“Who owns the house?”
“Well, it’s the property of the Glen St. Mary Presbyterian Church now, and I rented it from the trustees. But it belonged until lately to a very old lady, Miss Elizabeth Russell. She died last spring, and as she had no near relatives she left her property to the Glen St. Mary Church. Her furniture is still in the house, and I bought most of it — for a mere song you might say, because it was all so old-fashioned that the trustees despaired of selling it. Glen St. Mary folks prefer plush brocade and sideboards with mirrors and ornamentations, I fancy. But Miss Russell’s furniture is very good and I feel sure you’ll like it, Anne.”
“So far, good,” said Anne, nodding cautious approval. “But, Gilbert, people cannot live by furniture alone. You haven’t yet mentioned one very important thing. Are there TREES about this house?”
“Heaps of them, oh, dryad! There is a big grove of fir trees behind it, two rows of Lombardy poplars down the lane, and a ring of white birches around a very delightful garden. Our front door opens right into the garden, but there is another entrance — a little gate hung between two firs. The hinges are on one trunk and the catch on the other. Their boughs form an arch overhead.”
“Oh, I’m so glad! I couldn’t live where there were no trees — something vital in me would starve. Well, after that, there’s no use asking you if there’s a brook anywhere near. THAT would be expecting too much.”
“But there IS a brook — and it actually cuts across one corner of the garden.”
“Then,” said Anne, with a long sigh of supreme satisfaction, “this house you have found IS my house of dreams and none other.”
CHAPTER 3
THE LAND OF DREAMS AMONG
“Have you made up your mind who you’re going to have to the wedding, Anne?” asked Mrs. Rachel Lynde, as she hemstitched table napkins industriously. “It’s time your invitations were sent, even if they are to be only informal ones.”
“I don’t mean to have very many,” said Anne. “We just want those we love best to see us married. Gilbert’s people, and Mr. and Mrs. Allan, and Mr. and Mrs. Harrison.”
“There was a time when you’d hardly have numbered Mr. Harrison among your dearest friends,” said Marilla drily.
“Well, I wasn’t VERY strongly attracted to him at our first meeting,” acknowledged Anne, with a laugh over the recollection. “But Mr. Harrison has improved on acquaintance, and Mrs. Harrison is really a dear. Then, of course, there are Miss Lavendar and Paul.”
“Have they decided to come to the Island this summer? I thought they were going to Europe.”
“They changed their minds when I wrote them 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.