Music Welcome to snoozecast, the podcast is designed to help you fall asleep. Find a sense snoozecast.com and wherever you listen to podcasts, this episode is brought to you by Abranzi Green. Tonight, we'll read the 27th chapter of Anne of Green Gables, the classic 1908 novel by Lucy Maud Montgomery. This chapter is titled Vanity and the Vixation of Spirit. In the previous chapter and struggles to adjust to everyday life after the excitement of the concert. She finds ordinary days dull in comparison, lamenting that her experiences have perhaps spoiled her for simpler pleasures. School returns to normal, though minor quarrels persist among classmates stemming from tensions at the concert, and in Diana discuss growing older, imagination and the trials of writing compositions, and enthusiastically shares a dramatic story she wrote, prompting the creation of a girl's story writing club. Although Marilla disapproves of this pastime as foolish,

Anne insists they always include morals in their stories.

Despite Marilla's skepticism, Anne remains hopeful about her own personal growth,

inspired by Mrs. Allen's past imperfections with kindness.

Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes.

Relax your body

into the softness

of your bad. Now, take a few deep breaths. We're ill.

Walking home one late April evening from an aid meeting, realized that the winter was over and gone with the thrill of delight that spring never fails to bring to the oldest and saddest, as well as to the youngest and merriest. Marilla was not given to subjective analysis of her thoughts and feelings. She probably imagined that she was thinking about the AIDS and their missionary box and the new carpet for the vestry room. But under these reflections was a harmonious consciousness of red fields smoking into pale,

purpley mists in the declining sun of long, sharp-pointed fur shadows. Falling over the meadow beyond the brook of still crimson-butted maples around a mirror like woodpool of awakening the world, and a stir of hidden pulses under the grey sod. The spring was abroad in the land, and Marilla's sober middle-aged step was lighter and swifter because of its deep, primal, gladness.

Her eyes do held affectionately on greengables, peering through its network of trees and reflecting the sunlight back from its windows and several little coercecations of glory. Marilla, as she picked her steps along the damplain, thought that it was really a satisfaction to know that she was going home to a

briskly snapping wood fire, and a table nicely spread for tea, instead of to the cold comfort of old eight meeting evenings before Anne had come to Green Gables. Consequently, when Marilla entered her kitchen and found the fire black out with no sign of an anywhere.

She f- Consequently, when Marilla entered her kitchen and found the fire black out with no sign of an anywhere, she felt justly disappointed and irritated. She had told Anne to be sure and have tea-ready at five o'clock, but now she must hurry to take off her second best dress and prepare the meal herself against Matthew's return from plowing. I'll settle Miss Ann when she comes home," said Marilla grimly, as she shaved up kindlings with a carving knife, and with more vim than was strictly necessary. Matthew had come in and was waiting patiently for his tea in his corner. She's gatting off somewhere with Diana, writing stories or practicing dialogues or some such tomfoolery, and never thinking once about the time or her duties. She's just got to be pulled up short and sudden on this sort of thing. I don't care if Mrs. Allen does say she's the brightest and sweetest child she ever knew. She may be bright and sweet enough, but her head is full of nonsense, and there's never any knowing what shape it'll break out in next. Just as soon as she grows out of one freak, she takes up with another. But there, here I am, saying the very thing I was so riled with Rachel Lind for saying at the aid today. I was real glad when Mrs. Allen spoke up for Ann. Her if she hadn't, I know I'd have said something too sharp to Rachel before everybody. Anne's got plenty of faults, goodness knows, and far be it from me to deny it. But I'm bringing her up and not Rachel Lind, who'd pick faults in the angel Gabriel himself if he lived in Avonly. Just the same? Anne has no business to leave the house like this when I told her she was

to stay home this afternoon and look after things. I must say with all her faults, I never found her disobedient or untrustworthy before. And I'm real sorry to find her so now. Well, now I don't know," said Matthew, who, being patient and wise and above all hungry, had deemed it best to let Marilla talk her wrath out unhindered, having learned by experience that she got through with whatever work was on hand much quicker if not delayed by untimely argument. Perhaps you're judging her to hasty Marilla. Don't call her untrustworthy until you're sure she has disobeyed you. Maybe it can all be explained. And's a great hand at explaining. She's not here when I told her to stay," retorted Marilla. I reckon she'll find it hard to explain that to my satisfaction. Of course, I knew you'd take her part, Matthew, but I'm bringing her up. Not you. It was dark when supper was ready and still no sign of Anne, coming hurriedly over the log bridge, her up lover's lane, breathless and repentant, with a sense of neglected duties. Marilla washed and put away the dishes grimly. Then, wanting a candle to light her way down the cellar, she went up to the east gable for

the one that generally stood on Anne's table.

Lighting it, she turned around to see Anne herself lying on the bed, face downward among the pillows. Mercy on us," said Estonished Marilla.

Have you been a sleep-an?

No.

Was the muffled reply?

Are you sick then demanded Marilla anxiously going over to the bed and coward deeper into her pillows as if desire is of hiding herself forever from mortal eyes? No, but please Marilla, go away and don't look at me. I'm in the depths of despair, and I don't care who gets ahead in class or writes the best composition or sings in the Sunday school choir anymore. Little things like that are of no importance now because I don't suppose I'll ever be able to go anywhere again. My career is closed. Please Marilla, go away and don't look at me. Did anyone ever hear the like the mystified Marilla wanted to know? And surely, whatever is the matter with you, what have you done? Get right up this minute and tell me that this minute I say, there now, what is it? had slid to the floor and despairing obedience. Look at my hair, Marilla. She whispered. Accordingly, Marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizingly up Anne's hair, flowing in heavy masses down her back. It certainly had a very strange appearance. And surely, what have you done to your hair? Why? It's green. Green, it might be called, if it were any earthly color. A dull, bronzy green with streaks here and

there of the original red to heighten the ghastly effect. Never in all her life had Marilla seen anything so grotesque as Anne's hair at the moment. Yes, it's green.

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