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

Come with us as we release one bite a day of one of your favorite classic novels, plays & short stories. Bree reads these classics like she reads to her daughter, one chapter a day. If you love books or audiobooks and want something to listen to as you're getting ready, driving to work, or as you're getting ready for bed, check out Bite at a Time Books!

Follow, rate, and review Bite at a Time Books where we read you your favorite classics, one bite at a time. Available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Get exclusive Behind the Scenes content on our Patreon

We are now part of the Bite at a Time Books Productions network!

If you ever wondered what inspired your favorite classic novelist to write their stories, what was happening in their lives or the world at the time, check out Bite at a Time Books Behind the Story wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow us on all the socials: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook - TikTok

Follow Bree at: Instagram - Twitter - Facebook

Take it chapter by chapter one fight so many adventures and mountains we can't climb take your word for wordline bite one bite 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.

If you enjoy our show, be sure to follow us so you get all the new episodes.

If you want to see exclusive behind the scenes of our show, follow us on YouTube.

We would also love for you to.

Drop us a rating on your favorite.

Podcast platform and share our show with your friends.

You can catch us on all the social medias at byte Timebooks.

Today we'll be continuing anne of Aven Lee by Lucy Maud Montgomery 19 just a happy day after all, Anne had said to Marilla once, I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens, but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.

Life at Green Gables was full of just such days, for Anne's, adventures and misadventures like those of other people did not all happen at once, but were sprinkled over the year with long stretches of harmless, happy days between, filled with work and dreams and laughter and lessons.

Such a day came late in August.

In the forenoon, Anne and Diana rode the delighted twins down the pond to the Sandshore to pick sweet grass and paddle in the surf over which the wind was harping an old lyric learned when the world was young.

In the afternoon, Anne walked down to the old Irving place to see Paul.

She found him stretched out on the grassy bank beside the thick fur grove that sheltered the house on the north.

Absorbed in a book of fairy tales, he sprang up radiantly at the side of her.

Oh, I'm so glad you've come, Teacher.

He said eagerly, because Grandma's away.

You'll stay and have tea with me, won't you?

It's so lonesome to have tea all.

By oneself, you know, teacher, I've had.

Serious thoughts of asking young Mary Jo to sit down and eat her tea with me, but I expect Grandma wouldn't approve.

She says the French have to be kept in their place.

And anyhow, it's difficult to talk with young Mary Joe.

She just laughs and says, well, you do beat all the kids.

I ever douwed.

That isn't my idea of conversation.

Of course I'll stay to tea, said Anne gaily.

I was dying to be asked.

My mouth has been watering through some.

More of your grandma's delicious shortbread ever.

Since I had tea here before.

Paul looked very sober if it depended on me, teacher, he said, standing before Anne with his hands in his pockets and his beautiful little face shadowed with sudden care, you should have shortbread with the right goodwill.

But it depends on Mary Jo.

I heard Grandma tell her before she left that she wasn't to give me any shortcake because it was too rich.

For little boy's stomachs.

But maybe Mary Joe will cut some for you if I promise I won't eat any.

Let us hope for the best.

Yes, let us, agreed Anne, whom this cheerful philosophy suited.

Exactly.

And if Mary Joe proves hardhearted and won't give me any shortbread, it doesn't matter in the least.

So you are not to worry over that.

You're sure you won't mind if she doesn't?

Said Paul anxiously.

Perfectly sure, dear heart.

Then I won't worry, said Paul with a long breath of relief.

Especially as I really think Mary Joe will listen to reason.

She's not a naturally unreasonable person, but she has learned by experience that it doesn't do to disobey Grandma's orders.

Grandma is an excellent woman, but people must do as she tells them.

She was very much pleased with me this morning because I managed at last to eat all my plate full of porridge.

It was a great effort, but I succeeded.

Grandma says she thinks she'll make a man of me yet.

But, teacher, I want to ask you.

A very important question.

You will answer it truthfully, won't you?

I'll try, promised Anne.

Do you think I'm wrong in my upper story?

Asked Paul, as if his very existence depended on her reply.

Goodness, no, Paul.

Exclaimed Anne in amazement.

Certainly you're not what puts such an.

Idea into your head.

Married Joe, but she didn't know I heard her.

Mrs.

Peters flohn's hired girl Veronica came to see Mary Jo last evening and I heard them talking in the kitchen.

As I was going through the hall, I heard Mary Jo say that paul he is the queerest little boy.

He talks that queer.

I think there's something wrong in his upper story.

I couldn't sleep last night forever.

So long thinking of it and wondering if Mary Jo was right.

I couldn't bear to ask Grandma about it somehow, but I made up my mind I'd ask you.

I'm so glad you think I'm all right in my upper story.

Of course you are.

Mary Joe is a silly, ignorant girl and you are never to worry about.

Anything she says, said Anne indignantly secretly resolving to give Mrs.

Irving a discreet hint as to the advisability of restraining Mary Joe's tongue.

Well, that's a weight off my mind, said Paul.

I'm perfectly happy now, teacher, thanks to you.

It wouldn't be nice to have something wrong in your upper story, would it, teacher?

I suppose the reason Mary Joe imagines I have is because I tell her what I think about things sometimes.

It is a rather dangerous practice, admitted Anne out of the depths of her own experience.

Well, by and by, I'll tell you the thoughts I told Mary Joe and.

You can see for yourself if there's anything queer in them, said Paul.

But I'll wait till it begins to get dark.

That is the time I ache to tell people things and when nobody else is handy, I just have to tell Mary Joe.

But after this, I won't.

If it makes her imagine I'm wrong in my upper story, I'll just ache and bear it.

And if the ache gets too bad, you can come up to Green Gables and tell me your thoughts, suggested Anne, with all the gravity that endeared her to children who so dearly love to be taken seriously.

Yes, I will.

But I hope Davy won't be there when I go because he makes faces at me.

I don't mind very much because he's such a little boy and I am quite a big one.

But still, it is not pleasant to have faces made at you.

And Davy makes such terrible ones.

Sometimes I'm frightened he will never get his face straightened out again.

He makes them at me in church when I ought to be thinking of sacred things.

Dora likes me, though, and I like her, but not so well as I did before she told Minnie Mae Bury that she meant to marry me when I grew up.

I may marry somebody when I grow up, but I'm far too young to be thinking of it yet.

Don't you think, teacher?

Rather young, agreed, teacher.

Speaking of marrying reminds me of another thing that has been troubling me of late, continued Paul.

Mrs.

Lind was down here one day last week having tea with Grandma, and Grandma made me show her my little mother's picture, the one Father sent me for my birthday present.

I didn't exactly want to show it to Mrs.

Lynde.

Mrs.

Lynde is a good, kind woman, but she isn't the sort of person you want to show your mother's picture to, you know, teacher but of course, I obeyed Grandma.

Mrs.

Lynde said she was very pretty but kind of actressy looking and must have been an awful lot younger than Father.

Then she said, Some of these days your PA will be marrying again, likely.

How will you like to have a new mom, Master Paul?

Well, the idea almost took my breath away, teacher, but I wasn't going to let Mrs.

Lynd see that.

I just looked her straight in the face like this, and I said, mrs.

Lind father made a pretty good job of picking out my first mother, and I could trust him to pick out just a good one the second time.

And I can trust him, teacher but still, I hope if he ever does give me a new mother, he'll ask my opinion about her before it's too late.

There's Mary Joe coming to call us to tea.

I'll go and consult with her about the shortbread.

As a result of this consultation, mary Joe cut the shortbread and added a dish of preserves to the bill of fair.

Anne poured the tea and she and Paul had a very merry meal in the dim old sitting room whose windows were open to the gulf breezes.

And they talked so much nonsense that Mary Joe was quite scandalized and told Veronica the next evening that the schoolmise was as queer as Paul.

After tea, Paul took Anne up to.

His room to show her his mother's.

Picture which had been the mysterious birthday present kept by Mrs.

Irving in the bookcase.

Paul's little low stealing room was a soft whirl of ruddy light from the sun that was setting over the sea and swinging shadows from the FIR trees that grew close to the square deepset window.

From out, this soft glow and glamour shown a sweet girlish face with tender mother eyes that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed.

That's my little mother, said Paul with loving pride.

I got Grandma to hang it there where I'd see it as soon as I opened my eyes in the morning.

I never mind not having the light when I go to bed now because it just seems as if my little mother was right here with me.

Father knew just what I would like for a birthday present although he never asked me.

Isn't it wonderful how much fathers do know?

Your mother was very lovely, Paul, and you look a little like her.

But her eyes and hair are darker than yours.

My eyes are the same color as.

Fathers, said Paul flying about the room to keep all available cushions on the window seat.

But Father's hair is gray.

He has lots of it.

But it is gray, you see, father is nearly 50.

That's ripe old age, isn't it?

But it's only outside he's old.

Inside he's just as young as anybody.

Now, teacher, please sit here and I'll sit at your feet.

May I lay my head against your knee?

That's the way my little mother and.

I used to sit.

Oh, this is real splendid.

I think now I want to hear those thoughts which Mary Joe pronounces so queer, said Anne, patting the mop of curls at her side.

Paul never needed any coaxing to tell his thoughts at least to congenial souls.

I thought them out in the fur.

Grove one night, he said dreamily.

Of course, I didn't believe them, but.

I thought them, you know, teacher.

And then I wanted to tell them to somebody and there was nobody but Mary Joe.

Mary Joe was in the pantry selling bread and I sat down on the bench beside her and I said mary Joe, do you know what I think?

I think the evening star is a lighthouse on the land where the fairies dwell.

And Mary Joe said, we'll use our decrease one.

There ain't no such thing as fairies.

I was very much provoked.

Of course, I knew there are no fairies but that needn't prevent my thinking.

There is, you know, teacher.

But I tried again quite patiently.

I said, well, then, Mary Joe, do you know what I think?

I think an angel walks over the world after the sun sets a great tall white angel with silvery folded wings and sings the flowers and birds to sleep.

Children can hear him if they know how to listen.

Then Mary Jo held up her hands all over flower and said, well, you are the queer little boy.

You make me feel scared.

And she really did look scared.

I went out then and whispered the rest of my thoughts to the garden.

There was a little birch tree in the garden and it died.

Grandma says the salt spray killed it.

But I think the dryad belonging to it was a foolish dryad who wandered away to see the world and got lost.

And the little tree was so lonely it died of a broken heart.

And when the poor, foolish little dryad gets tired of the world and comes back to her tree, her heart will break, said Anne.

Yes, but if dryads are foolish, they.

Must take the consequences just as if they were real people, said Paul gravely.

Do you know what I think about the new moon, teacher?

I think it is a little golden boat full of dreams.

And when it tips on a cloud, some of them spill out and fall into your sleep.

Exactly, teacher.

Oh, you do know.

And I think the violets are little snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut out holes for the stars to shine through.

And the buttercups are made out of old sunshine.

And I think the sweet peas will be butterflies when they go to heaven.

Now, teacher, do you see anything so very queer about those thoughts?

No, laddie dear, they're not queer at all.

They are strange and beautiful thoughts for a little boy to think.

And so people who couldn't think anything of the sort themselves if they tried.

For 100 years think them queer, but.

Keep on thinking them.

Paul, someday you're going to be a poet, I believe when Anne reached home.

She found a very different type of.

Boyhood waiting to be put to bed.

Davy was sulky, and when Anne had undressed him, he bounced into bed and buried his face in the pillow.

Davy, you've forgotten to say your prayers, said Anne rebukingly.

No, I didn't forget, said Davy Defiantly.

But I ain't going to say my prayers anymore.

I'm not going to give up trying to be good because no matter how good I am, you'd like Paul Irving better.

So I might as well be bad and have the fun of it.

I don't like Paul Irving.

Better said.

Anne.

Seriously?

I like you just as well, only.

In a different way.

But I want you to like me the same way.

Pouted Davy, you can't like different people the same way.

You don't like Dora and me the.

Same way, do you?

Davy sat up and reflected.

No, he admitted at last.

I like Dora because she's my sister, but I like you because you're you.

And I like Paul because he is Paul and Davy because he is Davy, said Anne gaily.

I kind of wish I'd said my.

Prayers then, said Davy, convinced by this logic.

But it's too much bother getting out now to say them.

I'll say them twice over in the morning.

Anne, won't that do as well?

No, Anne was positive it would not do as well, so Davy scrambled out and knelt down at her knee.

When he had finished his devotions, he leaned back on his little bare brown heels and looked up at her.

Anne, I'm gooder than I used to be.

Yes, indeed you are, Davy, said Anne, who never hesitated to give credit where credit was due.

I know I'm gooder, said Davy confidently.

And I'll tell you how I know it.

Today Marilla gave me two pieces of bread and jam, one for me and one for Dora.

One was a good deal bigger than the other, and Marilla didn't say which was mine, but I give the biggest piece to Dora.

That was very good of me, wasn't it?

Very good and very manly.

Davy.

Of course.

Admitted.

Davy.

Dora wasn't very hungry, and she only ate half her slice, and then she gave the rest to me.

But I didn't know she was going to do that when I give it to her, so I was good.

Anne in the twilight, Anne sauntered down to the dryad's bubble and saw Gilbert Blithe coming down through the dusky haunted wood.

She had a sudden realization that Gilbert was a schoolboy no longer and how manly he looked.

The tall, frankfaced fellow with the clear.

Straightforward eyes and the broad shoulders.

Anne thought Gilbert was a very handsome lad, even though he didn't look at all like her ideal man.

She and Diana had long ago decided what kind of a man they admired, and their tastes seemed exactly similar.

He must be very tall and distinguished looking, with melancholy, inscrutable eyes and a melting, sympathetic voice.

There was nothing either melancholy or inscrutable in Gilbert's physiognomy, but of course that didn't matter in friendship.

Gilbert stretched himself out on the ferns beside the bubble and looked approvingly at Anne.

If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman, the description would have answered point for point to Anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul.

Gilbert was as yet little more than a boy, but a boy has his dreams, as have others, and in Gilbert's future there was always a girl with big, limpid, gray eyes and a face as fine and delicate as a flower.

He had made up his mind also that his future must be worthy of its goddess.

Even in quiet Avon lee there were temptations to be met and faced.

White sands youth were a rather fast set, and Gilbert was popular wherever he went, but he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne's friendship and perhaps some distant day her love.

Andy watched over word and thought and deed, as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it.

She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl whose ideals are high and pure wields over her friends, an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals, and which she would certainly lose if she were ever false to them.

In Gilbert's eyes, Anne's greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the Avonlea girls, the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor.

Anne held herself apart from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations.

But Gilbert did not attempt to put his thoughts into words, for he had already too good reason to know that Anne would mercilessly and frostily nip all attempts at sentiment in the bud, or laugh at him, which was ten times worse.

You look like a real dryad under.

That birch tree, he said teasingly.

I love birch trees, said Anne, laying her cheek against the creamy satin of the slim bull with one of the pretty caressing gestures that came so natural to her.

Then you'll be glad to hear that Mr.

Major Spencer has decided to set out a row of white birches all.

Along the roadfront of his farm by way of encouraging the avis, said Gilbert.

He was talking to me about it.

Today Major Spencer is the most progressive and public spirited man in Avonlea, and Mr.

William Bell is going to set out a spruce hedge along his road front and up his lane.

Our society is getting on splendidly, Anne.

It is past the experimental stage and is an accepted fact.

The older folks are beginning to take an interest in it, and the white fans people are talking of starting one, too.

Even Elisha Wright has come around since that day.

The Americans from the hotel had the picnic at the shore.

They praised our roadside so highly and said they were much prettier than in.

Any other part of the island.

And when in due time the other.

Farmers follow Mr.

Spencer's good example and.

Plant ornamental trees and hedges along their road fronts, avonlea will be the prettiest settlement in the province.

The aides are talking of taking up the graveyard, said Anne, and I hope they will, because there will have to be a subscription for that, and it.

Would be no use for the Society to try it after the hall affair.

But the AIDS would never have stirred in the matter if the Society hadn't put it into their thoughts unofficially.

Those trees we planted on the church.

Grounds are flourishing and the trustees have.

Promised me that they will fence in.

The school grounds next year.

If they do, I'll have an Arbor Day, and every scholar shall plant a.

Tree and will have a garden in.

The corner by the road.

We've succeeded in almost all our plans so far except in getting the old.

Bolter house removed, said Gilbert, and I've.

Given that up in despair.

Levi won't take it down just to vex us.

There's a contrary streak in all the.

Bolters, and it's strongly developed in him.

Julia Bell wants to send another committee to him, but I think the better.

Way will be just to leave him.

Severely alone, said Anne.

Sagely and trust to providence, as Mrs.

Lynn says, smiled Gilbert.

Certainly no more committees.

They only aggravate him.

Julia Bell thinks you can do anything if you only have a committee to.

Attempt it next spring.

Anne, we must start an agitation for nice lawns and grounds will sow good seed be times this winter.

I have a treatise here on lawns and lawn making and I'm going to prepare a paper on the subject soon.

Well, I suppose our vacation is almost over.

School opens Monday.

Has Ruby Gillis got the carmody?

School.

Yes.

Priscilla wrote that she had taken her.

Own home school, so the Carmody trustees.

Gave it to Ruby.

I'm sorry Priscilla is not coming back.

But since she can't, I'm glad Ruby has got the school.

She'll be home for Saturdays, and it will seem like old times to have.

Her and Jane and Diana and myself all together again.

Marilla, just home from Mrs.

Lynn's, was sitting on the back porch step when Anne returned to the house.

Rachel and I have decided to have.

Our cruise to town tomorrow, she said.

Mr.

Lind is feeling better this week, and Rachel wants to go before he.

Has another six spell.

I intend to get up extra early tomorrow morning if I have ever so much to do, said Anne Virtuously.

For one thing, I'm going to shift the feathers from my old bed tick.

To the new one.

I ought to have it done long.

Ago, but I've just kept putting it off.

It's such a detestable task.

It's a very bad habit to put.

Off disagreeable things, and I never meant to again or else I can't comfortably tell my pupils not to do it.

That would be inconsistent.

Then I want to make a cake for Mr.

Harrison and finish my paper on gardens for the avis and write Stella, and wash and starch my muslin dress and make Dora's new apron.

You won't get half done, said Marilla Pessimistically.

I never yet planned to do a.

Lot of things, but something happens to prevent me.

Thank you for joining Byte at a 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.

If you want to see exclusive behind the scenes of our show, follow us on YouTube.

We would also love for you to drop us a rating on your favorite podcast platform and share our show with your friends.

You can catch us on all the social medias at Bite at a Time books again, my name is Brie Carlyle.

And I hope you come back tomorrow.

For the next bite of Anne of Avonlea.