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Wherever you listen to podcasts today, we'll be continuing anne's House of Dreams by Lucy Maud Montgomery chapter Eight miss Cornelia Bryant comes to call that September was a month of golden mists and purple hazes at four winds harbor.

A month of sunsteeped days and of nights that were swimming in moonlight were pulsating with stars.

No storm marred it, no rough wind blew.

Anne and Gilbert put their nest in order, rambled on the shores, sailed on the harbor, drove about four winds in the glen, or through the ferny sequestered roads of the woods around the harbor.

Head, in short, had such a honeymoon as any lovers in the world might have envied them.

If life were to stop short just now, it would still have been richly worthwhile just for the sake of these past four weeks, wouldn't it?

Said Anne.

I don't suppose we will ever have four such perfect weeks again, but we've had them everything when weather folks, House of Dreams has conspired to make our honeymoon delightful.

There hasn't even been a rainy day since we came here, and we haven't quarreled once, teased Gilbert.

Well, that's a pleasure all the greater for being deferred, quoted Anne.

I'm so glad we decided to spend our honeymoon here.

Our memories of it will always belong here in our House of Dreams.

Instead of being scattered about in strange places, there was a certain hang of romance and adventure in the atmosphere of their new home, which Anne had never found in Avonlea.

There, although she had lived inside of the sea, it had not entered intimately into her life.

In four winds, it surrounded her and called to her constantly.

From every window of her new home she saw some varying aspect of it.

Its haunting murmur was ever in her ears.

Vessels sailed up the harbor every day to the wharf at the glen, or sailed out again through the sunset, bound for ports that might be halfway round the globe.

Fishing boats went white, winged down the Channel in the mornings, and returned laden in the evenings.

Sailors and fisher folk traveled the red, winding harbor roads, light hearted and content.

There was always a certain sense of things going to happen, of adventures and farings forth.

The waves of four winds were less stayed and settled and grooved than those of Avon Lee.

Winds of change blew over them.

The sea called ever to the dwellers on shore, and even those who might not answer its call felt the thrill and unrest and mystery and possibilities of it.

I understand now why some men must go to sea, said Anne.

That desire which comes to us all at times to sail beyond the born of sunset must be very impurious when it is born in you.

I don't wonder Captain Jim ran away because of it.

I never see a ship sailing out of the Channel, or a goal soaring over the sandbar without wishing I were on board the ship, or had wings not like a dove to fly away and be at rest, but like a goal to sweep out into the very heart of a storm.

You'll stay right here with me, Anne girl, said Gilbert Lazily.

I won't have you flying away from me into the hearts of storms.

They were sitting on their red sandstone doorstep in the late afternoon.

Great tranquillities were all about them in land and sea and sky.

Silvery goals were soaring over them.

The horizons were laced with long trails of frail pinkish clouds.

The hushed air was threaded with a murmurous refrain of menstrual winds and waves, pale asters are blowing in the sear, and misty meadows between them and the harbor.

Doctors who have to be up all night waiting on sick folk don't feel very adventurous, I suppose, said Anne indulgently.

If you had had a good sleep last night, Gilbert, you'd be as ready as I am for a flight of imagination.

I did good work last night, Anne, said Gilbert quietly.

Under God, I saved a life.

This is the first time I could ever really claim that.

In other cases I may have helped.

But Anne, if I had not stated Alan Bees last night and fought death hand to hand, that woman would have died before morning.

I tried an experiment that was certainly never tried in four winds before.

I doubt if it was ever tried anywhere before outside of a hospital.

It was a new thing in Kingsford Hospital last winter.

I could never have tried it here if I had not been absolutely certain that there was no other chance.

I risked it, and it succeeded.

As a result, a good wife and mother is saved for long years of happiness and usefulness.

As I drove home this morning while the sun was rising over the harbor.

I thanked God that I had chosen the profession.

I did.

I had fought a good fight and won.

Think of it, anne won against the great destroyer.

It's what I dreamed of doing long ago when we talked together of what we wanted to do in life.

That dream of mine came true this morning.

Was that the only one of your dreams that has come true?

Asked Anne, who knew perfectly well what the substance of his answer would be, but wanted to hear it again.

You know, Anne girl, said Gilbert, smiling into her eyes.

At that moment there were certainly two perfectly happy people sitting on the doorstep of a little white house on the Forewinds harbour shore.

Presently, Gilbert said with a change of tone, do I or do I not see a full rigged ship sailing up our lane?

And looked and sprang up.

That must be either Miss Cornelia Bryant or Mrs.

Moore coming to call, she said.

I'm going into the office, and if it is Miss Cornelia, I warn you that I'll eavesdrop, said Gilbert.

From all I've heard regarding Ms.

Cornelia, I conclude that her conversation will not be dull.

To say the least.

It may be Mrs.

Moore.

I don't think Mrs.

Moore is built on those lines.

I saw her working in her garden the other day, and though I was too far away to see clearly, I thought she was rather slender.

She doesn't seem very socially inclined when she's never called on you.

Yet although she's your nearest neighbor, she can't be like Mrs.

Lynde, after all.

Her curiosity would have brought her, said Anne.

This caller is, I think, Miss Cornelia.

Miss Cornelia.

It was.

Moreover, Miss Cornelia had not come to make any brief and fashionable wedding call.

She had her work under her arm in a substantial parcel, and when Anne asked her to stay, she promptly took off her capacious sun hat, which had been held on her head despite irreverent September breezes, by a tight elastic band under her hard little knob of fair hair.

No hat pins for Miss Cornelia and it please ye.

Elastic bands had been good enough for her mother, and they were good enough for her.

She had a fresh round pink and white face and jolly brown eyes.

She did not look in the least like the traditional old maid.

And there was something in her expression which won Anne instantly, with her old instinctive quickness to discern kindred spirits.

She knew she was going to like Ms.

Cornelia in spite of uncertain oddities of opinion and certain oddities of attire.

Nobody but Miss Cornelia would have come to make a call arrayed in a.

Striped blue and white apron and a.

Wrapper of chocolate print with a design of huge pink roses scattered over it.

And nobody but Miss Cornelia could have looked dignified and suitably garbed in it.

Had Miss Cornelia been entering a palace to call on a prince's bride.

She would have been just as dignified and just as holy mistress of the situation.

She would have trailed her rose spattered flounce over the marble floors just as unconcernedly and she would have proceeded just as calmly to disabuse the mind of the princess of any idea that the possession of a mere man, be he prince or peasant, was anything to brag of.

I've brought my work, Mrs.

Bly's.

Deary, she remarked unrolling, some dainty material.

I'm in a hurry to get this done, and there isn't any time to lose.

Anne looked in some surprise at the white garment spread over Miss Cornelia's ample lap.

It was certainly a baby's dress, and it was most beautifully made with tiny frills and tucks.

Miss Cornelia adjusted her glasses and fell to embroidering with exquisite stitches.

This is for Mrs.

Fred Proctor up at the Glen.

She announced she is expecting her 8th.

Baby any day now, and not a stitch has she ready for it.

The other seven have wore out all she made for the first, and she's never had time or strength or spirit to make any more.

That woman is a martyr, Mrs.

Blythe.

Believe me.

When she married Fred Proctor, I knew how it would turn out.

He was one of your wicked, fascinating men.

After he got married, he left off being fascinating and just kept on being wicked.

He drinks, and he neglects his family.

Isn't that like a man?

I don't know how Mrs.

Proctor would ever keep her children decently clothed if her neighbors didn't help her out.

As Anne was afterwards to learn, miss Cornelia was the only neighbor who troubled herself much about the decency of the young Proctors.

When I heard this 8th baby was coming, I decided to make some things.

For it, Ms.

Cornelia went on.

This is the last, and I want to finish it today.

It's certainly very pretty, said Anne.

I'll get my sewing, and we'll have a little thimble party of two.

You're a beautiful sewer, Miss Bryant.

Yes, I'm the best sewer in these.

Parts, said Miss Cornelia in a matter of fact tone.

I ought to be.

Lord, I've done more of it than I'd had 100 children of my own, believe me.

I suppose I'm a fool to be putting hand embroidered around this dress for an 8th baby.

But, Lord, Mrs.

Blytheiri, it isn't to blame for being the 8th, and I kind of wished it to have one really pretty dress just as if it was wanted nobody's wanting the poor mite.

So I put some extra fuss on its little things just on that account.

Any baby might be proud of that dress, said Anne, feeling still more strongly that she was going to like Ms.

Cornelia.

I suppose you've been thinking I was.

Never coming to call on you, resumed Miss Cornelia.

But this is harvest month, you know, and I've been busy and a lot of extra hands hanging around eating more than they work, just like the men.

I'd have come yesterday, but I went to Mrs.

Roderick McAllister's funeral.

At first I thought my head was aching so badly I couldn't enjoy myself if I did go.

But she was 100 years old, and I'd always promised myself that I'd go to her funeral.

Was it a successful function?

Asked Anne, noticing that the office door was ajar.

What's that?

Oh, yes, it was a tremendous funeral.

She had a very large connection.

There was over 120 carriages in the procession.

There was one or two funny things happened.

I thought that die I would see.

To old Joe Bradshaw, who's an infidel.

And never darkens the door of a church, singing Safe in the arms of Jesus with great gusto and fervor.

He glories in singing.

That's why he never misses a funeral.

Poor Mrs.

Bradshaw didn't look much like singing, all wore out slaving.

Old Joe starts out once in a while to buy her a present and brings home some nuke kind of farm machinery.

Isn't that like a man?

But what else would you expect of a man who never goes to church, even a Methodist one?

I was real thankful to see you.

And the young doctor in the Presbyterian church are first Sunday.

No doctor for me who isn't a Presbyterian.

We were in the Methodist church last Sunday evening, said Anne wickedly.

Oh, I suppose Dr.

Blythe has to go to the Methodist church once in a while or he wouldn't get the Methodist practice.

We liked the sermon very much, declared Anne boldly.

And I thought the Methodist minister's prayer was one of the most beautiful I ever heard.

Oh, I've no doubt he can pray.

I never heard anyone make more beautiful prayers than old Simon Bentley, who was always drunk or hoping to be.

And the drunker he was, the better he prayed.

The Methodist minister's very fine looking, said.

Anne, for the benefit of the office door.

Yes, he's quite ornamental.

Agreed, Miss Cornelia.

Oh, and very ladylike.

And he thinks that every girl who looks at him falls in love with him.

As if a Methodist minister wandering about like any Jew with such a prize.

If you and the young doctor take my advice, you won't have much to do with the Methodists.

My motto is, if you are a Presbyterian, be a Presbyterian.

Don't you think that Methodists go to heaven as well as Presbyterians?

Asked Anne smilelessly.

That isn't for us to decide.

It's in higher hands than ours, said Miss Cornelia solemnly.

But I ain't going to associate with them on earth, whatever I may have to do in heaven.

This Methodist minister isn't married.

The last one they had was.

And his wife was the silliest flightiest little thing I ever saw.

I told her husband once that he should have waited till she was grown up before he married her.

He said he wanted to have the training of her.

Wasn't that like a man?

It's rather hard to decide just when people are grown up, laughed Anne.

That's a true word, dearie.

Some are grown up when they're born and others ain't grown up when they're 80, believe me.

That same Mrs.

Roderick I was speaking of never grew up.

She was as foolish when she was a hundred as when she was ten.

Perhaps that was why she lived so long, suggested Anne.

Maybe twas I'd rather live 50 sensible years than a hundred foolish ones.

But just think what a dull world it would be if everyone was sensible, pleaded Anne.

Ms.

Cornelia disdained any skirmish aflipant epigram.

Ms.

Roderick was a millgrave, and the millgraves never had much since.

Her nephew Ebenezer millgrave used to be insane.

For years he believed he was dead and used to rage at his wife because she wouldn't bury him.

I'd have done it.

Miss Cornelia looked so grimly determined that.

Anne could almost see her with a.

Spade in her hand.

Don't you know any good husbands, Miss Bryant?

Oh, yes, lots of them over yonder.

Said Miss Cornelia, waving her hand through the open window towards the little graveyard of the church across the harbor.

But living going about in the flesh, persisted Anne.

Oh, there's a few.

Just to show that with God all.

Things are possible, acknowledged Miss Cornelia reluctantly.

I don't deny that an odd man here and there, if he's caught young and trained up proper and if his mother has spanked him well beforehand, may turn out a decent being.

Your husband now isn't so bad as men go, from all I hear, I suppose.

Miss Cornelia looked sharply at Anne over her glasses.

You think there's nobody like him in the world.

There isn't, said Anne promptly.

Well, I heard another bride say that.

Once, sighed Miss Cornelia.

Jenny Dean thought when she married that there wasn't anybody like her husband in the world.

And she was right.

There wasn't.

And a good thing, too, believe me.

He led her an awful life.

And he was courting his second wife while Jenny was dying.

Wasn't that like a man?

However, I hope your confidence will be better justified, dearie.

The young doctor is taking real well.

I was afraid at first he mightn't, for folks hereabouts have always thought old Dr.

Dave the only doctor in the world.

Dr.

Dave hadn't much tact, to be sure.

He was always talking of ropes and.

Houses where someone had hanged himself.

But folks forgot their hurt feelings when they had a pain in their stomachs.

If he'd been a minister instead of a doctor, they'd never have forgiven him.

So Lake doesn't worry folks near as much a stomach ache.

Seeing as we're both Presbyterians and no Methodists around, will you tell me your candid opinion of our minister?

Why?

Really?

I, well, hesitated.

Anne Miss Cornelia nodded.

Exactly.

I agree with you, dearie.

We made a mistake when we called him his face just looks like one of those long, narrow stones in the graveyard, doesn't it?

Sacred to the memory ought to be written on his forehead.

I shall never forget the first sermon he preached after he came.

It was on the subject of everyone doing what they were best fitted for.

A very good subject, of course, but such illustrations as he used.

He said if you add a cow and an apple tree and if you tied the apple tree in your stable and planted the cow in your orchard with her legs up how much milk would you get from the apple tree?

Or how many apples from the cow?

Did you ever hear the like in your born days, dearie?

I was so thankful there were no Methodists there that day.

They'd never have been done hooting over it.

But what I dislike most in him is his habit of agreeing with everybody no matter what is said.

If you said to him, you're a scoundrel, he'd say, with that smooth smile of his.

Yes, that's so.

A minister should have more backbone.

The long and the short of it is, I consider him a reverend jackass.

But, of course, this is just between you and me.

When there are Methodists in hearing, I praise him to the skies.

Some folks think his wife dress is too gay.

But I say when she has to live with a face like that she needs something to cheer her up.

You'll never hear me condemning a woman for her dress.

I'm only too thankful when her husband isn't too mean and miserly to allow it.

Not that I bother much with dress myself.

Women just dress to please the men, and I'd never stoop to that.

I've had a real, placid, comfortable life, dearie.

And it's just because I never cared a scent what the men thought.

Why do you hate the men so, Miss Bryant?

Lord, dearie, I don't hate them.

They aren't worth it.

I just sort of despise them.

I think I'll like your husband if he keeps on as he's begun.

But apart from him, about the only men in the world I've much used for are the old doctor and Captain Jim.

Captain Jim is certainly splendid.

Agreed.

Anne cordially.

Captain Jim is a good man, but he's kind of vexing in one way.

You can't make him mad.

I've tried for 20 years and he just keeps on being placid.

It sort of riled me.

And I suppose the woman he should have married got a man who went into Tantrums twice a day.

Who was she?

Oh, I don't know, dearie.

I never remember of Captain Jim making up to anybody.

He was edging on old as far as my memory goes.

He's 76, you know.

I never heard any reason for his staying a bachelor.

But there must be one, believe me.

He sailed all his life till five years ago and there's no corner of the earth he hasn't poked his nose into.

He and Elizabeth Russell were great cronies all their lives, but they never had any notion of sweethearting.

Elizabeth never married, though she had plenty of chances.

She was a great beauty when she was young.

The year the Prince of Wales came to the island, she was visiting her uncle in Charlottetown and he was a government official, and so she got invited to the Great Ball.

She was the prettiest girl there and the Prince danced with her.

And all the other women he didn't dance with were furious about it because their social standing was higher than hers and they said he shouldn't have passed them over.

Elizabeth was always very proud of that dance.

Mean folks said that was why she never married.

She couldn't put up with an ordinary man after dancing with a prince.

But that wasn't so.

She told me the reason once.

It was because she had such a.

Temper that she was afraid she couldn't live peaceably with any man.

She had an awful temper.

She used to have to go upstairs and bite pieces out of her bureau to keep it down by times.

But I told her that wasn't any reason for not marrying if she wanted to.

There's no reason why we should let the men have a monopoly of temper, is there, Mrs.

Blytheir?

I have a bit of a temper myself, sighed Anne.

It's well you have, dearie.

You won't behave so likely to be trodden on, believe me.

My, how that golden glow of yours is blooming.

Your garden looks fine.

Poor Elizabeth always took such care of it.

I love it.

Said Anne.

I'm glad it's so full of old fashioned flowers.

Speaking of gardening, we want to get a man to dig up that little lot beyond the fur grove and set.

It out with strawberry plants for us.

Gilbert is so busy, he will never.

Get time for it this fall.

Do you know anyone we can get?

Well, Henry Hammond up at the Glenn goes out doing jobs like that.

He'll do.

Maybe he is always a heat, more interested in his wages than in his work.

Just like a man.

And he's so slow in the uptake that he stands still for five minutes before it dawns on him that he stopped.

His father threw a stump at him when he was small.

Nice gentle missile, wasn't it?

So like a man.

Of course, the boy never got over it, but he's the only one I can recommend at all.

He painted my house for me last spring.

It looks real nice now, don't you think?

Anne was saved by the clock striking five.

Lord, is it that late?

Exclaimed Miss Cornelia.

How time does slip by when you're enjoying yourself.

Well, I must betake myself home.

No, indeed.

You're going to stay and have tea.

With us, said Anne eagerly.

Are you asking me because you think you ought to or because you really.

Want to, demanded Miss Cornelia.

Because I really want to.

Then I'll stay.

You belong to the race that knows Joseph.

I know we're going to be friends, said Anne with the smile that only they of the household of faith ever saw.

Yes, we are, deary.

Thank goodness we can choose our friends.

We have to take our relatives as they are and be thankful if there are no penitentiary birds among them.

Not that I've many.

None nearer than second cousins.

I'm kind of a lonely soul.

Mrs.

Blythe.

There was a wistful note in Miss Cornelia's voice.

I wish you would call me Anne, exclaimed Anne impulsively.

It would seem more homey.

Everyone in four winds except my husband calls me Mrs.

Blythe and it makes me feel like a stranger.

Do you know that your name is.

Very near being the one I yearned after?

When I was a child, I hated.

Anne and I called myself Cordelia.

An imagination.

I like Anne.

It was my mother's name.

Old fashioned names are the best and sweetest, in my opinion.

If you're going to get tea, you might send a young doctor to talk to me.

He's been lying on the sofa in that office ever since I came laughing fit to kill over what I've been saying.

How did you know?

Cried Anne to a gasped at this instance of Miss Cornelia's uncanny presence to make a polite denial.

I saw him sitting beside you when I came up the lane.

And I know men's tricks, retorted Miss Cornelia.

There.

I finished my little dress, dearie, and the 8th baby can come as soon as it pleases.

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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