3 Anne Of The Island - Read By Stephanie Poppins

Anne of the Island by L.

M.

Montgomery Read by Stephanie Poppins CHAPTER THREE GREETING AND FAREWELL Charlie Sloane,

Gilbert Blythe and Anne Shirley left Avonlea the following morning.

Anne had hoped for a fine day.

Diana was to drive her to the station and they wanted this,

Their last drive together for some time,

To be a pleasant one.

But when Anne went to bed Sunday night the east wind was moaning around green gables with an ominous prophecy which was fulfilled in the morning.

Anne awoke to find raindrops pattering against her window and shadowing the pond's grey surface with widening rings.

Hills and sea were hidden in mist and the whole world seemed dim and dreary.

Anne dressed in the cheerless grey dawn for an early start was necessary to catch the boat train.

She struggled against the tears that would well up in her eyes in spite of herself.

She was leaving the home that was so dear to her and something told her she was leaving it forever,

Save as a holiday refuge.

Things would never be the same again.

Coming back for vacations would not be living there.

And oh,

How dear and beloved everything was.

That little white porch room,

Sacred to the dreams of girlhood.

The old snow queen at the window,

The brook in the hollow,

The dryad's bubble,

The haunted woods and lover's lane.

All the thousand and one dear spots where memories of the old years bided.

Could she ever be really happy anywhere else?

Breakfast at Green Gables that morning was rather a doleful meal.

Davey,

For the first time in his life probably,

Could not eat,

But blubbered shamelessly over his porridge.

Nobody else seemed to have much appetite save Dora,

Who tucked away her rations comfortably.

Dora,

Like the immortal and most prudent Charlotte,

Who went on cutting bread and butter when her frenzied lover's body had been carried past on a shutter,

Was one of those unfortunate creatures who are seldom disturbed by anything.

Even at eight it took a great deal to ruffle Dora's placidity.

She was sorry Anne was going away,

Of course,

But was that any reason why she should fail to appreciate a poached egg on toast?

Not at all.

And seeing that Davey could not eat his,

Dora ate it for him.

Promptly on time,

Diana appeared with horse and buggy,

Her rosy face glowing above her raincoat.

The goodbyes had to be said then somehow.

Mrs.

Lynde came in from her quarters to give Anne a hearty embrace and warn her to be careful of her health,

Whatever she did.

Marilla,

Brusque and tearless,

Pecked Anne's cheek and said she supposed they'd hear from her when she got settled.

A casual observer might have concluded Anne's going mattered very little to her,

Unless said observer had happened to get a good look in her eyes.

Dora kissed Anne primly and squeezed out two decorous little tears,

But Davey,

Who'd been crying on the back porch step ever since they rose from the table,

Refused to say goodbye at all.

When he saw Anne coming towards him,

He sprang to his feet,

Bolted up the back stairs and hid in a clothes closet,

Out of which he would not come.

His muffled howls were the last sounds Anne heard as she left Green Gables.

It rained heavily all the way to Bright River,

To which station they had to go since the branch line train from Carmody did not connect with the boat train.

Charlie and Gilbert were on the station platform when they reached it and the train was whistling.

Anne had just time to get her ticket and trunk check,

Say a hurried farewell to Diana,

And hasten on aboard.

She wished she were going back with Diana to Avonlea.

She knew she was going to die of homesickness,

And oh,

If only that dismal rain would stop pouring down as if the whole world were weeping over Summer Vanished and Joy's Departed.

Even Gilbert's present brought her no comfort,

For Charlie Sloane was there too,

And Sloanishness could be tolerated only in fine weather.

It was absolutely insufferable in rain.

But when the boat steamed out of Charlottetown harbour,

Things took a turn for the better.

The rain ceased and the sun began to burst out goldenly now and then between the rents in the clouds,

Burnishing the grey seas with copper-hued radiance and lighting up the mists that curtained the island's red shores with gleams of gold for tokening a fine day after all.

Besides,

Charlie Sloane became so seasick he had to go below,

And Anne and Gilbert were left alone on deck.

I am very glad that all the Sloanes get seasick as soon as they go on water,

Thought Anne mercilessly.

I'm sure I couldn't take my farewell look at the old sod without Charlie standing there,

Pretending to look sentimentally at it too.

Well,

We're off,

Remarked Gilbert,

Unsentimentally.

Yes,

I feel like Byron's child Harold,

Only it isn't really my native shore that I'm watching,

Said Anne,

Winking her grey eyes vigorously.

Nova Scotia is that,

I suppose,

But one's native shore is the land one loves the best,

And that's good old PEI for me.

I can't believe I didn't always live there.

Those eleven years before I came seemed like a bad dream.

It's seven since I crossed on this boat the evening Mrs Spencer brought me over from Hopetown.

I can see myself in that dreadful old wincy dress and faded sailor hat,

Exploring decks and cabins with enraptured curiosity.

It was a fine evening.

Now those Red Island shores did gleam in the sunshine.

Now I'm crossing the strait again.

Oh,

Gilbert,

I do hope I'll like Redmond and Kingsport,

But I'm sure I won't.

Where's all your philosophy gone,

Anne?

It's all submerged under a great swamping wave of loneliness and homesickness.

I've longed for three years to go to Redmond,

And now I'm going and I wish I weren't.

Never mind.

I shall be cheerful and philosophical again after I've just one good cry.

I must have that,

As I went,

And I'll have to wait until I get into my boardinghouse bed tonight,

Whenever it may be,

Before I can have it.

Then Anne will be herself again.

I wonder if Davy's come out of the closet yet?

It was nine o'clock that night when their train reached Kingsport,

And they found themselves in the blue-white glare of the crowded station.

Anne felt horribly bewildered,

But a moment later she was seized by Priscilla Grant,

Who'd come to Kingsport on Saturday.

Here you are,

Beloved,

And I suppose you're as tired as I was when I got here Saturday night.

Tired,

Priscilla?

Don't talk of it,

Said Anne.

I'm tired and green and provincial and only about ten years old.

For pity's sake,

Take your poor,

Broken-down chum to some place where she can hear herself think.

I'll take you right up to our boardinghouse.

I've a cap ready outside.

It's such a blessing you're here,

Prissy.

If you weren't,

I think I should just sit down on my suitcase here and now and weep bitter tears.

What a comfort one familiar face is in a howling wilderness of strangers.

Is that Gilbert Blythe over there,

Anne?

How he's grown up this past year.

He was only a schoolboy when I taught in Carmody,

And of course that's Charlie Sloan.

He hasn't changed.

He couldn't.

He looked just like that when he was born,

And he'll look like that when he's eighty.

This way,

Dear.

We'll be home in twenty minutes.

Home,

Groaned Anne.

You mean we'll be in some horrible boardinghouse in a still more horrible hall bedroom,

Looking out on a dingy backyard?

It isn't a horrible boardinghouse,

Anne,

Girl.

Here's our cab now.

Hop in and the driver will get your trunk.

Oh yes,

The boardinghouse.

It's really a very nice place of its kind,

As you'll admit tomorrow morning when a good night's sleep has turned your blues rosy pink.

It's a big old-fashioned greystone house on St John Street.

Just a nice little constitutional from Redmond.

It used to be the residence of great folk,

But fashion has deserted St John Street and its houses only dream now of better days.

They're so big,

People living in them have to take boarders just to fill up.

At least that's the reason our landladies are very anxious to impress on us.

They're delicious,

Anne,

Our landladies,

I mean.

How many are there?

Two.

Miss Hannah Harvey and Miss Ada Harvey.

They were born twins about fifty years ago.

I can't get away from twins,

It seems,

Smiled Anne.

Wherever I go,

They confront me.

Oh,

They're not twins now,

Dear.

After they reached the age of thirty,

They never were twins again.

Miss Hannah's grown old,

Not too gracefully,

And Miss Ada has stayed thirty,

Less gracefully still.

I don't know whether Miss Hannah can smile or not,

I've never caught her at it so far,

But Miss Ada smiles all the time,

And that's worse.

However,

They're nice,

Kind souls and they take two boarders every year because Miss Hannah's economical soul cannot bear to waste room space.

Not because they need to or have to,

As Miss Ada's told me seven times since Saturday night.

As for our rooms,

I admit their hall bedrooms and mine does look out onto the backyard,

But your room is a front one and looks out on old St John's graveyard which is just across the street.

That sounds gruesome,

Shivered Anne.

I think I'd rather have the backyard view.

Oh no,

You wouldn't.

Wait and see.

Old St John's is a darling place.

It's been a graveyard so long it's ceased to be one and it's become one of the sights of Kingsport.

I was all through it yesterday for a pleasure exertion.

There's a big stone wall and a row of enormous trees all round it,

And rows of trees all through it,

And the queerest old tombstones with the queerest and quaintest inscriptions.

You'll go there to study Anne,

See if you don't.

Of course nobody's ever buried there now,

But a few years ago they put up a beautiful monument to the memory of Nova Scotian soldiers who fell in the Crimean War.

It's just opposite the entrance gates and they're stoked for imagination in it,

As you used to say.

Here's your trunk at last,

And the boy's coming to say goodnight.

Must I really shake hands with Charlie Sloane,

Anne?

His hands are always so cold and fishy feeling.

We must ask them to call occasionally.

Miss Hannah gravely told me we could have young gentlemen call us two evenings in the week if they went away at a reasonable hour.

And Miss Ada asked me,

Smiling,

Pleased to be sure they didn't sit on her beautiful cushions.

I'd promised to see to it,

But goodness knows where else they can sit.

Unless they sit on the floor,

But there are cushions on everything.

Miss Ada even has an elaborate Battenberg one on top of the piano.

Anne was laughing by this time.

Priscilla's gay chatter had the intended effect of cheering her up.

Homesickness vanished for the time being and did not even return in full force when she finally found herself alone in her little bedroom.

She went to her window and looked out.

The street below was dim and quiet.

Across it,

The moon was shining above the trees in old St.

John's,

Just behind the great dark head of the lion on the monument.

Anne wondered if it could have been only that morning that she had left Green Gables.

She had the sense of a long passage of time which one day of change and travel gives.

I suppose that very moon is looking down on Green Gables now,

She mused.

But I won't think about it.

That way homesickness lies.

I'm not even going to have my good cry.

I'll put that off to a more convenient season and just now I'll go calmly and sensibly to bed and to sleep.