Anne Of Avonlea (Bedtime Story) Part 1

In chapter 1 of "Anne of Avonlea" by L.M. Montgomery, Anne Shirley is now 16 years old Anne is ready to take up her new position as a school teacher. She is excited to be back in the village she loves and is eager to make a difference in the lives of her students. "Anne of Avonlea" sets the stage for Anne's new adventures and challenges as she navigates her way through adolescence and adulthood in the charming community of Avonlea.

Please no mean comments about my accent. English is my third language.

Transcript

Anne of Avonlea by Lucy Maud Montgomery CHAPTER ONE AN IRRITATED NEIGHBOUR Tall,

Slim girl,

Half-past sixteen,

With serious grey eyes and hair,

Which her friend's god Auburn had sat down on the broad red sandstone doorstep of a Prince Edward Island farmhouse.

One ripe afternoon in August firmly resolved was true so many lines of Virgil,

But an August afternoon with blue haze hairs carving the harvest lobes,

Little winds whispering elfishly in the poplars,

And dancing slender of red poppies outflaming against the dark coppice of young firs in a corner of the cherry orchard,

Was fitter for dreams than dead languages.

The Virgil soon slipped unheeded to the ground,

And Anne,

Her eyes on the splendid mass of fluffy clouds,

To a heaping up just over Mr.

J.

A.

Harrison's house,

Like a great white mountain,

Was far away in a delicious world where a certain schoolteacher was doing a wonderful work shaping the destinies of future statesmen,

And inspiring youthful minds and hearts with high and lofty ambitions to be sure if you came down to harsh facts,

Which it must be confessed,

Anne seldom did,

Until she had to.

It did not seem likely that there was much promising material for celebrities in Avonlea School,

But you could never tell what might happen if a teacher used her influence for good.

Anne had certain rose-tinted ideals what the teacher might accomplish if she only went the right way about it,

And she was in the midst of a delightful scene,

Forty years hence,

With a famous personage,

Just exactly what he was to be famous for,

Was left in convenient haziness.

Anne thought it would be rather nice to have him a college president,

Or a Canadian premier,

Bowing low over her wrinkled hand and assuring her that it was she who had first kindled his ambition,

And that all his success in life was due to the lessons she had instilled so long ago.

This pleasant vision was shattered by a most unpleasant interruption.

The mere little Jersey cow came scuttling down the lane,

And five seconds later Mr.

Harrison arrived,

And angrily confronted astonished Anne,

Who had risen to her feet and stood looking at him in some bewilderment.

Mr.

Harrison was their new right-hand neighbor,

Although she had seen him once or twice in early April before Anne had come home from Queens.

Mr.

Robert Bell,

Whose farm had joined the cut-part place on the west,

Had sold out and moved to Charlottetown.

His farm had been bought by a certain Mr.

J.

A.

Harrison,

Whose name and the fact that he was a new Brunswick man were all that was known about him.

But before he had been a month in Avonlea he had won the reputation of being an old person,

A crank,

Mrs.

Rachel Lynde said.

Mrs.

Rachel was an outspoken lady,

As those of you who may have already made her acquaintance will remember.

Mr.

Harrison was certainly different from other people,

And that is the essential characteristic of a crank,

As everybody knows.

He kept house for himself,

And had publicly stated that he wanted no fools of women around his diggings.

Feminine Avonlea took its revenge by the gruesome tales it related about his housekeeping and cooking.

He had hired little John Henry Carter of White Sands,

And John Henry started the stories.

For one thing,

There was never any state time for meals in the Harrison establishment.

Mr.

Harrison got a bite when he felt hungry,

And if John Henry were around at time he came in for a share.

But if he were not,

He had to wait until Mr.

Harrison's next hungry spell.

John Henry mournfully averted that he would have starved to death if it wasn't that he got home on Sundays and got a good filling up.

As for washing dishes,

Mr.

Harrison never made any pretence of doing it unless a rainy Sunday came.

Then he went to work and washed them all at once in the rainwater hogshead,

And left them to drain dry.

Again,

Mr.

Harrison was close when he was asked to subscribe to the Rev.

Mr.

Alan Sellery.

He said he'd wait and see how many dollars' worth of good he got out of his preaching first.

He didn't believe in buying a pig in a poke,

And when Mrs.

Lind went to ask for a contribution to missions,

And incidentally to see the inside of the house,

He told her there were more heathens among the old woman's gossip in Avonlea than anywhere else he knew of,

And he'd cheerfully contribute to a mission for Christianizing them if she'd undertake it.

Mrs.

Rachel got herself away,

And said it was mercy poor Mrs.

Robert Bell was safe in her grave,

For it would have broken her heart to see the state of her house in which she used to take so much pride.

Why,

She scrubbed the kitchen floor every second day,

And if you could see it now,

I had to hold up my skirts as I walked across it.

Finally,

Mr.

Harrison kept a parrot called Ginger.

Nobody in Avonlea had ever kept a parrot before.

Consequently,

That proceeding was considered barely respectable.

And such a parrot,

If you took John Henry Carter's word for it,

Never was such an unholy bird.

It swore terribly.

Mrs.

Carter would have taken John Henry away at once if she had been sure she could get another place for him.

Besides,

Ginger had bitten a piece right out of the back of John Henry's neck one day,

When he had stooped down to near the cage.

Mrs.

Carter showed everybody the mark,

And the luckless John Henry went home on Sundays.

All these things flashed through Anne's mind,

As Mr.

Harrison stood beachless with a rat apparently before her.

In his most amiable mood,

Mr.

Harrison could not have been considered a handsome man.

He was short and fat and bald.

And now,

With his round face purple with rage,

And his prominent blue eyes almost sticking out of his head,

Anne thought he was really the ugliest person she had ever seen.

All at once Mr.

Harrison found his voice.

I am not going to put up with this,

He spluttered.

Not a day longer,

Do you hear,

Miss?

Bless my soul,

This is the third time,

Miss.

The third time.

Patience has ceased to be a virtue,

Miss.

I warned you,

Anne,

The last time,

Not to let it occur again.

And she's let it.

She's done it.

What does she mean by it?

That is what I want to know.

That is what I am here about,

Miss.

Will you explain what the trouble is?

Asked Anne in her most dignified manner.

She had been practising it considerably of late to have it,

In good working order,

When school began,

But it had no apparent effect,

To the great J.

A.

Harrison.

Trouble,

Is it?

Bless my soul.

Trouble enough,

I should think.

The trouble is,

Miss,

That I found that Jersey cow of your aunt's in my oats again.

Not half an hour ago,

The third time,

Mark you,

I found her in last Tuesday and I found her in yesterday.

I came here and taught you,

Aunt,

Not to let it occur again.

She has let it occur again.

Where is your aunt,

Miss?

I just want to see her for a minute and give her a piece of my mind.

A piece of J.

A.

Harrison's mind,

Miss.

If you mean Miss Mariel Cuthbert,

She is not my aunt,

And she has gone down to East Crafton to see a distant relative of hers who is very ill.

Said Anne,

Do increase of dignity at every word.

I am very sorry that my cow should have broken into your oats.

She is my cow.

Matthew gave her to me three years ago when she was a little calf,

And he bought her from Mr.

Bell.

Sorry,

Miss.

Sorry isn't going to help matters any.

You'd better go and look at the hay bag that Annie Moore has made on my oats.

Shambled them from centre to circumference,

Miss.

I am very sorry,

Repeated Anne firmly,

But perhaps if you kept your fences in a better repair,

Dolly might not have broken in.

It is your part of the line fence that separates your oat field from our pasture,

And I noticed the other day that it was not in very good condition.

My fence is all right,

Snapped Mr.

Harrison,

Angrier than ever at this carrying of the war into the enemy's country.

Jail fence couldn't keep a demon of a cow like that out.

And I can tell you,

You red-head snippet,

That if the cow is yours,

As you say,

You'd be better employed in watching her out of other people's grain than in sitting round reading yellow-covered novels with a scratching glance at the innocent uncourted virtual by Anne's feet.

Something at that moment was red besides Anne's hair,

Which had always been a tender point with her.

I'd rather have red hair than none at all,

Except the little fringe round my ears,

She flashed.

The shot told before Mr.

Harrison was really very sensitive about his bald head.

His anger choked him up again,

And he could only glare speechlessly at Anne,

Who recovered her temper.

I can make allowance for you,

Mr.

Harrison,

Because I have an imagination.

I can easily imagine how very trying it must be to find a cow in your oats,

And I shall not cherish any hard feelings against you for the things you have said.

I promise you that Dolly shall never break into your oats again.

I give you my word of honour on that point.

Well,

Mind you,

She doesn't,

Muttered Mr.

Harrison in the somewhat subdued tone.

But he stamped off angrily enough,

And Anne heard him growling himself,

Previously disturbed in mind,

And march across the yard and shut the naughty jersey up in the milking bell.

She can't possibly get out unless she tears the fence down,

She reflected.

She looks pretty quiet now,

I dare say she has sickened herself on those oats.

I wish I'd sold her to Mr.

Shearer when he wanted her last week,

But I thought it was just as well to wait until we had the auction of the stock and let them go altogether.

I believe it is true about Mr.

Harrison being crank.

Certainly there's nothing of the kindred spirit about him.

Anne had always a wetter eye open for kindred spirits.

Marilla Gutbert was driving into the yard as Anne returned from the house,

And the latter flew to get the tea ready.

They discussed the matter at the tea table.

I'll be glad when the auction is over,

Said Marilla.

It is too much responsibility having so much stock about the place,

And nobody but that Martin to look after them.

He has never come back yet,

And he promised that he would certainly be back last night.

If I'd give him the day off to go to his aunt's funeral,

I don't know how many aunts he has got.

I am sure that's the fourth that's died since he hired here a year ago.

I'll be more than thankful when the crop is in and Mr.

Barry takes over the farm.

We'll have to keep Dolly shut up in the pen till Martin comes,

For she must be put in the bag.

Pastor and the fences there have to be fixed.

I declare it is a word of trouble,

As Rachel says.

Poor Mary keep dying,

And what is to become of those two children of hers is more than I know.

She has a brother in British Columbia,

And she has written to him about them,

But she hasn't heard from him yet.

What are the children like?

How old are they?

Six past.

They are twins.

Oh,

I have always been especially interested in twins,

Ever since Mrs.

Hammond had so many,

Said Anne eagerly.

Are they pretty?

Goodness,

You couldn't tell.

They were too dirty.

Davy had been out making mud pies,

And Dora went out to call him.

Davy pushed her head first into the biggest pie,

And then,

Because she cried,

He got into it himself and wallowed in it to show her.

It was nothing to cry about.

Mary said Dora was really a very good child,

But that Davy was full of mitchief.

He has never had any bringing up,

You might say.

His father died when he was a baby,

And Mary has been sick almost ever since.

I am always sorry for children that have no bringing up,

Said Anne soberly.

You know,

I hadn't any till you took me in.

I hope their uncle will look after them.

Just what relation is Miss Skeed to you?

Mary?

None in the world.

It was her husband.

He was our third cousin.

Where is Mrs.

Lynde coming through the yard?

I thought she'd be up to hear about Mary.

Don't tell her about Mr.

Harrison and the cow,

Implored Anne.

Marilla promised,

But the promise was quite unnecessary,

For Mrs.

Lynde was no sooner fairly seated than she said,

I saw Mr.

Harrison chasing your jersey out of his oats today when I was coming home from comedy.

I thought he looked pretty mad.

Did he make much for Rambus?

Anne and Marilla furtively exchanged amused smiles.

Few things in Avonlea ever escaped Miss Lynde.

It was not only that morning Anne had said.

If you went to your own room at midnight,

Locked the door,

Put down the blind and sneezed,

Miss Lynde would ask you the next day how your coat was.

I believe he did,

Admitted Marilla.

I was away.

He gave Anne a piece of his mind.

I think he is a very disagreeable man,

Said Anne,

With the resentful thoughts of her ruddy head.

You never said a truer word,

Said Miss Rachel solemnly.

I knew there'd be trouble when Robert Bell sold his place to a new Brunswick man.

That's what.

I don't know what Avonlea is becoming to with so many strange people rushing into it.

It will soon not be safe to go to sleep in our own beds.

Why?

What other strangers are coming in?

Asked Marilla.

Haven't you heard?

Well,

There's a family of Donnels,

For one thing.

They have rented Peter Sloan's old house.

Peter has hired the man to run his mill.

They belong down east and nobody knows anything about them.

Then the chiffless Timothy Cotton family are going to move up from White Sands,

And they will simply be a burden on the public.

He is in consumption when he isn't stealing and his wife is a slack creature that cannot turn her hand to a thing.

She washes her dishes sitting down.

Mrs.

George Pye has taken her husband's orphan nephew,

Anthony Pye.

He will be going to school to you,

Anne,

So you may expect trouble.

That is what.

And you'll have another strange pupil,

Too.

Paul Irving is coming from the States to live with his grandmother.

You remember his father,

Marilla?

Stephen Irving.

Him that shielded Lavender Lewis over at Grafton.

I don't think he shielded her.

There was a quarrel.

I suppose there was blame on both sides.

Well,

Anyway,

He didn't marry her,

And she has been as queer as possible ever since.

They say,

Living all by herself in that little stone house she calls Eco-Lodge.

Stephen went off to the States and went into business with his uncle and married a Yankee.

He's never been home since,

Though his mother has been up to see him once or twice.

His wife died two years ago,

And he's sending the boy home to his mother for a spell.

He's ten years old,

And I don't know if he'll be a very desirable pupil.

You can never tell about those Yankees.

Mrs.

Lynch looked upon all people who had the misfortune to be born or brought up elsewhere than in Prince Edward Island,

With a decided,

Can any good thing come out of Nazareth,

Air.

They might be good people,

Of course,

But you were on the safe side in doubting it.

She had a special prejudice against Yankees.

Her husband had been cheated out of ten dollars by an employer for whom he had once worked in Boston,

And neither angels or principalities or powers could have convinced Mrs.

Rachel that the whole United States was not responsible for it.

School won't be the worse for a little new blood,

Said Marilla Triley,

And if this boy is anything like his father,

He will be all right.

Steve Irving was the nicest boy that was ever raised in these parts,

Though some people did call him proud.

I should think Mrs.

Irving would be glad to have the child.

She has been very lonesome since her husband died.

Oh,

The boy may be well enough,

But he will be different from Avonlea Children,

Said Mrs.

Rachel.

As if that clinched the matter,

Mrs.

Rachel's opinions concerning any person,

Place,

Or thing were always warranted to wear.

What's this I hear about your going to start up a village improvement society,

Anne?

I was just talking over with some of the girls and the boys at the last debating club,

Said Anne,

Blushing.

They thought it would be rather nice.

And so do Mr.

And Mrs.

Allen.

Lots of villagers have them now.

Well,

You'll get in to no end of hot water if you do.

Better leave it alone,

Anne.

That's what.

People don't like being improved.

Oh,

We are not going to try to improve the people.

It is Avonlea itself.

There are lots of things which might be done to make it prettier.

For instance,

If we could coax Mr.

Levi Balter to pull down the dreadful old house on his upper farm,

Wouldn't that be an improvement?

It certainly would,

Admitted Mrs.

Rachel.

The old ruin has been an eyesore to the settlement for years.

But if you improvers can coax Levi Balter to do anything for the public that he isn't to be paid for doing,

May I be there to see and hear the process,

That's what.

I don't want to discourage you,

Anne,

For there may be something in your idea,

Though I suppose you did get it out of some rubbishy Yankee magazine.

But you'll have your hands full with your school,

And I advise you as a friend not to bother with your improvements,

That is what.

But there,

I know you will go ahead with it if you have set your mind on it.

You were always one to carry a thing through somehow.

Something about the firm outlines of Anne's lips told that Mrs.

Rachel was not far astray in this estimate.

Anne's heart was bent on forming the Improvement Society.

Gilbert Blight,

Who was to teach in White Sands but would always be home from Friday night to Monday morning,

Was enthusiastic about it,

And most of the other folks were willing to go in for anything that meant occasional meetings and,

Consequently,

Some fun.

As for what the improvements were to be,

Nobody had any clear idea except Anne and Gilbert.

They had talked them over and planned them out until an ideal evenly existed in their minds,

If nowhere else.

Mrs.

Rachel had another item of news.

They have given the comedy school to Priscilla Grant.

Didn't you go to Queens with a girl of that name,

Anne?

Yes,

Indeed.

Priscilla to teach at comedy!

How perfectly lovely!

Exclaimed Anne,

Her grey eyes lighting up until they looked like evening stars,

Causing Mrs.

Lynn to wonder anew if she would ever get it settled,

To her satisfaction,

Whether Anne Shirley were really a pretty girl or not.