Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the twenty-second chapter of Anne's House of Dreams.

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Today we'll be continuing Anne's House of Dreams by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Chapter 22 miss Cornelia arranges matters.

Gilbert insisted that Susan should be kept on at the little house for the summer and protested at first.

Life here with just the two of us is so sweet, Gilbert.

It spoils it a little to have anyone else.

Susan is a dear soul, but she is an outsider.

It won't hurt me to do the work here.

You must take your doctor's advice, said Gilbert.

There's an old proverb to the effect that shoemaker's wives go barefoot and doctor's wives die young.

I don't mean that it shall be true in my household.

You will keep Susan until the old spring comes back into your step and those little hollows on your cheeks fill out.

You just take it easy, Mrs.

Dr.

Dear, said Susan, coming abruptly in.

Have a good time and do not worry about the pantry.

Susan is at the helm.

There's no use in keeping a dog and doing your own barking.

I'm going to take your breakfast up to you every morning.

Indeed you are not, laughed Anne.

I agree with Ms.

Cornelia that it's a scandal for a woman who isn't sick to eat her breakfast in bed and almost justifies the men in any enormities.

Oh, cornelia, said Susan With ineffable contempt.

I think you have better sense, Mrs.

Dr.

Dear, than to heed what Cornelia Bryant says.

I cannot see why she must be always running down the men, even if she is an old maid.

I am an old maid, but you never hear me abusing the men.

I like him.

I would have married one if I could.

Is it not funny?

Nobody ever asked me to marry him.

Mrs.

Dr, dear.

I am no beauty.

But I am as good looking as most of the married women you see.

But I never had a bow.

Why, do you suppose, is the reason?

It may be predestination, suggested Anne with unearthly solemn tea.

Susan nodded.

That is what I've often thought.

Missus doctor Deer.

And a great comfort it is.

I do not mind nobody wanting me if the Almighty decreed it so for his own wise purposes.

But sometimes doubt creeps in Mrs.

Doctor Dear and I wonder if maybe the old scratch has not more to do with it than anyone else.

I cannot feel resigned then.

But maybe, added Susan, brightening up, I.

Will have a chance to get married yet.

I often and often think of the old verse my aunt used to repeat there never was a goose so grey but sometime sooner late, some honest gander came her way and took her for his mate.

A woman cannot ever be sure of not being married till she's buried, Mrs.

Dr.

Dear.

And meanwhile, I will make a batch of cherry pies.

I notice the doctor favors them, and I do like cooking for a man who appreciates his victuals.

Miss Cornelia dropped in that afternoon, puffing a little.

I don't mind the world or devil much, but the flesh does rather bother me, she admitted.

You always look as cool as a cucumber and dairy.

Do I smell cherry pie?

If I do, ask me to stay to tea.

Haven't tasted a cherry pie this summer.

My cherries have all been stolen by those scams of Gilman boys from the Glenn.

Now, now, Cornelia, remonstrated Captain Jim, who had been reading a C novel in a corner of the living room.

You shouldn't say that about those two poor motherless Gilman boys unless you've got certain proof.

Just because their father ain't none too honest isn't any reason for calling them thieves.

It's more likely it's been the Robbins took your cherries.

They're terrible thick this year.

Robbins?

Said Miss Cornelia disdainfully, hump, two legged robins, believe me.

Well, most of the four wins robins are constructed on that principle, said Captain Jim gravely.

Miss Cornelia stared at him for a moment, and she leaned back in her rocker and laughed long and grudgingly.

Well, you have got one on me at last, Jim Boyd, I'll admit.

Just look how pleased he is.

Anne Deery, grinning like a chessy cat.

As for the robin's legs, if robins have great, big, bare, sunburned legs with ragged trousers hanging on them such as I saw up in my cherry tree one morning at sunrise last week, I'll beg the Gilman boys pardon.

By the time I got down, they were gone.

I couldn't understand how they had disappeared so quick, but Captain Jim has enlightened me.

They flew away, of course.

Captain Jim laughed and went away, regretfully declining an invitation to stay to supper and partake of cherry pie.

I'm on my way to see Leslie and ask her if she'll take a.

Border, miss Cornelia resumed.

I had a letter yesterday from a Mrs.

Dally in Toronto who boarded a spell with me two years ago.

She wanted me to take a friend.

Of hers for the summer.

His name is Owen Ford, and he's a newspaper man.

And it seems he's a grandson of the schoolmaster who built this house.

John Selwin's oldest daughter married an Ontario man named Ford, and this is her son.

He wants to see the old place his grandparents lived in.

He had a bad spell of typhoid in the spring and hasn't got rightly over it, so his doctors ordered him to the sea.

He doesn't want to go to the hotel.

He just wants a quiet home place.

I can't take him, for I have to be away in August.

I've been appointed a delegate to the WFMS Convention in Kingsport, and I'm going.

I don't know whether Leslie will want to be bothered with him either, but there's no one else.

If she can't take him, he'll have to go over the harbor.

When you've seen her, come back and help us eat our cherry pies, said Anne.

Bring Leslie and D***, too, if they can come.

And so you're going to Kingsport.

What a nice time you will have.

I must give you a letter to a friend of mine there, Mrs.

Jonas Blake.

I've prevailed on Missus Thomas Holt to.

Go with me, said Miss Cornelia complacently.

It's time she had a little holiday.

Believe me, she has just about worked herself to death.

Tom Holt can crochet beautifully, but he can't make a living for his family.

He never seems to be able to get up early enough to do any work.

But I noticed he can always get up early to go fishing.

Isn't that like a man?

Anne smiled.

She had learned to discount largely Miss Cornelia's opinions of the fourwind's men.

Otherwise, she must have believed them the most hopeless assortment of her probates and nerdo wells in the world, with veritable, slaves and martyrs for wives.

This particular Tom Holt, for example, she knew to be a kind husband, a much loved father, and an excellent neighbor.

If he were rather inclined to be lazy liking better the fishing he had been born for than the farming he had not.

And if he had a harmless eccentricity for doing fancy work nobody saved, miss Cornelia seemed to hold it against him.

His wife was a hustler who gloried in hustling.

His family got a comfortable living off the farm, and his strapping sons and daughters inheriting their mother's energy were all in a fair way to do well in the world.

There was not a happier household in Glenn St.

Mary than the Holtz.

Miss Cornelia returned, satisfied, from the house up the brook.

Leslie's going to take him, she announced.

She jumped at the chance.

She wants to make a little money to shingle the roof of her house this fall, and she didn't know how she was going to manage it.

I expect Captain Jim will be more than interested when he hears that a grandson of the Selwinds is coming here.

Leslie said to tell you she hankered after cherry pie, but she couldn't come to tea because she has to go and hunt up her turkeys.

They've strayed away, but she said if there was a piece left for you to put it in the pantry.

And she'd run over in the cat's light when prowling's in order to get it.

You don't know, Anne dearie, what good it did my heart to hear Leslie send you a message like that, laughing like she used to long ago.

There's a great change come over her lately.

She laughs and jokes like a girl, and from her talk, I gather she's here real often.

Every day, or else I'm over there, said Anne.

I don't know what I'd do without Leslie, especially just now when Gilbert is so busy.

He's hardly ever home, except for a few hours in the Wii Smalls.

He's really working himself to death.

So many of the over harbor people send for him now.

They might better be content with their.

Own doctor, said Miss Cornelia.

Though to be sure, I can't blame them for he's a Methodist.

Ever since Dr.

Blythe brought Mrs.

Albany around, folks think he can raise the dead.

I believe Dr.

Dave is a mite jealous.

Just like a man.

He thinks Dr.

Blythe has too many newfangled notions.

Well, I say to him, it was a newfangled notion saved Ronda Allenby.

If you'd been attending her, she'd have died and had a tombstone saying it had pleased God to take her away.

Oh, I do like to speak my mind to Dr.

Dave.

He's boss the Glenn for years and he thinks he's forgotten more than other people ever knew.

Speaking of doctors, I wish Dr.

Blythe had run over and see to that boil on D*** Moore's neck.

It's getting past Leslie's Skill.

I'm sure.

I don't know what D*** Moore wants to start in having boils for, as if he wasn't enough trouble without that.

Do you know D*** has taken quite a fancy to me, said Anne.

He follows me round like a dog and smiles like a pleased child when I notice him.

Does it make you creepy?

Not at all.

I rather like poor D*** Moore.

He seems so pitiful and appealing somehow.

You wouldn't think him very appealing if.

You'D see him on his cantankerous days, believe me.

But I'm glad you don't mind him.

It's all the nicer for Leslie.

She'll have more to do when her border comes.

I hope he'll be a decent creature.

You'll probably like him.

He's a writer.

I wonder why people so commonly supposed that if two individuals are both riders, they must therefore be hugely congenial, said Anne.

Rather scornfully.

Nobody would expect two blacksmiths to be violently attracted towards each other merely because they were both blacksmiths.

Nevertheless, she looked forward to the advent of Owen Ford with a pleasant sense of expectation.

If he were young and likable, he might prove a very pleasant addition to society.

In four wins, the latch string of.

The little house was always out for.

The race of Joseph.

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My name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Anne's House of Dreams.

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