I look over and notice that frequent and significant look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing into some far-off future. He is quiet, a mesmerized dreamer of the unrealistic; those grand dreams which I have no desire to refute. Sometimes at the end of a day, I will realize with deepening chagrin that he has gone through the day with very few spoken words. He seems to prefer it that way- but when we sit and give him time to voice the many tumbling thoughts in his head, he has so much to tell with that settled, long-lashed trust in his eyes. His vocabulary makes us smile– golden, descriptive words far exceeding his age. Splendid, soft-toned words sounding incongruous with his junior voice. He’s a reader. A thinker. He absorbs. We listen. We laugh. We answer. We plan. We fear. We feel the weight of a sobering responsibility. We have so much hope, so much love for this young boy of dreams.




“He is the dearest, sweetest child I ever knew, Miss Lavendar. . . and he pretends things too, just as you and I do.”

“I’d like to see him,” said Miss Lavendar softly, as if talking to herself. “I wonder if he looks anything like the little dream-boy who lives here with me. . .MY little dream-boy.”

-from Anne of Avonlea by LM Montgomery


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