“‘I expect I’ll find some things a bit cramping after the freedom of Patty’s Place,’ I said, just to tease her.
“‘Freedom!’ Mrs. Lynde sniffed. ‘Freedom! Don’t talk like a Yankee, Anne.’
“I came up today, bag and baggage. Of course I hated to leave Green Gables. No matter how often and long I’m away from it, the minute a vacation comes I’m part of it again as if I had never been away, and my heart is torn over leaving it. But I know I’ll like it here. And it likes me. I always know whether a house likes me or not.
“The views from my windows are lovely … even the old graveyard, which is surrounded by a row of dark fir trees and reached by a winding, dyke-bordered lane. From my west window I can see all over the harbor to distant, misty shores, with the dear little sailboats I love and the ships outward bound ‘for ports unknown’ … fascinating phrase! Such ‘scope for imagination’ in it! From the north window I can see into the grove of birch and maple across the road. You know I’ve always been a tree worshiper. When we studied Tennyson in our English course at Redmond I was always sorrowfully at one with poor Enone, mourning her ravished pines.
“Beyond the grove and the graveyard is a lovable valley with the glossy red ribbon of a road winding through it and white houses dotted along it. Some valleys are lovable … you can’t tell why. Just to look at them gives you pleasure. And beyond it again is my blue hill. I’m naming it Storm King … the ruling passion, etc.
“I can be so alone up here when I want to be. You know it’s lovely to be alone once in a while. The winds will be my friends. They’ll wail and sigh and croon around my tower … the white winds of winter … the green winds of spring … the blue winds of summer … the crimson winds of autumn … and the wild winds of all seasons … ‘stormy wind fulfilling his word.’ How I’ve always thrilled to that Bible verse … as if each and every wind had a message for me. I’ve always envied the boy who flew with the north wind in that lovely old story of George MacDonald’s. Some night, Gilbert, I’ll open my tower casement and just step into the arms of the wind … and Rebecca Dew will never know why my bed wasn’t slept in that night.
“I hope when we find our ‘house of dreams,’ dearest, that there will be winds around it. I wonder where it is … that unknown house. Shall I love it best by moonlight or dawn? That home of the future where we will have love and friendship and work … and a few funny adventures to bring laughter in our old age. Old age! Can we ever be old, Gilbert? It seems impossible.
“From the left window in the tower I can see the roofs of the town … this place where I am to live for at least a year. People are living in those houses who will be my friends, though I don’t know them yet. And perhaps my enemies. For the ilk of Pye are found everywhere, under all kinds of names, and I understand the Pringles are to be reckoned with. School begins tomorrow. I shall have to teach geometry! Surely that can’t be any worse than learning it. I pray heaven there are no mathematical geniuses among the Pringles.
“I’ve been here only for half a day, but I feel as if I had known the widows and Rebecca Dew all my life. They’ve asked me to call them ‘aunt’ already and I’ve asked them to call me Anne. I called Rebecca Dew ‘Miss Dew’ … once.
“‘Miss What?’ quoth she.
“‘Dew,’ I said meekly. ‘Isn’t that your name?’
“‘Well, yes, it is, but I ain’t been called Miss Dew for so long it gave me quite a turn. You’d better not do it any more, Miss Shirley, me not being used to it.’
“‘I’ll remember, Rebecca … Dew,’ I said, trying my hardest to leave off the Dew but not succeeding.
“Mrs. Braddock was quite right in saying Aunt Chatty was sensitive. I discovered that at suppertime. Aunt Kate had said something about ‘Chatty’s sixty-sixth birthday.’ Happening to glance at Aunt Chatty I saw that she had … no, not burst into tears. That is entirely too explosive a term for her performance. She just overflowed. The tears welled up in her big brown eyes and brimmed over, effortlessly and silently.
“‘What’s the matter now, Chatty?’ asked Aunt Kate rather dourly.
“‘It … it was only my sixty-fifth birthday,’ said Aunt Chatty.
“‘I beg your pardon, Charlotte,’ said Aunt Kate … and all was sunshine again.
“The cat is a lovely big Tommy-cat with golden eyes, an elegant coat of dusty Maltese and irreproachable linen. Aunts Kate and Chatty call him Dusty Miller, because that is his name, and Rebecca Dew calls him That Cat because she resents him and resents the fact that she has to give him a square inch of liver every morning and evening, clean his hairs off the parlor armchair seat with an old toothbrush whenever he has sneaked in and hunt him up if he is out late at night.
“‘Rebecca Dew has always hated cats,’ Aunt Chatty tells me, ‘and she hates Dusty especially. Old Mrs. Campbell’s dog … she kept a dog then … brought him here two years ago in his mouth. I suppose he thought it was no use to take him to Mrs. Campbell. Such a poor miserable little kitten, all wet and cold, with its poor little bones almost sticking through its skin. A heart of stone couldn’t have refused it shelter. So Kate and I adopted it, but Rebecca Dew has never really forgiven us. We were not diplomatic that time. We should have refused to take it in. I don’t know if you’ve noticed …’ Aunt Chatty looked cautiously around at the door between the dining-room and kitchen … ‘how we manage Rebecca Dew.’
“I had noticed it … and it was beautiful to behold. Summerside and Rebecca Dew may think she rules the roost but the widows know differently.
“‘We didn’t want to take the banker … a young man would have been so unsettling and we would have had to worry so much if he didn’t go to church regularly. But we pretended we did and Rebecca Dew simply wouldn’t hear of it. I’m so glad we have you, dear. I feel sure you’ll be a very nice person to cook for. I hope you’ll like us all. Rebecca Dew has some very fine qualities. She was not so tidy when she came fifteen years ago as she is now. Once Kate had to write her name … “Rebecca Dew” … right across the parlor mirror to show the dust. But she never had to do it again. Rebecca Dew can take a hint. I hope you’ll find your room comfortable, dear. You may have the window open at night. Kate does not approve of night air but she knows boarders must have privileges. She and I sleep together and we have arranged it so that one night the window is shut for her and the next it is open for me. One can always work out little problems like that, don’t you think? Where there is a will there is always a way. Don’t be alarmed if you hear Rebecca prowling a good deal in the night. She is always hearing noises and getting up to investigate them. I think that is why she didn’t want the banker. She was afraid she might run into him in her nightgown. I hope you won’t mind Kate not talking much. It’s just her way. And she must have so many things to talk of … she was all over the world with Amasa MacComber in her young days. I wish I had the subjects for conversation she has, but I’ve never been off P. E. Island. I’ve often wondered why things should be arranged so … me loving to talk and with nothing to talk about and Kate with everything and hating to talk. But I suppose Providence knows best.’
“Although Aunt Chatty is a talker all right, she didn’t say all this without a break. I interjected remarks at suitable intervals, but they were of no importance.
“They keep a cow which is pastured at Mr. James Hamilton’s up the road and Rebecca Dew goes there to milk her. There is any amount of cream and every morning and evening I understand Rebecca Dew passes a glass of new milk through the opening in the wall gate to Mrs. Campbell’s ‘Woman.’ It is for ‘little Elizabeth,’ who must have it under doctor’s orders. Who the Woman is, or who little Elizabeth is, I have yet to discover. Mrs. Campbell is the inhabitant and owner of the fortress next door … which is called The Evergreens.
“I don’t expect to sleep tonight … I never do sleep my first night in a strange