Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the thirtieth chapter of Anne of Avonlea by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Come with us as we release one bite a day of one of your favorite classic novels, plays & short stories. Bree reads these classics like she reads to her daughter, one chapter a day. If you love books or audiobooks and want something to listen to as you're getting ready, driving to work, or as you're getting ready for bed, check out Bite at a Time Books!

Follow, rate, and review Bite at a Time Books where we read you your favorite classics, one bite at a time. Available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Get exclusive Behind the Scenes content on our Patreon

We are now part of the Bite at a Time Books Productions network!

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on all the socials: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook - TikTok

Follow Bree at: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook

Let's see what we can find.

Take your chapter by chapter one by so many adventures and mountains we can climb take your word for word, line by line we're part at a time.

Welcome to Bite at a Time Books, where we read you your favorite classics one byte at a time.

My name is Brie Carlyle, and I love to read and wanted to share my passion with listeners like you.

If you enjoy our show, be sure to follow us so you get all the new episodes.

If you want to see exclusive behind the scenes of our show, follow us on YouTube.

We would also love for you to drop us a rating on your favorite podcast platform and share our show with your friends.

You can catch us on all the social medias at Byte at a Time Books.

Today we'll be continuing anne of Aven Lee by Lucy Maud Montgomery, 30.

A wedding at the Stone House.

The last week in August came Ms.

Lavender was to be married in it.

Two weeks later, anne and Gilbert would leave for Redmond College.

In a week's time.

Mrs.

Rachel Lynde would move to Green Gables and set up her lairs and penitents in the erstwhile spare room, which was already prepared for her coming.

She had sold all her superfluous household plenishings by option, and was at present reveling in the congenial occupation of helping the Allens pack up.

Mr.

Allen was to preach his farewell sermon the next Sunday.

The old order was changing rapidly to give place to the new, as Anne felt with a little sadness, threading all her excitement and happiness.

Changes ain't totally pleasant, but they're excellent things, said Mr.

Harrison philosophically.

Two years is about long enough for things to stay exactly the same.

If they stayed put any longer, they might grow mossy.

Mr.

Harrison was smoking on the veranda.

His wife had selfsacrificingly told that he might smoke in the house if he took care to sit by an open window.

Mr.

Harrison rewarded this concession by going outdoors altogether to smoke and fine weather, and so mutual goodwill reigned.

Anna had come over to ask Mrs.

Harrison for some of her yellow dahlias.

She and Diana were going through the Echo Lodge that evening to help Miss Lavender and Charlotte IV with their final preparations for the morrow's.

Bridal miss Lavender herself never had dahlia's.

She did not like them, and they would not have suited the fine retirement of her oldfashioned garden.

But flowers of any kind were rather scarce in Avonlea and the neighboring districts that summer, thanks to Uncle Abe storm.

And Anne and Diana thought that a certain old creamcolored stone jug, usually kept sacred to Donuts Brimmed over with yellow dahlias would be just the thing to set in a dim angle of the stonehouse stairs against the dark background of Red Hallpaper.

I suppose you'll be starting off for college in a fortnight's time, continued Mr.

Harrison.

Well, we're going to miss you an awful lot, Emily and me.

To be sure Mrs.

Lind will be over there in your place.

There ain't nobody but a substitute can be found for them.

The irony of Mr.

Harrison's tone is quite untransferable to paper.

In spite of his wife's intimacy with Mrs.

Lynd, the best that could be said of the relationship between her and Mr.

Harrison, even under the new regime, was that they preserved an armed neutrality.

Yes, I'm going, said Anne.

I'm very glad with my head and very sorry with my heart.

I suppose you'll be scooping up all the honors that are lying round luci at redmond.

I may try for one or two of them, confessed Anne, but I don't care so much for things like that as I did two years ago.

What I want to get out of my college course is some knowledge of the best way of living life and doing the most invest with it.

I want to learn to understand and help other people in myself.

Mr.

Harrison nodded.

That's the idea exactly.

That's what college ought to be for.

Instead of turning out a lot of bas so chock full of book learning and vanity that there ain't room for anything else.

You're all right.

College won't be able to do much harm, I reckon.

Diana and Anne drove over to Echo lodge after tea, taking with them all the flowery spoil that several predatory expeditions in their own and their neighbor's gardens had yielded.

They found the stone house a GOG with excitement.

Charlotte IV was flying around with such vim and briskness that her blue bows seemed really to possess the power of being everywhere at once.

Like the helmet of Navarre, charlotte's blue bows waved ever in the thickest of the fray.

Praise be to goodness you've come, she said devoutedly, for there's heaps of things to do and the frosting on that cake won't harden.

And there's all the silver to be rubbed up yet and the horsehair trunk to be packed, and the roosters for the chicken salad are running out.

There be into the henhouse yet growing, miss Shirley ma'am, and miss Lavender ain't to be trusted to do a thing.

I was thankful when Mr.

Irving came a few minutes ago and took her off for a walk in the woods.

Courting is all right in its place, Miss Shirley ma'am, but if you try to mix it up with cooking and scouring, everything's spoiled.

That's my opinion, Miss Shirley, ma'am.

Anne and Diana worked so heartily that by 10:00 even Charlotte IV was satisfied.

She braided her hair in innumerable plates and took her weary little bones off to bed.

But I'm sure I shan't sleep a blessed wink, Miss Shirley ma'am, for fear that something will go wrong at the last minute.

The queen won't whip or Mr.

Irving will have a stroke and not be able to come.

He isn't in the habit of having strokes, is he?

Asked Diana, the dimpled corners of her mouth twitching.

To Diana, Charlotte IV was, if not exactly a thing of beauty, certainly a joy forever.

They're not things that go by habit, said Charlotte IV with dignity.

They just happen, and there you are.

Anybody can have a stroke.

You don't have to learn how.

Mr.

Irving looks a lot like an uncle of mine that had one once just as he was sitting down to dinner one day.

But maybe everything will go all right in this world.

You've got to hope for the best and prepare for the worst and take whatever God sends.

The only thing I'm worried about is that it won't be fine tomorrow, said Diana.

Uncle Abe predicted rain for the middle of the week, and ever since the big storm, I can't help believing there's a good deal in what Uncle Abe says.

And who knew better than Diana just how much Uncle Abe had to do with the storm?

Was not much disturbed by this.

She slept the sleep of the just and weary, and was roused at an unearthly hour by Charlotte IV.

Oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am, it's awful to call you so early.

Came wheeling through the keyhole, but there's so much to do yet, and oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am, I'm scared it's going to rain, and I wish you'd get up and tell me you think it ain't.

Anne flew to the window, hoping against hope that Charlotte IV was saying this merely by way of rousing her effectually.

But alas, the morning did look unpropeious.

Below the window, miss Lavender's garden, which should have been a glory of pale virgin sunshine, lay dim and windless, and the sky over the furs was dark with moody clouds.

Isn't it too mean?

Said Diana.

We must hope for the best, said Anne, determinedly.

If it only doesn't actually rain, a cool, pearly gray day like this would really be nicer than hot sunshine.

But it will rain.

Mourned Charlotte, creeping into the room, a figure of fun with her many braids wound about her head, the ends tied up with white thread sticking out in all directions.

It'll hold off till the last minute, and then poor cats and dogs and all the folks will get sopping and track mud all over the house, and they won't be able to be married under the honeysuckle, and it's awfully unlucky for no sun to shine on a bride.

Say what you will miss Shirley ma'am.

I knew things were going too well to last.

Charlotte IV seemed certainly to have borrowed a leaf out of Miss Eliza Andrew's book.

It did not rain, though it kept on looking as if it meant to.

By noon, the rooms were decorated, the table beautifully laid, and upstairs was waiting a bride adorned for her husband.

You do look sweet, said Anne, rapturously.

Lovely, echoed Diana.

Everything's ready, Miss Shirley ma'am, and nothing dreadful has happened yet, was Charlotte's cheerful statement, as she betook herself to her little back room to dress.

Out came all the braids.

The resultant rampant crinkliness was plated into two tails and tied not with two bows alone, but with four of brand new ribbon, brightly blue.

The two upper bows, rather, gave the impression of overgrown wings sprouting from Charlotte's neck.

Some went after the fashion of Raphael's cherubs, but Charlotte IV thought them very beautiful.

And after she had wrestled into a white dress so stiffly starched that it could stand alone, she surveyed herself in her glass with great satisfaction.

A satisfaction which lasted until she went out in the hall and caught a glimpse through the spare room door of a tall girl in some softly clinging gown, pinning white starlike flowers on the smooth ripples of her ruddy hair.

I'll never be able to look like Miss Shirley, thought poor Charlotte despairingly.

You just have to be born so, I guess.

Don't seem as if any amount of practice could give you that air.

By 01:00, the guests had come, including Mr.

And Mrs.

Allen, for Mr.

Allen was to perform the ceremony.

In the absence of the Grafton minister on his vacation, there was no formality about the marriage.

Miss Lavender came down the stairs to meet her bridegroom at the foot, and as he took her hand, she lifted her big brown eyes to his.

With a look that made Charlotte the Fourth, who intercepted it, feel queer than ever, they went out to the honeysuckle arbor where Mr.

Allen was awaiting them.

The guests grouped themselves as they pleased.

Anne and Diana stood by the old stone bench with Charlotte IV between them, desperately clutching their hands in her cold, tremulous little paws.

Mr.

Allen opened his blue book, and the ceremony proceeded.

Just as Ms.

Lavender and Stephen Irving were pronounced man and wife, a very beautiful and symbolic thing happened.

The sun suddenly burst through the gray and poured a flood of radiance on the happy bride.

Instantly the garden was alive with dancing shadows and flickering lights.

What a lovely omen, thought Anne as she ran to kiss the bride.

Then the three girls left, the rest of the guests laughing around the bridal pair while they flew into the house to see that all was in readiness for the feast.

Thanks be to goodness it's over.

Miss Shirley.

Ma'am briefed Charlotte of the Fourth, and they're married safe and sound, no matter what happens.

Now, the backs of rice are in the pantry, ma'am, and the old shoes are behind the door, and the cream for whipping is on the solar steps.

At 02:30, Mr.

And Mrs.

Irving left, and everybody went to Bright River to see them off on the afternoon train.

As Ms.

Lavender I beg her pardon.

Mrs.

Irving stepped from the door to her old home.

Gilbert and the girls threw the rice, and Charlotte IV hurled an old shoe with such excellent aim that she struck Mr.

Allen squarely on the head.

But it was reserved for Paul to give the prettiest send off.

He popped out of the porch, ringing furiously a huge old brass dinner bell which had adorned the dining room.

Anthony Paul's only motive was to make a joyful noise.

But as the clanger died away from point and curve and hill, across the river came the chime of fairy wedding bells ringing clearly, sweetly, faintly and more faint, as if Miss Lavender's beloved echoes are bidding her greeting and farewell.

And so, amid this benediction of sweet sounds, miss Lavender drove away from the old life of dreams and, make believes, to a fuller life of realities in the busy world beyond.

2 hours later, Anne and Charlotte IV came down the lane again.

Gilbert had gone to West Grafton on an errand, and Diana had to keep an engagement at home.

Anne and Charlotta had come back to put things in order and lock up the little stone house.

The garden was a pull of late golden sunshine with butterflies hovering and bees booming.

But the little house had already that indefinable air of desolation which always follows a festivity.

Oh, dear me, don't it look lonesome?

Sniffed Charlotte IV, who had been crying all the way home from the station.

A wedding ain't much cheerfuler than a funeral after all, when it's all over miss Shirley, ma'am.

A busy evening followed.

The decorations had to be removed, the dishes washed, the uneaten delicacies packed into a basket for the delectation of Charlotte IV's young brothers.

At home, Anne would not rest until everything was in apple pie order.

After Charlotte had gone home with her plunder, anne went over the still rooms, feeling like one who trot alone.

Some banquet hall deserted and closed the blinds, and she locked the door and sat down under the silver poplar to wait for Gilbert, feeling very tired but still unweredly, thinking long, long thoughts.

What are you thinking of, Anne?

Asked Gilbert, coming down the walk.

He had left his horse and buggy out at the road of Miss Lavender and Mr.

Irving, answered Anne dreamily.

Isn't it beautiful to think how everything has turned out?

How they've come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?

Yes, it's beautiful, said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne's uplifted face.

But wouldn't it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been no separation or misunderstanding?

If they had come hand in hand all the way through life with no memories behind them but those which belong to each other?

For a moment, Anne s heart fluttered queerly, and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert's gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face.

It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities.

Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one's life with Pomp and Blair like a gay night riding down.

Perhaps it crept to one side like an old friend through quiet ways.

Perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages, betrayed by the rhythm and the music.

Perhaps perhaps love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a goldenhearted rose slipping from its green sheath and the veil dropped again.

But the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down at the evening before.

The page of girlhood had been turned as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her, with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.

Gilbert Wisely said nothing more, but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne's remembered blush.

Four years of earnest, happy work, and then the Gordon of a youthful knowledge gained, and a sweetheart one.

Behind them in the garden, the little stone house brooded among the shadows.

It was lonely, but not, forsaken I had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life.

There were to be future summers for the little stone house.

Meanwhile it could wait, and over the river in purple durrance, the echoes bited their time.

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

If you enjoy our show, be sure to follow us so you get all the new episodes.

If you want to see exclusive behind the scenes of our show, follow us on YouTube.

We would also love for you to drop us a rating on your favorite podcast platform and share our show with your friends.