Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast is designed to help you fall asleep. Find us at snewscast.com and wherever you listen to podcasts. This episode is brought to you by The Loveliest Spot in the World. Tonight we'll read the 33rd chapter of Anne of Green Gables, the classic 1908 novel by Lucy Madmon Cumrey. This chapter is titled The Hotel Concert. In the last episode, Anne anxiously awaits the results of the Queen's entrance examinations, along with her friends. When the list is finally published, it reveals that Anne has come in first among all the candidates on the island, with Gilbert Blithe placing second. Her friends Diana and the Barry family celebrate her success, and Matthew and Marilla express their quiet pride. For Anne, this achievement feels like the fulfillment of her long-held academic dreams and the beginning of new possibilities for her future. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of, Anne. Advised Diana decidedly. They were together in the East Gable Chamber. Outside it was only twilight. A lovely yellowish

green twilight with a clear blue, cloudless sky. A big round moon, slowly deepening from her palette luster into burnished silver hung over the haunted wood. The air was full of sweet summer sounds, sleepy birds, twittering, freakish breezes, far away voices and laughter. But in Anne's room, the blind was drawn and the lamp lighted for an important toilet was being made. The East Gable was a very different place from what it had been on that night four years before, when Anne had felt its bareness penetrate to the marrow of her spirit with its inhospitable chill. Changes had crept in. Marilla conniving at them resinantly, until it was as sweet and dainty unnest as a young girl could desire. The velvet carpet with the pink roses and the pink silk curtains of ants early visions had certainly never materialized, but her dreams had kept pace with her growth, and it is not probable she lamented them. The floor was covered with a pretty matting and the curtains that softened the high window and fluttered in the vagrant breezes were of pale green art muslin. The walls hung not with gold and silver brocade tapestry but with a dainty apple blossom paper were adorned with a few good pictures given Anne by Mrs. Allen. Miss Stacy's photograph occupied the place of honor, and Anne made a sentimental point of keeping fresh flowers on the bracket under it. Tonight a spike of white lilies faintly perfumed the room like the dream of a fragrance. There was no mahogany furniture, but there was a white painted bookcase filled with books, a cushioned wicker rocker, a toilet table befrieled with white muslin, a quaint, guilt-framed mirror with chubby pink cupids and purple grapes painted over its arched

top that used to hang in the spare room, and a low white bed. Anne was dressing for a concert at the White Sands Hotel. The guests had got it up in aid of the Charlotte Town Hospital and had hunted out all the available amateur talent in the surrounding districts to help it along. Bertha Samson and Pearl Clay of the White Sands Baptist Choir had been asked to sing a duet. Milton Clark of Newbridge was to give a violin solo. the Adele Blair of Carmity was to sing a scotch ballad, and Laura Spencer of Spencer Vale and Anne Shirley were to recite. So Anne would have said at one time it was an epoch in her life, and she was deliciously at thrill with the excitement of it. Matthew was in the seventh heaven of gratified pride over the honor conferred on his an and Marilla was not far behind. Although she would have died rather than admitted, and said she didn't think it was very proper for a lot of young folks to be gassing over to the hotel without any responsible person with them. Anne and Diana were to drive over with Jane Andrews and her brother Billy in their double-seated buggy, and several other Avonle girls and boys were going to. There was a party of visitors expected out from town, and after the concert, a supper was to be given to the performers. Do you really think the organ D will be best? Quarried Anne anxiously, I don't think it's as pretty as my blue-flowered muslin, and it certainly isn't so fashionable. But it suits you ever so much better," said Diana. It's so soft and frilly and clinging. The muslin is stiff, and makes you look too dressed up. But the organ, he seems, as if it grew on you. And side and yielded. Diana was beginning to have a reputation for notable taste in dressing,

and her advice on such subjects was much sought after. She was looking very pretty herself on this

particular night in a dress of the lovely wild rose pink, from which Anne was forever debarred,

but she was not to take any part in the concert, so her appearance was of minor importance. All her pains were bestowed upon Anne, who she vowed must, for the credit of Avonli, be dressed and combed and adorned to the Queen's taste. Pull out that frill a little more. Here, let me tie your sash. Now, for your slippers, I'm going to braid your hair in two thick braids, and tie them halfway up with big white bows. No, don't pull out a single curl over your forehead. Just have the soft part. There's no way you do your hair, suit you so well. And Mrs. Allen says you look like a Madonna when you parted so. I shall fasten this little white house rose just behind your ear. There was just one on my bush and I saved it for you. Shall I put my pearl beets on? I asked Anne. Matthew brought me a string from town last week,

and I know he'd like to see them on me. Diana perched up her lips, put her black head on one side critically, and finally pronounced in favor of the beads, which were there upon tied around and's slim throat.

There's something so stylish about you, Anne," said Diana, with unenvious admiration. You hold your head with such an air. I suppose it's your figure. "'But you have such dimples,' said Anne, smiling affectionately into the pretty vivacious face so near her own, lovely dimples, like little dense in cream. I have given up all hope of dimples. My dimple dream will never come true. But so many of my dreams have that I mustn't complain. Am I already now? Already, assured Diana, as Marilla appeared in the doorway, a gaunt figure with grayer hair than of your and no fewer angles, but with a much softer face? Come right in and look at our locutionist, Marilla. Doesn't she look lovely? Marilla emitted a sound between a sniff and a grunt. She looks neat and proper. I like that way of fixing her hair, but I expect she'll ruin that dress driving over there and the dust and dew with it, and it looks most too thin for these damp nights. Organides the most unserviceable stuff in the world anyhow, and I told Matthew so when he got it. But there is no use in saying anything to Matthew nowadays. Time was when he would take my advice, and now he just buys things for Anne regardless, and the clerks at Carmody know they can palm anything off on him. Just let them tell him a thing is pretty and fashionable, and Matthew plunks his money down for it. Mind you keep your skirt clear of the wheel, and put your warm jagged on." Then Marilla stalked downstairs, thinking proudly how sweet Anne looked with that. One moonbeam from the forehead to the crown, and regretting that she could not go to the concert herself to hear her girl recite. I wonder if it is too damp for my dress," said Anne, anxiously. "'Not a bit of it,' said Diana, pulling up the window-blind. It's a perfect night, and there won't be any due. Look at the moonlight. I'm so glad my window looks eased into the sun rising," said Anne, going over to Diana. It's so splendid to see the morning coming up over those long hills and glowing through those sharp furtops. It's new every morning, and I feel as if I washed my very soul in that bath of earliest sunshine. Oh Diana, I love this little room so dearly. I don't know how I'll get along without it when I go to town next month. Don't speak of your going away tonight. Begged Diana, I don't want to think of it. It makes me so miserable. And I do want to have a good time this evening. What are you going to recite, Anne? And are you nervous? Not a bit. I've recited so often in public, I don't mind at all now. I've decided to give the Maiden's vow. It's so pathetic. Laura Spencer is going to give a comic recitation. But I'd rather make people cry than laugh. What will you recite if they encore you? They won't dream of encoring me, scoffed Anne, who is not without her own secret hopes that they would, and already visioned herself telling Matthew all about it at the next morning's breakfast table. There are Billy and Jane now. I hear the wheels. Come on. Billy Andrews insisted that Anne should ride on the front seat with him, so she unwillingly climbed up. She

would have much preferred to sit back with the girls where she could have laughed and chatter to her heart's content. There was not so much of either laughter or chatter and billy. He was a big, solid youth of twenty with a round, expressionless face and a painful lack of conversational gifts. But he admired Anne immensely, and was puffed up with pride over the prospect of driving to white stands with her. Anne, by dint of talking over her shoulder to the girls and occasionally passing a sob of civility to Billy, who grinned and chuckled and never could think of any reply until it was too late, contrived to enjoy the drive in spite of it all. It was a night for enjoyment. The road was full of buggies all bound for the hotel, and laughter, silver clear, echoed and re-echoed along it. When they reached the hotel, it was a blaze of light from top to bottom. They were met by the ladies of the concert committee, one of whom took Anne off to the performers' dressing room, which was filled with the members of a Charlotte Town Symphony Club, among whom Anne felt suddenly shy and frightened and contrafied. Her dress, which in the East Gable had seemed so dainty and pretty, now seemed simple and plain. Too simple and plain, she thought, among all the silks and laces that glistened and rustled around her. What were her pearl beads compared to the diamonds of the big handsome lady near her? And how poor her one wee white rose must look beside all the hot house flowers the others wore. And later hat and jacket away and shrank miserably into a corner. She wished herself back in the white room at Green Gables. It was still worse on the platform of the big concert hall of the hotel where she presently found herself. The electric lights dazzled her eyes. The perfume and hum bewildered her. She wished she were sitting down in the audience with Diana and Jane, who seemed to be having a splendid time away at the back. She was wedged in between a stout lady in pink silk, and a tall, scornful looking girl in a white lace dress. The stout lady occasionally turned her head squarely around, and surveyed Anne through her eyeglasses until Anne, a cutely sensitive of being so scrutinized, felt that she must scream aloud, and the white lace girl kept talking audibly to her next neighbor about the country bumpkins and rustic bells in the audience, languidly anticipating such fun from the displays of local talent on the program, Anne believed that she would hate that white lady's girl to the end of life. Unfortunately for Anne, a professional, electrocutionist was staying at the hotel and had consented to recite. She was a life-dark-eyed woman in a wonderful gown of shimmering gray stuff like woven moonbeams, with gems on her neck and in her dark hair. She had a flexible voice and a wonderful power of expression. The audience went wild over her selection, and, forgetting all about herself and her troubles for the time, listened with wrapped, shining eyes. But when the recitation ended, she suddenly put her hands over her face. She could never get up in recite after that. Never. Had she ever thought she could recite? Ugh, if only she were back at green gables. At this moment her name was called. Somehow Anne, who did not notice the rather guilty little start of surprise the white lace girl gave, and would not have understood the subtle compliment implied therein if she had, got on her feet, and moved dizzily out to the front. She was so pale that Diana and Jane, down in the audience, clasped each other's hands in nervous sympathy. Anne was the victim of an overwhelming attack of stage fright. Often as she had recited in public, she had never before faced such an audience as this, and the sight of it paralyzed her energies completely. Everything was so strange, so brilliant, so bewildering. The rows of ladies and evening dress, the critical faces, the whole atmosphere of wealth and culture about her, very different this from the plain benches at the debating club, filled with the homely sympathetic faces of friends and neighbors. These people she thought would be merciless critics. Perhaps, like the white lace girl, they anticipated amusement from her rustic efforts. She felt hopelessly, helplessly ashamed and miserable. Her knees trembled, her heart fluttered, a horrible faintness came over her, not a word could she utter, and the next moment she would have fled from the platform despite the humiliation which she felt must ever after be her portion if she did so. But suddenly, as her dilated frightened eyes gazed out over the audience, she saw Gilbert blight the way at the back of the room, bending forward with a smile on his face. a smile which seemed to Ann, once triumphant and taunting. In reality, it was nothing of the kind. Gilbert was merely smiling with appreciation of the whole affair in general, and of the effect produced by Ann's slender form and spiritual face against a backdrop of

palms in particular. Josie Pie, whom he had driven over, sat beside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant and taunting, but Anne did not see Josie, and would not have cared if she had. She drew a long breath and flung her head up proudly.

Courage and determination tingling over her like an electric shock. She would not fail before Gilbert Blight. He should never be able to laugh at her, never, never. Her fright and nervousness vanished, and she began her recitation. Her clear, sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner of the room, without a tremor or a break. Self-possession was fully restored to her, and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessness, she recited as she had never done before. When she finished, there were bursts of honest applause. Anne, stepping back to her seat, blushing with shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken by the stout lady in pink silk. «My dear, you did splendidly. She puffed.

I've been crying like a baby, actually I have. There. They're on-coring you. They're bound to have you back. Oh, I can't go," said Anne, confusedly, but yet I must. Or Matthew will be disappointed. He said they would encore me.

Well, then don't disappoint Matthew," said the pink lady, laughing, smiling, blushing, limpid-eyed, and tripped back and gave a quaint, funny little selection that captivated her audience still further. The rest of the evening was quite a little triumph for her. When the concert was over, the staffed pink lady, who was the wife of an American millionaire, took her under her wing, and introduced her to everybody, and everybody was very nice to her. The professional electro-electionist Mrs. Evans came and chatted with her, telling her that she had a charming voice, and interpreted her selections beautifully. Even the white lace girl paid her a languid little compliment. They had supper in the big beautifully decorated dining room. Diana and Jane were invited to partake of this, also, since they had come with Anne. But Billy was nowhere to be found. Having decamped and mortal fear of some such invitation, he was in waiting for them, with the team, however, when it was all over, and the three girls came merely out into the calm, white moon shine radiance. Anne breathed deeply and looked into the clear sky beyond the dark boughs of the furs. All it was good to be out again in the P-P-P-P-P-P-P- everything was, with the murmur of the sea sounding through it, and the darkling cliffs beyond, like grim giants guarding enchanted coasts. Hasn't it been a perfectly splendid time, side-jane, as they drove away? I just wish I was a rich American, and could spend my summer at a hotel and wear jewels and low-necked dresses and have ice cream and chicken salad every blessed day. I'm sure it would be ever so much more fun than teaching school. Anne, your recitation was simply great. Although I thought at first you were never going to begin, I think it was better than Mrs. Evans. Oh, no, don't say things like that, Jane," said Anne quickly, because it sounds silly.

I couldn't be better than Mrs. Evans, you know, for she is a professional.

And I'm only a schoolgirl with a little mack of reciting.

I'm quite satisfied if the people just liked mine pretty well.

I've a compliment for you, Anne," said Diana.

At least I think it must be a compliment because of the tone he set it in.

Part of it was anyhow. There was an American sitting behind chain in me, such a romantic looking man

with cold black hair and eyes. Josie Pies said he was a distinguished artist, and that her mother's cousin and Boston is married to a man that used to go to school with him. Well, we heard him say, didn't we, Jane? Who is that girl on the platform with the splendid Tishin hair? She has a face I should like to paint. They're now Ann. But what does Tishin hair? Being interpreted, it means plain red, I guess, laughed Ann. Titian was a very famous artist who liked to paint red haired woman. Did you see all the diamonds those ladies wore? Sidejane? They were simply dazzling. Wouldn't you just love to be rich, girls?" "'We are rich,' said Ann, staunchly. Why, we have sixteen years to our credit, and we're happiest queens, and we've all got imaginations more or less. Look at that sea, girls, all silver and shadow and vision of things not seen. We couldn't enjoy its loveliness any more if we had millions of dollars in ropes of diamonds. You wouldn't change into any of those women if you could. Would you want to be that white lace girl and wear a sour look all your life as if you'd been born turning up your nose at the world? Were the pink lady kind and nice as she is so stout and short that you'd really no figure at all? Or even Mrs. Evans, with that sad, sad look in her eyes? She must have been dreadfully unhappy some time to have such a look. You know you wouldn't Jane Andrews? I don't know exactly," said Jane, unconvinced. I think diamonds would comfort a person for a good deal. Well, I don't want to be anyone but myself. Even if I go uncomforted by diamonds all my life, declared Anne.

I'm quite content to be Anne of green gables, with my string of pearl beads.

I know Matthew gave me as much love with them as ever went with Madam the Pink Lady's

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