Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the thirty-first chapter of Rilla of Ingleside.

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.

Check out our website, or join our Facebook Group!

Get exclusive Behind the Scenes content on our YouTube!

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

Take a look.

Let's see what we can find.

Take it chapter by chapter, one bite at a time so many adventures and mountains we can climb take it word for wordline by.

One bite 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 want to know what's coming next and vote on upcoming books, sign up for our newsletter at Bite at a Timebooks.com.

You'll also find our new T shirts in the shop, including podcast shirts and quote shirts from your favorite classic novels.

Be sure to follow my show on your favorite podcast platform so you get all the new episodes.

You can find most of our links in the show notes, but also our website.

Bite at a Timebooks.com includes all of the links for our show, including to our patreon to support the show, and YouTube, where we have special behind the narration of the episodes.

We're part of the byte at a Time Books Productions network.

If you'd also like to hear what inspired your favorite classic authors to write their novels and what was going on in the world at the time, check out the Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story podcast.

Wherever you listen to podcasts, please note while we try to keep the text as close to the original as possible, some words have been changed to honor the marginalized communities who've identified the words as harmful and to stay in alignment with Bite at a Time book's brand values.

Today we'll be continuing Rilla of Ingleside by Lucy Maud Montgomery chapter 31 Mrs.

Matilda Pittman rilla and Jim's were standing on the rear platform of their car when the train stopped at the Little Millward sighting.

The August evening was so hot and close that the crowded cars were stifling.

Nobody ever knew just why trains stopped at Millward Siding.

Nobody was ever known to get off there or get on.

There was only one house nearer to it than 4 miles, and it was surrounded by acres of blueberry barons and scrub spruce trees.

Rilla was on her way into Charlottetown to spend the night with a friend and the next day in Red Cross shopping.

She had taken Jim's with her, partly because she did not want Susan or her mother to be bothered with his care, partly because of a hungry desire in her heart to have as much of him as she could before she might have to give him up forever.

James Anderson had written to her not long before this.

He was wounded and in the hospital.

He would not be able to go back to the front, and as soon as he was able, he would be coming home for Jim's.

Rilla was heavy hearted over this and worried also.

She loved Jim's dearly and would feel deeply giving him up in any case.

But if Jim Anderson were a different sort of man with a proper home for the child, it would not be so bad.

But to give Jim's up to a roving, shiftless, irresponsible father, however kind and good hearted he might be.

And she knew Jim Anderson was kind and good hearted enough was a bitter prospect to Rilla.

It was not even likely Anderson would stay in the glen.

He had no ties there now.

He might even go back to England.

She might never see her dear sunshiny carefully brought up little Jim's again.

With such a father, what might his fate be relement to beg Jim Anderson to leave him with her?

But from his letter, she had not much hope that he would.

If he would only stay in the glen where I could keep an eye on Jim's and have him often with me, I wouldn't feel so worried over it, she reflected, but I feel sure he won't, and Jim's will never have any chance.

And he's such a bright little chap.

He has ambition wherever he got it, and he isn't lazy.

But his father will never have a scent to give him any education or start in life.

Jim's, my little war baby, whatever is going to become of you?

Jims was not in the least concerned over what was to become of him.

He was gleefully watching the antics of a striped chipmunk that was frisking over the roof of the little sighting.

As the train pulled out, Jim's leaned eagerly forward for a last look at Chippy pulling his hand from Rilla's.

Rilla was so engrossed in wondering what was to become of Jim's in the future that she forgot to take notice of what was happening to him in the present.

What did happen was that Jim's lost his balance, shot headlong down the steps, hurdled across the little siding platform, and landed in a clump of bracken fern on the other side.

Rilla shrieked and lost her head.

She sprang down the steps and jumped off the train.

Fortunately, the train was still going at a comparatively slow speed.

Fortunately, also, Rilla retained enough sense to jump the way it was going.

Nevertheless, she fell and sprawled helplessly down the embankment, landing in a ditch full of rank growth and golden rod and fireweed.

Nobody had seen what had happened, and the train whisked briskly away round a curve in the barons.

Earla picked herself up, dizzy but unhurt, scrambled out of the ditch and flew wildly across the platform, expecting to find Jim's dead or broken in pieces.

But Jim's, except for a few bruises and a big fright, was quite uninjured.

He was so badly scared that he didn't even cry.

But Rilla, when she found that he was safe and sound, burst into tears and sobbed wildly.

Nasty old twain, remarked Jim's in disgust.

And nasty old God, he added with.

A scowl at the heavens.

Alas broke into Rilla's sobbing, producing something very like what her father would have called hysterics.

But she caught herself up before the hysteria could conquer her.

Rilla blythe.

I'm ashamed of you.

Pull yourself together immediately.

Jims, you shouldn't have said anything like that.

God.

Fool me off DeTwain.

Declared Jim's Defiantly.

Somebody fooled me.

You didn't fool me so.

It was God.

No, it wasn't.

You fell because you let go of my hand and bent too far forward.

I told you not to do that.

So that was your own fault.

JEMS looked to see if she meant it, then glanced up at the sky again.

Excuse me then, God, he remarked.

Airily Rola scanned the sky also.

She did not like its appearance.

A heavy thundercloud was appearing in the northwest.

What in the world was to be done?

There was no other train that night, since the 09:00 special ran only on Saturdays.

Would it be possible for them to reach Hannah Brewster's house 2 miles away, before the storm broke.

Rilla thought she could do it alone easily enough, but with gyms it was another matter.

Were as little lake's good for it.

We've got to try, said Rilla desperately.

We might stay in the sighting until the thunderstorm is over.

But it may keep on raining all night.

And anyway it will be pitch dark.

If we can get to Hannah's, she will keep us all night.

Hannah Brewster, when she had been Hannah Crawford, had lived in the glen and had gone to school with Rilla.

They had been good friends then, though Hannah had been three years the older.

She had married very young and had gone to live in Millward.

But with hard work and babies and a nerdy well husband, her life had not been an easy one, and Hannah seldom revisited her old home.

Rilla had visited her once soon after her marriage, but had not seen her or even heard of her for years.

She knew, however, that she and Jim's would find welcome in harborage, in any house where Rosie faced open hearted generous.

Hannah lived for the first mile.

They got on very well, but the second one was harder.

The road, seldom used, was rough and deep rutted.

Jim's grew so tired that Rilla had to carry him for the last quarter.

She reached the Brewster house almost exhausted and dropped gems on the walk with a sigh of thankfulness.

The sky was black with clouds.

The first heavy drops were beginning to fall and the rumble of thunder was growing very loud, and she made an unpleasant discovery.

The blinds were all down and the doors locked.

Evidently the Brewsters were not at home.

Rilla ran to the little barn.

It too was locked.

No other refuge presented itself.

The bare, whitewashed little house had not even a veranda or porch.

It was almost dark now, and her plight seemed desperate.

I'm going to get in if I have to break a window, said Rilla resolutely.

Hannah would want me to do that.

She'd never get over it if she heard I came to her house for refuge in a thunderstorm and couldn't get in.

Luckily, she did not have to go to the length of actual housebreaking.

The kitchen window went up quite easily.

Rilla lifted Jim's in and scrambled through herself just as the storm broke in good earnest.

Oh, see all the little pieces of thunder.

Cried Jim's in delight as the hail danced in after them.

Rilla shut the window and with some difficulty found and lighted a lamp.

They were in a very snug little kitchen, opening off it.

On one side was a trim, nicely furnished parlor, and on the other a pantry which proved to be well stalked.

I'm going to make myself at home, said Rilla.

I know that is just what Hannah would want me to do.

I'll get a little snack for gyms in me, and then if the rain continues and nobody comes home, I'll just go upstairs to the spare room and go to bed.

There's nothing like acting sensibly in an emergency.

If I'd not been a goose when.

I saw Jim's fall off the train, I'd have rushed back into the car and got someone to stop it.

Then I wouldn't have been in this scrape.

Since I am in it, I'll make the best of it.

This house, she added looking around, is fixed up much nicer than when I was here before.

Of course, Hannah and Ted were just beginning housekeeping then, but somehow I've had the idea that Ted hasn't been very prosperous.

He must have done better than I've been led to believe when they can afford furniture like this.

I'm awfully glad for Hannah's sake.

A thunderstorm passed, but the rain continued to fall heavily.

At 11:00 Rilla decided that nobody was coming home.

Jims had fallen asleep on the sofa.

She carried him up to the spare room and put him to bed.

Then she undressed put on a nightgown she found in the washstand drawer and scrambled sleepily in between very nice lavender scented sheets.

She was so tired after her adventures and exertions that not even the oddity of her situation could keep her awake.

She was sound asleep in a few minutes.

Rilla slept until 08:00 the next morning and then wakened with startling suddenness.

Someone was saying in a harsh, gruff voice here, you do, wake up.

I want to know what this means.

Rilla did wake up promptly and effectually.

She had never in all her life wakened up so thoroughly before.

Standing in the room were three people, one of them a man, who were absolute strangers to her.

The man was a big fellow with a bushy black beard and an angry scowl.

Beside him was a woman, a tall, thin, angular person with violently red hair and an indescribable hat.

She looked even crosser and more amazed than the man, if that were possible.

In the background was another woman, a tiny old lady who must have been at least 80.

She was, in spite of her tininess.

A very striking looking personage.

She was dressed in unrelieved black, had snow white hair, a dead white face, and snapping vivid coal black eyes.

She looked as amazed as the other two, but Rilla realized that she didn't look cross.

Rilla also was realizing that something was wrong, fearfully wrong.

Then the man said, more gruffly than ever, come now.

Who are you and what business have you here?

Rilla raced herself on one elbow, looking and feeling hopelessly bewildered and foolish.

She heard the old black and white lady in the background chuckle to herself.

She must be Rill, Rilla thought.

I can't be dreaming her aloud.

She gasped.

Isn't this Theodore Brewster's place?

No, said the big woman, speaking for the first time.

This place belongs to us.

We bought it from the Brewsters last fall.

They moved to Greenvale.

Our name is Chapley.

Poor Rilla fell back on her pillow, quite overcome.

I beg your pardon, she said.

I I thought the Brewsters lived here.

Mrs.

Brewster is a friend of mine.

I am Rilla Blythe, dr.

Blythe's daughter from Glenn St.

Mary.

I was going to town with this little boy, and he fell off the train, and I jumped off after him, and nobody knew of it.

I knew we couldn't get home last night and a storm was coming up, so we came here, and when we found nobody at home, we just got in through the window and made ourselves at home.

So it seems, said the woman sarcastically.

A likely story, said the man.

We weren't born yesterday, added the woman.

Madame Black and White didn't say anything, but when the other two made their pretty speeches, she doubled up in a silent convulsion of mirth, shaking her head from side to side and beating the air with her hands.

Rilla, stung by the disagreeable attitude of the Chaplies, regained her self possession and lost her temper.

She sat up in bed and said in her haughtiest voice, I do not know when you were born or where, but it must have been somewhere where very peculiar manners were taught.

If you will have the decency to leave my room or this room until I can get up and dress, I shall not transgress upon your hospitality.

Rilla was killingly sarcastic.

Any longer, and I shall pay you amply for the food we have eaten.

In the night's lodging I have taken.

The black and white apparition went through the motion of clapping her hands, but not a sound did she make.

Perhaps Mr.

Chapley was cowed by Rilla's tone, or perhaps he was appeased at the prospect of payment.

At all events, he spoke more civilly.

Well, that's fair.

If you pay up, it's all right.

She shall do no such thing as.

Pay you, said Madam Black and White in a surprisingly clear, resolute, authoritative tone of voice.

If you haven't got any shame for yourself, Robert Chapley, you've got a mother in law who can be ashamed for you.

No stranger shall be charged for room in lodging in any house where Mrs Matilda Pittman lives.

Remember that.

Though I may have come down in the world, I haven't quite forgot all decency.

For all that I knew.

You was a skin flint when Amelia married you and you've made her as bad as yourself.

But Mrs Matilda Pittman has been boss for a long time and Mrs Matilda Pittman will remain boss here.

You, Robert Chapley, take yourself out of here and let that girl get dressed.

And you, Amelia, go downstairs and cook a breakfast for her.

Never in all her life had Rilla seen anything like the abject meekness with which those two big people obeyed.

That might they went without word or look of protest as the door closed behind them.

Mrs Matilda Pittman laughed silently and rocked from side to side in her merriment.

Ain't it funny?

She said.

I mostly lets them run the length of their tether, but sometimes I have to pull them up and then I does it with a jerk.

They don't dust aggravate me because I've got considerable hard cash and they're afraid I won't leave it all to them.

Neither.

I will.

I'll leave them some, but some I won't, just to vex them.

I haven't made up my mind where I will leave it, but I'll have to soon.

For an 80 a body.

It's living on borrowed time now.

You can take your time about dressing, my dear, and I'll go down and keep them mean scallowags in order.

That's a handsome child you have there.

Is he your brother?

No.

He's a little war baby I've been taking care of.

Because his mother died and his father was overseas, answered Rilla in a subdued tone.

War baby?

Humph.

Well, I'd better skin out before he wakes up or he'll likely start crying.

Children don't like me.

Never did.

I can't recollect any youngster ever coming near me of its own accord.

Never had any of my own.

Amelia was my stepdaughter.

Well, it saved me a world of bother.

If kids don't like me, I don't like them.

So that's an even score.

But that certainly is a handsome child.

Jim's chose this moment for waking up.

He opened his big brown eyes and looked at Mrs Matilda Pittman unblinkingly.

Then he sat up, dimpled, deliciously, pointed to her and said solemnly to Rilla, pretty lady, Willa.

Pretty lady.

Mrs.

Matilda Pittman smiled.

Even 80 odd is sometimes vulnerable in vanity.

I've heard that children and fools tell.

The truth, she said.

I was used to compliments when I was young, but they're scarcer when you get as far along as I am.

I haven't had one for years.

It tastes good, I suppose.

Now you monk.

You wouldn't give me a kiss then.

JEMS did a quite surprising thing.

He was not a demonstrative youngster and was charri with kisses even to the ingleside people.

But without a word he stood up in bed, his plump little body, encased only in his undershirt, ran to the footboard, flung his arms about Mrs Matilda Pittman's neck and gave her a bear hug, accompanied by three or four hearty ungrudging smacks.

Jims.

Protested rilla aghast.

At this liberty you leave him be, ordered Mrs Matilda Pittman, setting her bonnet straight.

Laws.

I like to see someone that isn't scared of me.

Everybody is.

You are, though you're trying to hide it, and why?

Of course Robert and Amelia are.

Because I make them scared on purpose.

But folks always are, no matter how.

Civil I be to them.

Are you going to keep this child?

I'm afraid not.

His father's coming home before long.

Is he any good?

The father, I mean.

Well, he is kind and nice, but he's poor, and I'm afraid he always will be faltered Rilla.

I see.

Shiftless, can't make or keep well.

I'll see, I'll see.

I have an idea.

It's a good idea.

And besides, it will make Robert and Amelia squirm.

That's its main merit in my eyes, though I like that child, mind you, because he ain't scared of me.

He's worth some bother.

Now you get dressed, as I said before, and come down when you're good and ready.

Rilla was stiff and sore after her tumble and walk of the night before, but she was not long in dressing herself in gyms.

When she went down to the kitchen, she found a smoking hot breakfast on the table.

Mr Chapley was nowhere in sight, and Mrs Chapley was cutting bread with a sulky air.

Mrs Matilda Pittman was sitting in an armchair, knitting a gray army sock.

She still wore her bonnet, and her.

Triumphant expression said ride in, dears, and.

Make a good breakfast, she said.

I'm not hungry, said Rilla, almost pleadingly.

I don't think I can eat anything.

And it is time.

I was starting for the station.

The morning train will soon be along.

Please excuse me and let us go.

I'll take a piece of bread and butter for gems.

Mrs Matilda Pittman shook a knitting needle playfully at Rilla.

Sit down and take your breakfast, she said.

Mrs Matilda Pittman commands you.

Everybody obeys Mrs Matilda Pittman.

Even Robert and Amelia.

You must obey, too.

Rilla did obey her.

She sat down, and such was the influence of Mrs Matilda Pittman's.

Mesmeric eye, she ate a tolerable breakfast.

The obedient Amelia never spoke.

Mrs Matilda Pittman did not speak either, but she knitted furiously and chuckled.

When Rilla had finished, mrs Matilda Pittman rolled up her sock.

Now you can go if you want.

To, she said, but you don't have to go.

You can stay here as long as you want to, and I'll make Amelia cook your meals for you.

The independent Miss Blythe, whom a certain click of Junior Red Crossgirls accused of being domineering and bossy, was thoroughly cowed.

Thank you, she said meekly, but we must really go.

Well, then, said Mrs.

Matilda Pittman, throwing open the door.

Your conveyance is ready for you.

I told Robert he must hitch up and drive you to the station.

I enjoy making Robert do things.

It's almost the only sport I have left.

I'm over 80, and most things have lost their flavor.

Except bossing.

Robert.

Robert sat before the door on the front seat of a trimmed, double seated, rubber tired buggy.

He must have heard every word his mother in law said, but he gave no sign.

I do wish, said Rilla, plucking up what little spirit she had left, that you would let me.

Oh, then she quilled again before Mrs.

Matilda Pittman's eye recompense you for mrs.

Matilda Pittman said before, and meant it, that she doesn't take pay for entertaining strangers, nor let other people where she lives do it, much as their natural meanness would like to do it.

You go along to town and don't forget to call the next time you come this way.

Don't be scared.

Not that you are scared of much, I reckon, considering the way you sassed Robert back this morning.

I like your spunk.

Most girls nowadays are such timid, scary creatures.

When I was a girl, I wasn't afraid of nothing nor nobody.

Mind you take good care of that boy.

He ain't any common child.

And make Robert drive round all the puddles in the road.

I won't have that new buggy splashed.

As they drove away, Jim's threw kisses at Mrs.

Matilda Pittman as long as he could see her, and Mrs.

Matilda Pittman waved her sock back at him.

Robert spoke no word, either good or bad, all the way to the station, but he remembered the puddles.

When Rilla got out at the siding, she thanked him courteously.

The only response she got was a grunt as Robert turned his horse and started for home.

Well, Rilla drew a long breath.

I must try to get back into Rilla blythe again.

I've been somebody else these past few hours.

I don't know just who.

Some creation of that extraordinary old person's.

I believe she hypnotized me.

What an adventure this will be to write the boys.

And then she sighed.

Bitter remembrance came that there were only Jerry, Ken, Carl and Shirley to write it to.

Now, Jim, who would have appreciated Mrs.

Matilda Pittman keenly?

Where was JeM?

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.

Don't forget to sign up for our newsletter at Bite at a Timebooks.com and check out the shop.

You can check out the show notes or our website, Bite at a Timebooks.com, for the rest of the links for our show.

We'd love to hear from you on social media as well.

Take a look in the Broken.