And the wicked Jersey went around the field as if she were possessed. Privately, Diana thought she was. It was fully ten minutes before they headed her off and drove her through the corner gap into the Cuthbert Lane. There is no denying that Anne was in anything but an angelic temper at that precise moment. Nor did it soothe her in the least to behold a buggy halted just outside the lane, Wherein sat Mr Shearer of Carmody and his son, Both of whom wore a broad smile. I guess you'd better have sold me that cow when I wanted to buy her last week, Anne, Chuckled Mr Shearer. I'll sell her to you now if you want her, Said her flushed and dishevelled owner. You may have her this very minute. Done. I'll give you twenty for her, As I offered before, And Jim here can drive her right over to Carmody. She'll go to town with the rest of the shipment this evening. Mr Reed of Brighton wants a Jersey cow. Five minutes later, Jim Shearer and the Jersey cow were marching up the road, And impulsive Anne was driving along the Green Gables Lane with her twenty dollars. What will Marilla say? Asked Diana. Oh, She won't care. Dolly was my own cow, And it isn't likely she'd bring more than twenty dollars at the auction. But oh dear, If Mr Harrison sees that grain, He will know she has been in again, And after my giving him my word of honour that I'd never let it happen. Well, It has taught me a lesson not to give my word of honour about cows. A cow that could jump over or break through our milk pen fence couldn't be trusted anywhere. Marilla had gone down to Mrs Lynde's, And when she returned, Knew all about Dolly's sale and transfer, For Mrs Lynde had seen most of the transaction from her window, And guessed the rest. I suppose it's just as well she's gone, Though you do do things in a dreadful headlong fashion, Anne. I don't see how she got out of the pen, Though. She must have broken some of the boards off. I didn't think of looking, Said Anne, But I'll go and see now. Martin has never come back yet. Perhaps some more of his aunts have died. I think it's something like Mr Peter Sloan and the octogenarians. The other evening, Mrs Sloan was reading a newspaper, And she said to Mr Sloan, I see here that another octogenarian has just died. What is an octogenarian, Peter? And Mr Sloan said he didn't know, But they must be very sickly creatures, For you never heard tell of them, But they were dying. That's the way with Martin's aunts. Martin's just like all the rest of those French, Said Marilla in disgust. You can't depend on them for a day. Marilla was looking over Anne's Carmody purchases when she heard a shrill shriek in the barnyard. A minute later, Anne dashed into the kitchen, Wringing her hands. Anne Shirley, What's the matter now? Oh, Marilla, Whatever shall I do? This is terrible, And it's all my fault. Oh, Will I ever learn to stop and reflect a little before doing reckless things? Mrs Lynde always told me I would do something dreadful someday, And now I've done it. Anne, You are the most exasperating girl. What is it you've done? Sold Mr Harrison's jersey cow, The one he bought from Mr Pell, To Mr Shearer. Dolly is out in the milking pen this very minute. Anne Shirley, Are you dreaming? I only wish I were. There's no dream about it, Though it's very like a nightmare. And Mr Harrison's cow is in Charlottetown by this time. Oh, Marilla, I thought I'd finished getting into scrapes, And here I am in the very worst one I ever was in in my life. What can I do? Do? There's nothing to do, Child, Except go and see Mr Harrison about it. We can offer him our jersey in exchange if he doesn't want to take the money. She is just as good as his. I'm sure he'll be awfully cross and disagreeable about it, Though, Moaned Anne. I dare say he will. He seems to be an irritable sort of a man. I'll go and explain to him if you like. No, Indeed. I'm not as mean as that, Exclaimed Anne. This is all my fault, And I'm certainly not going to let you take my punishment. I'll go myself, And I'll go at once. The sooner it's over, The better, For it will be terribly humiliating. Poor Anne got her hat and her twenty dollars and was passing out when she happened to glance through the open pantry door. On the table reposed a nut cake which she had baked that morning, A particularly toothsome concoction, Iced with pink icing and adorned with walnuts. Anne had intended it for Friday evening when the youth of Avonlea were to meet at Green Gables to organise the Improvement Society, But what were they compared to the justly offended Mr Harrison? Anne thought that cake ought to soften the heart of any man, Especially one who had to do his own cooking, And she promptly popped it into a box. She would take it to Mr Harrison. As a peace offering. That is, If he gives me a chance to say anything at all, She thought ruefully as she climbed the lane fence and started on a shortcut across the fields, Golden in the light of the dreamy August evening. I know now just how people feel who are being led to execution.