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But the sweetest incident of Anne's sojourn in Bolingbroke was the
visit to her birthplace the little shabby yellow house in an
out…of…the…way street she had so often dreamed about。 She looked
at it with delighted eyes； as she and Phil turned in at the gate。
〃It's almost exactly as I've pictured it；〃 she said。 〃There is
no honeysuckle over the windows； but there is a lilac tree by the
gate； and yes； there are the muslin curtains in the windows。
How glad I am it is still painted yellow。〃
A very tall； very thin woman opened the door。
〃Yes； the Shirleys lived here twenty years ago；〃 she said； in
answer to Anne's question。 〃They had it rented。 I remember 'em。
They both died of fever at onct。 It was turrible sad。 They left
a baby。 I guess it's dead long ago。 It was a sickly thing。 Old
Thomas and his wife took it as if they hadn't enough of their own。〃
〃It didn't die；〃 said Anne； smiling。 〃I was that baby。〃
〃You don't say so！ Why； you have grown；〃 exclaimed the woman；
as if she were much surprised that Anne was not still a baby。
〃Come to look at you； I see the resemblance。 You're complected
like your pa。 He had red hair。 But you favor your ma in your
eyes and mouth。 She was a nice little thing。 My darter went to
school to her and was nigh crazy about her。 They was buried in
the one grave and the School Board put up a tombstone to them as
a reward for faithful service。 Will you come in？〃
〃Will you let me go all over the house？〃 asked Anne eagerly。
〃Laws； yes； you can if you like。 'Twon't take you long there
ain't much of it。 I keep at my man to build a new kitchen； but
he ain't one of your hustlers。 The parlor's in there and there's
two rooms upstairs。 Just prowl about yourselves。 I've got to
see to the baby。 The east room was the one you were born in。
I remember your ma saying she loved to see the sunrise； and I
mind hearing that you was born just as the sun was rising and
its light on your face was the first thing your ma saw。〃
Anne went up the narrow stairs and into that little east room
with a full heart。 It was as a shrine to her。 Here her mother
had dreamed the exquisite； happy dreams of anticipated motherhood；
here that red sunrise light had fallen over them both in the sacred
hour of birth； here her mother had died。 Anne looked about her
reverently； her eyes with tears。 It was for her one of the jeweled
hours of life that gleam out radiantly forever in memory。
〃Just to think of it mother was younger than I am now when I was born；〃
she whispered。
When Anne went downstairs the lady of the house met her in the hall。
She held out a dusty little packet tied with faded blue ribbon。
〃Here's a bundle of old letters I found in that closet upstairs
when I came here；〃 she said。 〃I dunno what they are I never
bothered to look in 'em； but the address on the top one is
‘Miss Bertha Willis；' and that was your ma's maiden name。
You can take 'em if you'd keer to have 'em。〃
〃Oh； thank you thank you；〃 cried Anne； clasping the packet rapturously。
〃That was all that was in the house；〃 said her hostess。 〃The furniture
was all sold to pay the doctor bills； and Mrs。 Thomas got your ma's
clothes and little things。 I reckon they didn't last long among that
drove of Thomas youngsters。 They was destructive young animals；
as I mind 'em。〃
〃I haven't one thing that belonged to my mother；〃 said Anne；
chokily。 〃I I can never thank you enough for these letters。〃
〃You're quite welcome。 Laws； but your eyes is like your ma's。
She could just about talk with hers。 Your father was sorter
homely but awful nice。 I mind hearing folks say when they was
married that there never was two people more in love with each
other Pore creatures； they didn't live much longer； but they
was awful happy while they was alive； and I s'pose that counts
for a good deal。〃
Anne longed to get home to read her precious letters； but she
made one little pilgrimage first。 She went alone to the green
corner of the 〃old〃 Bolingbroke cemetery where her father and
mother were buried； and left on their grave the white flowers
she carried。 Then she hastened back to Mount Holly； shut herself
up in her room； and read the letters。 Some were written by her
father； some by her mother。 There were not many only a dozen
in all for Walter and Bertha Shirley had not been often
separated during their courtship。 The letters were yellow
and faded and dim； blurred with the touch of passing years。
No profound words of wisdom were traced on the stained and
wrinkled pages； but only lines of love and trust。 The sweetness
of forgotten things clung to them the far…off； fond imaginings
of those long…dead lovers。 Bertha Shirley had possessed the gift
of writing letters which embodied the charming personality of
the writer in words and thoughts that retained their beauty and
fragrance after the lapse of time。 The letters were tender；
intimate； sacred。 To Anne； the sweetest of all was the one
written after her birth to the father on a brief absence。
It was full of a proud young mother's accounts of 〃baby〃
her cleverness； her brightness； her thousand sweetnesses。
〃I love her best when she is asleep and better still when she is awake；〃
Bertha Shirley had written in the postscript。 Probably it was the last
sentence she had ever penned。 The end was very near for her。
〃This has been the most beautiful day of my life；〃 Anne said to Phil
that night。 〃I've FOUND my father and mother。 Those letters have
made them REAL to me。 I'm not an orphan any longer。 I feel as if
I had opened a book and found roses of yesterday； sweet and beloved；
between its leaves。〃
Chapter XXII
Spring and Anne Return to Green Gables
The firelight shadows were dancing over the kitchen walls at
Green Gables； for the spring evening was chilly； through the open
east window drifted in the subtly sweet voices of the night。
Marilla was sitting by the fire at least； in body。 In spirit
she was roaming olden ways； with feet grown young。 Of late
Marilla had thus spent many an hour； when she thought she should
have been knitting for the twins。
〃I suppose I'm growing old；〃 she said。
Yet Marilla had changed but little in the past nine years； save
to grow something thinner； and even more angular； there was a
little more gray in the hair that was still twisted up in the
same hard knot； with two hairpins WERE they the same hairpins？
still stuck through it。 But her expression was very different；
the something about the mouth which had hinted at a sense of humor
had developed wonderfully； her eyes were gentler and milder； her
smile more frequent and tender。
Marilla was thinking of her whole past life； her cramped but not
unhappy childhood； the jealously hidden dreams and the blighted
hopes of her girlhood； the long； gray； narrow； monotonous years
of dull middle life that followed。 And the coming of Anne
the vivid； imaginative； impetuous child with her heart of love；
and her world of fancy； bringing with her color and warmth and
radiance； until the wilderness of existence had blossomed like
the rose。 Marilla felt that out of her sixty years she had
lived only the nine that had followed the advent of Anne。
And Anne would be home tomorrow night。
The kitchen door opened。 Marilla looked up expecting to see Mrs。
Lynde。 Anne stood before her； tall and starry…eyed； with her
hands full of Mayflowers and violets。
〃Anne Shirley！〃 exclaimed Marilla。 For once in her life she was
surprised out of her reserve； she caught her girl in her arms and
crushed her and her flowers against her heart； kissing the bright
hair and sweet face warmly。 〃I never looked for you till
tomorrow night。 How did you get from Carmody？〃
〃Walked； dearest of Marillas。 Haven't I done it a score of times
in the Queen's days？ The mailman is to bring my trunk tomorrow；
I just got homesick all at once； and came a day earlier。 And oh！
I've had such a lovely walk in the May twilight； I stopped by the
barrens and picked these Mayflowers； I came through Violet…Vale；
it's just a big bowlful of violets now the dear； sky…tinted
things。 Smell them； Marilla drink them in。〃
Marilla sniffed obligingly； but she was more interested in Anne
than in drinking violets。
〃Sit down； child。 You must be real tired。 I'm going to get you
some supper。〃
〃There's a darling moonrise behind the hills tonight； Marilla；
and oh； how the frogs sang me home from Carmody！ I do love the
music of the frogs。 It seems bound up with all my happiest
recollections of old spring evenings。 And it always reminds me
of the night I came here first。 Do you remember it； Marilla？〃
〃Well； yes；〃 said Marilla with emphasis。 〃I'm not likely to
forget it ever。〃
〃They used to sing so madly in the marsh and brook that year。