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that reminds me. Go into the sitting room, Anneā€”be sure your feet are clean and donā€™t let any flies inā€”and bring me out the illustrated card thatā€™s on the mantelpiece. The Lordā€™s Prayer is on it and youā€™ll devote your spare time this afternoon to learning it off by heart. Thereā€™s to be no more of such praying as I heard last night.ā€

ā€œI suppose I was very awkward,ā€ said Anne apologetically, ā€œbut then, you see, Iā€™d never had any practice. You couldnā€™t really expect a person to pray very well the first time she tried, could you? I thought out a splendid prayer after I went to bed, just as I promised you I would. It was nearly as long as a ministerā€™s and so poetical. But would you believe it? I couldnā€™t remember one word when I woke up this morning. And Iā€™m afraid Iā€™ll never be able to think out another one as good. Somehow, things never are so good when theyā€™re thought out a second time. Have you ever noticed that?ā€

ā€œHere is something for you to notice, Anne. When I tell you to do a thing I want you to obey me at once and not stand stock-still and discourse about it. Just you go and do as I bid you.ā€

Anne promptly departed for the sitting-room across the hall; she failed to return; after waiting ten minutes Marilla laid down her knitting and marched after her with a grim expression. She found Anne standing motionless before a picture hanging on the wall between the two windows, with her eyes astar with dreams. The white and green light strained through apple trees and clustering vines outside fell over the rapt little figure with a half-unearthly radiance.

ā€œAnne, whatever are you thinking of?ā€ demanded Marilla sharply.

Anne came back to earth with a start.

ā€œThat,ā€ she said, pointing to the pictureā€”a rather vivid chromo entitled, ā€œChrist Blessing Little Childrenā€ā€”ā€œand I was just imagining I was one of themā€”that I was the little girl in the blue dress, standing off by herself in the corner as if she didnā€™t belong to anybody, like me. She looks lonely and sad, donā€™t you think? I guess she hadnā€™t any father or mother of her own. But she wanted to be blessed, too, so she just crept shyly up on the outside of the crowd, hoping nobody would notice herā€”except Him. Iā€™m sure I know just how she felt. Her heart must have beat and her hands must have got cold, like mine did when I asked you if I could stay. She was afraid He mightnā€™t notice her. But itā€™s likely He did, donā€™t you think? Iā€™ve been trying to imagine it all outā€”her edging a little nearer all the time until she was quite close to Him; and then He would look at her and put His hand on her hair and oh, such a thrill of joy as would run over her! But I wish the artist hadnā€™t painted Him so sorrowful looking. All His pictures are like that, if youā€™ve noticed. But I donā€™t believe He could really have looked so sad or the children would have been afraid of Him.ā€

ā€œAnne,ā€ said Marilla, wondering why she had not broken into this speech long before, ā€œyou shouldnā€™t talk that way. Itā€™s irreverentā€”positively irreverent.ā€

Anneā€™s eyes marveled.

ā€œWhy, I felt just as reverent as could be. Iā€™m sure I didnā€™t mean to be irreverent.ā€

ā€œWell I donā€™t suppose you didā€”but it doesnā€™t sound right to talk so familiarly about such things. And another thing, Anne, when I send you after something youā€™re to bring it at once and not fall into mooning and imagining before pictures. Remember that. Take that card and come right to the kitchen. Now, sit down in the corner and learn that prayer off by heart.ā€

Anne set the card up against the jugful of apple blossoms she had brought in to decorate the dinner-tableā€”Marilla had eyed that decoration askance, but had said nothingā€” propped her chin on her hands, and fell to studying it intently for several silent minutes.

ā€œI like this,ā€ she announced at length. ā€œItā€™s beautiful. Iā€™ve heard it beforeā€”I heard the superintendent of the asylum Sunday school say it over once. But I didnā€™t like it then. He had such a cracked voice and he prayed it so mournfully. I really felt sure he thought praying was a disagreeable duty. This isnā€™t poetry, but it makes me feel just the same way poetry does. `Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be Thy name.ā€™ That is just like a line of music. Oh, Iā€™m so glad you thought of making me learn this, Missā€” Marilla.ā€

ā€œWell, learn it and hold your tongue,ā€ said Marilla shortly.

Anne tipped the vase of apple blossoms near enough to bestow a soft kiss on a pink-cupped bud, and then studied diligently for some moments longer.

ā€œMarilla,ā€ she demanded presently, ā€œdo you think that I shall ever have a bosom friend in Avonlea?ā€

ā€œAā€”a what kind of friend?ā€

ā€œA bosom friendā€”an intimate friend, you knowā€”a really kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul. Iā€™ve dreamed of meeting her all my life. I never really supposed I would, but so many of my loveliest dreams have come true all at once that perhaps this one will, too. Do you think itā€™s possible?ā€

ā€œDiana Barry lives over at Orchard Slope and sheā€™s about your age. Sheā€™s a very nice little girl, and perhaps she will be a playmate for you when she comes home. Sheā€™s visiting her aunt over at Carmody just now. Youā€™ll have to be careful how you behave yourself, though. Mrs. Barry is a very particular woman. She wonā€™t let Diana play with any little girl who isnā€™t nice and good.ā€

Anne looked at Marilla through the apple blossoms, her eyes aglow with interest.

ā€œWhat is Diana like? Her hair isnā€™t red, is it? Oh, I hope not. Itā€™s bad enough to have red hair myself, but I positively couldnā€™t endure it in a bosom friend.ā€

ā€œDiana is a very pretty little girl. She has black eyes and hair and rosy cheeks. And she is good and smart, which is better than being pretty.ā€

Marilla was as fond of morals as the Duchess in Wonderland, and was firmly convinced that one should be tacked on to every remark made to a child who was being brought up.

But Anne waved the moral inconsequently aside and seized only on the delightful possibilities before it.

ā€œOh, Iā€™m so glad sheā€™s pretty. Next to being beautiful oneselfā€”and thatā€™s impossible in my caseā€”it would be best to have a beautiful bosom friend. When I lived with Mrs. Thomas she had a bookcase in her sitting room with glass doors. There werenā€™t any books in it; Mrs. Thomas kept her best china and her preserves thereā€”when she had any preserves to keep. One of the doors was broken. Mr. Thomas smashed it one night when he was slightly intoxicated. But the other was whole and I used to pretend that my reflection in it was another little girl who lived in it. I called her Katie Maurice, and we were very intimate. I used to talk to her by the hour, especially on Sunday, and tell her everything. Katie was the comfort and consolation of my life. We used to pretend that the bookcase was enchanted and that if I only knew the spell I could open the door and step right into the room where Katie Maurice lived, instead of into Mrs. Thomasā€™ shelves of preserves and china. And then Katie Maurice would have taken me by the hand and led me out into a wonderful place, all flowers and sunshine and fairies, and we would have lived there happy for ever after. When I went to live with Mrs. Hammond it just broke my heart to leave Katie Maurice. She felt it dreadfully, too, I know she did, for she was crying when she kissed me goodbye through the bookcase door. There was no bookcase at Mrs. Hammondā€™s. But just up the river a little way from the house there was a long green little valley, and the loveliest echo lived there. It echoed back every word you said, even if you didnā€™t talk a bit loud. So I imagined that it was a little girl called Violetta and we were great friends and I loved her almost as well as I loved Katie Mauriceā€”not quite, but almost, you know. The night before I went to the asylum I said goodbye to Violetta, and oh, her goodbye came back to me in such sad, sad tones. I had become so attached to her that I hadnā€™t the heart to imagine a bosom friend at the asylum, even if there had been any scope for imagination there.ā€

ā€œI think itā€™s just as well there wasnā€™t,ā€ said Marilla drily. ā€œI donā€™t approve of such goings-on. You seem to half believe your own imaginations. It will be well for you to have a real live friend to put such nonsense out of your head. But donā€™t let Mrs. Barry hear you talking about your Katie Maurices and your Violettas or sheā€™ll think you tell stories.ā€

ā€œOh, I wonā€™t. I couldnā€™t talk of them to everybodyā€”their memories are too sacred for that. But I thought Iā€™d like to have you know about them. Oh, look, hereā€™s a big bee just tumbled out of an apple blossom. Just think what a lovely place to liveā€”in an apple blossom! Fancy going to sleep in it when the wind was rocking it. If I wasnā€™t a human girl I think Iā€™d like to be a bee and live among the flowers.ā€

ā€œYesterday you wanted to be a sea gull,ā€ sniffed Marilla. ā€œI think you are very fickle minded. I told you to learn that prayer and not talk. But it seems impossible for you to stop talking if youā€™ve got anybody that will listen to you. So go up to your room and learn it.ā€

ā€œOh, I know it pretty nearly all nowā€”all but just the last line.ā€

ā€œWell, never mind, do as I tell you. Go to your room and finish learning it well, and stay there until I call you down to help me get tea.ā€

ā€œCan I take the apple blossoms with me for company?ā€ pleaded Anne.

ā€œNo; you donā€™t want your room cluttered up with flowers. You should have left them on the tree in the first place.ā€

ā€œI did feel a little that way, too,ā€ said Anne. ā€œI kind of felt I shouldnā€™t shorten their lovely lives by picking themā€”I wouldnā€™t want to be picked if I were an apple blossom. But the temptation was IRRESISTIBLE. What do you do when you meet with an irresistible temptation?ā€

ā€œAnne, did you hear me tell you to go to your room?ā€

Anne sighed, retreated to the east gable, and sat down in a chair by the window.

ā€œThereā€”I know this prayer. I learned that last sentence coming upstairs. Now Iā€™m going to imagine things into this room so that theyā€™ll always stay imagined. The floor is covered with a white velvet carpet with pink roses all over it and there are pink silk curtains at the windows. The walls are hung with gold and silver brocade tapestry. The furniture is mahogany. I never saw any mahogany, but it does sound SO luxurious. This is a couch all heaped with gorgeous silken cushions, pink and blue and crimson and gold, and I am reclining gracefully on it. I can see my reflection in that splendid big mirror hanging on the wall. I am tall and regal, clad in a gown of trailing white lace, with a pearl cross on my breast and pearls in my hair. My hair is of midnight darkness and my skin is a clear ivory pallor. My name is the Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald. No,

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