At the Bay Shore Farm

"At the Bay Shore Farm" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a charming narrative that captures the idyllic summer experiences of a young girl named Sara after she arrives at a picturesque farm by the sea. Through her adventures, Sara encounters the beauty of nature, forms new friendships, and grapples with the complexities of growing up. The story is imbued with Montgomery's signature warmth and lyrical prose, offering readers a glimpse into the joys and challenges of rural life, the bonds of family, and the enchantment of summer days by the bay.

• Short story

								
The Newburys were agog with excitement over the Governor's picnic. As
they talked it over on the verandah at sunset, they felt that life
could not be worth living to those unfortunate people who had not been
invited to it. Not that there were many of the latter in Claymont, for
it was the Governor's native village, and the Claymonters were getting
up the picnic for him during his political visit to the city fifteen
miles away.

Each of the Newburys had a special reason for wishing to attend the
Governor's picnic. Ralph and Elliott wanted to see the Governor
himself. He was a pet hero of theirs. Had he not once been a Claymont
lad just like themselves? Had he not risen to the highest office in
the state by dint of sheer hard work and persistency? Had he not won a
national reputation by his prompt and decisive measures during the big
strike at Campden? And was he not a man, personally and politically,
whom any boy might be proud to imitate? Yes, to all of these
questions. Hence to the Newbury boys the interest of the picnic
centred in the Governor.

"I shall feel two inches taller just to get a look at him," said Ralph
enthusiastically.

"He isn't much to look at," said Frances, rather patronizingly. "I saw
him once at Campden--he came to the school when his daughter was
graduated. He is bald and fat. Oh, of course, he is famous and all
that! But I want to go to the picnic to see Sara Beaumont. She's to be
there with the Chandlers from Campden, and Mary Spearman, who knows
her by sight, is going to point her out to me. I suppose it would be
too much to expect to be introduced to her. I shall probably have to
content myself with just looking at her."

Ralph resented hearing the Governor called bald and fat. Somehow it
seemed as if his hero were being reduced to the level of common clay.

"That's like a girl," he said loftily; "thinking more about a woman
who writes books than about a man like the Governor!"

"I'd rather see Sara Beaumont than forty governors," retorted Frances.
"Why, she's famous--and her books are perfect! If I could ever hope to
write anything like them! It's been the dream of my life just to see
her ever since I read The Story of Idlewild. And now to think that
it is to be fulfilled! It seems too good to be true that
tomorrow--tomorrow, Newburys,--I shall see Sara Beaumont!"

"Well," said Cecilia gently--Cecilia was always gentle even in her
enthusiasm--"I shall like to see the Governor and Sara Beaumont too.
But I'm going to the picnic more for the sake of seeing Nan Harris
than anything else. It's three years since she went away, you know,
and I've never had another chum whom I love so dearly. I'm just
looking forward to meeting her and talking over all our dear, good old
times. I do wonder if she has changed much. But I am sure I shall know
her."

"By her red hair and her freckles?" questioned Elliott teasingly.
"They'll be the same as ever, I'll be bound."

Cecilia flushed and looked as angry as she could--which isn't saying
much, after all. She didn't mind when Elliott teased her about her pug
nose and her big mouth, but it always hurt her when he made fun of
Nan.

Nan's family had once lived across the street from the Newburys. Nan
and Cecilia had been playmates all through childhood, but when both
girls were fourteen the Harrises had moved out west. Cecilia had never
seen Nan since. But now the latter had come east for a visit, and was
with her relatives in Campden. She was to be at the picnic, and
Cecilia's cup of delight brimmed over.

Mrs. Newbury came briskly into the middle of their sunset plans. She
had been down to the post office, and she carried an open letter in
her hand.

"Mother," said Frances, straightening up anxiously, "you have a
pitying expression on your face. Which of us is it for--speak
out--don't keep us in suspense. Has Mary Spearman told you that Sara
Beaumont isn't going to be at the picnic?"

"Or that the Governor isn't going to be there?"

"Or that Nan Harris isn't coming?"

"Or that something's happened to put off the affair altogether?" cried
Ralph and Cecilia and Elliott all at once.

Mrs. Newbury laughed. "No, it's none of those things. And I don't know
just whom I do pity, but it is one of you girls. This is a letter from
Grandmother Newbury. Tomorrow is her birthday, and she wants either
Frances or Cecilia to go out to Ashland on the early morning train and
spend the day at the Bay Shore Farm."

There was silence on the verandah of the Newburys for the space of ten
seconds. Then Frances burst out with: "Mother, you know neither of us
can go tomorrow. If it were any other day! But the day of the picnic!"

"I'm sorry, but one of you must go," said Mrs. Newbury firmly. "Your
father said so when I called at the store to show him the letter.
Grandmother Newbury would be very much hurt and displeased if her
invitation were disregarded--you know that. But we leave it to
yourselves to decide which one shall go."

"Don't do that," implored Frances miserably. "Pick one of us
yourself--pull straws--anything to shorten the agony."

"No; you must settle it for yourselves," said Mrs. Newbury. But in
spite of herself she looked at Cecilia. Cecilia was apt to be looked
at, someway, when things were to be given up. Mostly it was Cecilia
who gave them up. The family had come to expect it of her; they all
said that Cecilia was very unselfish.

Cecilia knew that her mother looked at her, but did not turn her face.
She couldn't, just then; she looked away out over the hills and tried
to swallow something that came up in her throat.

"Glad I'm not a girl," said Ralph, when Mrs. Newbury had gone into the
house. "Whew! Nothing could induce me to give up that picnic--not if a
dozen Grandmother Newburys were offended. Where's your sparkle gone
now, Fran?"

"It's too bad of Grandmother Newbury," declared Frances angrily.

"Oh, Fran, she didn't know about the picnic," said Cecilia--but still
without turning round.

"Well, she needn't always be so annoyed if we don't go when we are
invited. Another day would do just as well," said Frances shortly.
Something in her voice sounded choked too. She rose and walked to the
other end of the verandah, where she stood and scowled down the road;
Ralph and Elliott, feeling uncomfortable, went away.

The verandah was very still for a little while. The sun had quite set,
and it was growing dark when Frances came back to the steps.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" she said shortly. "Which of
us is to go to the Bay Shore?"

"I suppose I had better go," said Cecilia slowly--very slowly indeed.

Frances kicked her slippered toe against the fern jardinière.

"You may see Nan Harris somewhere else before she goes back," she said

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