The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Road, by Lucy Maud Montgomery

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: The Golden Road

Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery

Release Date: July 5, 2008 [EBook #316]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN ROAD ***

Produced by John Hamm

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