Anne's House of Dreams - Lucy Maud Montgomery (ebook reader macos .txt) š
- Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
- Performer: 0553213180
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āAre you called out?ā she asked drowsily.
āNo. Anne, Iām afraid thereās something wrong at the Point. Itās an hour after sunrise now, and the light is still burning. You know it has always been a matter of pride with Captain Jim to start the light the moment the sun sets, and put it out the moment it rises.ā
Anne sat up in dismay. Through her window she saw the light blinking palely against the blue skies of dawn.
āPerhaps he has fallen asleep over his life-book,ā she said anxiously, āor become so absorbed in it that he has forgotten the light.ā
Gilbert shook his head.
āThat wouldnāt be like Captain Jim. Anyway, Iām going down to see.ā
āWait a minute and Iāll go with you,ā exclaimed Anne. āOh, yes, I mustāLittle Jem will sleep for an hour yet, and Iāll call Susan. You may need a womanās help if Captain Jim is ill.ā
It was an exquisite morning, full of tints and sounds at once ripe and delicate. The harbor was sparkling and dimpling like a girl; white gulls were soaring over the dunes; beyond the bar was a shining, wonderful sea. The long fields by the shore were dewy and fresh in that first fine, purely-tinted light. The wind came dancing and whistling up the channel to replace the beautiful silence with a music more beautiful still. Had it not been for the baleful star on the white tower that early walk would have been a delight to Anne and Gilbert. But they went softly with fear.
Their knock was not responded to. Gilbert opened the door and they went in.
The old room was very quiet. On the table were the remnants of the little evening feast. The lamp still burned on the corner stand. The First Mate was asleep in a square of sunshine by the sofa.
Captain Jim lay on the sofa, with his hands clasped over the life-book, open at the last page, lying on his breast. His eyes were closed and on his face was a look of the most perfect peace and happinessāthe look of one who has long sought and found at last.
āHe is asleep?ā whispered Anne tremulously.
Gilbert went to the sofa and bent over him for a few moments. Then he straightened up.
āYes, he sleepsāwell,ā he added quietly. āAnne, Captain Jim has crossed the bar.ā
They could not know precisely at what hour he had died, but Anne always believed that he had had his wish, and went out when the morning came across the gulf. Out on that shining tide his spirit drifted, over the sunrise sea of pearl and silver, to the haven where lost Margaret waited, beyond the storms and calms.
Captain Jim was buried in the little over-harbor graveyard, very near to the spot where the wee white lady slept. His relatives put up a very expensive, very ugly āmonumentāāa monument at which he would have poked sly fun had he seen it in life. But his real monument was in the hearts of those who knew him, and in the book that was to live for generations.
Leslie mourned that Captain Jim had not lived to see the amazing success of it.
āHow he would have delighted in the reviewsāthey are almost all so kindly. And to have seen his life-book heading the lists of the best sellersāoh, if he could just have lived to see it, Anne!ā
But Anne, despite her grief, was wiser.
āIt was the book itself he cared for, Leslieānot what might be said of itāand he had it. He had read it all through. That last night must have been one of the greatest happiness for himāwith the quick, painless ending he had hoped for in the morning. I am glad for Owenās sake and yours that the book is such a successābut Captain Jim was satisfiedāI KNOW.ā
The lighthouse star still kept a nightly vigil; a substitute keeper had been sent to the Point, until such time as an all-wise government could decide which of many applicants was best fitted for the placeāor had the strongest pull. The First Mate was at home in the little house, beloved by Anne and Gilbert and Leslie, and tolerated by a Susan who had small liking for cats.
āI can put up with him for the sake of Captain Jim, Mrs. Doctor, dear, for I liked the old man. And I will see that he gets bite and sup, and every mouse the traps account for. But do not ask me to do more than that, Mrs. Doctor, dear. Cats is cats, and take my word for it, they will never be anything else. And at least, Mrs. Doctor, dear, do keep him away from the blessed wee man. Picture to yourself how awful it would be if he was to suck the darlingās breath.ā
āThat might be fitly called a CAT-astrophe,ā said Gilbert.
āOh, you may laugh, doctor, dear, but it would be no laughing matter.ā
āCats never suck babiesā breaths,ā said Gilbert. āThat is only an old superstition, Susan.ā
āOh, well, it may be a superstition or it may not, doctor, dear. All that I know is, it has happened. My sisterās husbandās nephewās wifeās cat sucked their babyās breath, and the poor innocent was all but gone when they found it. And superstition or not, if I find that yellow beast lurking near our baby I will whack him with the poker, Mrs. Doctor, dear.ā
Mr. and Mrs. Marshall Elliott were living comfortably and harmoniously in the green house. Leslie was busy with sewing, for she and Owen were to be married at Christmas. Anne wondered what she would do when Leslie was gone.
āChanges come all the time. Just as soon as things get really nice they change,ā she said with a sigh.
āThe old Morgan place up at the Glen is for sale,ā said Gilbert, apropos of nothing in especial.
āIs it?ā asked Anne indifferently.
āYes. Now that Mr. Morgan has gone, Mrs. Morgan wants to go to live with her children in Vancouver. She will sell cheaply, for a big place like that in a small village like the Glen will not be very easy to dispose of.ā
āWell, itās certainly a beautiful place, so it is likely she will find a purchaser,ā said Anne, absently, wondering whether she should hemstitch or feather-stitch little Jemās āshortā dresses. He was to be shortened the next week, and Anne felt ready to cry at the thought of it.
āSuppose we buy it, Anne?ā remarked Gilbert quietly.
Anne dropped her sewing and stared at him.
āYouāre not in earnest, Gilbert?ā
āIndeed I am, dear.ā
āAnd leave this darling spotāour house of dreams?ā said Anne incredulously. āOh, Gilbert, itāsāitās unthinkable!ā
āListen patiently to me, dear. I know just how you feel about it. I feel the same. But weāve always known we would have to move some day.ā
āOh, but not so soon, Gilbertānot just yet.ā
āWe may never get such a chance again. If we donāt buy the Morgan place someone else willāand there is no other house in the Glen we would care to have, and no other really good site on which to build. This little house isāwell, it is and has been what no other house can ever be to us, I admit, but you know it is out-of-the-way down here for a doctor. We have felt the inconvenience, though weāve made the best of it. And itās a tight fit for us now. Perhaps, in a few years, when Jem wants a room of his own, it will be entirely too small.ā
āOh, I knowāI know,ā said Anne, tears filling her eyes. āI know all that can be said against it, but I love it soāand itās so beautiful here.ā
āYou would find it very lonely here after Leslie goesāand Captain Jim has gone too. The Morgan place is beautiful, and in time we would love it. You know you have always admired it, Anne.ā
āOh, yes, butābutāthis has all seemed to come up so suddenly, Gilbert. Iām dizzy. Ten minutes ago I had no thought of leaving this dear spot. I was planning what I meant to do for it in the springā what I meant to do in the garden. And if we leave this place who will get it? It IS out-of-the-way, so itās likely some poor, shiftless, wandering family will rent itāand overrun itāand oh, that would be desecration. It would hurt me horribly.ā
āI know. But we cannot sacrifice our own interests to such considerations, Anne-girl. The Morgan place will suit us in every essential particularāwe really canāt afford to miss such a chance. Think of that big lawn with those magnificent old trees; and of that splendid hardwood grove behind itātwelve acres of it. What a play place for our children! Thereās a fine orchard, too, and youāve always admired that high brick wall around the garden with the door in itāyouāve thought it was so like a story-book garden. And there is almost as fine a view of the harbor and the dunes from the Morgan place as from here.ā
āYou canāt see the lighthouse star from it.ā
āYes, You can see it from the attic window. THEREāS another advantage, Anne-girlāyou love big garrets.ā
āThereās no brook in the garden.ā
āWell, no, but there is one running through the maple grove into the Glen pond. And the pond itself isnāt far away. Youāll be able to fancy you have your own Lake of Shining Waters again.ā
āWell, donāt say anything more about it just now, Gilbert. Give me time to thinkāto get used to the idea.ā
āAll right. There is no great hurry, of course. Onlyāif we decide to buy, it would be well to be moved in and settled before winter.ā
Gilbert went out, and Anne put away Little Jemās short dresses with trembling hands. She could not sew any more that day. With tear-wet eyes she wandered over the little domain where she had reigned so happy a queen. The Morgan place was all that Gilbert claimed. The grounds were beautiful, the house old enough to have dignity and repose and traditions, and new enough to be comfortable and up-to-date. Anne had always admired it; but admiring is not loving; and she loved this house of dreams so much. She loved EVERYTHING about itāthe garden she had tended, and which so many women had tended before herāthe gleam and sparkle of the little brook that crept so roguishly across the cornerāthe gate between the creaking fir treesāthe old red sandstone stepāthe stately Lombardiesā the two tiny quaint glass cupboards over the chimney-piece in the living-roomāthe crooked pantry door in the kitchenā the two funny dormer windows upstairsāthe little jog in the staircaseā why, these things were a part of her! How could she leave them?
And how this little house, consecrated aforetime by love and joy, had been re-consecrated for her by her happiness and sorrow! Here she had spent her bridal moon; here wee Joyce had lived her one brief day; here the sweetness of motherhood had come again with Little Jem; here she had heard the exquisite music of her babyās cooing laughter; here beloved friends had sat by her fireside. Joy and grief, birth and death, had made sacred forever this little house of dreams.
And now she must leave it. She knew that, even while she had contended against the idea to Gilbert. The little house was outgrown. Gilbertās interests made the change necessary; his work, successful though it had been, was hampered by his location. Anne realised that the end of their life in this dear place drew nigh, and that she must face the fact bravely. But how her heart ached!
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