Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the fourteenth chapter of Anne's House of Dreams.
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Wherever you listen to podcasts today, we'll be continuing anne's House of Dreams by Lucy Maud Montgomery chapter 14 November Days the splendor of color which had glowed for weeks along the shores of four winds harbor had faded out into the soft gray blue of late autumn oll hills.
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There came many days when fields and shores were dim with misty rain or shivering before the breath of a melancholy sea wind.
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Nights, too, of storm and tempest, when Anne sometimes wakened to pray that no ship might be beating up the grim north shore.
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For if it were so, not even the great faithful light whirling through the darkness unafraid could availed to guide it in the safe haven in November.
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I sometimes feel as if spring could never come again, she sighed, grieving over the hopeless unsightliness of her frosted and bedraggled flower pots.
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The gay little garden of the schoolmaster's bride was rather a forlorn place now, and the Lombardies and birches were under bare poles, as Captain Jim said.
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But the furwood behind the little house was forever green and staunch.
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And even in November and December there came gracious days of sunshine and purple hazes when the harbor danced and sparkled as blithely as in midsummer.
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And the gulf was so softly blue and tender that the storm and the wild wind seemed only things of a long past dream.
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Anne and Gilbert spent many an autumn evening at the lighthouse.
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It was always a cheery place, even when the east wind sang in Minor and the sea was dead and gray, hints of sunshine seemed to be lurking all about it.
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Perhaps this was because the first mate always paraded it in panoply of gold.
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He was so large and effulgent that one hardly missed the sun, and his resounding purs formed a pleasant accompaniment to the laughter and conversation which went on around Captain Jim's fireplace.
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Captain Jim and Gilbert had many long discussions and high converse on matters beyond the ken of cat or king.
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I like to ponder on all kinds of problems, though I can't solve them, said Captain Jim.
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My father held that we should never talk of things we couldn't understand, but if we didn't, Doctor, the subjects for conversation would be mighty few.
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I reckon the gods laugh many a time to hear us, but what matters so long as we remember that we're only men and don't take to fancying that we're gods ourselves really knowing good and evil?
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I reckon our POW wows won't do us or anyone much harm.
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So let's have another whack at the winds.
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Why, and wither this evening Doctor.
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While they whacked, Anne listened or dreamed.
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Sometimes Leslie went to the lighthouse with them, and she and Anne wandered along the shore in the eerie twilight or sat on the rocks below the lighthouse until the darkness drove them back to the cheer of the driftwood fire.
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Then Captain Jim would brew them tea and tell them tales of land and sea and whatsoever might betide the great forgotten world outside.
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Leslie seemed always to enjoy those light house carousles very much and bloomed out for the time being into ready wit and beautiful laughter or glowing eyed silence.
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There was a certain tang and savor in the conversation when Leslie was present, which they missed when she was absent.
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Even when she did not talk, she seemed to inspire others to brilliancy.
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Captain Jim told his stories better.
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Gilbert was quicker in argument, in reparte, and felt little gushes and trickles of fancy and imagination bubbling to her lips under the influence of Leslie's personality.
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That girl was born to be a leader in social and intellectual circles far away from Four Winds.
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She said to Gilbert as I walked home one night, she's just wasted here.
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Wasted.
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Weren't you listening to Captain Jim and yours truly the other night?
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When we discussed that subject generally, we came to the comforting conclusion that the Creator probably knew how to run his universe quite as well as we do, and that, after all, there are no such things as wasted lives saving and except when an individual willfully squanders and wastes his own life, which Leslie Moore certainly hasn't done.
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And some people might think that a redmond BA whom editors are beginning to honor, was wasted as the wife of a struggling country doctor in the rural community of Four Winds.
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Gilbert, if you had married Rory Gardner now, continued Gilbert Mercilessly, you could have been a leader in social and intellectual circles far away from Four Winds.
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Gilbert blithe.
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You know you were in love with him at one time.
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Anne.
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Gilbert, that's mean.
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Isn't mean just like all the men?
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As Ms.
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Cornelia says, I never was in love with him.
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I only imagined I was you know that.
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You know I'd rather be your wife in our house of dreams and fulfillment than a queen in a palace.
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Gilbert's answer was not in words, but I am afraid that both of them forgot poor Ludsley, speeding her lonely way across the fields to a house that was neither a palace nor the fulfillment of a dream.
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The moon was rising over the sad, dark sea behind them and transfiguring it.
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Her light had not yet reached the harbor, the further side of which was shadowy and suggestive with dim coves and rich glooms and drooling lights.
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How the home lights shine out tonight through the dark, said Anne.
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That string of them over the harbor looks like a necklace.
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And what a corscation there is up at the glen.
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Oh, look, Gilbert, there is ours.
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I'm so glad we left it burning.
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I hate to come home to a dark house.
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Our home light, Gilbert.
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Isn't it lovely to see just one of Earth's many millions of homes, Anne girl, but ours ours are beacon in a naughty world.
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When a fellow has a home and a dear little red haired wife in it, what more need he ask of life?
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Well, he might ask one thing more, whispered Anne happily.
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Oh, Gilbert, it seems as if I just couldn't wait for the spring.
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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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Again, my name is Brie Carlyle and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Anne's house of dreams.
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