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

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Take your chapter.

My chapter won't fight so many adventures and mountains we can't climb.

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 Aven Lee by Lucy Maud Montgomery, 17.

A Chapter of Accidents anne woke three times in the night and made pilgrimages to her window to make sure that Uncle Abe's prediction was not coming true.

Finally the morning dawned pearly and lustrous in a sky full of silver sheen and radiance, and the wonderful day had arrived.

Diana appeared soon after breakfast with a basket of flowers over one arm and her muslin dress over the other, for it would not do to don it until all the dinner preparations were completed.

Meanwhile, she wore her afternoon pink print and a lawn apron.

Fearfully and wonderfully, ruffled and frilled, and very neat and pretty and rosy she was.

You look simply sweet, said Anne admiringly.

Diana sighed, but I've had to let out every one of my dresses again.

I weigh £4 more than I did in July.

And where will this end?

Mrs.

Morgan's heroines are all tall and slender.

Well, let's forget our troubles and think of our mercies, said Anne gaily.

Mrs.

Allen says that whenever we think of anything that is a trial to.

Us, we should also think of something.

Nice that we can set over against it.

If you are slightly too plump, you've got the dearest dimples, and if I have a freckled knows the shape of it is all right.

Do you think the lemon juice did any good?

Yes, I really think it did, said.

Diana critically and much elated.

Anne led the way to the garden, which was full of airy shadows and wavering golden lights.

We'll decorate the parlor first.

We have plenty of time for Priscilla said.

They'd be here about twelve or half past at the latest, so we'll have dinner at one.

There may have been two happier and more excited girls somewhere in Canada or the United States at that moment, but I doubt it.

Every snip of the scissors, as rose and peony and blue bell fell, seemed to chirp Mrs.

Morgan is coming today, and wondered how Mr.

Harrison could go on placidly mowing hay in the field across the lane, just as if nothing were going to happen.

The parlour at Green Gables was a rather severe and gloomy apartment, with rigid horsehair furniture, stiff lace curtains, and white antimassacres that were always laid at a perfectly correct angle, except at such times as they clung to unfortunate people's buttons.

Even Anne had never been able to infuse much grace into it, for Marilla would not permit any alterations.

But it is wonderful what flowers can accomplish if you give them a fair chance.

When Anne and Diana finished with the room, you would not have recognized it.

A great blue bowl full of snowballs.

Overflowed on the polished table, the shining black mantle piece was heaped with roses and ferns.

Every shelf of the whatnot held a sheaf of blue bells.

The dark corners on either side of the grate were lighted up with jars full of glowing crimson peonies, and the grate itself was a flame with yellow poppies.

All this splendor and color mingled with the sunshine falling through the honeysuckle vines of the windows in a leafy riot of dancing shadows over walls and floor made of the usually dismal little room, the veritable bower of Anne's imagination, and even extorted a tribute of admiration from Marilla, who came in to criticize and remained to praise.

Now we must set the table, said Anne, in the tone of a priestess about to perform some sacred rite in honor of a divinity.

We'll have a big vase full of wild roses in the center, and one single rose in front of everybody's plate, and a special bouquet of rosebuds only by Mrs.

Morgan's.

An allusion to the rosebud garden.

You know, the table was set in the sitting room with Marilla's finest linen and the best china, glass and silver.

You may be perfectly certain that every article placed on it was polished or scoured to the highest possible perfection of gloss and glitter.

Then the girls tripped out to the kitchen, which was filled with appetizing odors emanating from the oven, where the chickens were already sizzling.

Splendidly.

Anne prepared the potatoes, and Diana got the peas and beans ready.

Then, while Diana shut herself into the pantry to compound the lettuce salad, anne, whose cheeks were already beginning to glow crimson as much with excitement as from the heat of the fire, prepared the bread sauce for the chickens, minced her onions for the soup, and finally whipped the cream for her lemon pies.

And what about Davy?

All this time was he redeeming his promise to be good?

He was indeed.

To be sure, he insisted on remaining in the kitchen for his curiosity wanted to see all that went on.

But as he sat quietly in a corner busily, engaged in untying the knots and a piece of herring net he had brought home from his last trip to the shore, nobody objected to this.

At 11:30 the lettuce salad was made, the golden circles of the pies were heaped with whipped cream, and everything was sizzling and bubbling.

That ought to sizzle and bubble.

We'd better go and dress now, said Anne, for they may be here by twelve.

We must have dinner at sharp one, for the suit must be served as soon as it's done.

Serious indeed, were the toilet rites presently performed in the East Gable.

Anne peered anxiously at her nose and rejoiced to see that its freckles were not at all prominent, thanks either to the lemon juice or to the unusual flush on her cheeks.

When they were ready, they looked quite as sweet and trim and girlish as ever did any of Mrs.

Morgan's heroines.

I do hope I'll be able to say something once in a while and.

Not sit like a mute, said Diana anxiously.

All Mrs.

Morgan's heroines converse so beautifully, but I'm afraid I'll be tongue tied.

And stupid, and I'll be sure to say I've seen.

I haven't often said it since Miss.

Stacy taught here, but in moments of.

Excitement it's sure to pop out.

And if I were to say I've seen before Mrs.

Morgan, I'd die of.

Mortification, and it would be almost as bad to have nothing to say.

I'm nervous about a good many things, said Anne, but I don't think there's much fear that I won't be able to talk.

And to do her justice, there wasn't.

Anne shrouded her muslin glories in a big apron and went down to concoct her soup.

Marilla had dressed herself in the twins and looked more excited than she had ever been known to look before.

At 12:30, the Allens and Miss Stacy came.

Everything was going well, but Anne was beginning to feel nervous.

It was surely time for Priscilla and Mrs.

Morgan to arrive.

She made frequent trips to the gate and looked as anxiously down the lane as ever.

Her namesake in the bluebeard story peered from the tower casement.

Suppose they don't come at all?

She said piteously.

Don't suppose it.

It would be too mean, said Diana, who, however, was beginning to have uncomfortable misgivings on the subject.

And, said Marilla, coming out from the.

Parlor, ms.

Stacy wants to see Ms.

Barry's Willowear Platter and hastened to the sitting room closet to get the platter she had, in accordance with her promise to Mrs.

Lynde, written to Miss Barry of Charlotte Town asking for the loan of it.

Miss Barry was an old friend of Anne's, and she promptly sent the Platter out with a letter exhorting Anne to be very careful of it, for she had paid $20 for it.

The Platter had served its purpose at the Aid Bazaar, and had then been returned to the Green Gables closet, for Anne would not trust anybody but herself.

To take it back to town.

She carried the platter carefully to the front door, where her guests were enjoying the cool breeze that blew up from the brook.

It was examined and admired.

Then, just as Anne had taken it back into her own hands, a terrific crash and clatter sounded from the kitchen pantry.

Marilla, Diana and Anne fled out the latter, pausing only long enough to set the precious platter hastily down on the second step of the stairs.

When they reached the pantry, a truly harrowing spectacle met their eyes a guilty looking small boy scrambling down from the table with his clean print blouse liberally plastered with yellow filling, and on the table the shattered remnants of what had been too brave be creamed lemon pies.

Davy had finished traveling out his herring net and had wound the twine into a ball.

Then he had gone into the pantry to put it up on the shelf above the table, where he already kept a score or so of similar balls, which, so far as could be discovered, served no useful purpose saved.

To yield the joy of possession, davy had to climb on the table and reach over to the shelf at a dangerous angle, something he had been forbidden by Marilla to do, as he had come to grief once before in the experiment.

The result in this instance was disastrous.

Davy slipped and came sprawling squarely down on the lemon pies.

His clean blouse was ruined for that time, and the pies for all time.

It is, however, an ill wind that blows nobody good, and the pig was eventually the gainer by Davy's mischance.

Davy keith.

Said Marilla, shaking him by the shoulder.

Didn'T I forbid you to climb up on that table again?

Didn't I?

I forgot.

Whimper Davy.

You've told me not to do such an awful lot of things that I can't remember them all.

Will you march upstairs and stay there till after dinner?

Perhaps you'll get them sorted out in your memory by that time.

No, Anne, never you mind interceding for him.

I'm not punishing him because he spoiled your pies.

That was an accident.

I'm punishing him for his disobedience.

Go, Davy.

I say, ain't I to have any dinner?

Well, Davy, you can come down after dinner is over and have yours in the kitchen.

All right, said Davy, somewhat comforted.

I know Anne will save some nice bones for me, won't you, Anne?

Because you know I didn't mean to.

Fall on the pies.

Say, Anne, since they are spoiled, can't I take some of the pieces upstairs with me?

No.

No lemon pie for you, Master Davy.

Said Marilla, pushing him toward the hall.

What shall we do for dessert?

Asked Anne, looking regretfully at the wreck and ruin.

Get out a crock of strawberry preserves, said Marilla consolingly.

There's plenty of whipped cream left in.

The bowl for it.

01:00 came, but no Priscilla or Mrs.

Morgan.

Anne was in an agony.

Everything was done to a turn, and the soup was just what soup should be but couldn't be depended on to remain so for any length of time.

I don't believe they're coming after all, said Marilla crossly.

Anne and Diana sought comfort in each other's eyes.

At 01:30, Marilla again emerged from the parlor.

Girls, we must have dinner.

Everyone is hungry, and it's no use waiting any longer.

Priscilla and Mrs.

Morgan are not coming.

That's plain, and nothing is being improved by waiting.

Anne and Diana set about lifting the dinner.

With all the zest going out of the performance, I don't believe I'll be able to eat a mouthful, said Diana dolefully.

Nor I.

But I hope everything will be nice.

For Miss Stacey's and Mr.

And Mrs.

Allen's.

Sakes, said Anne listlessly.

When Diana dished the peas.

She tasted them, and a very peculiar expression crossed her face.

Anne, did you put sugar in these peas?

Yes, said Anne, mashing the potatoes with the air of one expected to do her duty.

I put a spoonful of sugar in it.

We always do.

Don't you like it?

But I put a spoonful in two.

When I set them on the stove.

Said Diana, and dropped her masher and tasted the peas also.

Then she made a grimace.

How awful.

I never dreamed you would put sugar in it, because I knew your mother never does.

I happen to think of it for a wonder I'm always forgetting it, so I popped a spoonful in it's.

A case of too many cooks, I.

Guess, said Marilla, who had listened to this dialogue with a rather guilty expression.

I didn't think you'd remember about the sugar, Anne, for I'm perfectly certain you never did before.

So I put in a spoonful.

The guests in the parlor heard peel after peal of laughter from the kitchen, but they never knew what the fun was about.

There were no green peas on the dinner table that day, however.

Well, said Anne, sobering down again with a sigh of recollection.

We have the salad anyhow, and I don't think anything has happened to the beans.

Let's carry the things in and get it over.

It cannot be said that the dinner was a notable success socially.

The Allens and Miss Stacy exerted themselves to save the situation, and Marilla's customary placidity was not noticeably ruffled.

But Anne and Diana, between their disappointment and the reaction from their excitement of the forenoon, could neither talk nor eat.

Anne tried heroically to bear her part in the conversation for the sake of her guests.

But all the sparkle had been quenched in her for the time being.

And in spite of her love for the Alan's and Miss Stacey.

She couldn't help thinking how nice it would be when everybody had gone home and she could bury her weariness and disappointment in the pillows of the East Gable.

There is an old proverb that really seems at time to be inspired it never rains, but it pours.

The measure of that day's tribulations was not yet full.

Just as Mr.

Allen had finished returning thanks, there arose a strange, ominous sound on the stairs, as if some hard, heavy object bounding from step to step, finishing up with a grand smash at the bottom.

Everybody ran out into the hall and gave a shriek of dismay.

At the bottom of the stairs lay a big pink conch shell amid the fragments of what had been Miss Barry's platter.

And at the top of the stairs, Nelson terrified Davy gazing down with wide open eyes at the havoc.

Davey, said Marilla ominously, did you throw that conge down on purpose?

No, I never did.

Whimpered.

Davy.

I was just kneeling here quiet, as quiet, to watch you folks through the banisters, and my foot struck that old thing and pushed it off, and I'm awful hungry.

And I do wish you'd lick a fellow and have done with it, instead of always sending him upstairs to miss all the fun.

Don't blame Davy, said Anne, gathering up the fragments with trembling fingers.

It was my fault.

I set that platter there and forgot all about it.

I am properly punished for my carelessness.

But what will Miss Berry say?

Well, you know she only bought it.

So it isn't the same as if it was an heirloom, said Diana, trying to console.

The guests went away soon after, feeling.

That it was the most tactful thing.

To do, and Anne and Diana washed the dishes, talking less than they had ever been known to before.

Then Diana went home with a headache, and Anne went with another to the East Gable, where she stayed until Marilla came home from the post office at sunset with a letter from Priscilla written the day before.

Mrs.

Morgan had sprained her ankle so severely that she could not leave her room, and, oh, Anne, dear, wrote Priscilla, I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid we.

Won'T get up to Green Gables at.

All now, for by the time Auntie's.

Ankle as well, she will have to.

Go back to Toronto.

She has to be there by a certain date.

Well, sighed Anne, laying the letter down on the red sandstone step of the back porch, where she was sitting while the twilight rained down out of a dappled sky.

I always thought it was too good to be true that Mrs.

Morgan should really come, but there that speech sounds as pessimistic as Miss Eliza Andrews, and I'm ashamed of making it.

After all, it was not too good to be true.

Things just as good and far better are coming true for me all the time.

And I suppose the events of today have a funny side, too.

Perhaps when Diana and I are old.

And gray, we shall be able to laugh over them.

But I feel that I can't expect to do it before then, for it has truly been a bitter disappointment.

You'll probably have a good many more and worse disappointments than before you get.

Through life, said Marilla, who honestly thought she was making a comforting speech.

It seems to me, Anne, that you are never going to outgrow your fashion.

Of setting your heart so on things.

And then crashing down into despair because you don't get them.

I know I'm too much inclined that way, agreed Anne Ruefully.

When I think something nice is going to happen, I seem to fly right.

Up on the wings of anticipation.

And then the first thing I realized.

I dropped down to earth with a thud.

But really, Marilla, the flying part is glorious.

As long as it lasts, it's like soaring through a sunset.

I think it almost pays for the thud.

Well, maybe it does.

Admitted, Marilla, I'd rather walk calmly along.

And do without both flying and flood, but everybody has their own way of living.

I used to think there was only one right way, but since I've had you and the twins to bring up, I don't feel so sure of it.

What are you going to do about Miss Barry's platter?

Pay her back to $20?

She paid for it, I suppose.

I'm so thankful it wasn't a cherished heirloom, because then no money could replace it.

Maybe you could find one like it.

Somewhere and buy it for her.

I'm afraid not.

Platters as old as that are very scarce.

Mrs.

Lind couldn't find one anywhere for the supper.

I only wish I could, for of course, Miss Barry would just as soon have one platter as another if both were equally old and genuine.

Marilla, look at that big star over.

Mr.

Harrison's maple grove with all that holy hush of silvery sky about it.

It gives me a feeling that is like a prayer.

After all, when one can see stars and skies like that, little disappointments and accidents can't matter so much, can they?

Where's Davy?

Said Marilla with an indifferent glance at the star in bed.

I promise to take him and Dora to the shore for a picnic tomorrow.

Of course, the original agreement was that he must be good, but he tried to be good, and I hadn't the heart to disappoint him.

You'll drown yourself or the twins throwing.

About the pond in that flat, grumbled Marilla.

I've lived here for 60 years, and I've never been on the pond yet.

Well, it's never too late to mend, said Anne Roguishly.

Suppose you come with us tomorrow.

We'll shut Green Gables up and spend the whole day at the shore, daffing the world aside.

No, thank you, said Marilla with indignant emphasis.

I'd be a nice side, wouldn't I, rowing down the pond in a flat?

I think I hear Rachel pronouncing on it.

There's Mr.

Harrison driving away somewhere.

Do you suppose there's any truth in the gossip that Mr.

Harrison is going to see Isabella Andrews?

No, I'm sure there isn't.

He just called there one evening on business with Mr.

Harmon Andrews, and Mrs.

Lynn saw him and said she knew he was courting because he had a white collar on.

I don't believe Mr.

Harrison will ever marry.

He seems to have a prejudice against marriage.

Well, you can never tell about those old bachelors.

And if he had a white collar on, I'd agree with rachel that it looks suspicious for.

I'm sure he never was seen with one before.

I think he only put it on because he wanted to conclude a business deal with Harmon Andrews, said Anne.

I've heard him say that's the only time a man needs to be particular about his appearance, because if he looks prosperous, the party of the second part.

Won'T be so likely to try to cheat him.

I really feel sorry for Mr.

Harrison.

I don't believe he feels satisfied with his life.

It must be very lonely to have no one to care about except a parrot, don't you think?

But I noticed Mr.

Harrison doesn't like to be pitied.

Nobody does, I imagine.

There's Gilbert coming up the lane, said Marilla.

If he wants you to go for a row on the pond, mind you put on your coat and rubbers.

There's a heavy due tonight.

Thank you for joining Bite at a.

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I hope you come back tomorrow for.

The next bite of Anne of AvenueA.