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

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Take a look in the book and let's see what we can find.

Take your chapter by chapter one by so many adventures and mountains we can climb.

Take it worth a word line, but line one 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.

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Today we'll be continuing anne of Aven Lee by Lucy Maud Montgomery 29 poetry and prose for the next month, Anne lived in what for Aven Lee might be called a whirl of excitement.

The preparation of her own modest outfit for redmond was of secondary importance.

Miss Lavender was getting ready to be married, and the stone house was the scene of endless consultations and plannings and discussions, with Charlotte IV hovering on the outskirts of things in agitated delight and wonder.

Then the dressmaker came, and there was the rapture and wretchedness of choosing fashions and being fitted.

Anne and Diana spent half their time at Echo Lodge, and there were nights when Anne could not sleep for wondering whether she had done right in advising Miss Lavender to select brown rather than navy blue for her traveling dress and to have her gray silk made princess.

Everybody concerned, and Miss Lavender's story was very happy.

Paul Irving rushed to Green Gables to talk the news over with Anne as soon as his father had told him.

I knew I could trust Father to pick me out a nice little second mother, he said proudly.

It's a fine thing to have a father you can depend on, teacher.

I just love Miss Lavender.

Grandma's please, too.

She says she's real glad Father didn't pick out an American for his second wife, because although it turned out all right the first time, such a thing wouldn't be likely to happen twice.

Mrs.

Lynn says she thoroughly approves of the match and thinks it's likely Ms.

Lavender will give up her queer notions and be like other people now that she's going to be married.

But I hope she won't give her queer notions up, Teacher, because I like them, and I don't want her to be like other people.

There are too many other people around as it is, you know, teacher charlotte IV was another radiant person.

Oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am, it has all turned out so beautiful.

When Mr.

Irving and Miss Lavender come back from their tower, I'm going up to Boston and live with them and me only 15, and the other girls never went till they were 16.

Ain't Mr.

Irving splendid?

He just worships the ground she treads on.

And it makes me feel so queer sometimes to see the look in his eyes when he's watching her.

It beggars description, Ms.

Shirley, ma'am.

I'm awful thankful they're so fond of each other.

It's the best way when all said and done, though some folks can get along without it.

I've got an aunt who's been married three times and says she married the first time for love and the last two times for strictly business and was happy with all three except at the times of the funerals.

But I think she took a risk.

Miss Shirley, ma'am.

Oh, it's all so romantic, breathed Anne Marilla that night.

If I hadn't taken the wrong path that day we went to Mr.

Kimball's, I'd never have known Ms.

Lavender, and if I hadn't met her, I'd never have taken Paul there, and he'd never have written to his father about visiting Miss Lavender just as Mr.

Irving was starting for San Francisco.

Mr.

Irving says whenever he got that letter, he made up his mind to send his partner to San Francisco and come here instead.

He hadn't heard anything of Miss Lavender for 15 years.

Somebody had told him then that she was to be married, and he thought she was and never asked anybody anything about her.

And now everything has come right, and I had a hand in bringing it about.

Perhaps, as Mrs.

Lynn says, everything is fore ordained, and it was bound to happen anyway.

But even so, it's nice to think one was an instrument used by predestination.

Yes, indeed, it's very romantic.

I can't see that it's so terribly romantic at all, said Marilla rather crisply.

Marilla thought Anne was too worked up about it and had plenty to do with getting ready for college without traipsing the Echo Lodge two days out of three helping Miss Lavender in the first place.

Two young folks quarrel and turn sulky.

Then Stephen Irving goes to the States, and after a spell gets married up there and is perfectly happy from all accounts.

Then his wife dies, and after a decent interval, he thinks he'll come home and see if his first fancy will have him.

Meanwhile, she's been living single, probably because nobody nice enough came along to want her, and they meet and agree to be married after all.

Now, where's the romance in that?

Oh, there isn't any.

When you put it that way, gasped Anne, rather as if somebody had thrown cold water over her.

I suppose that's how it looks in prose, but it's very different if you look at it through poetry, and I think it's nicer.

Anne recovered herself, and her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed to look at it through poetry.

Marilla glanced at the radiant young face and refrained from further sarcastic comments.

Perhaps some realization came to her that.

After all.

It was better to have.

Like Anne.

The vision and the faculty divine that gift which the world cannot bestow or take away.

Of looking at life through some transfiguring or revealing medium whereby everything seemed apparel in celestial light.

Wearing a glory and a freshness not visible to those who.

Like herself and Charlotte IV.

Looked at things only through prose.

When's the wedding to be?

She asked after a pause.

The last Wednesday in August.

They're to be married in the garden under the honeysuckle trellis, the very spot where Mr.

Irving proposed to her 25 years ago.

Marilla, that is romantic.

Even in prose.

There's to be nobody there except Mrs.

Irving and Paul and Gilbert and Diana and I and Ms.

Lavender's cousins.

And they will leave on the 06:00 train for a trip to the Pacific Coast.

When they come back in the fall, paul and Charlotte IV are to go up to Boston to live with them, but echo lodges to be left just as it is.

Only, of course, they'll sell the hens and cow and board up the windows, and every summer they're coming down to live in it.

I'm so glad.

It would have hurt me dreadfully next winter at Redmond to think of that Deerstone house all stripped and deserted with empty rooms, or far worse still, with other people living in it.

But I can think of it now just as I've always seen it, waiting happily for the summer to bring life and laughter back to it again.

There was more romance in the world than that which had fallen to the share of the middle aged lovers of the stone house.

Anne stumbled suddenly on it one evening when she went over to Orchard's Slope by the wood cut and came out into the berry garden.

Diana Barry and Fred Wright were standing together under the big willow.

Diana was leaning against the gray trunk, her lashes cast down on very crimson cheeks.

One hand was held by Fred, who stood with his face bent toward her, stammering something in low, earnest tones.

There were no other people in the world except their two selves at that magic moment, so neither of them saw Anne, who after one dazed glance of comprehension, turned and sped noiselessly back through the spruce wood, never stopping till she gained her own gable room, where she sat breathlessly down by her window and tried to collect her scattered wits.

Diana and Fred are in love with each other, she gasped.

Oh, it does seem so hopelessly grown up.

Anne of late had not been without her suspicions that Diana was proving false to the melancholy Byronic hero of her early dreams.

But as things seen are mightier than things heard or suspected.

The realization that it was actually so came to her with almost the shock of perfect surprise.

This was succeeded by a queer little lonely feeling, as if somehow Diana had gone forward into a new world, shutting a gate behind her, leaving Anne on the outside.

Things are changing so fast it almost frightens me.

Anne thought a little sadly, and I'm afraid that this can't help making some difference between Diana and me.

I'm sure I can't tell her all my secrets after this.

She might tell Fred, and what can she see in Fred?

He's very nice and jolly, but he's just fred right.

It is always a very puzzling question.

What can somebody see in somebody else?

But how fortunate after all, that it is so for everybody, so alike.

Well, in that case, as the old Indian said, everybody would want my squaw.

It was plain that Diana did see something in Fred Wright, however Anne's eyes might be holden.

Diana came to Green Gables the next evening, a pensive, shy young lady, and told Anne the whole story.

In the dusky seclusion of the east gable, both girls cried and kissed and laughed.

I'm so happy, said Diana, but it does seem ridiculous to think of me being engaged.

What is it really like to be engaged?

Asked Anne curiously.

Well, that all depends on who you're engaged to, answered Diana, with that maddening air of superior wisdom always assumed by those who are engaged over those who are not.

It's perfectly lovely to be engaged to Fred, but I think it would be simply horrid to be engaged to anyone else.

There's not much comfort for the rest of us, and that seeing that there's only one Fred, laughed Anne.

Oh, Anne, you don't understand, said Diana in vexation.

I didn't mean that.

It's so hard to explain.

Never mind.

You'll understand sometime when your own turn comes.

Plus you dearest of Diana's.

I understand now.

What is an imagination for if not to enable you to peep at life through other people's eyes?

You must be my bridesmaid, you know, Anne.

Promise me that wherever you may be, when I'm married, I'll come from the ends of the earth, if necessary, promised Anne solemnly.

Of course.

It won't be ever so long yet, said Diana, blushing.

Three years at the very least, from only 18, and mother says no daughter of hers shall be married before she's 21.

Besides, Fred's father is going to buy the Abraham Fletcher farm for him, and he says he's got to have it two thirds paid for before we'll give it to him in his own name.

But three years isn't any too much time to get ready for housekeeping, for I haven't a speck of fancy work made yet, but I'm going to begin crocheting doyleys tomorrow.

Myra Gillis had 37 doilies when she was married, and I'm determined I shall have as many as she had.

I suppose it would be perfectly impossible to keep house with only 36 doilies, conceded Anne with a solemn face but dancing eyes.

Diana looked hurt.

I didn't think you'd make fun of me, Anne, she said reproachfully.

Dearest.

I wasn't making fun of you.

Cried Anne repentantly.

I was only teasing you a bit.

I think you'll make the sweetest little housekeeper in the world.

And I think it's perfectly lovely of you to be planning already for your home of dreams.

Anne had no sooner uttered the phrase home of dreams than it captivated her fancy, and she immediately began the erection of one of her own.

It was, of course, teneted by an ideal master dark, proud, and melancholy.

But oddly enough, Gilbert blithe persisted in hanging about, too, helping her arrange pictures, lay out gardens, and accomplish sundry other tasks, which a proud and melancholy hero evidently considered beneath his dignity, and tried to banish Gilbert's image from her castle in Spain.

But somehow he went on being there.

So Anne, being in a hurry, gave up the attempt and pursued her aerial architecture with such success that her home of dreams was built and furnished before Diana spoke again.

I suppose, Anne, you must think it's funny I should like Fred so well when he's so different from the kind of man I've always said I would marry.

The tall, slender kind.

But somehow I wouldn't want Fred to be tall and slender, because, don't you see, he wouldn't be Fred.

Then, of course, added Diana, rather dolefully.

We will be a dreadfully pudgy couple.

But after all, that's better than one of us being short and fat and the other tall and lean like Morgan Sloane and his wife.

Mrs.

Lynne says it always makes her think of the long and short of it when she sees them together.

Well, said Anna herself that night as she brushed her hair before her guilt framed mirror, I'm glad Diana is so happy and satisfied.

But when my turn comes, if it ever does, I do hope there will be something a little more thrilling about it.

But then Diana thought so, too, once I've heard her say time and again she'd never get engaged in a pokey, commonplace way.

He'd have to do something splendid to win her.

But she has changed.

Perhaps I'll change too.

But I won't.

And I'm determined.

I won't.

Oh, I think these engagements are dreadfully, unsettling things when they happen to your intimate friends.

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

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My name is Brie Carlyle, and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Anne of Avonlea.