Music Welcome to Snooze Cast, the podcast is on to help you fall asleep. Find us at snoozecast.com and wherever you listen to podcasts. This episode is brought to you by a very John T. Black Velvet Ribbon. Tonight, we'll read the 28th chapter of Anne of Green Gables, the classic 1908 novel by Lucy Mott Montgomery. This chapter is titled, an unfortunate Lily Made. In the last episode, Marilla returns home one spring evening thrilled by the season's promise only to discover there's no fire, no tea, and no an. After fuming in the kitchen and questioning Matthew, she fetches a candle in Anne's room and finds her hiding tearfully among the the pillows, and confesses she spent her chicken money on a petler's hair dye, hoping for raven black locks, but ending up with a ghastly green mane. When daily washings fail, Marilla decrees the only cure is to cut Anne's hair off, leaving her shingled head looking like a

scarecrow. In the aftermath Anne resolves to be good instead of vain and Marilla, even amid her headaches, admits she rather enjoys Anne's lively chatter. Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes. Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. Of course you must be Elaine Anne said Diana, I could never have the courage to float down there. Nor I, Zad Rubykillus, with a shiver. I don't mind floating down when there's two or three of us in the flat and we can sit up. It's fun then. But to lie down and pretend. I just couldn't. I'd die really a fright. Of course it would be romantic. Conceded Jane Andrews, but I know I couldn't keep still. I'd be popping up every minute or so to see where I was, and if I wasn't drifting too far out. And you know Anne, that would spoil the effect. But it's so ridiculous to have a red-headed Elaine, mourned Anne, I'm not afraid to float down, and I'd love to be Elaine, but it's ridiculous just the same. Ruby ought to be Elaine because she is so fair and has such lovely long golden hair. Elaine had all her bright hair streaming down, you know. And Elaine was the lily-maid. Now a red-haired person can't be a lily-maid. Your complexion is just as fair as Ruby's, said Diana, honestly. And your hair is ever so much darker than it used to be before you cut it. Oh, do you really think so?

Exclaimed, Anne. Seriously, and your hair is ever so much darker than it used to be before you cut it. Oh, do you really think so?" exclaimed Anne, flushing with delight. I've sometimes thought it was myself, but I never dared to ask anyone for fear, she would tell me it wasn't. Do you think it could be called, Oppern now?' Diana?" Yes, and I think it is real pretty," said Diana. Looking admiringly at the short silky curls that clustered over Anne's head and were held in place by a very jaunty black velvet ribbon. They were standing on the bank of the pond, below orchard slope, where a little headland, fringed with birches, ran out from the bank. At its tip, was a small wooden platform built out into the water for the convenience of fishermen and duck hunters. Ruby and Jane were spending the mid-summer afternoon with Diana, and Ann had come over to play with them. Ann and Diana had spent most of their playtime that summer on and about the pond. At a wild was a thing of the past. Mr. Bell, having ruthlessly cut down the little circle of trees in his back pasture in the spring, and had sat among the stumps and wept, not without an eye to the romance of it, but she was speedily consoled for, after all, as she and Diana said, big girls of 13 going on 14 were too old for such childish amusements as playhouses, and there were more fascinating sports to be found about the pond. It was splendid to fish for trout over the bridge, and the two girls learned to row themselves about in the little flat bottom dory Mr. Barry kept for duck shooting. It was Anne's idea that they dramatized a lane. They had studied Tennyson's poem in school the preceding winter, the superintendent of education having prescribed it in the English course for the Prince Edward Island schools. They had analyzed and parsed it and torn it to pieces general, until it was a wonder there was any meaning at all left and it for them. But at least the fair lily made and lance a lot, and guanaveir and king Arthur had become very real people to them, and Anne was devoured by secret regret that she had not been born in Camelot. Those days, she said, were so much more romantic than the present. Anne's plan was hailed with enthusiasm. The girls had discovered that if the flat were pushed off from the landing place, it would drift down with the current under

the bridge, and to finally strand itself on another headland lower down, which ran out at a curve in the pond. That often gone down like this and nothing could be more convenient for playing a lane. Well, all be Elaine," said Anne, yielding reluctantly.

For, although she would have been delighted to play the principal character, yet her artistic sense demanded fitness for it, and this, she felt, her limitations made impossible. Ruby, you must be King Arthur, and Jane will be Guanavere, and Diana must be Lance a lot. But first, you must be the brothers and the father. We can't have the old dumb servitor because there isn't room for two when the flat when one is lying down. We must call the barge all its length in blackest samaic. That old black Like shawl of your mothers will be just the thing Diana. The black shawl having been procured and spread it over the flat and then lay down on the bottom with closed eyes and hands folded over. Oh, she does look really dead. Whispered Ruby kill us nervously. Watching the still white little face under the flickering shadows of the birches, it makes me feel frightened girls. Do you suppose it's really right to act like this? Mrs. Lind says that all play acting is wicked. Ruby, you shouldn't talk about Mrs. Linde," said Anne severely. It spoils the effect because this is hundreds of years before Mrs. Linde was born. Jane, you arrange this. It's silly for Elaine to be talking when she's dead. Jane rose to the occasion. Cloth of gold, for coverlet, there was none. But an old piano scarf of yellow Japanese crape was an excellent substitute. A white lily was not obtainable just then. But the effect of a tall blue iris placed in one of Anne's folded hands was all that could be desired. Now she's all ready," said Jane. We must kiss her quiet brows. And Diana, you say, Sister farewell forever. And Ruby, you say, Fare sweet sister. Both of you as sorrowfully as you possibly can, and for goodness' sake smile little. You know Elaine lay as though she smiled, that's better. Now push the flat off. The flat was accordingly pushed off, scraping roughly offering the old embedded stake in the process. Diana and Jane and Ruby only waited long enough to see it caught in the current, and headed for the bridge before scampering up through the woods, across the road, and down to the lower headland where, as Lancelot-Averre and the King, they were to be in readiness to receive the Lily-Made. For a few minutes, Ann, drifting slowly down, enjoyed the romance of her situation to the full. Then, something happened not at all romantic. The flat began to leak. In a very few moments, it was necessary

for Elaine to scramble to her feet, pick up her cloth of gold coverlet, and pall of black as Samite, and gaze blankly at a big crack in the bottom of her barge, through which the water was literally pouring. That sharp stake at the landing had torn off the

strip. barge, through which the water was literally pouring. That sharp stake at the landing had torn off the strip of batting nailed on the flat, and did not know this, but it did not take her long to realize that she was in a dangerous plight. At this rate, the flat would fill and sink long before it could drift to the lower headland. Where were the oars? Left behind at the landing. Am gave one gasping little scream, which nobody ever heard. She was white to the lips, but she did not lose herself possession. There was one chance, just one. I was horribly frightened. She told Mrs. Allen the next day, and it seemed like years while the flat was drifting down to the bridge and the water rising in every moment. I prayed Mrs. Allen most earnestly, but I didn't shut my eyes to pray, for I knew the only way God could save me was to let the flat float close enough to one of the bridge piles for me to climb up on it. You know the piles are just old tree trunks, and there are lots of knots, and old branch stubs on them. It was proper to pray, but I had to do my part by watching out and right well, I knew it. I just said to your God, please take the flat close to a pile, and I'll do the rest over and over again. Under such circumstances, you don't think much about making a flower a prayer, but mine was answered. For the flat bombed right into a pile for a minute, and I flung the scarf and the shawl over my shoulder and scrambled up on a big providential stub, and there I was Mrs. Allen, clinging to that slippery old pile with no way of getting up or down. It was a very unromantic position, but I didn't think about that at the time. You don't think much about romance when you have just escaped from a watery grave. I set a grateful prayer at once, and then I gave all my attention to holding on tight, for I knew I should probably have to depend on human aid to get back to dry land. The flat drifted under the bridge, and then promptly sank in midstream. Ruby, Jane, and Diana, already awaiting it on the lower headland, sought to disappear before their very eyes, and had not a doubt that Anne had gone down with it. For a moment, they stood still, white as sheets, frozen with horror at the tragedy, then Shrieking at the tops of their voices, they started on a frantic run up through the woods, never pausing as they crossed the main road to glance the way of the bridge. And clinging desperately to her precarious foothold, saw their flying forms, and heard their shrieks, help would soon come, but meanwhile her position was a very uncomfortable one. The minutes passed by, each seeming an hour to the unfortunate Lily-made. Why didn't somebody come? Where had the girls gone? Suppose they had fainted, one and all. nobody ever came. Suppose she grew so tired and cramped that she could hold on no longer. And looked at the wicked green depths below her, wavering with long oily shadows and chivered. Her imagination began to suggest all manner of gruesome possibilities to her. Then, just as she thought she really could not endure the ache in her arms and wrists another moment, Gilbert Blythe came rowing under the bridge in Harmon Andrew's Dory. Gilbert glanced up and, much to his amazement, beheld a little white, scornful face looking down upon him, with big frightened, but also scornful grey eyes. And, surely, how unearthed you get there?" he exclaimed. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled close to the pile and extended his hand.

There was no help for it. Am, clinging to Gilbert's hand, scrambled down into the door,

where she sat, drabbled and furious. In the stern with her arms full of dripping

shawl and wet crepe, it was certainly extremely difficult to be dignified under the circumstances. What has happened, Anne? Asked Gilbert taking up his ears. We were playing a lane. Explained Anne, frigidly, without even looking at her rescuer. And I had to drift down to Kamawatt in the barge. I mean, the flat. The flat began to leak, and I climbed up onto the pile. The girls went for help. Will you be kind enough to row me to the landing?" Gilbert obligingly rode to the landing, and Anne, distaining assistance, sprang nimbly on shore. I'm very much obliged to you," she said hotly, as she turned away. But Gilbert had also sprung from the boat and now laid a detaining hand on her arm. Anne, he said hurriedly. Look here, can't we be good friends? I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair at time. I didn't mean to vex you, and I only meant it as a joke. Besides, it's so long ago, and I think your hair is awfully pretty. Honest I do. Let's be friends. For a moment, Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakened consciousness under all her outraged dignity, that the half-shy, half-eager expression in Gilbert's hazel eyes was something that was very good to see. Her heart gave a quick little beat, but the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering determination. That scene of two years before flashed back into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert had called her, carrots, and had brought about her disgrace before the whole school. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be as laughable as its cause, was in no wit, elayed and softened by time seemingly. She hated Gilbert Blithe. She would never forgive him. No, she said coldly, I shall never be friends with you, Gilbert Blthe, and I don't want to be. Alright, Gilbert sprang into his skiff with an angry color in his cheeks. I'll never ask you to be friends again and surely, and I don't care either. He pulled away with swift defiant strokes, and Anne went up the steep, ferny little path under the maples. She held her head very high, but she was conscious of an odd feeling of regret. She almost wished she had answered Gilbert differently. Of course, he had insulted her terribly, but still, all together Anne rather thought it would be a relief to sit down and have a good cry. She was really quite unstrung, for the reaction from her fright and cramped clinging was making itself felt. Halfway up the path she met Jane and Diana.ushing back to the pond in a state nearly removed from positive frenzy, they had found nobody at orchard's slope, both Mr and Mrs. Barry being away. Here Ruby Gillis had succumbed to hysterics and was left to recover from them as best she might, while Jane and Diana flew

through the haunted wood, and across the brook to green gables. There they had found at nobody either, from Marilla had gone to Carmody, and Matthew was making hay in the backfield. Oh, Anne. Gasped Diana. Fair fairly falling on the former's neck and weeping with

relief and delight. Oh, Anne, we thought you were drowned, and we felt like murderers. we had made you be Elaine and Ruby is in hysterics. Oh Anne, how did you escape? I climbed up on one of the piles, explained Anne. Werely, and Gilbert Blithe came along and Mr.. Andrew's door and brought me to land. Oh, Anne, how splendid of him! Why, it's so romantic!" said Jane, finding breath enough for uttering set last. Of course you'll speak to him after this. Of course I won't. Flash, Anne, with a momentary return of her old spirit, and I don't ever want to hear the word romantic again, Jane Andrews. I'm awfully sorry you were so frightened girls. It is all my fault. I feel sure I was born under an unlucky star. Everything I do gets me or my dearest friends into a scrape. We've gone and lost your father's flat Diana, and I have a presentiment that will not be allowed to row on the pond anymore. Anne's presentiment proved more trustworthy than presentiments are apt to do. Great was the consternation in the berry and cuthbert households when the events of the afternoon became known. Well, you ever have any sense, Anne, grown to Marilla? Oh, yes, I think I will, Marilla," returned Anne optimistically. A good cry indulged in the grateful solitude of the East Gable had soothed her nerves and restored her to her wanted cheerfulness. I think my prospects of becoming sensible are brighter now than ever. I don't see how," said Marilla, well, explained Anne. I've learned a new and valuable lesson today. Ever since I came to green gables, I've been making mistakes, and each mistake has helped to cure me of some great shortcoming.

The affair of the amethyst brooch cured me of meddling with things that didn't belong to me. The haunted wood mistake cured me of letting my imagination run away with me. The liniment cake mistake cured me of carelessness and cooking. my hair cured me of vanity. I never think about my hair and nose now. Well, at least very seldom. And today's mistake is going to cure me of being too romantic. I have come to the conclusion that it is no use trying to be romantic. It was probably easy enough in towered Camelot hundreds of years ago, but romance is not appreciated now. I feel quite sure that you will soon see a great improvement in me in this respect, Marilla. I'm sure I hope so. Set me a rilla.

Skeptically. But Matthew, who had been sitting mutely in his corner, laid a hand on Anne's shoulder when Marilla had gone out. Don't give up all your romance, Anne.

He whispered, Chiley.

A little of it is a good thing.

Not too much, of course, but keep a little of it, Anne.

Keep a little of it. 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