The Golden Road | Page 3

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This "Small Print!" by Charles B. Kramer, Attorney Internet
([email protected]); TEL: (212-254-5093) *END*THE
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ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* THE GOLDEN ROAD By L. M.
MONTGOMERY
"Life was a rose-lipped comrade With purple flowers dripping from her
fingers." --The Author.
TO THE MEMORY OF Aunt Mary Lawson WHO TOLD ME MANY
OF THE TALES REPEATED BY THE STORY GIRL

FOREWORD
Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair
highway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine were
blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm and a
new loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes.
On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank in
fragrances aerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich in gossamer
fancies and iris hopes; our hearts sought and found the boon of dreams;
the years waited beyond and they were very fair; life was a rose-lipped
comrade with purple flowers dripping from her fingers.
We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories are the
dearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish them as such
may haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whose people are
pilgrims on the golden road of youth.

THE GOLDEN ROAD

CHAPTER I
A NEW DEPARTURE

"I've thought of something amusing for the winter," I said as we drew
into a half-circle around the glorious wood-fire in Uncle Alec's kitchen.
It had been a day of wild November wind, closing down into a wet,
eerie twilight. Outside, the wind was shrilling at the windows and
around the eaves, and the rain was playing on the roof. The old willow
at the gate was writhing in the storm and the orchard was a place of
weird music, born of all the tears and fears that haunt the halls of night.
But little we cared for the gloom and the loneliness of the outside world;
we kept them at bay with the light of the fire and the laughter of our
young lips.
We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man's Buff. That is, it
had been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of it because we
found that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowing himself to be caught
too easily, in order that he might have the pleasure of catching
Felicity--which he never failed to do, no matter how tightly his eyes
were bound. What remarkable goose said that love is blind? Love can
see through five folds of closely-woven muffler with ease!
"I'm getting tired," said Cecily, whose breath was coming rather
quickly and whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. "Let's sit
down and get the Story Girl to tell us a story."
But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot a significant
glance at me which intimated that this was the psychological moment
for introducing the scheme she and I had been secretly developing for
some days. It was really the Story Girl's idea and none of mine. But she
had insisted that I should make the suggestion as coming wholly from
myself.
"If you don't, Felicity won't agree to it. You know yourself, Bev, how
contrary she's been lately over anything I mention. And if she goes
against it Peter will too--the ninny!--and it wouldn't be any fun if we
weren't all in it."
"What is it?" asked Felicity, drawing her chair slightly away from
Peter's.

"It is this. Let us get up a newspaper of our own--write it all ourselves,
and have all we do in it. Don't you think we can get a lot of fun out of
it?"
Everyone looked rather blank and amazed, except the Story Girl. She
knew what she had to do, and she did it.
"What a silly idea!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss of her
long brown curls. "Just as if WE could get up a newspaper!"
Felicity fired up, exactly as we had hoped.
"I think it's a splendid idea," she said enthusiastically. "I'd like to know
why we couldn't get up as good a newspaper as they have in town!
Uncle Roger says