5 Anne Of Avonlea: Read By Stephanie Poppins

Hello.

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep.

Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.

But before we begin,

Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

That's it.

Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

Anne of Avonlea This is the second book in the Anne of Green Gables series.

I am delighted to present to you Anne as she has now grown up into an elegant teenager.

Come with me as we hear all the trials and tribulations as she continues on her journey to womanhood.

Chapter 5.

A Fully Fledged Schoolmarm A Fully Fledged Schoolmarm When Anne reached the school that morning,

For the first time in her life she had diversed the birch path,

Deaf and blind to its beauties.

All was quiet and still.

The preceding teacher had trained the children to be in their places at her arrival and when Anne entered the schoolroom she was confronted by prim rows of shining morning faces and bright inquisitive eyes.

She hung up her hat and faced her pupils,

Hoping she did not look as frightened and foolish as she felt and that they would not perceive how she was trembling.

Sat up till nearly twelve the preceding night,

Composing a speech she meant to make to her pupils upon her opening the school.

She had revised and improved it painstakingly and then she had learned it off by heart.

It was a very good speech and had some very fine ideas in it,

Especially about mutual help and earnest striving after knowledge.

The only trouble was that she could not now remember a word of it.

After what seemed to her a year,

About ten seconds in reality,

She said faintly,

Take your testaments please,

And sank breathlessly into her chair under cover of the rustling platter of desk lids that followed.

While the children read their verses,

Anne marshalled her shaky wits into order and looked over the array of little pilgrims to the grown-up land.

Most of them were,

Of course,

Quite well known to her.

Her own classmates had passed out the preceding year,

But the rest had all gone to school with her,

Excepting the primer class and the ten newcomers to Avonlea.

Anne secretly felt more interest in these ten than in those whose possibilities were already fairly well mapped out.

To be sure,

They might be just as commonplace as the rest,

But on the other hand,

There might be a genius among them.

It was a thrilling idea.

Sitting by himself at a corner desk was Anthony Pye.

He had a dark,

Sullen little face and was staring at Anne with a hostile expression in his black eyes.

Anne instantly made up her mind she would win that boy's affection and discomfort the Pyes utterly.

In the other corner,

Another strange boy was sitting with Artie Sloan.

A jolly-looking little chap with a snub nose,

Freckled face and big,

Light blue eyes fringed with whitish lashes.

Probably the Donnell boy.

And if resemblance went for anything,

His sister was sitting across the aisle with Mary Bell.

Anne wondered what sort of mother the child had,

To send her to school to send her to school dressed as she was.

She wore a faded pink silk dress trimmed with a great deal of cotton lace,

Soiled white kit slippers and silk stockings.

Her sandy hair was tortured into innumerable kinky and unnatural curls,

Surmounted by a flamboyant bow of pink ribbon,

Bigger than her head.

Judging from her expression,

She was very well satisfied with herself.

A pale little thing with smooth ripples of fine silk fawn-coloured hair flowing over her shoulders must,

Anne thought,

Be Annette Bell,

Whose parents had formerly lived in the Newbridge School District,

But by reason of hauling their house 50 yards north of its old site,

Were now in Avonlea.

Three pallid little girls crowded into one seat,

Certainly cottons.

And there was no doubt the small beauty with the long brown curls and hazel eyes,

Who was casting coquettish looks at Jack Gill's over the edge of her testament,

Prilly Rogerson,

Whose father had recently married a second wife and bought Prilly home from her grandmother's in Grafton.

A tall,

Awkward girl in a back seat who seemed to have too many feet and hands,

Anne could not place at all,

But later on discovered her name was Barbara Shaw and that she'd come to live with an Avonlea aunt.

She was also to find that if Barbara ever managed to walk down the aisle without falling over her own or somebody else's feet,

The Avonlea scholars wrote the unusual fact up on the porch wall to memorate it.

But when Anne's eyes met those of the boy at the front desk facing her own,

A queer little thrill went over her as if she'd found her genius.

She knew this must be Paul Irving and that Mrs Rachel Lynde had been right for once,

When she prophesied that he would be unlike the Avonlea children.

More than that,

Anne realised he was unlike any other children anywhere and that there was a soul subtly akin to her own,

Gazing at her out of the very dark blue eyes that were watching her so intently.

She knew Paul was ten,

But he looked no more than eight.

He had the most beautiful little face she had ever seen in a child.

Features of exquisite delicacy and refinement framed in a halo of chestnut curls.

His mouth was delicious,

Being full without pouting,

The crimson lips just softly touching and curving into finely finished little corners that narrowly escaped being dimpled.

He had a sober,

Grave,

Meditative expression,

As if his spirit was much older than his body.

But when Anne smiled softly at him,

It vanished in a sudden answering smile which seemed an illumination of his whole being,

As if some lamp had suddenly kindled into flame inside of him,

Irradiating him from top to toe.

Best of all,

It was involuntary,

Born of no external effort or motive,

But simply the outflashing of a hidden personality,

Fair and fine and sweet.

With a quick interchange of smiles,

Anne and Paul were fast friends forever,

Before a word had passed between them.

The day went by like a dream.

Anne could never clearly recall it afterwards.

It almost seemed as if it were not she who was teaching,

But somebody else.

She heard classes and worked sums and set copies mechanically.

The children behaved quite well.

Only two cases of discipline occurred.

Morley Andrews was caught driving a pair of trained crickets in the aisle.

Anne stood Morley on the platform for an hour and,

Which Morley felt much more keenly,

Confiscated his crickets.

She put them in a box and on the way from school set them free in violet veil.

But Morley believed then and ever afterwards that she took them home and kept them for her own amusement.

The other culprit was Anthony Pye,

Who poured the last drops of water from his slate bottle down the back of Aurelia Clay's neck.

Anne kept Anthony in a recess and talked to him about what was expected of gentlemen,

Admonishing him that they never poured water down ladies' necks.

She wanted all her boys to be gentlemen,

She said.

Her little lecture was quite kind and touching,

But unfortunately Anthony remained absolutely untouched.

He listened to her in silence,

With the same sullen expression,

And whistled scornfully as he went out.

Anne sighed and then cheered herself up by remembering that winning a Pye's affections,

Like the building of Rome,

Wasn't the work of a day.

In fact,

It was doubtful whether some of the Pyes had any affections to win,

But Anne hoped better things of Anthony,

Who looked as if he might be a rather nice boy,

If one ever got behind his sullenness.

When school was dismissed and the children had gone,

Anne dropped wearily into her chair.

Her head ached and she felt woefully discouraged.

There was no real reason for discouragement,

Since nothing very dreadful had occurred,

But Anne was very tired and inclined to believe she would never learn to like teaching.

And how horrible it would be to be doing something you didn't like every day for,

Well,

Say,

40 years.

Anne was of two minds whether to have her cry out there and then,

Or wait until she was safely in her own white room at home.

Before she could decide,

However,

There was a click of heels and a silken swish on the porch floor,

And Anne found herself confronted by a lady whose appearance made her recall a recent criticism of Mr Harrison's on an overdressed female he'd seen in a Charlottetown store.

She looked like a head-on collision between a fashion plate and a nightmare,

He exclaimed.

The newcomer was gorgeously arrayed in a pale blue summer silk,

Puffed,

Frilled and shirred wherever puff,

Frill or shirring could possibly be placed.

Her head was surmounted by a huge white chiffon hat,

Bedecked with three long,

But rather stringy,

Ostrich feathers.

A veil of pink chiffon,

Lavishly sprinkled with huge black dots,

Hung like a flounce from the hat brim to her shoulders and floated off in two airy streams behind her.

She wore all the jewellery that could be crowded on one small woman,

And a very strong odour of perfume attended her.

I am Mrs Donnell,

Mrs H.

B.

Donnell,

Announced this vision,

And I have come to see you about something Clarice Almira told me when she came home to dinner today.

It annoyed me excessively.

I'm sorry,

Faltered Anne,

Vainly trying to recollect any incident of the morning connected with the Donnell children.

Clarice Almira told me you pronounced our name Donnell.

Now,

Miss Shirley,

The correct pronunciation of our name is Donnell,

Accent on the last syllable.

I hope you'll remember this in future.

I'll try to,

Gasped Anne,

Choking back a wild desire to laugh.

I know by experience that it's very unpleasant to have one's name spelled wrong,

And I suppose it must be even worse to have it pronounced wrong.

Certainly it is,

And Clarice Almira also informed me you call my son Jacob.

He told me his name was Jacob,

Protested Anne.

I might have expected that,

Said Mrs H.

B.

Donnell,

In a tone which implied that gratitude in children was not to be looked for in this degenerate age.

That boy has such plebeian tastes,

Miss Shirley.

When he was born,

I wanted to call him St.

Clair.

It sounds so aristocratic,

Doesn't it?

But his father insisted he should be called Jacob after his uncle.

I yielded because Uncle Jacob was a rich old bachelor.

And what do you think,

Miss Shirley?

When our innocent boy was five years old,

Uncle Jacob actually went and got married.

Now he has three boys of his own.

Did you ever hear of such ingratitude?

The moment the invitation to the wedding,

For he had the impotence to send us an invitation,

Miss Shirley,

Came to the house,

I said,

No more Jacobs for me,

Thank you.

From that day I called my son St.

Clair,

And St.

Clair I'm determined he shall be called.

His father obstinately continues to call him Jacob,

And the boy himself has a perfectly unaccountable preference for the vulgar name.

But St.

Clair he is,

And St.

Clair he shall remain.

You will kindly remember this,

Miss Shirley,

Will you not?

Thank you.

I told Clarice Almira I was sure it was only a misunderstanding,

And that a word would set it right.

Donnell,

Accent on the last syllable,

And St.

Clair,

On no account Jacob.

You'll remember?

Thank you.

When Mrs.

H.

B.

Donnell had skimmed away,

Anne locked the school door and went home.

At the foot of the hill she found Paul Irving by the birch path.

He held out to her a cluster of the dainty little white orchids,

Which Avonlea children called rice lilies.

Please,

Teacher,

I found these in Mr.

Wright's field,

He said shyly,

And I came back to give them to you because I thought you were the kind of lady that would like them,

Because he lifted his big beautiful eyes.

I like you,

Teacher.

You darling,

Said Anne,

Taking the fragrant spikes.

As if Paul's words had been a spell of magic,

Discouragement and weariness passed from her spirit and hope upwelled in her heart like a dancing fountain.

She went through the birch path light-footedly,

Attended by the sweetness of her orchids as by a benediction.

Well,

How did you get on?

Marilla wanted to know.

Ask me that a month later and I might be able to tell you.

I can't now,

Said Anne.

I don't know myself.

I'm too near it.

My thoughts feel as if they'd been stirred up until they were thick and muddy.

The only thing I feel really sure of having accomplished today is that I taught Cliff Wright that A is A.

He never knew it before.

Isn't it something to have started a soul along a path that may end up in Shakespeare and Paradise lost?

Mrs Lynn came up later on with more encouragement.

That good lady had waylaid the schoolchildren at her gate and demanded of them how they liked their new teacher.

And every one of them said they liked you splendid,

Anne.

Except Anthony Pye.

I must admit he didn't.

He said you weren't any good,

Just like all girl teachers.

There's the pie eleven for you.

But never mind.

I'm not going to mind,

Said Anne quietly,

And I'm going to make Anthony Pye like me yet.

Patience and kindness will surely win him.

Well,

You can never tell about a pie,

Said Mrs Rachel cautiously.

They go by contraries,

Like dreams often as not.

As for that Donnell woman,

She'll get no Donnelling from me,

I can assure you.

The name is Donnell and always has been.

The woman is crazy,

That's what.

She has a pug dog she calls Queenie,

And it has its meals at the table along with a family,

Eating off a china plate.

I'd be afraid of a judgment if I was her.

Thomas says Donnell himself is a sensible,

Hard-working man,

But he hadn't much gumption when he picked out a wife.

That's what.