Anya from Green Gables
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
.
