Anne of Green Gables

Maud Montgomery Lucy

Description

Anne of Green Gables is a best-selling novel and Canadian classic. It was originally intended for all audiences, but is now commonly considered a children's book. Two middle-aged siblings decide to adopt an orphan to help them on their farm. But instead of the boy they were expecting, a plucky young girl called Anne Shirley turns up on their doorstep...

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 juin 2009
• Nombre de lectures: 8
• EAN13: 9781775415046
• Langue: English

Extrait

ANNE OF GREEN GABLES
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LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY
 
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Anne of Green Gables First published in 1908.
ISBN 978-1-775415-04-6
© 2009 THE FLOATING PRESS.
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
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Contents
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Chapter I - Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised Chapter II - Matthew Cuthbert is Surprised Chapter III - Marilla Cuthbert is Surprised Chapter IV - Morning at Green Gables Chapter V - Anne's History Chapter VI - Marilla Makes Up Her Mind Chapter VII - Anne Says Her Prayers Chapter VIII - Anne's Bringing-Up is Begun Chapter IX - Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Properly Horrified Chapter X - Anne's Apology Chapter XI - Anne's Impressions of Sunday-School Chapter XII - A Solemn Vow and Promise Chapter XIII - The Delights of Anticipation Chapter XIV - Anne's Confession Chapter XV - A Tempest in the School Teapot Chapter XVI - Diana is Invited to Tea with Tragic Results Chapter XVII - A New Interest in Life Chapter XVIII - Anne to the Rescue Chapter XIX - A Concert a Catastrophe and a Confession Chapter XX - A Good Imagination Gone Wrong Chapter XXI - A New Departure in Flavorings Chapter XXII - Anne is Invited Out to Tea Chapter XXIII - Anne Comes to Grief in an Affair of Honor Chapter XXIV - Miss Stacy and Her Pupils Get Up a Concert Chapter XXV - Matthew Insists on Puffed Sleeves Chapter XXVI - The Story Club is Formed Chapter XXVII - Vanity and Vexation of Spirit Chapter XXVIII - An Unfortunate Lily Maid Chapter XXIX - An Epoch in Anne's Life Chapter XXX - The Queens Class is Organized Chapter XXXI - Where the Brook and River Meet Chapter XXXII - The Pass List is Out Chapter XXXIII - The Hotel Concert Chapter XXXIV - A Queen's Girl Chapter XXXV - The Winter at Queen's Chapter XXXVI - The Glory and the Dream Chapter XXXVII - The Reaper Whose Name is Death Chapter XXXVIII - The Bend in the Road
Chapter I - Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised
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Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea mainroad dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with aldersand ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had itssource away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place;it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in itsearlier course through those woods, with dark secrets ofpool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde'sHollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for noteven a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's doorwithout due regard for decency and decorum; it probablywas conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window,keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooksand children up, and that if she noticed anything odd orout of place she would never rest until she had ferretedout the whys and wherefores thereof.
There are plenty of people in Avonlea and out of it,who can attend closely to their neighbor's business by dintof neglecting their own; but Mrs. Rachel Lynde was one ofthose capable creatures who can manage their own concernsand those of other folks into the bargain. She was anotable housewife; her work was always done and well done;she "ran" the Sewing Circle, helped run the Sunday-school,and was the strongest prop of the Church Aid Society andForeign Missions Auxiliary. Yet with all this Mrs. Rachelfound abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen window,knitting "cotton warp" quilts—she had knitted sixteen ofthem, as Avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awedvoices—and keeping a sharp eye on the main road thatcrossed the hollow and wound up the steep red hill beyond.Since Avonlea occupied a little triangular peninsula juttingout into the Gulf of St. Lawrence with water on two sides ofit, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass overthat hill road and so run the unseen gauntlet of Mrs. Rachel'sall-seeing eye.
She was sitting there one afternoon in early June. Thesun was coming in at the window warm and bright; the orchardon the slope below the house was in a bridal flush of pinky-white bloom, hummed over by a myriad of bees. Thomas Lynde—a meek little man whom Avonlea people called "RachelLynde's husband"—was sowing his late turnip seed on thehill field beyond the barn; and Matthew Cuthbert ought tohave been sowing his on the big red brook field away over byGreen Gables. Mrs. Rachel knew that he ought because shehad heard him tell Peter Morrison the evening before inWilliam J. Blair's store over at Carmody that he meant tosow his turnip seed the next afternoon. Peter had asked him, ofcourse, for Matthew Cuthbert had never been known tovolunteer information about anything in his whole life.
And yet here was Matthew Cuthbert, at half-past threeon the afternoon of a busy day, placidly driving over thehollow and up the hill; moreover, he wore a white collar andhis best suit of clothes, which was plain proof that he wasgoing out of Avonlea; and he had the buggy and the sorrel mare,which betokened that he was going a considerable distance.Now, where was Matthew Cuthbert going and why was he going there?
Had it been any other man in Avonlea, Mrs. Rachel,deftly putting this and that together, might have given apretty good guess as to both questions. But Matthew sorarely went from home that it must be something pressing andunusual which was taking him; he was the shyest man aliveand hated to have to go among strangers or to any placewhere he might have to talk. Matthew, dressed up with awhite collar and driving in a buggy, was something thatdidn't happen often. Mrs. Rachel, ponder as she might,could make nothing of it and her afternoon's enjoyment was spoiled.
"I'll just step over to Green Gables after tea and findout from Marilla where he's gone and why," the worthy womanfinally concluded. "He doesn't generally go to town thistime of year and he NEVER visits; if he'd run out of turnipseed he wouldn't dress up and take the buggy to go for more;he wasn't driving fast enough to be going for a doctor. Yetsomething must have happened since last night to start himoff. I'm clean puzzled, that's what, and I won't know aminute's peace of mind or conscience until I know what hastaken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonlea today."
Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had notfar to go; the big, rambling, orchard-embowered house wherethe Cuthberts lived was a scant quarter of a mile up theroad from Lynde's Hollow. To be sure, the long lane made ita good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert's father, as shy andsilent as his son after him, had got as far away as hepossibly could from his fellow men without actuallyretreating into the woods when he founded his homestead.Green Gables was built at the furthest edge of his clearedland and there it was to this day, barely visible from themain road along which all the other Avonlea houses were sosociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living insuch a place LIVING at all.
"It's just STAYING, that's what," she said as shestepped along the deep-rutted, grassy lane bordered withwild rose bushes. "It's no wonder Matthew and Marilla areboth a little odd, living away back here by themselves.Trees aren't much company, though dear knows if they werethere'd be enough of them. I'd ruther look at people.To be sure, they seem contented enough; but then, I suppose,they're used to it. A body can get used to anything, even tobeing hanged, as the Irishman said."
With this Mrs. Rachel stepped out of the lane into thebackyard of Green Gables. Very green and neat and precisewas that yard, set about on one side with great patriarchalwillows and the other with prim Lombardies. Not a straystick nor stone was to be seen, for Mrs. Rachel would haveseen it if there had been. Privately she was of the opinionthat Marilla Cuthbert swept that yard over as often as sheswept her house. One could have eaten a meal off the groundwithout overbrimming the proverbial peck of dirt.
Mrs. Rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door andstepped in when bidden to do so. The kitchen at GreenGables was a cheerful apartment—or would have been cheerfulif it had not been so painfully clean as to give itsomething of the appearance of an unused parlor. Itswindows looked east and west; through the west one, lookingout on the back yard, came a flood of mellow June sunlight;but the east one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloomwhite cherry-trees in the left orchard and nodding, slenderbirches down in the hollow by the brook, was greened over bya tangle of vines. Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, when she satat all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, whichseemed to her too dancing and irresponsible a thing for aworld which was meant to be taken seriously; and here she satnow, knitting, and the table behind her was laid for supper.
Mrs. Rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, hadtaken a mental note of everything that was on that table.There were three plates laid, so that Marilla must beexpecting some one home with Matthew to tea; but the disheswere everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preservesand one kind of cake, so that the expected company could notbe any particular company. Yet what of Matthew's white collarand the sorrel mare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy withthis unusual mystery about quiet, unmysterious Green Gables.
"Good evening, Rachel," Marilla said briskly. "This isa real fine evening, isn't it? Won't you sit down? How areall your folks?"
Something that for lack of any other name might becalled friendship existed and always had existed betweenMarilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of—or perhapsbecause of—their dissimilarity.
Marilla was a tall, thin woma