Anne's House of Dreams Index
FAREWELL TO THE HOUSE OF DREAMS
Captain Jim was buried in the little over-harbor
graveyard, very near to the spot where the wee white
lady slept. His relatives put up a very expensive,
very ugly "monument"--a monument at which he would
have poked sly fun had he seen it in life. But his
real monument was in the hearts of those who knew him,
and in the book that was to live for generations.
Leslie mourned that Captain Jim had not lived to see
the amazing success of it.
"How he would have delighted in the reviews--they are
almost all so kindly. And to have seen his life-book
heading the lists of the best sellers--oh, if he could
just have lived to see it, Anne!"
But Anne, despite her grief, was wiser.
"It was the book itself he cared for, Leslie--not what
might be said of it--and he had it. He had read it all
through. That last night must have been one of the
greatest happiness for him--with the quick, painless
ending he had hoped for in the morning. I am glad for
Owen's sake and yours that the book is such a
success--but Captain Jim was satisfied--I KNOW."
The lighthouse star still kept a nightly vigil; a
substitute keeper had been sent to the Point, until
such time as an all-wise government could decide which
of many applicants was best fitted for the place--or
had the strongest pull. The First Mate was at home in
the little house, beloved by Anne and Gilbert and
Leslie, and tolerated by a Susan who had small liking
for cats.
"I can put up with him for the sake of Captain Jim,
Mrs. Doctor, dear, for I liked the old man. And I will
see that he gets bite and sup, and every mouse the
traps account for. But do not ask me to do more than
that, Mrs. Doctor, dear. Cats is cats, and take my
word for it, they will never be anything else. And at
least, Mrs. Doctor, dear, do keep him away from the
blessed wee man. Picture to yourself how awful it
would be if he was to suck the darling's breath."
"That might be fitly called a CAT-astrophe," said
Gilbert.
"Oh, you may laugh, doctor, dear, but it would be no
laughing matter."
"Cats never suck babies' breaths," said Gilbert.
"
That is only an old superstition, Susan."
"Oh, well, it may be a superstition or it may not,
doctor, dear. All that I know is, it has happened. My
sister's husband's nephew's wife's cat sucked their
baby's breath, and the poor innocent was all but gone
when they found it. And superstition or not, if I find
that yellow beast lurking near our baby I will whack
him with the poker, Mrs. Doctor, dear."
Mr. and Mrs. Marshall Elliott were living comfortably
and harmoniously in the green house. Leslie was busy
with sewing, for she and Owen were to be married at
Christmas. Anne wondered what she would do when Leslie
was gone.
"Changes come all the time. Just as soon as things get
really nice they change," she said with a sigh.
"The old Morgan place up at the Glen is for sale,"
said Gilbert, apropos of nothing in especial.
"Is it?" asked Anne indifferently.
"Yes. Now that Mr. Morgan has gone, Mrs. Morgan wants
to go to live with her children in Vancouver. She will
sell cheaply, for a big place like that in a small
village like the Glen will not be very easy to dispose
of."
"Well, it's certainly a beautiful place, so it is
likely she will find a purchaser," said Anne,
absently, wondering whether she should hemstitch or
feather-stitch little Jem's "short" dresses. He was
to be shortened the next week, and Anne felt ready to
cry at the thought of it.
"Suppose we buy it, Anne?" remarked Gilbert quietly.
Anne dropped her sewing and stared at him.
"You're not in earnest, Gilbert?"
"Indeed I am, dear."
"And leave this darling spot--our house of dreams?"
said Anne incredulously. "Oh, Gilbert, it's--it's
unthinkable!"
"Listen patiently to me, dear. I know just how you
feel about it. I feel the same. But we've always
known we would have to move some day."
"Oh, but not so soon, Gilbert--not just yet."
"We may never get such a chance again. If we don't buy
the Morgan place someone else will--and there is no
other house in the Glen we would care to have, and no
other really good site on which to build. This little
house is--well, it is and has been what no other house
can ever be to us, I admit, but you know it is
out-of-the-way down here for a doctor. We have felt
the inconvenience, though we've made the best of it.
And it's a tight fit for us now. Perhaps, in a few
years, when Jem wants a room of his own, it will be
entirely too small."
"Oh, I know--I know," said Anne, tears filling her
eyes. "I know all that can be said against it, but I
love it so--and it's so beautiful here."
"You would find it very lonely here after Leslie
goes--and Captain Jim has gone too. The Morgan place
is beautiful, and in time we would love it. You know
you have always admired it, Anne."
"Oh, yes, but--but--this has all seemed to come up so
suddenly, Gilbert. I'm dizzy. Ten minutes ago I had
no thought of leaving this dear spot. I was planning
what I meant to do for it in the spring-- what I meant
to do in the garden. And if we leave this place who
will get it? It IS out-of-the-way, so it's likely some
poor, shiftless, wandering family will rent it--and
over-run it--and oh, that would be desecration. It
would hurt me horribly."
"I know. But we cannot sacrifice our own interests to
such considerations, Anne-girl. The Morgan place will
suit us in every essential particular--we really can't
afford to miss such a chance. Think of that big lawn
with those magnificent old trees; and of that splendid
hardwood grove behind it--twelve acres of it. What a
play place for our children! There's a fine orchard,
too, and you've always admired that high brick wall
around the garden with the door in it--you've thought
it was so like a story-book garden. And there is
almost as fine a view of the harbor and the dunes from
the Morgan place as from here."
"You can't see the lighthouse star from it."
"Yes, You can see it from the attic window. THERE'S
another advantage, Anne-girl--you love big garrets."
"There's no brook in the garden."
"Well, no, but there is one running through the maple
grove into the Glen pond. And the pond itself isn't
far away. You'll be able to fancy you have your own
Lake of Shining Waters again."
"Well, don't say anything more about it just now,
Gilbert. Give me time to think--to get used to the
idea."
"All right. There is no great hurry, of course.
Only--if we decide to buy, it would be well to be
moved in and settled before winter."
Gilbert went out, and Anne put away Little Jem's short
dresses with trembling hands. She could not sew any
more that day. With tear-wet eyes she wandered over
the little domain where she had reigned so happy a
queen. The Morgan place was all that Gilbert claimed.
The grounds were beautiful, the house old enough to
have dignity and repose and traditions, and new enough
to be comfortable and up-to-date. Anne had always
admired it; but admiring is not loving; and she loved
this house of dreams so much. She loved EVERYTHING
about it--the garden she had tended, and which so many
women had tended before her--the gleam and sparkle of
the little brook that crept so roguishly across the
corner--the gate between the creaking fir trees--the
old red sandstone step--the stately Lombardies-- the
two tiny quaint glass cupboards over the chimney- piece
in the living-room--the crooked pantry door in the
kitchen-- the two funny dormer windows upstairs--the
little jog in the staircase-- why, these things were a
part of her! How could she leave them?
And how this little house, consecrated aforetime by
love and joy, had been re-consecrated for her by her
happiness and sorrow! Here she had spent her bridal
moon; here wee Joyce had lived her one brief day; here
the sweetness of motherhood had come again with Little
Jem; here she had heard the exquisite music of her
baby's cooing laughter; here beloved friends had sat by
her fireside. Joy and grief, birth and death, had made
sacred forever this little house of dreams.
And now she must leave it. She knew that, even while
she had contended against the idea to Gilbert. The
little house was outgrown. Gilbert's interests made
the change necessary; his work, successful though it
had been, was hampered by his location. Anne realised
that the end of their life in this dear place drew
nigh, and that she must face the fact bravely. But how
her heart ached!
"It will be just like tearing something out of my
life," she sobbed. "And oh, if I could hope that some
nice folk would come here in our place--or even that it
would be left vacant. That itself would be better than
having it overrun with some horde who know nothing of
the geography of dreamland, and nothing of the history
that has given this house its soul and its identity.
And if such a tribe come here the place will go to rack
and ruin in no time--an old place goes down so quickly
if it is not carefully attended to. They'll tear up my
garden--and let the Lombardies get ragged--and the
paling will come to look like a mouth with half the
teeth missing--and the roof will leak--and the plaster
fall--and they'll stuff pillows and rags in broken
window panes--and everything will be out-at-elbows."
Anne's imagination pictured forth so vividly the coming
degeneration of her dear little house that it hurt her
as severely as if it had already been an accomplished
fact. She sat down on the stairs and had a long,
bitter cry. Susan found her there and enquired with
much concern what the trouble was.
"You have not quarrelled with the doctor, have you now,
Mrs. Doctor, dear? But if you have, do not worry. It
is a thing quite likely to happen to married couples, I
am told, although I have had no experience that way
myself. He will be sorry, and you can soon make it
up."
"No, no, Susan, we haven't quarrelled. It's
only--Gilbert is going to buy the Morgan place, and
we'll have to go and live at the Glen. And it will
break my heart."
Susan did not enter into Anne's feelings at all. She
was, indeed, quite rejoiced over the prospect of living
at the Glen. Her one grievance against her place in
the little house was its lonesome location.
"Why, Mrs. Doctor, dear, it will be splendid. The
Morgan house is such a fine, big one."
"I hate big houses," sobbed Anne.
"Oh, well, you will not hate them by the time you have
half a dozen children," remarked Susan calmly. "And
this house is too small already for us. We have no
spare room, since Mrs. Moore is here, and that pantry
is the most aggravating place I ever tried to work in.
There is a corner every way you turn. Besides, it is
out-of-the-world down here. There is really nothing at
all but scenery."
"Out of your world perhaps, Susan--but not out of
mine," said Anne with a faint smile.
"I do not quite understand you, Mrs. Doctor, dear, but
of course I am not well educated. But if Dr. Blythe
buys the Morgan place he will make no mistake, and that
you may tie to. They have water in it, and the
pantries and closets are beautiful, and there is not
another such cellar in P. E. Island, so I have been
told. Why, the cellar here, Mrs. Doctor, dear, has
been a heart-break to me, as well you know."
"Oh, go away, Susan, go away," said Anne forlornly.
"
Cellars and pantries and closets don't make a HOME.
Why don't you weep with those who weep?"
"Well, I never was much hand for weeping, Mrs. Doctor,
dear. I would rather fall to and cheer people up than
weep with them. Now, do not you cry and spoil your
pretty eyes. This house is very well and has served
your turn, but it is high time you had a better."
Susan's point of view seemed to be that of most people.
Leslie was the only one who sympathised
understandingly with Anne. She had a good cry, too,
when she heard the news. Then they both dried their
tears and went to work at the preparations for moving.
"Since we must go let us go as soon as we can and have
it over," said poor Anne with bitter resignation.
"You know you will like that lovely old place at the
Glen after you have lived in it long enough to have
dear memories woven about it," said Leslie. "Friends
will come there, as they have come here-- happiness
will glorify it for you. Now, it's just a house to
you--but the years will make it a home."
Anne and Leslie had another cry the next week when they
shortened Little Jem. Anne felt the tragedy of it
until evening when in his long nightie she found her
own dear baby again.
"But it will be rompers next--and then trousers--and in
no time he will be grown-up," she sighed.
"Well, you would not want him to stay a baby always,
Mrs. Doctor, dear, would you?" said Susan. "Bless his
innocent heart, he looks too sweet for anything in his
little short dresses, with his dear feet sticking out.
And think of the save in the ironing, Mrs. Doctor, dear."
"Anne, I have just had a letter from Owen," said
Leslie, entering with a bright face. "And, oh! I have
such good news. He writes me that he is going to buy
this place from the church trustees and keep it to
spend our summer vacations in. Anne, are you not glad?"
"Oh, Leslie, `glad' isn't the word for it! It seems
almost too good to be true. I sha'n't feel half so
badly now that I know this dear spot will never be
desecrated by a vandal tribe, or left to tumble down in
decay. Why, it's lovely! It's lovely!"
One October morning Anne wakened to the realisation
that she had slept for the last time under the roof of
her little house. The day was too busy to indulge
regret and when evening came the house was stripped and
bare. Anne and Gilbert were alone in it to say
farewell. Leslie and Susan and Little Jem had gone to
the Glen with the last load of furniture. The sunset
light streamed in through the curtainless windows.
"It has all such a heart-broken, reproachful look,
hasn't it?" said Anne. "Oh, I shall be so homesick at
the Glen tonight!"
"We have been very happy here, haven't we, Anne-girl?"
said Gilbert, his voice full of feeling.
Anne choked, unable to answer. Gilbert waited for her
at the fir-tree gate, while she went over the house and
said farewell to every room. She was going away; but
the old house would still be there, looking seaward
through its quaint windows. The autumn winds would
blow around it mournfully, and the gray rain would beat
upon it and the white mists would come in from the sea
to enfold it; and the moonlight would fall over it and
light up the old paths where the schoolmaster and his
bride had walked. There on that old harbor shore the
charm of story would linger; the wind would still
whistle alluringly over the silver sand-dunes; the
waves would still call from the red rock-coves.
"But we will be gone," said Anne through her tears.
She went out, closing and locking the door behind her.
Gilbert was waiting for her with a smile. The
lighthouse star was gleaming northward. The little
garden, where only marigolds still bloomed, was already
hooding itself in shadows.
Anne knelt down and kissed the worn old step which she
had crossed as a bride.
"Good-bye, dear little house of dreams," she said.