Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the third chapter of Rilla of Ingleside.

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Wherever you listen to podcasts today, we'll be continuing Rilla of Ingleside by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Chapter Three moonlit Mirth Rilla, who still buttoned up her eyes when she went to sleep so that she always looked as if she were laughing in her slumber, yawned, stretched and smiled at Gertrude Oliver.

The latter had come over from Lowbridge the previous evening and had been prevailed upon to remain for the dance at the Forewinds Lighthouse the next night.

The new day is knocking at the window.

What will it bring us, I wonder?

Miss Oliver shivered a little.

She never greeted the days with Rilla's enthusiasm.

She had lived long enough to know that a day may bring a terrible thing.

I think the nicest thing about days is their unexpectedness went honorilla.

It's jolly to wake up like this on a golden fine morning and wonder what surprise packet the day will hand you.

I always daydream for ten minutes before I get up, imagining the heaps of splendid things that may happen before night.

I hope something very unexpected will happen today, said Gertrude.

I hope the mail will bring us news that war has been averted between Germany and France.

Oh, yes, said Rilla vaguely.

It will be dreadful if it isn't, I suppose.

But it won't really matter much to us, will it?

I think a war would be so exciting.

The Bower War was, they say, but I don't remember anything about it, of course.

Mrs.

Oliver, shall I wear my white dress tonight, or my new green one?

The green one is by far the prettier, of course, but I'm almost afraid to wear it to a shore dance for fear something will happen to it.

And will you do my hair the new way?

None of the other girls in the Glenn wear it yet, and it will make such a sensation.

How did you induce your mother to let you go to the dance.

Oh, Walter coaxed her over.

He knew I would be heartbroken if I didn't go.

It's my first really, truly grown up party, miss Oliver and I've just lain awake at nights for a week thinking it over.

When I saw the sun shining this morning, I wanted to whoop for joy.

It would be simply terrible if it rained tonight.

I think I'll wear the green dress.

And risk it?

I want to look my nicest at my first party.

Besides, it's an inch longer than my white one.

And I'll wear my silver slippers too.

Mrs.

Ford sent them to me last Christmas and I've never had a chance to wear them yet.

They're the dearest things.

Oh, Miss Oliver, I do hope some of the boys will ask me to dance.

I shall die of mortification.

Truly, I will if nobody does and I have to sit stuck up against the wall all the evening.

Of course Carl and Jerry can't dance because they're the minister's sons.

Or else I could depend on them to save me from utter disgrace.

You'll have plenty of partners.

All the Over Harbor boys are coming.

There will be far more boys than girls.

I'm glad I'm not a minister's daughter, laughed Rilla.

Poor Faith is so furious because she won't dare to dance tonight.

Una doesn't care, of course.

She has never hankered after dancing.

Somebody told Faith there would be a taffy pool in the kitchen for those who didn't dance.

And you should have seen the face she made.

She and Jim will sit out on the rocks most of the evening, I suppose.

Did you know that we are all to walk down as far as that little creek below the old house of Dreams and then sail to the lighthouse?

Won't it just be absolutely divine?

When I was 15, I talked in italics and superlatives too, said Miss Oliver sarcastically.

I think the party promises to be pleasant for young Fry.

I expect to be bored.

None of those boys will bother dancing with an old maid like me.

Gemma and Walter will take me out once, out of charity.

So you can't expect me to look forward to it with your touching young rapture.

Didn't you have a good time at your first party, though, Miss Oliver?

No, I had a hateful time.

I was shabby and homely, and nobody asked me to dance.

Except one boy, homelier and shabbier than myself.

He was so awkward.

I hated him.

And even he didn't ask me again.

I had no real girlhood.

Rilla, it's a sad loss.

That's why I want you to have a splendid, happy girlhood.

And I hope your first party will be one you will remember all your life.

With pleasure.

I dreamed last night.

I was at the dance and right in the middle of things, I discovered I was dressed in my kimono and bedroom shoes, sighed Rilla.

I woke up with a gasp of horror.

Speaking of dreams, I had an odd one, said Miss Oliver absently.

It was one of those vivid dreams I sometimes have.

They are not the vague jumble of ordinary dreams.

They are as clear cut and real as life.

What was your dream?

I was standing on the veranda steps here at Ingleside, looking down over the fields of the glen.

All at once, far in the distance, I saw a long, silvery, glistening wave break over them.

It came nearer and nearer, just a succession of little white waves, like those that break on the sand shore.

Sometimes MCGLEN was being swallowed up.

I thought, surely the waves will not come near Ingle side.

But they came nearer and nearer so rapidly, before I could move or call, they were breaking right at my feet and everything was gone.

There was nothing but a waste of stormy water where the glen had been.

I tried to draw back, and I saw that the edge of my dress was wet with blood, and I woke shivering.

I don't like the dream.

There was some sinister significance in it.

That kind of vivid dream always comes true with me.

I hope it doesn't mean there's a storm coming up from the east to spoil the party, murmured Rilla incorrigible.

15, said Miss Oliver Dryly.

No, rilla Myrilla.

I don't think there's any danger that it foretels anything so awful as that.

There had been an undercurrent of tension in the Ingleside existence for several days.

Only Rilla, absorbed in her own budding life, was unaware of it.

Dr.

Blythe had taken the looking grave and saying little over the daily paper.

JeM and Walter were keenly interested in the news it brought.

JeM sought Walter out in excitement that evening.

Oh, boy.

Germany's declared war on France.

This means that England will fight too.

Probably.

And if she does, well, the piper of your old fancy will have come at last.

It wasn't a fancy, said Walter slowly.

It was a pre sentiment, a vision.

Gem, I really saw him for a moment that evening long ago.

Suppose England does fight.

Why, we'll all have to turn in and help her.

Cried gem gaily.

We couldn't let the old gray mother of the Northern Sea fight it out alone, could we?

But you can't go.

The Typhoid has done you out of that sort of a shame.

A walter did not say whether it was a shame or not.

He looked silently over the glen to the dimpling blue harbor beyond.

We're the cubs.

We've got a pitch in tooth and claw if it comes to a family row, JeM went on cheerfully, rumbling up his red curls with a strong, lean, sensitive brown hand.

The hand of the born surgeon.

His father often thought.

What an adventure it would be.

But I suppose Grey or some of those wary old chaps will patch matters up by the 11th hour.

It'll be a rotten shame if they leave France in the lurch, though if they don't, we'll see some fun.

Well, I suppose it's time to get ready for the spree at the light.

JeM departed, whistling wi a hundred pipers and and a and Walter stood for a long time where he was.

There was a little frown on his forehead.

I said I'll come up with the blackness and suddenness of a thundercloud.

A few days ago nobody had even thought of such a thing.

It was absurd to think of it now.

Some way out would be found.

War was a hellish, horrible, hideous thing.

Too horrible and hideous to happen in the 20th century between civilized nations.

Namir thought of it was hideous and made Walter unhappy in its threat to the beauty of life.

He would not think of it.

He would resolutely put it out of his mind.

How beautiful the old glen was and its August ripeness with its chain of bowery, old homesteads, tilled meadows and quiet gardens.

The western sky was like a great golden pearl.

Far down the harbor was frosted with a dawning moonlight.

The air was full of exquisite sounds sleepy robin whistles, wonderful mournful, soft murmurs of wind in the twilight trees, rustle of aspen poplars talking in silvery whispers and shaking their dainty, heart shaped leaves.

Lilting young laughter from the windows of rooms where the girls were making ready for the dance.

The world was steeped in maddening loveliness of sound and color.

He would think only of these things and of the deep, subtle joy they gave him.

Anyhow, no one will expect me to go, he thought.

As Jim says, Typhoid is seen to.

That.

Roller was leaning out of her room window, dressed for the dance.

A yellow pansy slipped from her hair and fell out over the sill like a falling star of gold.

She caught at it vainly, but there were enough left.

Miss Oliver had woven a little wreath of them for her pet's hair.

It's so beautifully calm.

Isn't that splendid?

We'll have a perfect night.

Listen, Miss Oliver.

I can hear those old bells in Rainbow Valley quite clearly.

They've been hanging there for over ten years.

Their wind's chime always makes me think of the aerial celestial music adam and Eve heard in Milton's.

Eden responded, miss Oliver?

We used to have such fun in Rainbow Valley when we were children, said Rilla dreamily.

Nobody ever played in Rainbow Valley.

Now it was very silent on summer evenings.

Walter liked to go there to read Gem, and faith twisted there considerably.

Jerry and NAN went there to pursue uninterruptedly the ceaseless wrangles and arguments on profound subjects.

That seemed to be their preferred method of sweethearting.

And Rilla had a beloved little sylvan dell of her own there, where she liked to sit and dream.

I must run down to the kitchen before I go and show myself off to Susan.

She would never forgive me if I didn't.

Rill a whirled into the shadowy kitchen at Ingleside, where Susan was prosaically Darning socks and lighted it up with her beauty.

She wore her green dress with its little pink daisy garlands, her silk stockings and silver slippers.

She had golden pansies in her hair and at her creamy throat.

She was so pretty and young and glowing that even Cousin Sophia Crawford was compelled to admire her.

And cousin Sophia Crawford admired few transient earthly things.

Cousin Sophia and Susan had made up or ignored their old feud since the former had come to live in the glen, and Cousin Sophia often came across in the evenings to make a neighborly call.

Susan did not always welcome her rapturously.

Her cousin Sophia was not what could be called an exhilarating companion.

Some calls or visits, and some are visitations, Mrs.

Dr dear, Susan said once, and left it to be inferred that Cousin Sophia's were the latter.

Cousin Sophia had a long, pale, wrinkled face, a long, thin nose, a long, thin mouth, and very long, thin, pale hands, generally folded resignedly on her black calico lap.

Everything about her seemed long and thin and pale.

She looked mournfully upon Rilla Blithe and said sadly, is your hair all your own?

Of course it is, cried Rilla indignantly.

Ah, well, Cousin Sofia sighed, it might be better for you if it wasn't.

Such a lot of hair takes from a person's strength.

It's a sign of consumption, I've heard.

But I hope it won't turn out like that in your case.

I suppose you'll all be dancing tonight.

Even the minister's boys, most likely.

I suppose his girls won't go that far.

Ah, well, I never held with dancing.

I knew a girl once who dropped dead while she was dancing.

How anyone could ever dance again after judgment like that I cannot comprehend.

Did she ever dance again?

Asked Rilla pertly.

I told you she dropped dead.

Of course she never danced again, poor creature.

She was a kirk from Lowbridge.

You ain't to go in off like that with nothing on your bare neck, are you?

It's a hot evening, protested Rilla, but I'll put on a scarf when we go on the water.

I knew of a boatload of young folks who went sailing on that harbor 40 years ago.

Just such a night as this.

Just exactly such a night as this, said Cousin Sofia Lugubriously, and they were upset and drowned, every last one of them.

I hope nothing like that will happen to you tonight.

Do you ever try anything for the freckles?

I used to find plantain juice real good.

You certainly should be a judge of freckles, Cousin Sophia, said Susan, rushing Torilla's defense.

You were more speckled than any toad when you was a girl, Rillas, only come in summer, but yours stayed put, season in and season out, and you had not a ground color like hers behind them, neither.

You look real nice, Rilla, in that way of fixing your hair is becoming.

But you are not going to walk to the harbor in those slippers, are you?

Oh, no.

We'll all wear our old shoes to the harbor and carry our slippers.

Do you like my dress, Susan?

It reminds me of a dress I wore when I was a girl, sighed Cousin Sophia before Susan could reply.

It was green with pink posies on it too, and it was flounced from the waist to the hem.

We didn't wear the skimpy things girls wear nowadays.

Ah, me.

Times have changed, and not for the better, I'm afraid.

I tore a big hole in it that night, and someone spilled a cup of tea all over it, ruined it completely.

But I hope nothing will happen to your dress.

It ought to be a bit longer, I'm thinking.

Your legs are so terrible long and thin.

Mrs.

Dr.

Blythe does not approve of little girls dressing like grown up ones, said Susan stiffly, intending merely a snub to Cousin Sofia.

But Rila felt insulted.

A little girl indeed.

She whisked out of the kitchen in High dungeon.

Another time she wouldn't go down to show herself off to Susan.

Susan, who thought nobody was grown up until she was 60, and that horrid Cousin Sofia with her digs about freckles and legs.

What business had an old an old beanpole like that to talk of anybody else being long and thin?

Marilla felt all her pleasure in herself, and her evening clouded and spoiled.

The very teeth of her soul were set on edge, and she could have sat down and cried, but later on her spirits rose again when she found herself one of the gay crowd bound for the Forewind's light.

The Blithe left ingleside to the melancholy music of Howls from Dog Monday, who was locked up in the barn lest he make an uninvited guest at the light.

They picked up the Merediths in the village, and others joined them as they walked down the old harbor road.

Mary Vance, resplendent in blue crepe with lace overdress, came out of Miss Cornelia's gate and attached herself to Rilla and Miss Oliver, who were walking together and who did not welcome her over warmly.

Rilla was not very fond of Mary Vance.

She had never forgotten a humiliating day when Mary had chased her through the village with a dried codfish.

Mary Vance, to tell the truth, was not exactly popular with any of her set.

Still, they enjoyed her society.

She had such a biting tongue that it was stimulating.

Mary Vance is a habit of ours.

We can't do without her even when we're furious with her.

Die Blythe had once said.

Most of the little crowd were pared off after a fashion.

Jim walked with Faith.

Meredith, of course.

And Jerry Meredith with NAN blithe.

Dye and Walter were together deep, inconfidential conversation, which Rilla envied.

Carl Meredith was walking with Miranda Prior, more to torment Joe Milgrave than for any other reason.

Joe was known to have a strong hankering for the said Miranda, which shyness prevented him from indulging on all occasions.

Joe might summon enough courage to amble up beside Miranda if the night were dark, but here in this moonlit dusk, he simply could not do it.

So he trailed along after the procession and thought things not lawful to be uttered of Carl Meredith.

Miranda was the daughter of Whiskers on the moon.

She did not share her father's unpopularity, but she was not much run after being a pale, neutral little creature, someone addicted to nervous giggling.

She had silvery blonde hair, and her eyes were big china blue orbs that looked as if she had been badly frightened when she was little and had never got over it.

She would much rather have walked with Joe than with Carl, with whom she did not feel in the least at home.

Yet it was something of an honor, too, to have a college boy beside her, and the son of the manse at that.

Shirley Blithe was with Una Meredith, and both were rather silent because such was their nature.

Shirley was a lad of 16, sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of quiet humor.

He was Susan's little brown boy, yet with his brown hair, brown eyes and clear brown skin.

He liked to walk with Una Meredith because she never tried to make him talk or badgered him with chatter.

Una was as sweet and shy as she had been in the Rainbow Valley days, and her large, dark blue eyes were as dreamy and wistful.

She had a secret, carefully hidden fancy for Walter Blive that nobody but Rilla ever suspected.

Rila sympathized with it and wished Walter would return it.

She liked Una better than Faith, whose beauty and aplomb rather overshadowed other girls, and Rilla did not enjoy being overshadowed.

But just now she was very happy.

It was so delightful to be tripping with her friends down that dark, gleaming road sprinkled with its little spruces and furs, whose balsam made all the air resonance around them.

Meadows of sunset after light were behind the westerning hills.

Before them was the shining harbor.

A bell was ringing in the little church over harbor, and the lingering dream notes died around the dim amethystine points.

The gulf beyond was still silvery blue in the afterlife.

Oh, it was all glorious the clear air with its salt tang, the balsam of the furs, the laughter of her friends.

Gorilla loved life, its bloom and brilliance.

She loved the ripple of music, the merry conversation.

She wanted to walk on forever over this road of silver and shadow.

It was her first party, and she was going to have a splendid time.

There was nothing in the world to worry about, not even freckles and over long legs, nothing except one little haunting fear that nobody would ask her to dance.

It was beautiful and satisfying just to be alive, to be 15, to be pretty.

Rilla drew a long breath of rapture and caught it midway, rather sharply.

Gem was telling some story to Fave, something that had happened in the Balkan war.

The doctor lost both his legs.

They were smashed to pulp and he was left on the field to die.

And he crawled about from man to man to all the wounded men round him as long as he could and did everything possible to relieve their sufferings.

Never thinking of himself, he was tying a bit of bandage round another man's legs when he went under.

They found them there.

The doctor's dead hand still held the bandage tight.

The bleeding war stopped and the other man's life was saved.

Some hero, wasn't he, Faith?

I tell you, when I read that Jim and Faith moved on out of hearing, gertrude Oliver suddenly shivered.

Rilla pressed her arm sympathetically.

Wasn't it dreadful, Miss Oliver?

I don't know why Jim tells such gruesome things at a time like this, when we're all out for fun.

Do you think it dreadful, Rilla?

I thought it wonderful.

Beautiful.

Such a story makes one ashamed of ever doubting human nature that man's action was Godlike, and how humanity responds to the ideal of self sacrifice.

As for my shiver, I don't know what caused it.

The evening is certainly warm enough.

Perhaps someone is walking over the dark, star shiny spot that is to be my grave.

That is the explanation the old superstition would give.

Well, I won't think of that on this lovely night.

Do you know, Rilla, that when night time comes I'm always glad I live in the country.

We know the real charm of night here, as town dwellers never do.

Every night is beautiful in the country, even the stormy ones.

I love a wild night storm on this old Gulf shore.

As for a night like this, it is almost too beautiful.

It belongs to youth and dreamland, and I'm half afraid of it.

I feel as if I were part of it, said Rilla.

Ah, yes, you're young enough not to be afraid of perfect things.

Well, here we are at the house of dreams.

It seems lonely this summer.

The Fords didn't come.

Mr.

And Mrs.

Ford and purses didn't.

Kenneth did.

But he stayed with his mother's people Over Harbor.

We haven't seen a great deal of him this summer.

He's a little lame, so didn't go about very much.

Lame?

What happens to him?

He broke his ankle in a football game last fall and was laid up most of the winter.

He has limped a little ever since.

But it is getting better all the time, and he expects it will be all right before long.

He's been up to Ingleside only twice.

Ethyl reese is simply crazy about him, said Mary Vance.

She hasn't got the scent she was born with where he is concerned.

He walked home with her from the Over Harbor church last prayer meeting night and the air she has put on since would really make you weary of life.

As if a Toronto boy like Ken Ford would ever really think of a country girl like Ethel Rolla flushed.

It did not matter to her if Kenneth Ford walked home with Ethel Reese a dozen times.

It did not.

Nothing that he did mattered to her.

He was ages older than she was.

He chummed with NAN and Die and Faith and looked upon her rilla as a child whom he never noticed except to tease and she detested Ethel Reese, and Ethel Reese hated her, always had hated her, since Walter had pummeled Dan, so notoriously in Rainbow Valley days.

But why need she be thought beneath Kenneth Ford's notice?

Because she was a country girl prey.

As for Mary Vance, she was getting to be an out and out gossip and thought of nothing but who walked home with people.

There was a little pier on the harbor shore below the House of Dreams, and two boats were moored there.

One boat was skippered by Jim Blythe, the other by Joe Milgrave, who knew all about boats and was nothing loath to let Miranda Pryor see it.

They raced down the harbor and Joe's boat won.

More boats were coming down from the harbor head and across the harbor from the western side.

Everywhere there was laughter.

The big white tower on Four Winds Point was overflowing with light while its revolving beacon flashed overhead.

A family from Charlottetown, relatives of the Lightskeeper, were summering at the light, and they were giving the party to which all the young people of Four Winds in Glenn, St.

Mary and Over Harbor had been invited.

As Jim's boat swung in below the lighthouse, rilla desperately snatched off her shoes and donned her silver slippers behind.

Miss Oliver's, screening back a glance, had told her that the rock cut steps climbing up to the light were lined with boys and lighted by Chinese lanterns, and she was determined she would not walk up those steps in the heavy shoes her mother had insisted on her wearing for the road.

The slippers pinched abominably, but nobody would have suspected it.

Asrilla tripped smilingly up the steps, her soft dark eyes glowing and questioning, her color deepening richly on her round, creamy cheeks.

The very minute she reached the top of the steps, an over harbor boy asked her to dance, and the next moment they were in the pavilion that had been built, seaward of the Lighthouse for dances.

It was a delightful spot, roofed over with fur boughs and hung with lanterns.

Beyond was the sea and a radiance that glowed and shimmered.

To the left, the moonlit crests and hollows of the sand dunes.

To the right, the rocky shore with its inky shadows and its crystalline coves.

Marilla and her partner swung in among the dancers.

She drew a long breath of delight.

What witching music.

Ned Burr of the Upper Glen was coaxing from his fiddle.

It was really like the magical pipes of the old tale which compelled all who heard them to dance.

How cool and fresh the gulf breeze blew, how white and wonderful the moonlight was over everything.

This was life enchanting life.

Rilla felt as if her feet and her soul both had wings.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time Books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Rilla of Ingleside.

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