ANNE'S HOUSE OF DREAMS. Lucy Maud Montgomery

and go home?”

      The laughter of the goodnights died away. Anne and Gilbert walked hand in hand around their garden. The brook that ran across the corner dimpled pellucidly in the shadows of the birches. The poppies along its banks were like shallow cups of moonlight. Flowers that had been planted by the hands of the schoolmaster’s bride flung their sweetness on the shadowy air, like the beauty and blessing of sacred yesterdays. Anne paused in the gloom to gather a spray.

      “I love to smell flowers in the dark,” she said. “You get hold of their soul then. Oh, Gilbert, this little house is all I’ve dreamed it. And I’m so glad that we are not the first who have kept bridal tryst here!”

      CHAPTER 8

      MISS CORNELIA BRYANT COMES TO CALL

      Table of Contents

      That September was a month of golden mists and purple hazes at Four Winds Harbor — a month of sun-steeped days and of nights that were swimming in moonlight, or pulsating with stars. No storm marred it, no rough wind blew. Anne and Gilbert put their nest in order, rambled on the shores, sailed on the harbor, drove about Four Winds and the Glen, or through the ferny, sequestered roads of the woods around the harbor head; in short, had such a honeymoon as any lovers in the world might have envied them.

      “If life were to stop short just now it would still have been richly worth while, just for the sake of these past four weeks, wouldn’t it?” said Anne. “I don’t suppose we will ever have four such perfect weeks again — but we’ve HAD them. Everything — wind, weather, folks, house of dreams — has conspired to make our honeymoon delightful. There hasn’t even been a rainy day since we came here.”

      “And we haven’t quarrelled once,” teased Gilbert.

      “Well, ‘that’s a pleasure all the greater for being deferred,’” quoted Anne. “I’m so glad we decided to spend our honeymoon here. Our memories of it will always belong here, in our house of dreams, instead of being scattered about in strange places.”

      There was a certain tang of romance and adventure in the atmosphere of their new home which Anne had never found in Avonlea. There, although she had lived in sight of the sea, it had not entered intimately into her life. In Four Winds it surrounded her and called to her constantly. From every window of her new home she saw some varying aspect of it. Its haunting murmur was ever in her ears. Vessels sailed up the harbor every day to the wharf at the Glen, or sailed out again through the sunset, bound for ports that might be half way round the globe. Fishing boats went white-winged down the channel in the mornings, and returned laden in the evenings. Sailors and fisher-folk travelled the red, winding harbor roads, lighthearted and content. There was always a certain sense of things going to happen — of adventures and farings-forth. The ways of Four Winds were less staid and settled and grooved than those of Avonlea; winds of change blew over them; the sea called ever to the dwellers on shore, and even those who might not answer its call felt the thrill and unrest and mystery and possibilities of it.

      “I understand now why some men must go to sea,” said Anne. “That desire which comes to us all at times—’to sail beyond the bourne of sunset’ — must be very imperious when it is born in you. I don’t wonder Captain Jim ran away because of it. I never see a ship sailing out of the channel, or a gull soaring over the sandbar, without wishing I were on board the ship or had wings, not like a dove ‘to fly away and be at rest,’ but like a gull, to sweep out into the very heart of a storm.”

      “You’ll stay right here with me, Anne-girl,” said Gilbert lazily. “I won’t have you flying away from me into the hearts of storms.”

      They were sitting on their red sandstone doorstep in the late afternoon. Great tranquillities were all about them in land and sea and sky. Silvery gulls were soaring over them. The horizons were laced with long trails of frail, pinkish clouds. The hushed air was threaded with a murmurous refrain of minstrel winds and waves. Pale asters were blowing in the sere and misty meadows between them and the harbor.

      “Doctors who have to be up all night waiting on sick folk don’t feel very adventurous, I suppose,” Anne said indulgently. “If you had had a good sleep last night, Gilbert, you’d be as ready as I am for a flight of imagination.”

      “I did good work last night, Anne,” said Gilbert quietly. “Under God, I saved a life. This is the first time I could ever really claim that. In other cases I may have helped; but, Anne, if I had not stayed at Allonby’s last night and fought death hand to hand, that woman would have died before morning. I tried an experiment that was certainly never tried in Four Winds before. I doubt if it was ever tried anywhere before outside of a hospital. It was a new thing in Kingsport hospital last winter. I could never have dared try it here if I had not been absolutely certain that there was no other chance. I risked it — and it succeeded. As a result, a good wife and mother is saved for long years of happiness and usefulness. As I drove home this morning, while the sun was rising over the harbor, I thanked God that I had chosen the profession I did. I had fought a good fight and won — think of it, Anne, WON, against the Great Destroyer. It’s what I dreamed of doing long ago when we talked together of what we wanted to do in life. That dream of mine came true this morning.”

      “Was that the only one of your dreams that has come true?” asked Anne, who knew perfectly well what the substance of his answer would be, but wanted to hear it again.

      “YOU know, Anne-girl,” said Gilbert, smiling into her eyes. At that moment there were certainly two perfectly happy people sitting on the doorstep of a little white house on the Four Winds Harbor shore.

      Presently Gilbert said, with a change of tone, “Do I or do I not see a full-rigged ship sailing up our lane?”

      Anne looked and sprang up.

      “That must be either Miss Cornelia Bryant or Mrs. Moore coming to call,” she said.

      “I’m going into the office, and if it is Miss Cornelia I warn you that I’ll eavesdrop,” said Gilbert. “From all I’ve heard regarding Miss Cornelia I conclude that her conversation will not be dull, to say the least.”

      “It may be Mrs. Moore.”

      “I don’t think Mrs. Moore is built on those lines. I saw her working in her garden the other day, and, though I was too far away to see clearly, I thought she was rather slender. She doesn’t seem very socially inclined when she has never called on you yet, although she’s your nearest neighbor.”

      “She can’t be like Mrs. Lynde, after all, or curiosity would have brought her,” said Anne. “This caller is, I think, Miss Cornelia.”

      Miss Cornelia it was; moreover, Miss Cornelia had not come to make any brief and fashionable wedding call. She had her work under her arm in a substantial parcel, and when Anne asked her to stay she promptly took off her capacious sun-hat, which had been held on her head, despite irreverent September breezes, by a tight elastic band under her hard little knob of fair hair. No hat pins for Miss Cornelia, an it please ye! Elastic bands had been good enough for her mother and they were good enough for HER. She had a fresh, round, pink-and-white face, and jolly brown eyes. She did not look in the least like the traditional old maid, and there was something in her expression which won Anne instantly. With her old instinctive quickness to discern kindred spirits she knew she was going to like Miss Cornelia, in spite of uncertain oddities of opinion, and certain oddities of attire.

      Nobody but Miss Cornelia would have come to make a call arrayed in a striped blue-and-white apron and a wrapper of chocolate print, with a design of huge, pink roses scattered over it. And nobody but Miss Cornelia could have looked dignified and suitably garbed in it. Had Miss Cornelia been entering a palace to call on a prince’s bride, she would have been just as dignified and just as wholly mistress of the situation. She would have trailed her rose-spattered flounce over the marble floors just as unconcernedly, and she would have proceeded just as calmly to disabuse the mind