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Title: The Story Girl

Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery

Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5342]

[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]

[This file was first posted on July 2, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY GIRL ***

This book has been put on-line as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK

Initiative at the Celebration of Women Writers through the

combined work of Leslee Suttie and Mary Mark Ockerbloom.

http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/

Reformatted by Ben Crowder <crowderb@blankslate.net>

http://www.blankslate.net/lang/etexts.php

THE STORY GIRL

BY L. M. MONTGOMERY

Author of "Anne of Green Gables," "Anne of Avonlea," "Kilmeny of

the Orchard," etc.

With frontispiece and cover in colour by

GEORGE GIBBS

"She was a form of life and light

That seen, became a part of sight,

And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye,

The morning-star of Memory!" --Byron.

TO MY COUSIN

Frederica E. Campbell

IN REMEMBRANCE OF OLD DAYS, OLD DREAMS,

AND OLD LAUGHTER

CONTENTS

I. The Home of Our Fathers

II. A Queen of Hearts

III. Legends of the Old Orchard

IV. The Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess

V. Peter Goes to Church

VI. The Mystery of Golden Milestone

VII. How Betty Sherman Won a Husband

VIII. A Tragedy of Childhood

IX. Magic Seed

X. A Daughter of Eve

XI. The Story Girl Does Penance

XII. The Blue Chest of Rachel Ward

XIII. An Old Proverb With a New Meaning

XIV. Forbidden Fruit

XV. A Disobedient Brother

XVI. The Ghostly Bell

XVII. The Proof of the Pudding

XVIII. How Kissing Was Discovered

XIX. A Dread Prophecy

XX. The Judgment Sunday

XXI. Dreamers of Dreams

XXII. The Dream Books

XXIII. Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On

XXIV. The Bewitchment of Pat

XXV. A Cup of Failure

XXVI. Peter Makes an Impression

XXVII. The Ordeal of Bitter Apples

XXVIII. The Tale of the Rainbow Bridge

XXIX. The Shadow Feared of Man

XXX. A Compound Letter

XXXI. On the Edge of Light and Dark

XXXII. The Opening of the Blue Chest

THE STORY GIRL

CHAPTER I. THE HOME OF OUR FATHERS

"I do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at

the end of it."

The Story Girl said that once upon a time. Felix and I, on the

May morning when we left Toronto for Prince Edward Island, had

not then heard her say it, and, indeed, were but barely aware of

the existence of such a person as the Story Girl. We did not

know her at all under that name. We knew only that a cousin,

Sara Stanley, whose mother, our Aunt Felicity, was dead, was

living down on the Island with Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia King,

on a farm adjoining the old King homestead in Carlisle. We

supposed we should get acquainted with her when we reached there,

and we had an idea, from Aunt Olivia's letters to father, that

she would be quite a jolly creature. Further than that we did

not think about her. We were more interested in Felicity and

Cecily and Dan, who lived on the homestead and would therefore be

our roofmates for a season.

But the spirit of the Story Girl's yet unuttered remark was

thrilling in our hearts that morning, as the train pulled out of

Toronto. We were faring forth on a long road; and, though we had

some idea what would be at the end of it, there was enough

glamour of the unknown about it to lend a wonderful charm to our

speculations concerning it.

We were delighted at the thought of seeing father's old home, and

living among the haunts of his boyhood. He had talked so much to

us about it, and described its scenes so often and so minutely,

that he had inspired us with some of his own deep-seated

affection for it--an affection that had never waned in all his

years of exile. We had a vague feeling that we, somehow,

belonged there, in that cradle of our family, though we had never

seen it. We had always looked forward eagerly to the promised

day when father would take us "down home," to the old house with

the spruces behind it and the famous "King orchard" before

it--when we might ramble in "Uncle Stephen's Walk," drink from

the deep well with the Chinese roof over it, stand on "the Pulpit

Stone," and eat apples from our "birthday trees."

The time had come sooner than we had dared to hope; but father

could not take us after all. His firm asked him to go to Rio de

Janeiro that spring to take charge of their new branch there. It

was too good a chance to lose, for father was a poor man and it

meant promotion and increase of salary; but it also meant the

temporary breaking up of our home. Our mother had died before

either of us was old enough to remember her; father could not

take us to Rio de Janeiro. In the end he decided to send us to

Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet down on the homestead; and our

housekeeper, who belonged to the Island and was now returning to

it, took charge of us on the journey. I fear she had an anxious

trip of it, poor woman! She was constantly in a quite

justifiable terror lest we should be lost or killed; she must

have felt great relief when she reached Charlottetown and handed

us over to the keeping of Uncle Alec. Indeed, she said as much.

"The fat one isn't so bad. He isn't so quick to move and get out

of your sight while you're winking as the thin one. But the only

safe way to travel with those young ones would be to have 'em

both tied to you with a short rope--a MIGHTY short rope."

"The fat one" was Felix, who was very sensitive about his

plumpness. He was always taking exercises to make him thin, with

the dismal result that he became fatter all the time. He vowed

that he didn't care; but he DID care terribly, and he glowered at

Mrs. MacLaren in a most undutiful fashion. He had never liked

her since the day she had told him he would soon be as broad as

he was long.

For my own part, I was rather sorry to see her going; and she

cried over us and wished us well; but we had forgotten all about

her by the time we reached the open country, driving along, one

on either side of Uncle Alec, whom we loved from the moment we

saw him. He was a small man, with thin, delicate features,

close-clipped gray beard, and large, tired, blue eyes--father's

eyes over again. We knew that Uncle Alec was fond of children

and was heart-glad to welcome "Alan's boys." We felt at home

with him, and were not afraid to ask him questions on any subject

that came uppermost in our minds. We became very good friends

with him on that twenty-four mile drive.

Much to our disappointment it was dark when we reached

Carlisle--too dark to see anything very distinctly, as we drove

up the lane of the old King homestead on the hill. Behind us a

young moon was hanging over southwestern meadows of spring-time

peace, but all about us were the soft, moist shadows of a May

night. We peered eagerly through the gloom.

"There's the big willow, Bev," whispered Felix excitedly, as we

turned in at the gate.

There it was, in truth--the tree Grandfather King had planted

when he returned one evening from ploughing in the brook field

and stuck the willow switch he had used all day in the soft soil

by the gate.

It had taken root and grown; our father and our uncles and aunts

had played in its shadow; and now it was a massive thing, with a

huge girth of trunk and great spreading boughs, each of them as

large as a tree in itself.

"I'm going to climb it to-morrow," I said joyfully.

Off to the right was a dim, branching place which we knew was the

orchard; and on our left, among sibilant spruces and firs, was

the old, whitewashed house--from which presently a light gleamed

through an open door, and Aunt Janet, a big, bustling, sonsy

woman, with full-blown peony cheeks, came to welcome us.

Soon after we were at supper in the kitchen, with its low, dark,

raftered ceiling from which substantial hams and flitches of

bacon were hanging. Everything was just as father had described

it. We felt that we had come home, leaving exile behind us.

Felicity, Cecily, and Dan were sitting opposite us, staring at us

when they thought we would be too busy eating to see them. We

tried to stare at them when THEY were eating; and as a result we

were always catching each other at it and feeling cheap and

embarrassed.

Dan was the oldest; he was my age--thirteen. He was a lean,

freckled fellow with rather long, lank, brown hair and the

shapely King nose. We recognized it at once. His mouth was his

own, however, for it was like to no mouth on either the King or

the Ward side; and nobody would have been anxious to claim it,

for it was an undeniably ugly one--long and narrow and twisted.

But it could grin in friendly fashion, and both Felix and I felt

that we were going to like Dan.

Felicity was twelve. She had been called after Aunt Felicity, who

was the twin sister of Uncle Felix. Aunt Felicity and Uncle

Felix, as father had often told us, had died on the same day, far

apart, and were buried side by side in the old Carlisle

graveyard.

We had known from Aunt Olivia's letters, that Felicity was the

beauty of the connection, and we had been curious to see her on

that account. She fully justified our expectations. She was

plump and dimpled, with big, dark-blue, heavy-lidded eyes, soft,

feathery, golden curls, and a pink and white skin--"the King

complexion." The Kings were noted for their noses and

complexion. Felicity had also delightful hands and wrists. At

every turn of them a dimple showed itself. It was a pleasure to

wonder what her elbows must be like.

She was very nicely dressed in a pink print and a frilled muslin

apron; and we understood, from something Dan said, that she had

"dressed up" in honour of our coming. This made us feel quite

important. So far as we knew, no feminine creatures had ever

gone to the pains of dressing up on our account before.

Cecily, who was eleven, was pretty also--or would have been had

Felicity not been there. Felicity rather took the colour from

other girls. Cecily looked pale and thin beside her; but she had

dainty little features, smooth brown hair of satin sheen, and

mild brown eyes, with just a hint of demureness in them now and

again. We remembered that Aunt Olivia had written to father that

Cecily was a true Ward--she had no sense of humour. We did not

know what this meant, but we thought it was not exactly

complimentary.

Still, we were both inclined to think we would like Cecily better

than Felicity. To be sure, Felicity was a stunning beauty. But,

with the swift and unerring intuition of childhood, which feels

in a moment what it sometimes takes maturity much time to

perceive, we realized that she was rather too well aware of her

good looks. In brief, we saw that Felicity was vain.

"It's a wonder the Story Girl isn't over to see you," said Uncle

Alec. "She's been quite wild with excitement about your coming."

"She hasn't been very well all day," explained Cecily, "and Aunt

Olivia wouldn't let her come out in the night air. She made her

go to bed instead. The Story Girl was awfully disappointed."

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