Anne of the Island | Page 4

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ANNE of the ISLAND by Lucy Maud Montgomery



Chapter I
The Shadow of Change
"Harvest is ended and summer is gone," quoted Anne Shirley, gazing
across the shorn fields dreamily. She and Diana Barry had been picking
apples in the Green Gables orchard, but were now resting from their
labors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of thistledown drifted by on
the wings of a wind that was still summer-sweet with the incense of
ferns in the Haunted Wood.

But everything in the landscape around them spoke of autumn. The sea
was roaring hollowly in the distance, the fields were bare and sere,
scarfed with golden rod, the brook valley below Green Gables
overflowed with asters of ethereal purple, and the Lake of Shining
Waters was blue -- blue -- blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor
the pale azure of summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if the
water were past all moods and tenses of emotion and had settled down
to a tranquility unbroken by fickle dreams.
"It has been a nice summer," said Diana, twisting the new ring on her
left hand with a smile. "And Miss Lavendar's wedding seemed to come
as a sort of crown to it. I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Irving are on the Pacific
coast now."
"It seems to me they have been gone long enough to go around the
world," sighed Anne.
"I can't believe it is only a week since they were married. Everything
has changed. Miss Lavendar and Mr. and Mrs. Allan gone -- how
lonely the manse looks with the shutters all closed! I went past it last
night, and it made me feel as if everybody in it had died."
"We'll never get another minister as nice as Mr. Allan," said Diana,
with gloomy conviction. "I suppose we'll have all kinds of supplies this
winter, and half the Sundays no preaching at all. And you and Gilbert
gone -- it will be awfully dull."
"Fred will be here," insinuated Anne slyly.
"When is Mrs. Lynde going to move up?" asked Diana, as if she had
not heard Anne's remark.
"Tomorrow. I'm glad she's coming -- but it will be another change.
Marilla and I cleared everything out of the spare room yesterday. Do
you know, I hated to do it? Of course, it was silly -- but it did seem as if
we were committing sacrilege. That old spare room has always seemed
like a shrine to me. When I was a child I thought it the most wonderful
apartment in the world. You remember what a consuming desire I had

to sleep in a spare room bed -- but not the Green Gables spare room.
Oh, no, never there! It would have been too terrible -- I couldn't have
slept a wink from awe. I never WALKED through that room when
Marilla sent me in on an errand -- no, indeed, I tiptoed through it and
held my breath, as if I were in church, and felt relieved when I got out
of it. The pictures of George Whitefield and the Duke of Wellington
hung there, one on each side of the mirror, and frowned so sternly at
me all the time I was in, especially if I dared peep in the mirror, which
was the only one in the house that didn't twist my face a little. I always
wondered how Marilla dared houseclean that room. And now it's not
only cleaned but stripped bare. George Whitefield and the Duke have
been relegated to the upstairs hall. `So passes the glory of this world,' "
concluded Anne, with a laugh in which there was a little note of regret.
It is never pleasant to have our old shrines desecrated, even when we
have outgrown them.
"I'll be so lonesome when you go," moaned Diana for the hundredth
time. "And to think you go next week!"
"But we're together still," said Anne cheerily. "We mustn't let next
week rob us of this week's joy. I hate the thought of going myself --
home and I are such good friends. Talk of being lonesome! It's I who
should groan. YOU'LL be here with any number of your old friends --
AND Fred! While I shall be alone among strangers, not knowing a
soul!"
"EXCEPT Gilbert -- AND Charlie Sloane," said Diana, imitating
Anne's italics and slyness.
"Charlie Sloane will be a great comfort, of course," agreed Anne
sarcastically; whereupon both those irresponsible damsels laughed.
Diana knew exactly what Anne thought of Charlie Sloane; but, despite
sundry confidential talks, she did not know just what Anne thought of
Gilbert Blythe. To be sure, Anne herself did not know that.
"The boys may