Further Chronicles of Avonlea | Page 3

girl and forces Chester to give her up. But a terrible
sorrow brings the old woman and the young girl into sympathy, and
unspeakable joy is born of the trial.
Happiness also comes to "The Brother who Failed." The Monroes had
all been successful in the eyes of the world except Robert: one is a
millionaire, another a college president, another a famous singer.
Robert overhears the old aunt, Isabel, call him a total failure, but, at the
family dinner, one after another stands up and tells how Robert's quiet
influence and unselfish aid had started them in their brilliant careers,
and the old aunt, wiping the tears from her eyes, exclaims: "I guess

there's a kind of failure that's the best success."
In one story there is an element of the supernatural, when Hester, the
hard older sister, comes between Margaret and her lover and, dying,
makes her promise never to become Hugh Blair's wife, but she comes
back and unites them. In this, Margaret, just like the delightful Anne,
lives up to the dictum that "nothing matters in all God's universe except
love." The story of the revival at Avonlea has also a good moral.
There is something in these continued Chronicles of Avonlea, like the
delicate art which has made "Cranford" a classic: the characters are so
homely and homelike and yet tinged with beautiful romance! You feel
that you are made familiar with a real town and its real inhabitants; you
learn to love them and sympathize with them. Further Chronicles of
Avonlea is a book to read; and to know.
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE.

CONTENTS
I. Aunt Cynthia's Persian Cat II. The Materializing of Cecil III. Her
Father's Daughter IV. Jane's Baby V. The Dream-Child VI. The
Brother Who Failed VII. The Return of Hester VIII. The Little Brown
Book of Miss Emily IX. Sara's Way X. The Son of His Mother XI. The
Education of Betty XII. In Her Selfless Mood XIII. The Conscience
Case of David Bell XIV. Only a Common Fellow XV. Tannis of the
Flats

FURTHER CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA

I. AUNT CYNTHIA'S PERSIAN CAT
Max always blesses the animal when it is referred to; and I don't deny
that things have worked together for good after all. But when I think of
the anguish of mind which Ismay and I underwent on account of that
abominable cat, it is not a blessing that arises uppermost in my
thoughts.
I never was fond of cats, although I admit they are well enough in their
place, and I can worry along comfortably with a nice, matronly old
tabby who can take care of herself and be of some use in the world. As
for Ismay, she hates cats and always did.

But Aunt Cynthia, who adored them, never could bring herself to
understand that any one could possibly dislike them. She firmly
believed that Ismay and I really liked cats deep down in our hearts, but
that, owing to some perverse twist in our moral natures, we would not
own up to it, but willfully persisted in declaring we didn't.
Of all cats I loathed that white Persian cat of Aunt Cynthia's. And,
indeed, as we always suspected and finally proved, Aunt herself looked
upon the creature with more pride than affection. She would have taken
ten times the comfort in a good, common puss that she did in that
spoiled beauty. But a Persian cat with a recorded pedigree and a market
value of one hundred dollars tickled Aunt Cynthia's pride of possession
to such an extent that she deluded herself into believing that the animal
was really the apple of her eye.
It had been presented to her when a kitten by a missionary nephew who
had brought it all the way home from Persia; and for the next three
years Aunt Cynthia's household existed to wait on that cat, hand and
foot. It was snow-white, with a bluish-gray spot on the tip of its tail;
and it was blue-eyed and deaf and delicate. Aunt Cynthia was always
worrying lest it should take cold and die. Ismay and I used to wish that
it would--we were so tired of hearing about it and its whims. But we
did not say so to Aunt Cynthia. She would probably never have spoken
to us again and there was no wisdom in offending Aunt Cynthia. When
you have an unencumbered aunt, with a fat bank account, it is just as
well to keep on good terms with her, if you can. Besides, we really
liked Aunt Cynthia very much--at times. Aunt Cynthia was one of
those rather exasperating people who nag at and find fault with you
until you think you are justified in hating them, and who then turn
round and do something