Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the thirty-sixth 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 Maude Montgomery.

Chapter 36 beauty for Ashes.

Any news from Green Gables?

Anne?

Nothing very especial, replied Anne, folding up Marilla's letter.

Jake Danell has been there, shingling the roof.

He's a full fledged carpenter now, so it seems he has had his own way in regard to the choice of a life work.

You remember his mother wanted him to be a college professor.

I shall never forget the day she came into the school and raided me for failing to call him St.

Clair.

Does anyone ever call him that now?

Evidently not.

It seems that he has completely lived it down.

Even his mother has succumbed.

I always thought that a boy with Jake's chin and mouth would get his own way in the end.

Diana writes me that Dora has a bow.

Just think of it.

That child Dora is 17, said Gilbert.

Charlie Sloan and I were both mad about you when we were 17, Anne.

Really, Gilbert, we must be getting on in years, said Anne with a half rueful smile, when children who were six when we thought ourselves grown up are old enough now to have bows.

Dora's is Ralph Andrews, Jane's brother.

I remember him as a little round, fat, Whiteheaded fellow who was always at the foot of his class, but I understand he is quite a fine looking young man.

Now, Dora will probably marry young.

She's of the same type as Charlotte I fourth.

She'll never miss her first chance for fear she might not get another.

Well, if she marries Ralph, I hope he'll be a little more up and coming than his brother Billy, mused Anne.

For instance, said Gilbert, laughing, let us hope he'll be able to propose on his own account.

Anne, would you have married Billy if he had asked you himself instead of getting Jane to do it for him?

I might have.

Anne went off into a shriek of laughter.

Over the recollection of her first proposal.

The shock of the whole thing might have hypnotized me into some such rash and foolish act.

Let us be thankful he did it by proxy.

I had a letter from George Moore yesterday, said Leslie from the corner where she was reading.

Oh, how is he?

Asked Anne, interestedly, yet with an unreal feeling that she was inquiring about someone whom she did not know.

He is well, but he finds it very hard to adapt himself to all the changes in his old home and friends he's going to see again in the spring.

It's in his blood, he says, and he longs for it.

But he told me something that made me glad for him.

Poor fellow.

Before he sailed on the Four Sisters, he was engaged to a girl at home.

He did not tell me anything about her in Montreal because he said he supposed she would have forgotten him and married someone else long ago.

And with him, you see, his engagement and love was still a thing of the present.

It was pretty hard on him.

But when he got home, he found she had never married and still cared for him.

They are to be married this fall.

I'm going to ask him to bring her over here for a little trip.

He says he wants to come and see the place where he lived so many years without knowing it.

What a nice little romance, said Anne, whose love for the romantic was immortal.

And to think, she added with a sigh of self reproach, that if I had had my way, george Moore would never have come up from the grave in which his identity was buried.

Oh, I did fight against Gilbert's Suggestion.

Well, I am punished.

I shall never be able to have a different opinion from Gilbert's again.

If I try to have, he will squelch me by casting George Moore's case up to me.

As if even that would squelch a woman, mocked Gilbert.

At least do not become my echo, Anne.

A little opposition give spice to life.

I do not want a wife like John McAllister's over the harbor, no matter what he says, she at once remarks in that drab, lifeless little voice of hers.

That is very true, John.

Dear me.

Anne and Leslie laughed.

Anne's laughter was silver and Leslie's golden, and the combination of the two was as satisfactory as a perfect chord in music.

Susan, coming in on the heels of the laughter, echoed it with a resounding sigh.

Why, Susan, what is the matter?

Asked Gilbert.

There's nothing wrong with little Jim, is there, Susan?

Cried Anne, starting up an alarm.

No, no.

Calm yourself, Mrs.

Doctor, dear.

Something has happened, though, dear me, everything has gone catawombits with me this week.

I spoiled the bread, as you know too well, and I scorched the doctor's best shirt bosom.

And I broke your big platter.

And now, on top of all this comes word that my sister Matilda has broken her leg and wants me to go and stay with her for a spell.

Oh, I'm very sorry that your sister is met with such an accident.

I mean, exclaimed Anne.

Well, man was made to mourn.

Mrs.

Dr, dear.

That sounds as if it ought to be in the Bible.

But they tell me a person named Burns wrote it, and there's no doubt that we are born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.

As for Matilda, I do not know what to think of her.

None of our family ever broke their legs before, but whatever she has done, she is still my sister, and I feel that it is my duty to go and wait on her.

If you can spare me for a few weeks, Mrs.

Dr.

Dear.

Of course, Susan.

Of course.

I can get someone to help me while you're gone.

If you cannot, I will not go, Mrs.

Dr.

Dear.

Matilda's leg to the contrary notwithstanding, I will not have you worried and that blessed child upset in consequence for any number of legs.

Oh, you must go to your sister at once, Susan.

I can get a girl from the COVID who will do it for a time.

Anne, will you let me come and stay with you while Susan is away?

Exclaimed Leslie.

Do I'd love to?

And it would be an act of charity on your part.

I'm so horribly lonely over there in that big barn of a house.

There's so little to do, and at night I'm worse than lonely.

I'm frightened and nervous in spite of locked doors.

There was a tramp around two days ago.

Anne joyfully agreed, and next day, Leslie was installed as an inmate of the little house of dreams.

Miss Cornelia warmly approved of the arrangement, it seems.

Providential, she told Anne in confidence.

I'm sorry for Matilda, Klau, but since she had to break her leg, it couldn't have happened at a better time.

Leslie will be here while Owen Ford is in four winds, and those old cats up at the Glenn won't get the chance to meow as they would if she was living over there alone.

And Owen going to see her.

They're doing enough of it as it is because she doesn't put on morning.

I said to one of them, if you mean she should put on mourning for George Moore, it seems to me more like its resurrection than his funeral.

And if it's D*** you mean, I confess I can't see the propriety of going into weeds for a man who died 13 years ago.

And good riddance then.

And when old Louisa Baldwin remarked to me that she thought it very strange that Leslie should never have suspected it wasn't her own husband, I said, you never suspected it wasn't D*** Moore, and you were next door neighbor to him all his life.

And by nature, you're ten times as suspicious as Leslie.

But you can't stop some people's tongues and deary and I'm real thankful Leslie will be under your roof while Owen is courting her.

Owen Ford came to the little house 1 August evening when Leslie and Anne were absorbed and worshiping the baby.

He paused at the open door of the living room, unseen by the two within, gazing with greedy eyes at the beautiful picture.

Leslie sat on the floor with the baby in her lap, making ecstatic dabs at his fat little hands as he fluttered them in the air.

Oh, you dear, beautiful, beloved baby, she mumbled, catching one we hand and covering it with kisses.

Isn't him the darlingest itty thing?

Crooned Anne, hanging over the arm of her chair, adoringly dim itty wee pads.

Are the sweetest handies in the whole big world.

Isn't a you darling itty man.

Anne, in the months before Little Jim's coming, had poured diligently over several wise volumes and pinned her faith to one in a special Sir Oracle on the Care and Training of Children.

Sir Oracle implored parents by all they held sacred never to talk baby talk to their children.

Infants should invariably be addressed in classical language from the moment of their birth.

So should they learn to speak English undefiled from their earliest utterance.

How, demanded Sir Oracle, can a mother reasonably expect her child to learn correct speech when she continually accustoms its impressionable gray matter to such absurd expressions and distortions of our noble tongue as thoughtless mothers inflict every day on the helpless creatures committed to their care?

Can a child who's constantly called tweet IDY wee ever attain to any proper conception of his own being and possibilities and destiny?

Anne was vastly impressed with this and informed Gilbert that she meant to make it an inflexible rule never, under any circumstances to talk baby talk to her children.

Gilbert agreed with her, and they made a solemn compact on the subject, a compact which Anne shamelessly violated the very first moment little Jim was laid in her arms.

Oh, the darling, it we sing.

She had exclaimed.

And when she had continued to violate it ever since when Gilbert teased her, she laughed sir Oracle to scorn.

He never had any children of his own, Gilbert.

I'm positive he hadn't, or he would never have written such rubbish.

You just can't help talking baby talk to a baby.

It comes natural and it's right.

It would be inhuman to talk to those tiny, soft, velvety little creatures as we do to great big boys and girls.

Babies want love and cuddling and all the sweet baby talk they can get.

And little Jim is going to have it, bless his dear ID hardham's.

But you're the worst I ever heard, Anne, protested Gilbert, who, not being a mother but only a father, was not wholly convinced yet that Sir Oracle was wrong.

I never heard anything like the way you talk to that child.

Very likely you never did.

Go away.

Go away.

Didn't I bring up three pairs of Hammond twins before I was eleven?

You and Sir Oracle are nothing but cold blooded theorists.

Gilbert.

Just look at him.

He's smiling at me.

He knows what we're talking about.

And oh, dust agrees with every word Mother says.

Don't do angel lover.

Gilbert put his arm about them.

Oh, you mothers, he said.

You mothers.

God knew what he was about when he made you so little.

Jim was talked to and loved and cuddled as he throve as became a child of the House of Dreams.

Leslie was quite as foolish over him as Anne was.

When their work was done and Gilbert was out of the way, they gave themselves over to shameless orgies of love making and ecstasies of adoration such as that in which Owen Ford had surprised them.

Leslie was the first to become aware of him.

Even in the twilight Anne could see the sudden whiteness that swept over her beautiful face, blotting out the crimson of lip and cheeks.

Owen came forward eagerly blind for a moment to Anne.

Leslie, he said, holding out his hand.

It was the first time he had ever called her by her name.

But the hand Leslie gave him was cold.

She was very quiet all the evening while Anne and Gilbert and Owen laughed and talked together.

Before his call ended she excused herself and went upstairs.

Owen's gay spirits flagged and he went away soon after with a downcast air.

Gilbert looked at Anne.

Anne, what are you up to?

There's something going on that I don't understand.

The whole air here tonight has been charged with electricity.

Leslie sits like the muse of a tragedy.

Owen Ford jokes and laughs on the surface and watches Leslie with the eyes of his soul.

You seem all the time to be bursting with some suppressed excitement.

Own up.

What secret have you been keeping from your deceived husband?

Don't be a goose, Gilbert, was Anne's conjugal reply.

As for Leslie, she's absurd and I'm going up to tell her so.

Anne found Leslie at the dormer window of her room.

The little place was filled with the rhythmic thunder of the sea.

Leslie sat with locked hands in the misty moonshine.

A beautiful, accusing presence.

Anne, she said in a low, reproachful voice.

Did you know Owen Ford was coming to Four Winds?

I did, said Anne Brazenly.

Oh, you should have told me, Anne, Lesley cried passionately.

If I had known, I would have gone away.

I wouldn't have stayed here to meet him.

You should have told me.

It wasn't fair of you, Anne.

Oh, it wasn't fair.

Leslie's lips were trembling and her whole form was tense with emotion.

But Anne laughed heartlessly.

She bent over and kissed Leslie's upturned, reproachful face.

Leslie, you are an adorable goose.

Owen Ford didn't rush from the Pacific to the Atlantic from a burning desire to see me.

Neither do I believe that he was inspired by any wild and frenzied passion for Miss Cornelia.

Take off your tragic heirs, my dear friend, and fold them up and put them away in lavender.

You'll never need them again.

There are some people who can see through a grindstone when there's a hole in it, even if you cannot.

I'm not a prophetess, but I shall venture on a prediction.

The bitterness of life is over for you after this.

You're going to have the joys and hopes, and I dare say, the sorrows, too, of a happy woman.

The omen of the shadow of Venus did come true for you, Leslie.

The year in which you saw it brought your life's best gift for you, your love for Owen Ford.

Now go right to bed and have a good sleep.

Leslie obeyed orders and so far that she went to bed.

But it may be questioned if she slept much.

I do not think she dared to dream.

Wakingly life had been so hard for this poor Leslie.

The path on which she had had to walk had been so straight that she could not whisper to her own heart the hopes that might wait on the future.

But she watched the great revolving light bestowing the short hours of the summer night, and her eyes grew soft and bright and young once more.

Nor when Owen Ford came next day to ask her to go with him to the shore, did she say him nay.

Thank you for joining Bite at a Time books.

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My name is Brie Carlyle, and I hope you come back tomorrow for the.

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