Pat of Silver Bush by L. M. Montgomery

Author:L. M. Montgomery
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2014-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

Shores of Romance

“Sure and it’ll rain afore night,” said Judy at noon. “Look how clare ye can see yer Hill av the Mist.”

Pat hoped it wouldn’t rain. She and Jingle had planned a walk to the shore. This was by way of being a treat to Pat for although you could, from Silver Bush see the great gulf to the north and the shimmering blue curve of the harbor to the east, it was a mile and a half to the shore itself and the Silver Bush children did not often get down. Pat felt that she needed something to cheer her up. Buttons, the dearest kitten that had ever been at Silver Bush…to be sure, every kitten was that…had died that morning without rhyme or reason. All his delights were over…frisking in the “dim”…flying up trees…catching small mice in the jungle of the Old Part…basking on the tombstones. Pat had tearfully buried this little dead thing that only yester-night had been so beautiful.

Besides, she was “out” with Sid over his frog. Pat was always so sorry for imprisoned things and Sid had had that poor frog in a pail in the yard for a week. Every time Pat looked at it it seemed to look at her appealingly. Perhaps it had a father or mother or husband or wife in the pool. Or even just a dear friend to whom it longed to be reunited. So Pat carried it away to the Field of the Pool and Sid hadn’t spoken to her for two days.

All the afternoon the heat waves shimmered over the Buttercup Field and the sun “drew water”…as if some far-off Weaver in the west were spinning shining threads of rain between sky and sea. But it was still a lovely evening when Jingle and Pat…and McGinty…started for the shore, although far down on the lowlands was a smudge of fog here and there, with little fir trees sticking spectrally up out of it.

“Don’t ye go and get drownded now,” warned Judy, as she always did when anybody went to the shore. “And mind ye don’t fall over the capes or get caught be the tide or run over by an auty afore ye get to the shore road or…” but they were out of hearing before Judy could think up any more “ors.”

Pat loved that long red road that wandered on until it reached the sea, twisting unexpectedly just because it wanted to, among the spruce “barrens,” where purple sheep laurel bordered the path and meadow-sweet and blue-eyed grass grew along the fences. “Kiss-me-quicks,” Judy called the blue-eyed grasses. Pat liked this name best but you couldn’t call it that to a boy. They rambled happily on, sucking honey-filled horns of red clover, a mad, happy little dog tearing along before them with his tongue out. Sometimes they talked and sometimes they didn’t. That was what Pat liked about Jingle. You didn’t have to talk to him unless you wanted to.

Halfway to the shore they had to call at Mr.

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