By L.M. Montgomery
On Prince Edward Island, the place Anne Shirley grew up within the sea-sprayed city of Avonlea, there has been no scarcity of amazing stories. There used to be the case of Ludovic velocity, who would not suggest to the lady he had courted for fifteen years till Anne devised a plan to "speed" him up . . . if it did not backfire and holiday his heart. But not anyone might blame mischievous Anne for the hilarious conflict of the sexes that erupted whilst a man-hating lady and her cat acquired quarantined within the comparable condo with a woman-hating bachelor and his puppy. From sprawling Penhallow Grange, the place a kinfolk waits approximately ceaselessly for 2 quarreling enthusiasts to damage their obdurate silence, to the tumbledown farm of outdated guy Shaw, who awaits the retum of his cherished daughter, L. M. Montgomery has written twelve stories of mystery hopes and hidden goals, choked with attraction and humor.
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Extra resources for Chronicles of Avonlea (L.M. Montgomery Books)
She had a way of getting on with all sorts of people, and, although they had not known her very long, both Ludovic and Theodora looked upon her as an old friend. Ludovic was tall and somewhat ungainly, but his unhesitating placidity gave him the appearance of a dignity that did not otherwise pertain to him. He had a drooping, silky, brown moustache, and a little curly tuft of imperial,--a fashion which was regarded as eccentric in Grafton, where men had clean-shaven chins or went full-bearded. His eyes were dreamy and pleasant, with a touch of melancholy in their blue depths.
She had nothing to love, and that is about as unwholesome a condition as is possible to anyone. It was always hardest in the spring. Once upon a time the Old Lady-- when she had not been the Old Lady, but pretty, wilful, high-spirited Margaret Lloyd--had loved springs; now she hated them because they hurt her; and this particular spring of this particular May chapter hurt her more than any that had gone before. The Old Lady felt as if she could NOT endure the ache of it. Everything hurt her--the new green tips on the firs, the fairy mists down in the little beech hollow below the house, the fresh smell of the red earth Crooked Jack spaded up in her garden.
I'll join your Circle," said the Old Lady promptly. She was determined she would do it, if she had to live on two meals a day to save the necessary fee. She went to the Sewing Circle at James Martin's the next Saturday, and did the most beautiful hand sewing for them. She was so expert at it that she didn't need to think about it at all, which was rather fortunate, for all her thoughts were taken up with Sylvia, who sat in the opposite corner with Janet Moore, her graceful hands busy with a little boy's coarse gingham shirt.