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This episode is brought to you by Old Interests. Tonight we'll read the 26th chapter of Anne of Green Gables, the classic 1908 novel by Lucy Maud Montgomery. This chapter is titled, The Story Club is formed. In the previous chapter, Matthew realizes that Anne is dressed more plainly than her peers, and secretly sets out to buy her a beautiful new dress for Christmas. After an awkward attempt at shopping, he enlists Mrs. Lynn's help to pick out a fashionable dress with the puffed sleeves Anne has long admired. On Christmas morning Anne is overwhelmed with joy at the gift. And later, she dazzles at the

school concert, where she delivers a moving recitation. That night, as Matthew and Marilla

reflect on Anne's successes, they begin to consider her future beyond heavenly. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. Junior Avonley found it hard to settle down to humdrum existence again. To Anne in particular, things seemed fearfully flat, stale, and unprofitable after the goblet of excitement she had been sipping for weeks. Could she go back to the former quiet pleasures of those far away days before the concert? At first, as she told Diana, she did not really think she could. I'm positively certain, Diana, that life can never be quite the same again as it was in those olden days. She said mournfully, as if referring to a period of at least 50 years back. Perhaps after a while I'll get used to it, but I'm afraid concerts spoil people for everyday life. I suppose that is why Marilla disapproves of them. Marilla is such a sensible woman. It must be a great deal better to be sensible. But still, I don't believe I'd really want to be a sensible person, because they are so unromantic. Mrs. Lind says there is no danger of my ever being one, but you can never tell. I feel just now that I may grow up to be sensible yet, but perhaps that is only because I'm tired. I simply couldn't sleep last night, forever so long. I just lay awake and imagined the concert over and over again. That's one splendid thing about such affairs. It's so lovely to look back to them. Eventually however, Avanley's school slipped back into its old groove and took up its old interests. To be sure, the concert left traces, Ruby Gillis and Emma White, who had quarreled over a point of precedence in their platform seats, no longer sat at the same desk, and a promising friendship of three years was broken up. Josie Pie and Julia Bell did not speak for three months. Because Josie Pie had told the peasant right that Julia Bell's bow when she got up to recite, made her think of a chicken jerking its head. And the peci told Julia, none of the Sloans would have any dealings with the Bells. Because the Bells had declared that the Sloans had too much to do in the program, and the Sloans had retorted that the bells were not capable of doing the little they had to do properly. Finally, Charlie Sloan fought Moody Spurgeon McPherson, because Moody Spurgeon had said that Anne Shirley put on airs about her recitations, and Moody Spurgeon was licked. Consequently, Moody Spurgeon's sister, LMA, would not speak to Anne Shirley all the rest of the winter. With the exception of these trifling frictions, work in mistacies little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness. The winter weeks slipped by. It was an unusually mild winter. With so little snow that Anne and Diana could go to school nearly every day by way of the birch path. On Anne's birthday, they were tripping lightly down it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter. Miss Stacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on a winter's walk in the woods, and it behoove them to be observant. Just think Diana, I'm thirteen years old today. Remarked Ann. in an odd voice, I can scarcely realize that I'm in my teens. When I woke this morning, it seemed to me that everything must be different. You've been 13 for a month, so I suppose it doesn't seem such a novelty to you as it does to me. It makes life seem so much more interesting. In two more years, I'll be really grown up. It's a great comfort to think that I'll be able to use big words then without being laughed at. Ruby Gillis says she means to have a bow as soon as she's 15. Sadayana, Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing but bows, said Anne, distainfully. She's actually delighted when anyone writes her name up in a take notice for all she pretends to be so mad. But I'm afraid that is an uncharitable speech. Mrs. Allen says we should never make uncharitable speeches, but they do slip out so often before you think, don't they? I simply can't talk about Josie Pie without making an uncharitable speech. So I never mention her at all. You may have noticed that. I'm trying to be as much like Mrs. Allen as I possibly can, for I think she's perfect. Mr. Allen thinks so too. Mrs. Lind says he just worships the ground she treads on, and she doesn't really think it right for a minister to set his affections so much on a mortal being. But then Diana, even ministers are human, and have their besetting sins just like everybody else. I had such an interesting talk with Mrs. Allen about besetting sins last Sunday afternoon. There are just a few things it's proper to talk about on Sundays, and that is one of them. My besetting sin is imagining too much and forgetting my duties. I'm striving very hard to overcome it, and now that I'm really 13, perhaps I'll get on better. And for more years, we'll be able to put our hair up," said Diana. Alice Bell is only 16, and she is wearing hers up. But I think that's ridiculous. I shall wait until I'm 17." "'If I had Alice Bell's crooked nose,' said Anne decidedly. "'I wouldn't, but there. I won't say what I was going to say, because it was extremely uncharitable. Besides, I was comparing it with my own nose, and that's vanity. I'm afraid I think too much about my nose ever since I heard that compliment about it long ago. It really is a great comfort to me. Oh Diana, look, there's a rabbit. That's something to remember for our woods composition. I really think the woods are just as lovely and winter as in summer. They're so white and still, as if they were asleep and dreaming pretty dreams. I won't mind writing that composition when it's time comes. Side Diana, I can manage to write about the woods, but the one we're to hand in Monday is terrible. The idea of Miss Stacy telling us to write a story out of our own heads. Why? It's as easy as a wink," said Anne. It's easy for you because you have an imagination. Retorted Diana. But what would you do if you had been born without one? I suppose you have your composition all done. And noted, trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failing miserably. I wrote it last Monday evening. It's called the jealous rival, or in death not divided. I read it last Monday evening. It's called The Jealous Rival, or, in Death Not Divided. I read it to Marilla, and she said it was stuff and nonsense. Then I read it to Matthew, and he said it was fine. That is the kind of critic I like. It's a sad, sweet story. I just cried like a child while I was writing it.

It's about two beautiful maidens called Cordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour, who lived in the same village and were devotedly attached to each other. Cordelia was a wrinkle prunette, with a cornette of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes.

Geraldine was a regal prunette, with a cornet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes. Geraldine was a queenly blonde with hair like spun gold and velvety purple eyes. I never saw anybody with purple eyes," said Diana, dubiously. Neither did I. I just imagined them. I wanted something out of the common. Geraldine had an alabaster brow, too. I found out what an alabaster brow is. That is one of the advantages of being thirteen. You know so much more than you did when you were only twelve. Well, what became of Cordelia and Geraldine, asked Diana, who was beginning to feel rather interested in their fate? They grew in beauty side by side, until they were sixteen. Then Bertram Devere came to their native village and fell in love with the fair Geraldine. He saved her life when her horse ran away with her in a carriage, and she fainted in his arms, and he carried her home three miles, because you understand the carriage was all mashed up. I've found it rather hard to imagine the proposal because I had no experience to go by. I asked Ruby Gillis if she knew anything about how men proposed because I thought she'd likely be an authority on the subject, having so many sisters married. Ruby told me she was hid in the hall pantry when Malcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan.

She said Malcolm told Susan that his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said,

what do you say, darling pet, if we get hitched this fall? And Susan said, yes, no, I don't know. Let me see. And there they were, engaged as quick as that. But I didn't think that sort of proposal was a very romantic one. So in the end, I had to imagine it out as well as I could. I made it very

flowery and poetical, and Bertrim went on his knees, although Rubik Ellis says it isn't

done nowadays. Geraldine accepted him in a speech a page long. I can tell you I took a lot

of trouble with that speech. I rewrote it five times, and I look upon it as my masterpiece." Bertram gave her a diamond ring, and a ruby necklace, and told her they would go to Europe for a wedding tour, for he was immensely wealthy. But then alas, shadows began to darken over their path. Cordelia was secretly in love with Bertram herself, and when Geraldine told her about the engagement, she was simply furious, especially when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring. All her affection for Geraldine turned to pit her hate, and she vowed that she should never marry Bertram. But she pretended to be Geraldine's friend the same as ever. One evening, they were standing on the bridge over a rushing turbulent stream, and Cordelia, they were alone. Pushed Geraldine over the brink with a wild mocking, ha ha ha. But Bertram saw it all, and he had once plunged into the current, exclaiming, I will save thee my peerless Geraldine. But alas, he had forgotten he couldn't swim, and they were both drowned. Clasped in each other's arms, their bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards. They were buried in the one grave, and their funeral was most imposing Diana. It's so much more romantic to end a story

up with a funeral than a wedding.

As for Cordelia, she went insane with remorse

and was shut up in a lunatic asylum.

I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime.

How perfectly lovely, sighed Diana, who belonged to Matthew's school of critics. I don't see how you can make up such thrilling things out of your own head, Anne. I wish my imagination was as good as yours. It would be if you'd only cultivated," said Anne. I've just thought of a plan, Diana, let you and me have a story club all their own and write stories for practice. I'll help you along until you can do them yourself. You ought to cultivate your imagination. Miss Stacy says so. Only we must take the right way. I told her about the haunted wood, but she said we went the wrong way about that. This was how the story club came into existence. It was limited to Diana and Ann at first, that soon was extended to include Jane Andrews and Ruby Killis and one or two others who felt that their imaginations needed cultivating. No boys were allowed in it, although Ruby Killis opined that their admission would make it more exciting, and each member had to produce one story a week. It's extremely interesting, and told Marilla, each girl has to read her story out loud, and then we talk it over. We are going to keep them all sacredly and have them to read to our descendants. We each write under a pen name. Mine is Rosamond, Montmurensie. All the girls do pretty well. Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental. She puts too much love making into her stories, and you know too much is worse than too little. Jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so silly when she has to read it out loud. Jane's stories are extremely sensible. I mostly have to tell the group what to write about, but that isn't hard for 5 millions of ideas. I think this story writing business is the foolishest yet. Scoffed Marilla. You'll get a pack of nonsense into your heads and waste time that should be put on your lessons. Reading stories is bad enough, but writing them? It's worse. But we're so careful to put a moral into them all, Marilla. Explain to Anne. I insist upon that. All the good people are rewarded, and all the bad ones are suitably punished. I'm sure that must have a wholesome effect. The moral is the great thing. Mr. Allen says so. I read one of my stories to him and to Mrs. Allen and they both agreed that the moral was excellent. Only they laughed in the wrong places. I like it better when people cry. Jane and Ruby almost always cry when I come to the pathetic parts. Diana wrote her Aunt Josephine about our club, and her Aunt Josephine wrote back that we were to send her some of our stories. So we copied out four of our very best and sent them. Miss Josephine Barry wrote back that she had never read anything so amusing in her life. That kind of puzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic. But, I'm glad Miss Barry liked them. It shows our club is doing some good in the world. Mrs. Allen says that ought to be our object in everything. I do really try to make it my object. But I forget so often when I'm having fun. I hope I shall be a little like Mrs. Allen when I grow up. Do you think there is any prospect of it, Marilla? I shouldn't say there was a great deal. Was Marilla's encouraging answer? I'm sure Mrs. Allen was never such a silly forgetful little girl as you are. No, but she wasn't always so good as she is now either, said Anne seriously. She told me so herself, that is. She said she was a dreadful mischief when she was a girl and was always getting into scrapes. I felt so encouraged when I heard that. It is very wicked of me, Marilla, to feel encouraged when I hear that other people have been bad and mischievous. Mrs. Lindinde says it is. Mrs. Linde says she always feels shocked when she hears of anyone ever having been naughty, no matter how small they were. Mrs. Linde says she wants her to minister confess that when he was a boy, he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt's pantry and she never had any respect for that minister again. Now I wouldn't have felt that way. I'd have thought that it was real noble of him to confess it. I'd have thought what an encouraging thing it would be for small boys nowadays who do not eat things and are sorry for them to know that perhaps they may They grow up to be ministers in spite of it. That's how I'd feel, Marilla.

The way I feel at present, Anne, said Marilla, is that it's high time you had those dishes washed. You've taken half an hour longer than you should with all your chattering. Learn to work first and talk afterwards. Yn yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n yw'n y