At Five O'clock in the Morning Page #2

"At Five O'clock in the Morning" is a poignant short story by Lucy Maud Montgomery that explores themes of love, loss, and the complexities of human emotion. Set against the backdrop of the early morning hours, the narrative delves into the inner thoughts and reflections of its characters as they grapple with their feelings and the passage of time. Montgomery's signature lyrical prose captures the beauty and melancholy of life's fleeting moments, inviting readers to contemplate the deeper meanings of connection and longing.

• Short story

								

May I help you?"

Mollie looked up at him over her shoulder. She had glorious grey eyes.
Her face was serene and undisturbed. "Can you milk?" she asked.

"Unlikely as it may seem, I can," said Murray. "I have never confessed
it to Mrs. Emory, because I was afraid she would inveigle me into
milking her fourteen cows. But I don't mind helping you. I learned to
milk when I was a shaver on my vacations at a grandfatherly farm. May
I have that extra pail?"

Murray captured a milking stool and rounded up another Jersey. Before
sitting down he seemed struck with an idea.

"My name is Arnold Murray. I board at Sweetbriar Cottage, next farm to
Orchard Knob. That makes us near neighbours."

"I suppose it does," said Mollie.

Murray mentally decided that her voice was the sweetest he had ever
heard. He was glad he had arranged his cow at such an angle that he
could study her profile. It was amazing that Mrs. Palmer's niece
should have such a profile. It looked as if centuries of fine breeding
were responsible for it.

"What a morning!" he said enthusiastically. "It harks back to the days
when earth was young. They must have had just such mornings as this in
Eden."

"Do you always get up so early?" asked Mollie practically.

"Always," said Murray without a blush. Then--"But no, that is a fib,
and I cannot tell fibs to you. The truth is your tribute. I never get
up early. It was fate that roused me and brought me here this morning.
The morning is a miracle--and you, I might suppose you were born of
the sunrise, if Mrs. Palmer hadn't told me all about you."

"What did she tell you about me?" asked Mollie, changing cows. Murray
discovered that she was tall and that the big blue print apron
shrouded a singularly graceful figure.

"She said you were the best-looking girl in Bruce county. I have seen
very few of the girls in Bruce county, but I know she is right."

"That compliment is not nearly so pretty as the sunrise one," said
Mollie reflectively. "Mrs. Palmer has told me things about you," she
added.

"Curiosity knows no gender," hinted Murray.

"She said you were good-looking and lazy and different from other
people."

"All compliments," said Murray in a gratified tone.

"Lazy?"

"Certainly. Laziness is a virtue in these strenuous days, I was not
born with it, but I have painstakingly acquired it, and I am proud of
my success. I have time to enjoy life."

"I think that I like you," said Mollie.

"You have the merit of being able to enter into a situation," he
assured her.

When the last Jersey was milked they carried the pails down to the
spring where the creamers were sunk and strained the milk into them.
Murray washed the pails and Mollie wiped them and set them in a
gleaming row on the shelf under a big maple.

"Thank you," she said.

"You are not going yet," said Murray resolutely. "The time I saved you
in milking three cows belongs to me. We will spend it in a walk along
the pond shore. I will show you a path I have discovered under the
beeches. It is just wide enough for two. Come."

He took her hand and drew her through the copse into a green lane,
where the ferns grew thickly on either side and the pond waters
plashed dreamily below them. He kept her hand in his as they went down
the path, and she did not try to withdraw it. About them was the
great, pure silence of the morning, faintly threaded with caressing
sounds--croon of birds, gurgle of waters, sough of wind. The spirit of
youth and love hovered over them and they spoke no word.

When they finally came out on a little green nook swimming in early
sunshine and arched over by maples, with the wide shimmer of the pond
before it and the gold dust of blossoms over the grass, the girl drew
a long breath of delight.

"It is a morning left over from Eden, isn't it?" said Murray.

"Yes," said Mollie softly.

Murray bent toward her. "You are Eve," he said. "You are the only
woman in the world--for me. Adam must have told Eve just what he
thought about her the first time he saw her. There were no
conventionalities in Eden--and people could not have taken long to
make up their minds. We are in Eden just now. One can say what he
thinks in Eden without being ridiculous. You are divinely fair, Eve.
Your eyes are stars of the morning--your cheek has the flush it stole
from the sunrise-your lips are redder than the roses of paradise. And
I love you, Eve."

Mollie lowered her eyes and the long fringe of her lashes lay in a
burnished semi-circle on her cheek.

"I think," she said slowly, "that it must have been very delightful in
Eden. But we are not really there, you know--we are only playing that
we are. And it is time for me to go back. I must get the
breakfast--that sounds too prosaic for paradise."

Murray bent still closer.

"Before we remember that we are only playing at paradise, will you
kiss me, dear Eve?"

"You are very audacious," said Mollie coldly.

"We are in Eden yet," he urged. "That makes all the difference."

"Well," said Mollie. And Murray kissed her.

They had passed back over the fern path and were in the pasture before
either spoke again. Then Murray said, "We have left Eden behind--but
we can always return there when we will. And although we were only
playing at paradise, I was not playing at love. I meant all I said,
Mollie."

"Have you meant it often?" asked Mollie significantly.

"I never meant it--or even played at it--before," he answered. "I
did--at one time--contemplate the possibility of playing at it. But
that was long ago--as long ago as last night. I am glad to the core of
my soul that I decided against it before I met you, dear Eve. I have
the letter of decision in my coat pocket this moment. I mean to mail
it this afternoon."

"'Curiosity knows no gender,'" quoted Mollie.

"Then, to satisfy your curiosity, I must bore you with some personal
history. My parents died when I was a little chap, and my uncle
brought me up. He has been immensely good to me, but he is a bit of a
tyrant. Recently he picked out a wife for me--the daughter of an old
sweetheart of his. I have never even seen her. But she has arrived in
town on a visit to some relatives there. Uncle Dick wrote to me to
return home at once and pay my court to the lady; I protested. He
wrote again--a letter, short and the reverse of sweet. If I refused to
do my best to win Miss Mannering he would disown me--never speak to me
again--cut me off with a quarter. Uncle always means what he
says--that is one of our family traits, you understand. I spent some
miserable, undecided days. It was not the threat of disinheritance
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