Annes House of Dreams | Page 8

I was going to be
married. I had a letter from Paul today. He says he MUST come to my
wedding, no matter what happens to Europe."
"That child always idolised you," remarked Mrs. Rachel.
"That `child' is a young man of nineteen now, Mrs. Lynde."
"How time does fly!" was Mrs. Lynde's brilliant and original response.

"Charlotta the Fourth may come with them. She sent word by Paul that
she would come if her husband would let her. I wonder if she still
wears those enormous blue bows, and whether her husband calls her
Charlotta or Leonora. I should love to have Charlotta at my wedding.
Charlotta and I were at a wedding long syne. They expect to be at Echo
Lodge next week. Then there are Phil and the Reverend Jo----"
"It sounds awful to hear you speaking of a minister like that, Anne,"
said Mrs. Rachel severely.
"His wife calls him that."
"She should have more respect for his holy office, then," retorted Mrs.
Rachel.
"I've heard you criticise ministers pretty sharply yourself," teased Anne.
"Yes, but I do it reverently," protested Mrs. Lynde. "You never heard
me NICKNAME a minister."
Anne smothered a smile.
"Well, there are Diana and Fred and little Fred and Small Anne
Cordelia--and Jane Andrews. I wish I could have Miss Stacey and Aunt
Jamesina and Priscilla and Stella. But Stella is in Vancouver, and Pris
is in Japan, and Miss Stacey is married in California, and Aunt
Jamesina has gone to India to explore her daughter's mission field, in
spite of her horror of snakes. It's really dreadful--the way people get
scattered over the globe."
"The Lord never intended it, that's what," said Mrs. Rachel
authoritatively. "In my young days people grew up and married and
settled down where they were born, or pretty near it. Thank goodness
you've stuck to the Island, Anne. I was afraid Gilbert would insist on
rushing off to the ends of the earth when he got through college, and
dragging you with him."
"If everybody stayed where he was born places would soon be filled up,

Mrs. Lynde."
"Oh, I'm not going to argue with you, Anne. I am not a B.A. What time
of the day is the ceremony to be?"
"We have decided on noon--high noon, as the society reporters say.
That will give us time to catch the evening train to Glen St. Mary."
"And you'll be married in the parlor?"
"No--not unless it rains. We mean to be married in the orchard-- with
the blue sky over us and the sunshine around us. Do you know when
and where I'd like to be married, if I could? It would be at dawn--a June
dawn, with a glorious sunrise, and roses blooming in the gardens; and I
would slip down and meet Gilbert and we would go together to the
heart of the beech woods,--and there, under the green arches that would
be like a splendid cathedral, we would be married."
Marilla sniffed scornfully and Mrs. Lynde looked shocked.
"But that would be terrible queer, Anne. Why, it wouldn't really seem
legal. And what would Mrs. Harmon Andrews say?"
"Ah, there's the rub," sighed Anne. "There are so many things in life we
cannot do because of the fear of what Mrs. Harmon Andrews would say.
` 'Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis true.' What delightful things we
might do were it not for Mrs. Harmon Andrews!"
"By times, Anne, I don't feel quite sure that I understand you
altogether," complained Mrs. Lynde.
"Anne was always romantic, you know," said Marilla apologetically.
"Well, married life will most likely cure her of that," Mrs. Rachel
responded comfortingly.
Anne laughed and slipped away to Lover's Lane, where Gilbert found
her; and neither of them seemed to entertain much fear, or hope, that
their married life would cure them of romance.

The Echo Lodge people came over the next week, and Green Gables
buzzed with the delight of them. Miss Lavendar had changed so little
that the three years since her last Island visit might have been a watch
in the night; but Anne gasped with amazement over Paul. Could this
splendid six feet of manhood be the little Paul of Avonlea schooldays?
"You really make me feel old, Paul," said Anne. "Why, I have to look
up to you!"
"You'll never grow old, Teacher," said Paul. "You are one of the
fortunate mortals who have found and drunk from the Fountain of
Youth,--you and Mother Lavendar. See here! When you're married I
WON'T call you Mrs. Blythe. To me you'll always be `Teacher'--the
teacher of the best lessons I ever learned. I want to show you
something."
The "something" was a pocketbook full of poems. Paul had put some of
his beautiful fancies into verse,