The Complete Works of L M Montgomery
L. M. Montgomery
The Complete Works of
L. M. MONTGOMERY
(1874-1942)
Contents
Anne of Green Gables Series
ANNE OF GREEN GABLES
ANNE OF AVONLEA
ANNE OF THE ISLAND
ANNE OF WINDY POPLARS
ANNE’S HOUSE OF DREAMS
ANNE OF INGLESIDE
RAINBOW VALLEY
RILLA OF INGLESIDE
Emily Trilogy
EMILY OF NEW MOON
EMILY CLIMBS
EMILY’S QUEST
Pat of Silver Bush Series
PAT OF SILVER BUSH
MISTRESS PAT
The Story Girl Series
THE STORY GIRL
THE GOLDEN ROAD
Other Novels
KILMENY OF THE ORCHARD
THE BLUE CASTLE
MAGIC FOR MARIGOLD
A TANGLED WEB
JANE OF LANTERN HILL
The Short Story Collections
CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA
FURTHER CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA
THE ROAD TO YESTERDAY
UNCOLLECTED SHORT STORIES
The Short Stories
LIST OF SHORT STORIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
LIST OF SHORT STORIES IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
The Poetry
THE WATCHMAN AND OTHER POEMS
UNCOLLECTED POEMS
The Poems
LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
The Non-Fiction
COURAGEOUS WOMEN
The Autobiography
THE ALPINE PATH: THE STORY OF MY CAREER
Contextual Pieces
MISS MARIETTA’S JERSEY
L.M. MONTGOMERY by Marjorie MacMurchy
ANNE OF GREEN GABLES REVIEW (I)
ANNE OF GREEN GABLES REVIEW (II)
OUR WOMEN
LETTERS FROM THE LITERATI
“ANNE OF GREEN GABLES” READY
ANNE OF GREEN GABLES FILM REVIEW, 1920
The Delphi Classics Catalogue
© Delphi Classics 2013
Version 2
The Complete Works of
L. M. MONTGOMERY
By Delphi Classics, 2013
COPYRIGHT
Complete Works of L. M. Montgomery
First published in the United Kingdom in 2013 by Delphi Classics.
© Delphi Classics, 2013.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.
Delphi Classics
is an imprint of
Delphi Publishing Ltd
Hastings, East Sussex
United Kingdom
Contact: [email protected]
www.delphiclassics.com
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Anne of Green Gables Series
Lucy Maud Montgomery’s birthplace, New London, Prince Edward Island
Green Gables, Cavendish, Prince Edward Island
Montgomery, aged 10
Montgomery as a young lady
ANNE OF GREEN GABLES
Illustrated by M. A. and W. A. J. Claus
At the turn of the century, Lucy Maud Montgomery was achieving gradual success as a writer of short stories and poems for newspapers and magazines. She lived at Cavendish on Prince Edward Island, taking care of her grandmother and running the local post office at her house. In 1904 she began writing what would become her most famous and enduring creation, the novel Anne of Green Gables, published in 1908 by L.C. Page & Company. Anne of Green Gables follows the adventures of an orphan girl, Anne Shirley, as she embarks on life at Green Gables on Prince Edward Island, taken in by a brother and sister in late middle age who had wanted an orphan boy for chores and ended up with a red-haired girl given to imaginative flights of fancy and a propensity for getting into comic yet poignant situations.
As the novel progresses, the reader meets a variety of colorful characters and comes to fall in love with the irrepressible Anne, all the while also falling in love with its enchanted setting. Although later regarded as a children’s novel, Anne of Green Gables initially appealed to readers of all ages and backgrounds. The author, Mark Twain, was a particular fan, who described Anne as “the dearest and most moving and delightful child since the immortal Alice.” The novel inspired a series of books and stories relating to Anne and Avonlea, her community.
There have been several film and television adaptations of Anne of Green Gables over the years, beginning in 1919. The 1934 feature film by RKO starring Dawn O’Day (who changed her name to Anne Shirley) became a big hit, and there was a Japanese anime series in 1979. However, the best known and most popular adaptation was a CBC miniseries in 1985, starring Megan Follows as Anne Shirley, Colleen Dewhurst as Marilla Cuthbert and Richard Farnsworth as Matthew Cuthbert.
A first edition copy of Anne of Green Gables
British edition, George G. Harrap & Co. Ltd
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHAPTER XXX.
CHAPTER XXXI.
CHAPTER XXXII.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
CHAPTER XXXV.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A poster from the 1919 film of Anne of Green Gables
A poster from the 1919 film of Anne of Green Gables
Mary Miles Minter, star of the 1919 film of Anne of Green Gables
Lobby card for the 1919 film of Anne of Green Gables
Lobby card for the 1919 film of Anne of Green Gables
Poster for the 1934 film of Anne of Green Gables starring Anne Shirley
Anne S
hirley in the 1934 film of Anne of Green Gables
Anne Shirley in the 1934 film of Anne of Green Gables
Still photograph from the 1934 film of Anne of Green Gables
Still photograph from the 1934 film of Anne of Green Gables
Still photograph from the 1956 CBC produciton of Anne of Green Gables
Megan Follows in the popular 1985 CBC television miniseries of Anne of Green Gables
Megan Follows in the popular 1985 CBC television minseries of Anne of Green Gables
1975 Canada Post stamp featuring Anne of Green Gables
Canada Post stamps celebration a century of Anne of Green Gables, based on paintings by Ben Stahl and Christopher Kovac
Japan-Canada joint stamp issue
CHAPTER I.
Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised
Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies’ eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde’s Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde’s door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out 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 dint of neglecting their own; but Mrs. Rachel Lynde was one of those capable creatures who can manage their own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain. She was a notable 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 and Foreign Missions Auxiliary. Yet with all this Mrs. Rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen window, knitting “cotton warp” quilts — she had knitted sixteen of them, as Avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awed voices — and keeping a sharp eye on the main road that crossed the hollow and wound up the steep red hill beyond. Since Avonlea occupied a little triangular peninsula jutting out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence with water on two sides of it, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass over that hill road and so run the unseen gauntlet of Mrs. Rachel’s all-seeing eye.
She was sitting there one afternoon in early June. The sun was coming in at the window warm and bright; the orchard on 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 “Rachel Lynde’s husband” — was sowing his late turnip seed on the hill field beyond the barn; and Matthew Cuthbert ought to have been sowing his on the big red brook field away over by Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel knew that he ought because she had heard him tell Peter Morrison the evening before in William J. Blair’s store over at Carmody that he meant to sow his turnip seed the next afternoon. Peter had asked him, of course, for Matthew Cuthbert had never been known to volunteer information about anything in his whole life.
And yet here was Matthew Cuthbert, at half-past three on the afternoon of a busy day, placidly driving over the hollow and up the hill; moreover, he wore a white collar and his best suit of clothes, which was plain proof that he was going 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 a pretty good guess as to both questions. But Matthew so rarely went from home that it must be something pressing and unusual which was taking him; he was the shyest man alive and hated to have to go among strangers or to any place where he might have to talk. Matthew, dressed up with a white collar and driving in a buggy, was something that didn’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 find out from Marilla where he’s gone and why,” the worthy woman finally concluded. “He doesn’t generally go to town this time of year and he NEVER visits; if he’d run out of turnip seed 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. Yet something must have happened since last night to start him off. I’m clean puzzled, that’s what, and I won’t know a minute’s peace of mind or conscience until I know what has taken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonlea today.”
Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had not far to go; the big, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the Cuthberts lived was a scant quarter of a mile up the road from Lynde’s Hollow. To be sure, the long lane made it a good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert’s father, as shy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possibly could from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woods when he founded his homestead. Green Gables was built at the furthest edge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visible from the main road along which all the other Avonlea houses were so sociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living in such a place LIVING at all.
“It’s just STAYING, that’s what,” she said as she stepped along the deep-rutted, grassy lane bordered with wild rose bushes. “It’s no wonder Matthew and Marilla are both a little odd, living away back here by themselves. Trees aren’t much company, though dear knows if they were there’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 to being hanged, as the Irishman said.”
With this Mrs. Rachel stepped out of the lane into the backyard of Green Gables. Very green and neat and precise was that yard, set about on one side with great patriarchal willows and the other with prim Lombardies. Not a stray stick nor stone was to be seen, for Mrs. Rachel would have seen it if there had been. Privately she was of the opinion that Marilla Cuthbert swept that yard over as often as she swept her house. One could have eaten a meal off the ground without overbrimming the proverbial peck of dirt.
Mrs. Rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped in when bidden to do so. The kitchen at Green Gables was a cheerful apartment — or would have been cheerful if it had not been so painfully clean as to give it something of the appearance of an unused parlor. Its windows looked east and west; through the west one, looking out on the back yard, came a flood of mellow June sunlight; but the east one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the left orchard and nodding, slender birches down in the hollow by the brook, was greened over by a tangle of vines. Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, when she sat at all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed to her too dancing and irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant to be taken seriously; and here she sat now, knitting, and the table behind her was laid for supper.
Mrs. Rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, had taken a mental note of everything that was on that table. There were three plates laid, so that Marilla must be expecting some one home with Matthew to tea; but the dishes were everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preserves and one kind of cake, so that the expected company could not be any particular company. Yet what of Matthew’s white collar and the sorrel mare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy with this unusual mystery about quiet, unmysterious Green Gables.
“Good evening, Rachel,” Marilla said briskly. “This is a real fine evening, isn’t it? Won’t you sit down? How are all your folks?”
Something that for lack of any other name might be called friendship existed and always had existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of — or perhaps because of — their dis
similarity.
Marilla was a tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her dark hair showed some gray streaks and was always twisted up in a hard little knot behind with two wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it. She looked like a woman of narrow experience and rigid conscience, which she was; but there was a saving something about her mouth which, if it had been ever so slightly developed, might have been considered indicative of a sense of humor.
“We’re all pretty well,” said Mrs. Rachel. “I was kind of afraid YOU weren’t, though, when I saw Matthew starting off today. I thought maybe he was going to the doctor’s.”
Marilla’s lips twitched understandingly. She had expected Mrs. Rachel up; she had known that the sight of Matthew jaunting off so unaccountably would be too much for her neighbor’s curiosity.
“Oh, no, I’m quite well although I had a bad headache yesterday,” she said. “Matthew went to Bright River. We’re getting a little boy from an orphan asylum in Nova Scotia and he’s coming on the train tonight.”
If Marilla had said that Matthew had gone to Bright River to meet a kangaroo from Australia Mrs. Rachel could not have been more astonished. She was actually stricken dumb for five seconds. It was unsupposable that Marilla was making fun of her, but Mrs. Rachel was almost forced to suppose it.
“Are you in earnest, Marilla?” she demanded when voice returned to her.
“Yes, of course,” said Marilla, as if getting boys from orphan asylums in Nova Scotia were part of the usual spring work on any well-regulated Avonlea farm instead of being an unheard of innovation.
