Anne's House of Dreams
19. Dawn And Dusk
In early June, when the sand hills were a great glory of pink wild roses, and the Glen
was smothered in apple blossoms, Marilla arrived at the little house, accompanied by a
black horsehair trunk, patterned with brass nails, which had reposed undisturbed in the
Green Gables garret for half a century. Susan Baker, who, during her few weeks'
sojourn in the little house, had come to worship "young Mrs. Doctor," as she called
Anne, with blind fervor, looked rather jealously askance at Marilla at first. But as Marilla
did not try to interfere in kitchen matters, and showed no desire to interrupt Susan's
ministrations to young Mrs. Doctor, the good handmaiden became reconciled to her
presence, and told her cronies at the Glen that Miss Cuthbert was a fine old lady and
knew her place.
One evening, when the sky's limpid bowl was filled with a red glory, and the robins were
thrilling the golden twilight with jubilant hymns to the stars of evening, there was a
sudden commotion in the little house of dreams. Telephone messages were sent up to
the Glen, Doctor Dave and a white-capped nurse came hastily down, Marilla paced the
garden walks between the quahog shells, murmuring prayers between her set lips, and
Susan sat in the kitchen with cotton wool in her ears and her apron over her head.
Leslie, looking out from the house up the brook, saw that every window of the little
house was alight, and did not sleep that night.
The June night was short; but it seemed an eternity to those who waited and watched.
"Oh, will it NEVER end?" said Marilla; then she saw how grave the nurse and Doctor
Dave looked, and she dared ask no more questions. Suppose Anne--but Marilla could
not suppose it.
"Do not tell me," said Susan fiercely, answering the anguish in Marilla's eyes, "that God
could be so cruel as to take that darling lamb from us when we all love her so much."
"He has taken others as well beloved," said Marilla hoarsely.
But at dawn, when the rising sun rent apart the mists hanging over the sandbar, and
made rainbows of them, joy came to the little house. Anne was safe, and a wee, white
lady, with her mother's big eyes, was lying beside her. Gilbert, his face gray and
haggard from his night's agony, came down to tell Marilla and Susan.
"Thank God," shuddered Marilla.
Susan got up and took the cotton wool out of her ears.