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

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Take a lookin a broken let's see what we can find take it 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 the island by Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Chapter 36 the Gardeners Call Here s a letter for you with an Indian stamp for you, Aunt Jim.

Z, said Phil.

Here are three for Stella and two for Priss, and a glorious fat one for me from Joe.

There's nothing for you, Anne, except a circular.

Nobody noticed Anne's flush as she took the thin letter Phil tossed her carelessly.

But a few minutes later, Phil looked up to see a transfigured.

Anne, honey, what good thing has happened?

The youth's friend has accepted a little sketch I sent them a fortnight ago, said Anne, trying hard to speak as if she were accustomed to having sketches.

Accepted every mail, but not quite succeeding.

Anne, surely.

How glorious.

What was it?

When is it to be published?

Did they pay you for it?

Yes, they've sent a check for $10.

And the editor writes that he would like to see more of my work.

Dear man, he shall.

It was an old sketch I found in my box.

I rewrote it and sent it in, but I never really thought it could be accepted because it had no plot, said Anne, recalling the bitter experience of avril's atonement.

What are you going to do with that $10, Anne?

Let's all go up to town and get drunk, suggested Phil.

I am going to squander it in a wild, soulless revel of some sort, declared Anne Gaily.

At all events, it isn't tainted money like the check I got for that horrible reliable baking powder story.

I spent it usefully for clothes and hated them every time I put them on.

Think of having a real live author at Patty's Place, said Priscilla.

It's a great responsibility, said Aunt James solemnly.

Indeed it is, agreed Priss, with equal solemn tea.

Authors are kiddle cattle.

You never know when or how they will break out.

Anne may make a copy of us.

I meant that the ability to write for the press was a great responsibility.

Said Aunt Jamesina severely, and I hope Anne realizes it.

My daughter used to write stories before she went to the foreign field but now she has turned her attention to higher things.

She used to say her motto was never right a line you would be ashamed to read at your own funeral.

You'd better take that for yours and if you're going to embark in literature.

Though to be sure, added Aunt Jamesina.

Perplexibly, elizabeth always used to laugh when she said it.

She always laughed so much that I don't know how she ever came to decide on being a missionary.

I'm thankful she did.

I prayed that she might, but I wish she hadn't.

Then Aunt James wondered why those giddy girls all laughed.

Anne's eyes shone all that day literary ambitions sprouted and budded in her brain.

Their exhilaration accompanied her to Jenny Cooper's walking party and not even the sight of Gilbert and Christine walking just ahead of her and Roy could quite subdue the sparkle of her starry hopes.

Nevertheless, she was not so wrapped from things of earth as to be unable to notice that Christine's walk was decidedly ungraceful.

But I suppose Gilbert looks only at her face.

So like a man, thought Anne scornfully.

Shall you be home Saturday afternoon?

Asked Roy.

Yes, my mother and sisters are coming to call on you, said Roy quietly.

Something went over Anne which might be described as a thrill, but it was hardly a pleasant one.

She had never met any of Roy's family.

She realized the significance of his statement and it had somehow an irrevocableness about it that chilled her.

I shall be glad to see them, she said flatly, and then wondered if she really would be glad.

She ought to be, of course, but would it not be something of an ordeal?

Gossip had filtered to Anne regarding the light in which the gardeners viewed the infatuation of son and brother.

Roy must have brought pressure to bear in the matter of this call.

Anne knew she would be weighed in the balance from the fact that they had consented to call.

She understood that willingly or unwillingly they regarded her as a possible member of their clan.

I shall just be myself.

I shall not try to make a good impression, thought Anne loftily.

But she was wondering what dress she would better wear Saturday afternoon and if the new style of high hairdressing would suit her better than the old.

And the walking party was rather spoiled for her by night.

She had decided that she would wear her brown chiffon on Saturday but would do her hair low friday afternoon.

None of the girls had classes at Redmond.

Stella took the opportunity to write a paper for the Philamathic Society and was sitting at the table in the corner of the living room with an untidy litter of notes and manuscript on the floor around her.

Stella always vowed she never could write anything unless she threw each sheet down as she completed it.

Anne, in her flannel blouse and surge skirt with her hair rather blown from her.

Wendy walk home was sitting squarely in the middle of the floor, teasing the Sarah cat with a wishbone.

Joseph and Rusty were both curled up in her lab.

A warm plummy odor filled the whole house, for Priscilla was cooking in the kitchen.

Presently she came in and shrouded in a huge work apron with a smudge of flour on her nose to show Aunt Jamesina the chocolate cake she had just iced.

At this auspicious moment the knocker sounded.

Nobody paid any attention to it, save Phil, who sprang up and opened it, expecting a boy with the hat she had bought that morning.

On the doorstep stood Mrs.

Gardner and her daughters and scrambled to her feet, somehow emptying two indignant cats out of her lap as she did so and mechanically shifting her wishbone from her right hand to her left.

Priscilla, who would have had to cross the room to reach the kitchen door, lost her head, wildly plunged the chocolate cake under a cushion on the ingle nook sofa, and dashed upstairs.

Stella began feverishly gathering up her manuscript.

Only Aunt James and Phil remained normal.

Thanks to them, everybody was soon sitting at ease, even Anne.

Priscilla came down, apronless and smudgeless.

Stella reduced her corner to decency, and Phil saved the situation by a stream of ready small talk.

Mrs.

Gardner was tall and thin and handsome, exquisitely gowned cordial with a cordiality that seemed a trifle force.

Aileen gardener was a younger addition of her mother.

Lacking the cordiality, she endeavored to be nice, but succeeded only in being haughty and patronizing.

Dorothy Gardner was slim and jolly and rather tomboyish, and knew she was Roy's favorite sister and warmed to her.

She would have looked very much like Roy if she had had dreamy dark eyes instead of roguish hazel ones.

Thanks to her and Phil, the call really went off very well, except for a slight sense of strain in the atmosphere and two rather untoward incidents.

Rusty and Joseph, left to themselves, began a game of chase and sprang madly into Mrs.

Gardner's silken lap and out of it in their wild career.

Mrs.

Gardner lifted her lord net and gazed after their flying forms as if she had never seen cats before, and Anne, choking back slightly nervous laughter, apologized as best she could.

You are fond of cats, said Mrs.

Gardner, with a slight intonation of tolerant wonder.

Anne, despite her affection for Rusty, was not especially fond of cats.

But Mrs.

Gardner's tone annoyed her inconsequently.

She remembered that Mrs.

John Blithe.

Was so fond of cats that she kept as many as her husband would allow.

They are adorable animals, aren't they?

She said wickedly.

I have never liked cats, said Mrs.

Gardner remotely.

I love them, said Dorothy.

They are so nice and selfish.

Dogs are too good and unselfish.

They make me feel uncomfortable.

But cats are gloriously human you have.

Two delightful old china dogs there.

May I look at them closely?

Said Eileen, crossing the room towards the fireplace and thereby becoming the unconscious cause of the other accident.

Picking up mughog, she sat down on the cushion, under which was secreted Priscilla's chocolate cake.

Priscilla and Anne exchanged agonized glances, but could do nothing.

The Stately Allen continued to sit on the cushion and discuss china dogs until the time of departure.

Dorothy lingered behind a moment to squeeze Anne's hand and whisper impulsively, I know you and I are going to be chums.

Oh, Royce told me all about you.

I'm the only one of the family he tells things to.

Poor boy.

Nobody could confide in Mama and Alen.

You know what glorious times you girls must have here.

Won't you let me come often and have a share in them?

Come as often as you like, Anne responded, heartily thankful that one of Roy's sisters was likable.

She would never like Eileen so much was certain, and Eileen would never like her, though Mrs.

Gardner might be one altogether.

Anne sighed with relief when the ordeal was over.

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are it might have been, quoted Priscilla, tragically lifting the cushion.

This cake is now what you might call a flat failure, and the cushion is likewise ruined.

Never tell me that Friday isn't unlucky.

People who send a word that they're coming on Saturday shouldn't come on Friday, said Aunt James.

I fancy it was Roy's mistake, said Phil.

That boy isn't really responsible for what.

He says when he talks to Anne.

Where is Anne?

Anne had gone upstairs.

She felt oddly like crying, but she made herself laugh instead.

Rusty and Joseph had been too awful, and Dorothy was a deer.

Thank you for joining Byte at the 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.

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You can catch us on all the social medias at Bite at a Time Books or on our website, Bite at a Time Books.com.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle, and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Anne of the island.