2 Anne Of The Island - Read By Stephanie Poppins

New adventures lie ahead as Anne Shirley packs her bags, waves goodbye to childhood, and heads for Redmond College. With her old friend Prissy Grant waiting in the bustling city of Kingsport and her frivolous new friend Philippa Gordon at her side, Anne tucks her memories of rural Avonlea away and discovers life on her terms, filled with surprises.

Handsome Gilbert Blythe is waiting in the wings too. And Anne must decide whether or not, she's ready for love.

In this episode: Anne contemplates leaving, and is grateful for a twilight walk spent with Gilbert Blythe, her old buddy.

Sleep
Bedtime
story
Folklore
Relaxation
Literature
Historical context
Emotional healing
Grief
Social dynamics
Domestic life
Nostalgia
Reunion
Emotional reunion
Grief management
Storytelling
Imagination
Fantasy
Characters
Classic literature
Culture
Adventures
Moral lessons

Transcript

Anne of the Island by L.

M.

Montgomery Read by Stephanie Poppins Chapter 2 Garlands of Autumn The following week sped swiftly,

Crowded with innumerable last things,

As Anne called them.

Goodbye 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 AVIS gave a farewell party in honour 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 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 want.

Josie was unusually amiable,

So much so that even she remarked condescendingly to Jane,

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 humour 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 surely would put on more airs than ever now she was going to college,

You'd see.

All the old crowd was there,

Full of mirth and zest and youthful light-heartedness.

Diana Barry,

Rosy and dimpled,

Shadowed by the faithful Fred,

Jane Andrews,

Neat and sensible and plain,

Ruby Gillis,

Looking her handsomest and brightest in a cream silk blouse with red geraniums in her golden hair,

Gilbert Blythe and Charlie Sloane,

Both trying to keep as near the elusive Anne as possible,

Carrie Sloane looking pale and melancholy because,

So it was reported,

Her father would not allow Oliver Kimble to come near the place,

Moody Spurgeon McPherson,

Whose round face and objectionable ears were as round and as objectionable as ever,

And Billy Andrews,

Who sat in a corner all the evening,

Chuckled when anyone spoke to him,

And watched Anne surely with a grin of pleasure on his broad,

Freckled countenance.

Anne had known beforehand of the party,

But she had not known that she and Gilbert were,

As the founders of the society,

To be presented with a very complimentary address and tokens of respect.

In her case,

A volume of Shakespeare's plays,

In Gilbert's a fountain pen.

She was so taken by surprise and pleased by the nice things said in the address,

Read in Moody Spurgeon's most solemn and ministerial tones,

That the tears quite drowned the sparkle of her big grey eyes.

She had worked hard and faithfully for the Avis,

And it warmed the cockles of her heart that the members appreciated her efforts so sincerely,

And they were all so nice and friendly and jolly,

Even the pie girls had their merits.

At that moment,

Anne loved all the world.

She enjoyed the evening tremendously,

But the end of it rather spoiled it all.

Gilbert made the same mistake of saying something sentimental to her,

As they ate their supper on the moonlit veranda.

And Anne,

To punish him,

Was gracious to Charlie Sloane and allowed the latter to walk home with her.

She found,

However,

That revenge hurts nobody quite so much as the one who tries to inflict it.

Gilbert walked airily off with Ruby Gillies,

And Anne could hear them laughing and talking gaily,

As they loitered along in the still,

Crisp autumn air.

They were evidently having the best of good times,

While she was horribly bored by Charlie Sloane,

Who talked unbrokenly on and never,

Even by accident,

Said one thing that was worth listening to.

Anne gave an occasional absent,

Yes or no,

And thought how beautiful Ruby had looked that night,

How very goggly Charlie's eyes were in the moonlight,

Worse even than by daylight,

And that the world somehow wasn't such as nice a place as she had believed it to be earlier in the evening.

I'm just tired out,

That's what's the matter with me,

She said,

When she thankfully found herself alone in her own room.

And she honestly believed it was.

But a certain little gush of joy,

As from some secret unknown spring,

Bubbled up in her heart the next evening,

When she saw Gilbert striding down through the haunted wood,

And crossing the old log bridge with that firm,

Quick step of his.

So,

Gilbert was not going to spend this last evening with Ruby Gillies after all.

You look tired,

Anne,

He said.

I am tired,

And worse than that,

I'm disgruntled.

I'm tired because I've been packing my trunk and sewing all day.

But I'm disgruntled because six women have been here to say goodbye to me,

And every one of the six managed to say something that seemed to take the colour right out of life,

And leave it as grey and dismal and cheerless as a November morning.

Spiteful old cats,

Was Gilbert's elegant comment.

Oh no,

They weren't,

Said Anne seriously,

That's just the trouble.

If they'd been spiteful cats I wouldn't have minded them at all,

But they're all nice,

Kind,

Motherly souls who like me,

And whom I like,

And that is why what they said or hinted had such undue weight with me.

They let me see they thought I was crazy going to Redmond and trying to take a BA,

And ever since I've been wondering if I am.

Mrs.

Peter Sloan sighed and said she hoped my strength would hold out until I got through,

And at once I saw myself a hopeless victim of nervous prostration at the end of my third year.

Mrs.

Eben Wright said it must cost an awful lot to put in four years at Redmond,

And I felt all over me it was unpardonable of me to squander Marilla's money and my own on such a folly.

Mrs.

Jasper Bell said she hoped I wouldn't let college spoil me as it did some people,

And I felt in my bones at the end of my four Redmond years would see me a most insufferable creature,

Thinking I knew it all,

And looking down on everybody and everything in Avonlea.

Mrs.

Alicia Wright said she understood that Redmond girls,

Especially those who belonged to Kingsport,

Were dreadfully dressy and stuck up,

And she guessed I wouldn't feel much at home among them,

And I saw myself a snubbed,

Dowdy,

Humiliated country girl shuffling through Redmond's classic halls in copper-toned boots.

Anne ended with a laugh and a sigh co-mingled.

With her sensitive nature all disapproval had weight,

Even the disapproval of those for whose opinion she had scant respect.

For the time,

Being life was savourless,

And ambition had gone out like a snuffed candle.

You surely don't care what they said,

Protested Gilbert.

You know exactly how narrow their outlook on life is,

Excellent creatures though they are.

To do anything they have never done is anathema maranatha.

You are the first Avonlea girl who's ever gone to college,

And you know all pioneers are considered to be afflicted with moonstruck madness.

Oh,

I know,

But feeling is so different from knowing.

My common sense tells me all you can say,

But there are times when common sense has no power over me.

Common sense takes possession of my soul.

Really,

After Miss Elisha went away,

I hardly had the heart to finish packing.

You're just tired,

Anne.

Come,

Forget it all and take a walk with me.

A ramble back through the woods beyond the marsh.

There should be something there I want to show you.

Should be?

Don't you know if it is there?

No,

I only know it should be from something I saw there in spring.

Come on,

We'll pretend we're two children again and go the way of the wind.

They started gaily off.

Anne,

Remembering the unpleasantness of the preceding evening,

Was very nice to Gilbert.

And Gilbert,

Who was learning wisdom,

Took care to be nothing save the schoolboy comrade again.

Mrs.

Lynde and Marilla watched them from the kitchen window.

That'll be a match someday,

Mrs.

Lynde said approvingly.

Marilla winced slightly.

In her heart she hoped it would,

But it went against her grain to hear the matter spoken of in Mrs.

Lynde's gossipy,

Matter-of-fact way.

They're only children yet,

She said shortly.

And Mrs.

Lynde laughed good-naturedly.

Anne is eighteen.

I was married when I was that age.

We old folks,

Marilla,

Are too much given to thinking children never grow up,

That's what.

Anne is a young woman and Gilbert's a man,

And he worships the ground she walks on as anyone can see.

He's a fine fellow and Anne cannot do better.

I hope she won't get any romantic nonsense into her head at Redmond.

I don't approve of them co-educational places and never did,

That's what.

I don't believe that the students at such colleges ever do much else than flirt.

They must study a little,

Said Marilla with a smile.

Precious little,

Sniffed Mrs.

Rachel.

However,

I think Anne will.

She never was flirtatious,

But she doesn't appreciate Gilbert at his full value,

That's what.

Why no girls?

Charlie Sloane is wild about her too,

But I'd never advise her to marry a Sloane.

The Sloanes are good,

Honest,

Respectable people,

Of course.

But when all's said and done,

They're Sloanes.

Marilla nodded.

To an outsider,

The statement that Sloanes were Sloanes might not be very illuminating,

But she understood.

Every village has such a family.

Good,

Honest,

Respectable people they may be.

But Sloanes they are and ever must remain,

Though they speak with the tongues of men and angels.

Gilbert and Anne,

Happily unconscious that their future was thus being settled by Mrs.

Rachel,

Were sauntering through the shadows of the haunted wood.

Beyond,

The harvest hills were basking in an amber sunset radiance under a pale aerial sky of rose and blue.

The distant spruce groves were burnished bronze,

And their long shadows barred the upland meadows.

But around them,

A little wind sang among the fir tassels,

And in it,

There was the note of autumn.

This wood really is haunted now,

By old memories,

Said Anne,

Stooping to gather a spray of ferns,

Bleached to wax and whiteness by frost.

It seems to me that the little girls Diana and I used to be,

Play here still,

And sit by the dryads' bubble in the twilights,

Twisting with the ghosts.

Do you know,

I can never go up this path in the dusk without feeling a bit of the old fright and shiver.

There was one especially horrifying phantom which we created,

The ghost of the murdered child that crept up behind you and laid cold fingers on yours.

I confess that to this day I cannot help fancying its little furtive footsteps behind me when I come here after nightfall.

I'm not afraid of the White Lady,

Or the Headless Man,

Or the Skeletons,

But I wish I'd never imagined that baby's ghost into existence.

How angry Marilla and Mrs Barry were over that affair,

Concluded Anne,

With reminiscent laughter.

The woods around the Head of the Marsh were full of purple vistas,

Threaded with gossamers.

Past a dour plantation of gnarled spruces and a maple-fringed,

Sun-warmed valley,

They found there something Gilbert was looking for.

Ah,

Here it is,

He said with satisfaction.

An apple tree,

And a way back here,

Exclaimed Anne excitedly.

Yes,

A veritable apple-bearing apple tree too,

Here in the midst of pines and beaches,

A mile away from any orchard.

I was here one day last spring and found it all white with blossom,

So I resolved I'd come back again in the fall and see if it had been apples.

See,

It's loaded.

They look good too,

Tawny as russets but with a dusky red cheek.

Most wild seedlings are green and uninviting.

I suppose it sprang years ago from some chance-sown seed,

Said Anne dreamily,

And how it's grown and flourished and held its own here all alone among aliens,

The brave,

Determined thing.

Here's a fallen tree with a cushion of moss.

Sit down Anne,

It'll serve for a woodland throne.

I'll climb for some apples.

They all grow high.

The tree had to reach up to the sunlight.

The apples proved to be delicious.

Under the tawny skin was white,

White flesh,

Faintly veined with red,

And besides their own proper apple taste,

They had a certain wild,

Delightful tang no orchard-grown apple ever possessed.

The fatal apple of Eden couldn't have had a rarer flavour,

Commented Anne.

But it's time we were going home.

See,

It was twilight three minutes ago and now it's moonlight.

What a pity we couldn't have caught the moment of transformation,

But such moments never are caught,

I suppose.

Let's go back round the marsh and home by way of Lover's Lane.

Do you feel as disgruntled now as when you started out,

Anne?

Not I.

Those apples have been as manner to a hungry soul.

I feel I shall love Redmond and have a splendid four years there.

And after those four years,

What then?

Oh,

There's another bend in the road at their end,

Answered Anne lightly.

I've no idea what might be around it.

I don't want to have—it's nicer not to know.

Lover's Lane was a dear place that night,

Still a mysteriously dim in the pale radiance of the moonlight.

Anne and Gilbert loitered through it in a pleasant,

Chummy silence,

Neither caring to talk.

If Gilbert were always as he'd been this evening,

How nice and simple everything would be,

Reflected Anne.

Gilbert was looking at Anne as she walked along.

In her light dress with her slender delicacy,

She made him think of a white iris.

I wonder if I can ever make her care for me,

He thought,

With a pang of self-distrust.

Reviews

Such deep sweetness, both of them 💘❤️🙏🏼 thank you, dear one.