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

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Take your chapter by chapter one by so many adventures and mountains we can climb take your word for wordline but line one part at our 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.

Six all sorts of conditions of men and women.

A September day on Prince Edward Island hills.

A crisp wind blowing up over the sand dunes from the sea.

A long red road winding through fields and woods.

Now looping itself about a corner of thick set spruces.

Now threading a plantation of young maples with great feathery sheets of ferns beneath them.

Now dipping down into a hollow where a brook flashed out of the woods and entered them again.

Now basking an open sunshine between ribbons of goldenrod and smoke blue asters air thrill with the pipings of myriads of crickets, those glad little pensioners of the summer hills.

A plump brown pony ambling along the road, two girls behind him fooled to the lips with the simple priceless joy of youth and life.

Oh, this is a day left over from Eden, isn't it?

Diana?

And Anne sighed for sheer happiness.

The air has magic in it.

Look at the purple in the cup of the harvest valley, Diana.

And, oh, do smell the dying fur.

It's coming up from that little sunny hollow where Mr.

Ebin Wright has been cutting fence poles.

Bless it is on such a day to be alive, but to smell dying fur is very heaven.

That's two thirds Woodsworth and one third Anne Shirley.

It doesn't seem possible that there should be a dying fur in heaven, does it?

And yet it doesn't seem to me that heaven would be quite perfect if you couldn't get a whiff of dead fur as you went through its woods.

Perhaps we'll have the odor there without the death.

Yes, I think that will be the way.

That delicious aroma must be the souls of the furs.

And of course, it will be just souls in heaven.

Trees haven't souls, said practical Diana.

But the smell of dead fur is certainly lovely.

I'm going to make a cushion and fill it with fur needles.

You'd better make one too, Anne.

I think I shall.

And use it from my naps.

I'd be certain to dream I was a dryad or a wood nymph then.

But just this minute I'm well content to be Anne Shirley Avenley school ma'am, driving over a road like this on such a sweet, friendly day.

It's a lovely day, but we have anything but a lovely task before us, sighed Diana.

Why on earth did you offer to canvas this road, Anne?

Almost all the Cranks and Avonlea live along it and will probably be treated as if we were begging for ourselves.

It's the very worst road of all.

That is why I chose it.

Of course, Gilbert and Fred would have taken this road if we had asked them.

But you see, Diana, I feel myself responsible for the avis since I was the first to suggest it, and it seems to me that I ought to do the most disagreeable things.

I'm sorry on your account, but you needn't say a word.

At the Cranky places, I'll do all the talking.

Mrs.

Lind would say I was well able to.

Mrs.

Lynde doesn't know whether to approve of our enterprise or not.

She inclines to when she remembers that Mr.

And Mrs.

Allen are in favor of it.

But the fact that village improvement societies first originated in the States is an account against it.

So she's halting between two opinions, and only success will justify us in Mrs.

Lynn's eyes.

Priscilla is going to write a paper for our next improvement meeting, and I expect it will be good for her.

Aunt is such a clever writer, and no doubt it runs in the family.

I shall never forget the thrill it gave me when I found out that Mrs.

Charlotte E.

Morgan was Priscilla s aunt.

It seems so wonderful that I was a friend of the girl whose aunt wrote Edgewood Days in the Rosebud Garden.

Where does Mrs.

Morgan live?

In Toronto.

And Priscilla says she's coming to the island for a visit next summer.

And if it is possible, Priscilla is going to arrange to have us meet her.

That seems almost too good to be true, but it's something pleasant to imagine after you go to bed.

The Avonlea Village Improvement Society was an organized fact.

Gilbert Blythe was president, fred Wright, vice president, and Shirley secretary, and Diana Barry, treasurer.

The improvers, as they were promptly christened, were to meet once a fortnight at the homes of the members.

It was admitted that they could not expect to affect many improvements so late in the season, but they meant to plan the next summer's campaign, collect and discuss ideas, write and read papers, and, as Anne said, educate the public sentiment generally.

There was some disapproval, of course, and which the improvers felt much more keenly a good deal of ridicule.

Mr.

Elisha Wright was reported to have said that a more appropriate name for the organization would be Courting Club.

Mrs.

Hiram Sloan declared she had heard the improvers meant to plow up all the roadsides and set them out with geraniums.

Mr.

Levi Bolter warned his neighbors that the improvers would insist that everybody pulled down his house and rebuild it.

After plans approved by the society, mr.

James Spencer sent them word that he wished they would kindly shovel down the Churchill.

Ebinwright told Anne that he wished the improvers could induce old Josiah Sloan to keep his whiskers trimmed.

Mr.

Lawrence Bell said he would whitewash his barns if nothing else would please them, but he would not hang lace curtains in the cow stable windows.

Mr.

Major Spencer asked Clifton Sloan, an improver who drove the milk to the Carmendy Cheese Factory, if it was true that everybody would have to have his milk stand hand painted next summer and keep an embroidered centerpiece on it in spite of, or perhaps human nature being what it is.

Because of this, the Society went gamely to work at the only improvement they could hope to bring about that fall.

At the second meeting in the Barry Parlor, oliver Sloan moved that they start a subscription to reshingle and paint the hall.

Julia Bell seconded it with an uneasy feeling that she was doing something not exactly.

Ladylike Gilbert put the motion.

It was carried unanimously, and Anne gravely recorded it in her minutes.

The next thing was to appoint a committee, and Gerdie Pi, determined not to let Julia Bell carry off all the laurels, boldly moved that Miss Jane Andrews be chairman of said committee.

This motion being also duly seconded and carried, jane returned the compliment by appointing Gerdy on the committee along with Gilbert, Anne, Diana, and Fred Wright.

The committee chose their routes in private conclave.

Anne and Diana were told off for the new bridge road, gilbert and Fred for the White Sands Road, and Jane and Gerdie for the Carmody Road.

Because, explained Gilbert to Anne as they walked home together through the haunted wood, the Pies all live along that road, and they won't give a scent unless one of themselves canvases them.

The next Saturday, Anne and Diana started out.

They drove to the end of the road and canvassed homeward, calling first on the Andrew girls.

If Kathryn is alone, we may get something, said Diana.

But if Eliza is there, we won't.

Eliza was there, very much so, and looked even grimmer than usual.

Miss Eliza was one of those people who give you the impression that life is indeed a veil of tears, and that a smile never to speak of a laugh is a waste of nervous energy, truly reprehensible.

The Andrew girls had been girls for 50 odd years and seemed likely to remain girls to the end of their earthly pilgrimage.

Catherine, it was said, had not entirely given up hope.

But Eliza, who was born a pessimist, had never had any.

They lived in a little brown house built in a sunny corner scooped out of Mark Andrews beechwoods.

Eliza complained that it was terrible hot in summer, but Catherine was wont to say it.

Was lovely and warm.

In winter, Eliza was sewing patchwork, not because it was needed, but simply as a protest against the frivolous lace Catherine was crocheting.

Eliza listened with a frown and Catherine with a smile as the girls explained their errand.

To be sure, whenever Catherine caught Eliza's eye, she discarded the smile in guilty confusion, but it crept back the next moment.

If I had money to waste, said Eliza grimly, I'd burn it up and have the fun of seeing a blaze.

Maybe, but I wouldn't give it to that hall, not a cent.

It's no benefit to the settlement, just a place for young folks to meet and carry on when they'd better be home in their beds.

Oh, well, Liza, young folks must have some amusement, protested Catherine.

I don't see the necessity.

We didn't go about the halls and places when we were young, Catherine Andrews.

This world is getting worse every day.

I think it's getting better, said Catherine firmly.

You think?

Miss Eliza's voice expressed the utmost contempt.

It doesn't signify what you think, Catherine Andrews faxes facts.

Well, I always like to look on the bright side, Eliza.

There isn't any bright side.

Oh, indeed there is, cried Anne, who couldn't endure such heresy and silence.

Why, there are ever so many bright sides, Miss Andrews.

It's really a beautiful world.

You won't have such a high opinion of it when you've lived in it as long as I have, retorted Miss Eliza sourly.

And you won't be so enthusiastic about improving it, either.

How is your mother, Diana?

Dear me, but she has failed of late.

She looks terrible run down.

And how long is it before Marilla expects to be stone blind, Anne?

The doctor thinks her eyes will not get any worse if she's very careful, faltered Anne.

Eliza shook her head.

Doctors always talk like that just to keep people cheered up.

I wouldn't have much hope if I was her.

It's best to be prepared for the worst.

But OTT, we be prepared for the best, too, pleaded Anne.

It's just as likely to happen as the worst.

Not in my experience.

And I'm 57 years to set against your 16, retorted Eliza.

Going, are you?

Well, I hope this new society of yours will be able to keep Adam Lee from running any further downhill, but I haven't much hope of it.

Anne and Diana got themselves thankfully out and drove away as fast as the fat pony could go.

As they rounded the curve below the beechwood, a plump figure came speeding over Mr.

Andrew's pasture, waving to them excitedly.

It was Catherine Andrews, and she was so out of breath that she could hardly speak.

But she thrust a couple of quarters into Anne's hand.

That's my contribution to the painting hall, she gasped.

I'd like to give you a dollar, but I don't dare take more from my egg money, for Eliza would find out if I did.

I'm really interested in your society, and I believe you're going to do a lot of good.

I'm an optimist.

I have to be living with Eliza.

I must hurry back before she misses me.

She thinks I'm feeding the hens.

I hope you'll have good luck canvassing and don't be cast down over what Eliza said.

The world is getting better.

It certainly is.

The next house was Daniel Blair's.

Now it all depends on whether his wife is home or not, said Diana as they jolted along a deep rutted lane.

If she is, we won't get a scent.

Everybody says Dan Blair doesn't dare have his hair cut without asking her permission, and it's certain she's very close to state it moderately.

She says she has to be just before.

She's generous, but Mrs.

Lynn says she's so much before that generosity never catches up with her at all, and related their experience at the Blair place to Marilla that evening.

We tied the horse and then wrapped at the kitchen door.

Nobody came, but the door was open and we could hear somebody in the pantry going on dreadfully.

We couldn't make out the words, but Diana says she knows they were swearing by the sound of them.

I can't believe that of Mr.

Blair, for he's always so quiet and meek.

But at least he had great provocation for Marilla.

When that poor man came to the door, red as a beat, with perspiration streaming down his face, he had on one of his wife's big gingham aprons.

I can't get this darn thing off, he said, for the strings are tied in a hard knot and I can't bust them.

So you'll have to excuse me, ladies.

We begged him not to mention it and went in and sat down.

Mr.

Blair sat down too.

He twisted the apron around to his back and rolled it up.

But he did look so ashamed and worried that I felt sorry for him.

And Diana said she feared we had called at an inconvenient time.

Oh, not at all, said Mr.

Blair, trying to smile.

You know he's always very polite.

I'm a little busy getting ready to bake a cake, as it were.

My wife got a telegram today that her sister from Montreal is coming tonight and she's gone to the train to meet her and left orders for me to make a cake for tea.

She read out the recipe and told me what to do, but I've clean forgot half the directions already, and it says flavor according to taste.

What does that mean?

How can you tell?

And what if my taste doesn't happen to be other people's taste?

Would a tablespoon of vanilla be enough for a small layer cake?

I felt sarri than ever for the poor man.

He didn't seem to be in his proper sphere at all.

I had heard of him packed husbands, and now I felt that I saw one.

It was on my lips to say Mr.

Blair.

If you'll give us a subscription for the hall, I'll mix up your cake for you.

But I suddenly thought it wouldn't be neighborly to drive too sharp a bargain with a fellow creature in distress, so I offered to mix the cake for him without any conditions at all.

He just jumped at my offer.

He said he'd been used to making his own bread before he was married, but he feared cake was beyond him, and yet he hated to disappoint his wife.

He got me another apron, and Diana beat the eggs, and I mixed the cake.

Mr.

Blair ran around and got us the materials.

He had forgotten all about his apron, and when he ran, it streamed out behind him, and Diana said she thought she would die to see it.

He said he could bake the cake all right.

He was used to that.

And then he asked for our list, and he put down $4.

So you see, we were rewarded.

But even if he hadn't given a cent, I'd always feel that we had done a truly Christian act in helping him.

Theodore Whites was the next stopping place.

Neither Anne nor Diana had ever been there before, and they had only a very slight acquaintance with Mrs.

Theodore who was not given to hospitality should they go to the back or front door?

While they held a whispered consultation, mrs.

Theodore appeared at the front door with an armful of newspapers.

Deliberately, she laid them down one by one on the porch floor and the porch steps, and then down the path to the very feet of her.

Mystified collars.

Will you please wipe your feet carefully on the grass and then walk on these papers?

She said anxiously.

I've just swept the house all over, and I can't have any more dust tracked in.

The path has been really muddy since the rain yesterday.

Don't you dare laugh, warned Anne in a whisper as they marched along the newspapers.

And I implore you, Diana, not to look at me, no matter what she says, or I shall not be able to keep a sober face.

The papers extended across the hall and into a prim fleckless parlor.

Anne and Diana sat down gingerly on the nearest chairs and explained to their errand.

Mrs.

White heard them politely, interrupting only twice, only to chase out an adventurous fly and wants to pick up a tiny wisp of grass that had fallen on the carpet from Anne's dress.

Anne felt wretchedly guilty, but Mrs.

White subscribed $2 and paid the money down to prevent us from having to go back for it, Diana said.

When they got away, Mrs.

White had the newspapers gathered up before they had their horse untied, and as they drove out of the yard, they saw her busily wielding a broom in the hall.

I've always heard that Mrs.

Theodore White was the neatest woman alive, and I'll believe it after this, said Diana, giving way to her suppressed laughter as soon as it was safe.

I'm glad she has no children, said Anne solemnly.

It would be dreadful beyond words for them if she had at the Spencer's.

Mrs.

Isabella Spencer made them miserable by saying something ill natured about everyone in Avonlea.

Mr.

Thomas Bolter refused to give anything because the hall, when it had been built 20 years before, hadn't been built on the site he recommended.

Mrs.

Estherbell, who was the picture of health, took half an hour to detail all her aches and pains, and sadly put down $0.50 because she wouldn't be there that time next year to do it.

No, she would be in her grave.

Their worst reception, however, was at Simon Fletcher's.

When they drove into the yard, they saw two faces peering at them through the porch window.

But although they rapped and waited patiently and persistently, nobody came to the door.

Two decidedly ruffled and indignant girls drove away from Simon Fletcher's.

Even Anne admitted that she was beginning to feel discouraged.

But the tide turned after that.

Several Sloan homesteads came next, where they got liberal subscriptions, and from that to the end they fared well, with only an occasional snub.

Their last place of call was at Robert Dixon's by the Pond Bridge.

They stayed to tea here, although they were nearly home, rather than risk offending Mrs.

Dixon, who had the reputation of being a very touchy woman.

While they were there, old Mrs.

James White called in.

I've just been down to Lorenzo's, she announced.

He's the proudest man in Avonlea this minute.

What do you think?

There's a brand new boy there, and after seven girls, that's quite an event, I can tell you.

Anne pricked up her ears, and when they drove away, she said, I'm going straight to Lorenzo Whites.

But he lives on the White Sands Road, and it's quite a distance out of our way, protested Diana.

Gilbert and Fred will canvass him.

They're not going around until next Saturday.

And it will be too late by then, said Anne firmly.

The novelty will be worn off.

Lorenzo White is dreadfully mean, but he will subscribe to anything just now.

We mustn't let such a golden opportunity slip, Diana.

The result justified Anne's foresight, mr.

White met them in the yard, beaming like the sunspot upon an Easter day.

When Anne asked for a subscription, he agreed enthusiastically.

Certain, certain.

Just put me down for a dollar more than the highest subscription you've got.

That will be $5.

Mr.

Daniel Blair put down four said Anne.

Halfafraid.

But Lorenzo did not flinch.

Five it is, and here's the money on the spot.

Now, I want you to come into the house.

There's something in there we're seeing, something very few people have seen as yet.

Just come in and pass your opinion.

What will we say if the baby isn't pretty?

Whispered Diana in trepidation as they followed the excited Lorenzo into the house.

Oh, there will certainly be something else nice to say about it, said Anne easily.

There always is about a baby.

The baby was pretty, however, and Mr.

White felt that he got his $5 worth of the girl's honest delight over the plump little newcomer.

But that was the first, last and only time that Lorenzo White ever subscribed to anything.

Anne, tired as she was, made one more effort for the public wheel that night, slipping over the fields to interview Mr.

Harrison, who was, as usual, smoking his pipe on the veranda with Ginger beside him.

Strictly speaking, he was on the carmody road, but Jane and Gerdie, who were not acquainted with him, saved by doubtful report, had nervously begged Anne to canvass him.

Mr.

Harrison, however, flatly refused to subscribe.

Ascent and all, Anne's whiles, were in vain.

But I thought you approved of our society, Mr.

Harrison, she mourned.

So I do.

So I do.

But my approval doesn't go as deep as my pocket, Anne.

A few more experiences such as I have had today would make me as much of a pessimist as Miss Eliza Andrews, anne told her reflection in the east gable mirror at bedtime.

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

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