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Mr. Phillips might not be a very good teacher; but a pupil so
inflexibly
determined on learning as Anne was could hardly escape making
progress
under any kind of teacher. By the end of the term Anne and Gilbert
were
both promoted into the fifth class and allowed to begin studying
the
elements of "the branches"--by which Latin, geometry, French,
and
algebra were meant. In geometry Anne met her Waterloo.
"It's
perfectly awful stuff, Marilla," she groaned. "I'm sure I'll never
be able to
make head or tail of it. There is no scope for imagination in
it at all. Mr.
Phillips says I'm the worst dunce he ever saw at it.
And Gil--I mean some of
the others are so smart at it. It is extremely
mortifying,
Marilla.
"Even Diana gets along better than I do. But I don't mind being
beaten
by Diana. Even although we meet as strangers now I still love her
with
an INEXTINGUISHABLE love. It makes me very sad at times to think
about
her. But really, Marilla, one can't stay sad very long in such
an
interesting world, can one?"
CHAPTER XVIII. Anne to the
Rescue
ALL things great are wound up with all things little. At first
glance
it might not seem that the decision of a certain Canadian Premier
to
include Prince Edward Island in a political tour could have much
or
anything to do with the fortunes of little Anne Shirley at Green
Gables.
But it had.
It was a January the Premier came, to address his
loyal supporters and
such of his nonsupporters as chose to be present at the
monster mass
meeting held in Charlottetown. Most of the Avonlea people were
on
Premier's side of politics; hence on the night of the meeting
nearly
all the men and a goodly proportion of the women had gone to town
thirty
miles away. Mrs. Rachel Lynde had gone too. Mrs. Rachel Lynde was
a
red-hot politician and couldn't have believed that the political
rally
could be carried through without her, although she was on the
opposite
side of politics. So she went to town and took her husband--Thomas
would
be useful in looking after the horse--and Marilla Cuthbert with
her.
Marilla had a sneaking interest in politics herself, and as she
thought
it might be her only chance to see a real live Premier, she
promptly
took it, leaving Anne and Matthew to keep house until her return
the
following day.
Hence, while Marilla and Mrs. Rachel were enjoying
themselves hugely
at the mass meeting, Anne and Matthew had the cheerful
kitchen at Green
Gables all to themselves. A bright fire was glowing in the
old-fashioned
Waterloo stove and blue-white frost crystals were shining on
the
windowpanes. Matthew nodded over a FARMERS' ADVOCATE on the sofa
and
Anne at the table studied her lessons with grim determination,
despite
sundry wistful glances at the clock shelf, where lay a new book
that
Jane Andrews had lent her that day. Jane had assured her that it
was
warranted to produce any number of thrills, or words to that effect,
and
Anne's fingers tingled to reach out for it. But that would mean
Gilbert
Blythe's triumph on the morrow. Anne turned her back on the clock
shelf
and tried to imagine it wasn't there.
"Matthew, did you ever
study geometry when you went to school?"
"Well now, no, I didn't," said
Matthew, coming out of his doze with a
start.
"I wish you had," sighed
Anne, "because then you'd be able to sympathize
with me. You can't sympathize
properly if you've never studied it. It is
casting a cloud over my whole
life. I'm such a dunce at it, Matthew."
"Well now, I dunno," said Matthew
soothingly. "I guess you're all right
at anything. Mr. Phillips told me last
week in Blair's store at Carmody
that you was the smartest scholar in school
and was making rapid
progress. 'Rapid progress' was his very words. There's
them as runs down
Teddy Phillips and says he ain't much of a teacher, but I
guess he's all
right."
Matthew would have thought anyone who praised
Anne was "all right."
"I'm sure I'd get on better with geometry if only
he wouldn't change
the letters," complained Anne. "I learn the proposition
off by heart and
then he draws it on the blackboard and puts different
letters from what
are in the book and I get all mixed up. I don't think a
teacher should
take such a mean advantage, do you? We're studying agriculture
now and
I've found out at last what makes the roads red. It's a great
comfort.
I wonder how Marilla and Mrs. Lynde are enjoying themselves. Mrs.
Lynde
says Canada is going to the dogs the way things are being run at
Ottawa
and that it's an awful warning to the electors. She says if women
were
allowed to vote we would soon see a blessed change. What way do
you
vote, Matthew?"
"Conservative," said Matthew promptly. To vote
Conservative was part of
Matthew's religion.
"Then I'm Conservative
too," said Anne decidedly. "I'm glad because
Gil--because some of the boys in
school are Grits. I guess Mr. Phillips
is a Grit too because Prissy Andrews's
father is one, and Ruby Gillis
says that when a man is courting he always has
to agree with the girl's
mother in religion and her father in politics. Is
that true, Matthew?"
"Well now, I dunno," said Matthew.
"Did you
ever go courting, Matthew?"
"Well now, no, I dunno's I ever did," said
Matthew, who had certainly
never thought of such a thing in his whole
existence.
Anne reflected with her chin in her hands.
"It must be
rather interesting, don't you think, Matthew? Ruby Gillis
says when she grows
up she's going to have ever so many beaus on the
string and have them all
crazy about her; but I think that would be too
exciting. I'd rather have just
one in his right mind. But Ruby Gillis
knows a great deal about such matters
because she has so many big
sisters, and Mrs. Lynde says the Gillis girls
have gone off like hot
cakes. Mr. Phillips goes up to see Prissy Andrews
nearly every evening.
He says it is to help her with her lessons but Miranda
Sloane is
studying for Queen's too, and I should think she needed help a lot
more
than Prissy because she's ever so much stupider, but he never goes
to
help her in the evenings at all. There are a great many things in
this
world that I can't understand very well, Matthew."
"Well now, I
dunno as I comprehend them all myself," acknowledged
Matthew.
"Well, I
suppose I must finish up my lessons. I won't allow myself to
open that new
book Jane lent me until I'm through. But it's a terrible
temptation, Matthew.
Even when I turn my back on it I can see it there
just as plain. Jane said
she cried herself sick over it. I love a book
that makes me cry. But I think
I'll carry that book into the sitting
room and lock it in the jam closet and
give you the key. And you must
NOT give it to me, Matthew, until my lessons
are done, not even if
I implore you on my bended knees. It's all very well to
say resist
temptation, but it's ever so much easier to resist it if you can't
get
the key. And then shall I run down the cellar and get some
russets,
Matthew? Wouldn't you like some russets?"
"Well now, I dunno
but what I would," said Matthew, who never ate
russets but knew Anne's
weakness for them.
Just as Anne emerged triumphantly from the cellar with
her plateful of
russets came the sound of flying footsteps on the icy board
walk outside
and the next moment the kitchen door was flung open and in
rushed Diana
Barry, white faced and breathless, with a shawl wrapped hastily
around
her head. Anne promptly let go of her candle and plate in her
surprise,
and plate, candle, and apples crashed together down the cellar
ladder
and were found at the bottom embedded in melted grease, the next
day,
by Marilla, who gathered them up and thanked mercy the house hadn't
been
set on fire.
"Whatever is the matter, Diana?" cried Anne. "Has
your mother relented
at last?"
"Oh, Anne, do come quick," implored
Diana nervously. "Minnie May is
awful sick--she's got croup. Young Mary Joe
says--and Father and Mother
are away to town and there's nobody to go for the
doctor. Minnie May is
awful bad and Young Mary Joe doesn't know what to
do--and oh, Anne, I'm
so scared!"
Matthew, without a word, reached out
for cap and coat, slipped past
Diana and away into the darkness of the
yard.
"He's gone to harness the sorrel mare to go to Carmody for the
doctor,"
said Anne, who was hurrying on hood and jacket. "I know it as well
as
if he'd said so. Matthew and I are such kindred spirits I can read
his
thoughts without words at all."
"I don't believe he'll find the
doctor at Carmody," sobbed Diana. "I
know that Dr. Blair went to town and I
guess Dr. Spencer would go too.
Young Mary Joe never saw anybody with croup
and Mrs. Lynde is away. Oh,
Anne!"
"Don't cry, Di," said Anne
cheerily. "I know exactly what to do for
croup. You forget that Mrs. Hammond
had twins three times. When you look
after three pairs of twins you naturally
get a lot of experience. They
all had croup regularly. Just wait till I get
the ipecac bottle--you
mayn't have any at your house. Come on
now."
The two little girls hastened out hand in hand and hurried
through
Lover's Lane and across the crusted field beyond, for the snow was
too
deep to go by the shorter wood way. Anne, although sincerely sorry
for
Minnie May, was far from being insensible to the romance of the
situation and
to the sweetness of once more sharing that romance with a
kindred
spirit.
The night was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of
snowy
slope; big stars were shining over the silent fields; here and there
the
dark pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and
the
wind whistling through them. Anne thought it was truly delightful to
go
skimming through all this mystery and loveliness with your bosom
friend
who had been so long estranged.
Minnie May, aged three, was
really very sick. She lay on the kitchen
sofa feverish and restless, while
her hoarse breathing could be heard
all over the house. Young Mary Joe, a
buxom, broad-faced French girl
from the creek, whom Mrs. Barry had engaged to
stay with the children
during her absence, was helpless and bewildered, quite
incapable of
thinking what to do, or doing it if she thought of
it.
Anne went to work with skill and promptness.
"Minnie May has
croup all right; she's pretty bad, but I've seen them
worse. First we must
have lots of hot water. I declare, Diana, there
isn't more than a cupful in
the kettle! There, I've filled it up, and,
Mary Joe, you may put some wood in
the stove. I don't want to hurt your
feelings but it seems to me you might
have thought of this before if
you'd any imagination. Now, I'll undress
Minnie May and put her to bed
and you try to find some soft flannel cloths,
Diana. I'm going to give
her a dose of ipecac first of all."
Minnie
May did not take kindly to the ipecac but Anne had not brought up
three pairs
of twins for nothing. Down that ipecac went, not only once,
but many times
during the long, anxious night when the two little girls
worked patiently
over the suffering Minnie May, and Young Mary Joe,
honestly anxious to do all
she could, kept up a roaring fire and heated
more water than would have been
needed for a hospital of croupy babies.
It was three o'clock when Matthew
came with a doctor, for he had been
obliged to go all the way to Spencervale
for one. But the pressing need
for assistance was past. Minnie May was much
better and was sleeping
soundly.
"I was awfully near giving up in
despair," explained Anne. "She got
worse and worse until she was sicker than
ever the Hammond twins were,
even the last pair. I actually thought she was
going to choke to death.
I gave her every drop of ipecac in that bottle and
when the last dose
went down I said to myself--not to Diana or Young Mary
Joe, because I
didn't want to worry them any more than they were worried, but
I had
to say it to myself just to relieve my feelings--'This is the
last
lingering hope and I fear, tis a vain one.' But in about three
minutes
she coughed up the phlegm and began to get better right away. You
must
just imagine my relief, doctor, because I can't express it in words.
You
know there are some things that cannot be expressed in
words."
"Yes, I know," nodded the doctor. He looked at Anne as if he
were
thinking some things about her that couldn't be expressed in
words.
Later on, however, he expressed them to Mr. and Mrs.
Barry.
"That little redheaded girl they have over at Cuthbert's is as
smart as
they make 'em. I tell you she saved that baby's life, for it would
have
been too late by the time I got there. She seems to have a skill
and
presence of mind perfectly wonderful in a child of her age. I never
saw
anything like the eyes of her when she was explaining the case to
me."
Anne had gone home in the wonderful, white-frosted winter morning,
heavy
eyed from loss of sleep, but still talking unweariedly to Matthew
as
they crossed the long white field and walked under the glittering
fairy
arch of the Lover's Lane maples.
"Oh, Matthew, isn't it a
wonderful morning? The world looks like
something God had just imagined for
His own pleasure, doesn't it? Those
trees look as if I could blow them away
with a breath--pouf! I'm so glad
I live in a world where there are white
frosts, aren't you? And I'm so
glad Mrs. Hammond had three pairs of twins
after all. If she hadn't I
mightn't have known what to do for Minnie May. I'm
real sorry I was
ever cross with Mrs. Hammond for having twins. But, oh,
Matthew, I'm so
sleepy. I can't go to school. I just know I couldn't keep my
eyes open
and I'd be so stupid. But I hate to stay home, for Gil--some
of
the others will get head of the class, and it's so hard to get
up
again--although of course the harder it is the more satisfaction
you
have when you do get up, haven't you?"
"Well now, I guess you'll
manage all right," said Matthew, looking at
Anne's white little face and the
dark shadows under her eyes. "You just
go right to bed and have a good sleep.
I'll do all the chores."
Anne accordingly went to bed and slept so long
and soundly that it
was well on in the white and rosy winter afternoon when
she awoke and
descended to the kitchen where Marilla, who had arrived home in
the
meantime, was sitting knitting.
"Oh, did you see the Premier?"
exclaimed Anne at once. "What did he look
like Marilla?"
"Well, he
never got to be Premier on account of his looks," said
Marilla. "Such a nose
as that man had! But he can speak. I was proud of
being a Conservative.
Rachel Lynde, of course, being a Liberal, had no
use for him. Your dinner is
in the oven, Anne, and you can get yourself
some blue plum preserve out of
the pantry. I guess you're hungry.
Matthew has been telling me about last
night. I must say it was
fortunate you knew what to do. I wouldn't have had
any idea myself, for
I never saw a case of croup. There now, never mind
talking till you've
had your dinner. I can tell by the look of you that
you're just full up
with speeches, but they'll keep."
Marilla had
something to tell Anne, but she did not tell it just then
for she knew if she
did Anne's consequent excitement would lift her
clear out of the region of
such material matters as appetite or dinner.
Not until Anne had finished her
saucer of blue plums did Marilla say:
"Mrs. Barry was here this
afternoon, Anne. She wanted to see you, but I
wouldn't wake you up. She says
you saved Minnie May's life, and she is
very sorry she acted as she did in
that affair of the currant wine. She
says she knows now you didn't mean to
set Diana drunk, and she hopes
you'll forgive her and be good friends with
Diana again. You're to go
over this evening if you like for Diana can't stir
outside the door
on account of a bad cold she caught last night. Now, Anne
Shirley, for
pity's sake don't fly up into the air."
The warning
seemed not unnecessary, so uplifted and aerial was Anne's
expression and
attitude as she sprang to her feet, her face irradiated
with the flame of her
spirit.
"Oh, Marilla, can I go right now--without washing my dishes? I'll
wash
them when I come back, but I cannot tie myself down to anything
so
unromantic as dishwashing at this thrilling moment."
"Yes, yes, run
along," said Marilla indulgently. "Anne Shirley--are you
crazy? Come back
this instant and put something on you. I might as well
call to the wind.
She's gone without a cap or wrap. Look at her tearing
through the orchard
with her hair streaming. It'll be a mercy if she
doesn't catch her death of
cold."
Anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the
snowy
places. Afar in the southwest was the great shimmering,
pearl-like
sparkle of an evening star in a sky that was pale golden and
ethereal
rose over gleaming white spaces and dark glens of spruce. The
tinkles
of sleigh bells among the snowy hills came like elfin chimes
through
the frosty air, but their music was not sweeter than the song in
Anne's
heart and on her lips.
"You see before you a perfectly happy
person, Marilla," she announced.
"I'm perfectly happy--yes, in spite of my
red hair. Just at present I
have a soul above red hair. Mrs. Barry kissed me
and cried and said she
was so sorry and she could never repay me. I felt
fearfully embarrassed,
Marilla, but I just said as politely as I could, 'I
have no hard
feelings for you, Mrs. Barry. I assure you once for all that I
did not
mean to intoxicate Diana and henceforth I shall cover the past with
the
mantle of oblivion.' That was a pretty dignified way of speaking
wasn't
it, Marilla?"
"I felt that I was heaping coals of fire on Mrs.
Barry's head. And Diana
and I had a lovely afternoon. Diana showed me a new
fancy crochet stitch
her aunt over at Carmody taught her. Not a soul in
Avonlea knows it but
us, and we pledged a solemn vow never to reveal it to
anyone else. Diana
gave me a beautiful card with a wreath of roses on it and
a verse of
poetry:
"If you love me as I love
you
Nothing but death can part us two.
"And that is true,
Marilla. We're going to ask Mr. Phillips to let us sit
together in school
again, and Gertie Pye can go with Minnie Andrews. We
had an elegant tea. Mrs.
Barry had the very best china set out, Marilla,
just as if I was real
company. I can't tell you what a thrill it gave
me. Nobody ever used their
very best china on my account before. And we
had fruit cake and pound cake
and doughnuts and two kinds of preserves,
Marilla. And Mrs. Barry asked me if
I took tea and said 'Pa, why don't
you pass the biscuits to Anne?' It must be
lovely to be grown up,
Marilla, when just being treated as if you were is so
nice."
"I don't know about that," said Marilla, with a brief
sigh.
"Well, anyway, when I am grown up," said Anne decidedly, "I'm
always
going to talk to little girls as if they were too, and I'll never
laugh
when they use big words. I know from sorrowful experience how that
hurts
one's feelings. After tea Diana and I made taffy. The taffy wasn't
very
good, I suppose because neither Diana nor I had ever made any
before.
Diana left me to stir it while she buttered the plates and I forgot
and
let it burn; and then when we set it out on the platform to cool the
cat
walked over one plate and that had to be thrown away. But the making
of
it was splendid fun. Then when I came home Mrs. Barry asked me to
come
over as often as I could and Diana stood at the window and threw
kisses
to me all the way down to Lover's Lane. I assure you, Marilla, that
I
feel like praying tonight and I'm going to think out a special
brand-new
prayer in honor of the occasion."
CHAPTER XIX. A
Concert a Catastrophe and a Confession
"MARILLA, can I go over to see
Diana just for a minute?" asked Anne,
running breathlessly down from the east
gable one February evening.
"I don't see what you want to be traipsing
about after dark for," said
Marilla shortly. "You and Diana walked home from
school together and
then stood down there in the snow for half an hour more,
your tongues
going the whole blessed time, clickety-clack. So I don't think
you're
very badly off to see her again."
"But she wants to see me,"
pleaded Anne. "She has something very
important to tell me."
"How do
you know she has?"
"Because she just signaled to me from her window. We
have arranged a
way to signal with our candles and cardboard. We set the
candle on the
window sill and make flashes by passing the cardboard back and
forth. So
many flashes mean a certain thing. It was my idea,
Marilla."
"I'll warrant you it was," said Marilla emphatically. "And the
next
thing you'll be setting fire to the curtains with your
signaling
nonsense."
"Oh, we're very careful, Marilla. And it's so
interesting. Two flashes
mean, 'Are you there?' Three mean 'yes' and four
'no.' Five mean, 'Come
over as soon as possible, because I have something
important to reveal.'
Diana has just signaled five flashes, and I'm really
suffering to know
what it is."
"Well, you needn't suffer any longer,"
said Marilla sarcastically. "You
can go, but you're to be back here in just
ten minutes, remember that."
Anne did remember it and was back in the
stipulated time, although
probably no mortal will ever know just what it cost
her to confine the
discussion of Diana's important communication within the
limits of ten
minutes. But at least she had made good use of
them.
"Oh, Marilla, what do you think? You know tomorrow is Diana's
birthday.
Well, her mother told her she could ask me to go home with her
from
school and stay all night with her. And her cousins are coming over
from
Newbridge in a big pung sleigh to go to the Debating Club concert
at
the hall tomorrow night. And they are going to take Diana and me to
the
concert--if you'll let me go, that is. You will, won't you, Marilla?
Oh,
I feel so excited."
"You can calm down then, because you're not
going. You're better at home
in your own bed, and as for that club concert,
it's all nonsense, and
little girls should not be allowed to go out to such
places at all."
"I'm sure the Debating Club is a most respectable
affair," pleaded Anne.
"I'm not saying it isn't. But you're not going to
begin gadding about
to concerts and staying out all hours of the night.
Pretty doings for
children. I'm surprised at Mrs. Barry's letting Diana
go."
"But it's such a very special occasion," mourned Anne, on the verge
of
tears. "Diana has only one birthday in a year. It isn't as if
birthdays
were common things, Marilla. Prissy Andrews is going to recite
'Curfew
Must Not Ring Tonight.' That is such a good moral piece, Marilla,
I'm
sure it would do me lots of good to hear it. And the choir are going
to
sing four lovely pathetic songs that are pretty near as good as
hymns.
And oh, Marilla, the minister is going to take part; yes, indeed, he
is;
he's going to give an address. That will be just about the same thing
as
a sermon. Please, mayn't I go, Marilla?"
"You heard what I said,
Anne, didn't you? Take off your boots now and go
to bed. It's past
eight."
"There's just one more thing, Marilla," said Anne, with the air
of
producing the last shot in her locker. "Mrs. Barry told Diana that
we
might sleep in the spare-room bed. Think of the honor of your
little
Anne being put in the spare-room bed."
"It's an honor you'll
have to get along without. Go to bed, Anne, and
don't let me hear another
word out of you."
When Anne, with tears rolling over her cheeks, had gone
sorrowfully
upstairs, Matthew, who had been apparently sound asleep on the
lounge
during the whole dialogue, opened his eyes and said
decidedly:
"Well now, Marilla, I think you ought to let Anne
go."
"I don't then," retorted Marilla. "Who's bringing this child
up,
Matthew, you or me?"
"Well now, you," admitted
Matthew.
"Don't interfere then."
"Well now, I ain't interfering.
It ain't interfering to have your own
opinion. And my opinion is that you
ought to let Anne go."
"You'd think I ought to let Anne go to the moon if
she took the notion,
I've no doubt" was Marilla's amiable rejoinder. "I might
have let her
spend the night with Diana, if that was all. But I don't approve
of this
concert plan. She'd go there and catch cold like as not, and have
her
head filled up with nonsense and excitement. It would unsettle her
for
a week. I understand that child's disposition and what's good for
it
better than you, Matthew."
"I think you ought to let Anne go,"
repeated Matthew firmly. Argument
was not his strong point, but holding fast
to his opinion certainly was.
Marilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took
refuge in silence. The
next morning, when Anne was washing the breakfast
dishes in the pantry,
Matthew paused on his way out to the barn to say to
Marilla again:
"I think you ought to let Anne go, Marilla."
For a
moment Marilla looked things not lawful to be uttered. Then she
yielded to
the inevitable and said tartly:
"Very well, she can go, since nothing
else'll please you."
Anne flew out of the pantry, dripping dishcloth in
hand.
"Oh, Marilla, Marilla, say those blessed words again."
"I
guess once is enough to say them. This is Matthew's doings and I
wash my
hands of it. If you catch pneumonia sleeping in a strange bed or
coming out
of that hot hall in the middle of the night, don't blame me,
blame Matthew.
Anne Shirley, you're dripping greasy water all over the
floor. I never saw
such a careless child."
"Oh, I know I'm a great trial to you, Marilla,"
said Anne repentantly.
"I make so many mistakes. But then just think of all
the mistakes I
don't make, although I might. I'll get some sand and scrub up
the spots
before I go to school. Oh, Marilla, my heart was just set on going
to
that concert. I never was to a concert in my life, and when the
other
girls talk about them in school I feel so out of it. You didn't
know
just how I felt about it, but you see Matthew did. Matthew
understands
me, and it's so nice to be understood, Marilla."
Anne was
too excited to do herself justice as to lessons that morning in
school.
Gilbert Blythe spelled her down in class and left her clear out
of sight in
mental arithmetic. Anne's consequent humiliation was
less than it might have
been, however, in view of the concert and the
spare-room bed. She and Diana
talked so constantly about it all day that
with a stricter teacher than Mr.
Phillips dire disgrace must inevitably
have been their portion.
Anne
felt that she could not have borne it if she had not been going
to the
concert, for nothing else was discussed that day in school. The
Avonlea
Debating Club, which met fortnightly all winter, had had several
smaller free
entertainments; but this was to be a big affair, admission
ten cents, in aid
of the library. The Avonlea young people had been
practicing for weeks, and
all the scholars were especially interested in
it by reason of older brothers
and sisters who were going to take part.
Everybody in school over nine years
of age expected to go, except Carrie
Sloane, whose father shared Marilla's
opinions about small girls going
out to night concerts. Carrie Sloane cried
into her grammar all the
afternoon and felt that life was not worth
living.
For Anne the real excitement began with the dismissal of school
and
increased therefrom in crescendo until it reached to a crash of
positive
ecstasy in the concert itself. They had a "perfectly elegant tea;"
and
then came the delicious occupation of dressing in Diana's little
room
upstairs. Diana did Anne's front hair in the new pompadour style
and
Anne tied Diana's bows with the especial knack she possessed; and
they
experimented with at least half a dozen different ways of
arranging
their back hair. At last they were ready, cheeks scarlet and
eyes
glowing with excitement.
True, Anne could not help a little pang
when she contrasted her plain
black tam and shapeless, tight-sleeved,
homemade gray-cloth coat with
Diana's jaunty fur cap and smart little jacket.
But she remembered in
time that she had an imagination and could use
it.
Then Diana's cousins, the Murrays from Newbridge, came; they all
crowded
into the big pung sleigh, among straw and furry robes. Anne reveled
in
the drive to the hall, slipping along over the satin-smooth roads
with
the snow crisping under the runners. There was a magnificent sunset,
and
the snowy hills and deep-blue water of the St. Lawrence Gulf seemed
to
rim in the splendor like a huge bowl of pearl and sapphire brimmed
with
wine and fire. Tinkles of sleigh bells and distant laughter, that
seemed
like the mirth of wood elves, came from every quarter.
"Oh,
Diana," breathed Anne, squeezing Diana's mittened hand under the
fur robe,
"isn't it all like a beautiful dream? Do I really look the
same as usual? I
feel so different that it seems to me it must show in
my looks."
"You
look awfully nice," said Diana, who having just received a
compliment from
one of her cousins, felt that she ought to pass it on.
"You've got the
loveliest color."
The program that night was a series of "thrills" for at
least one
listener in the audience, and, as Anne assured Diana, every
succeeding
thrill was thrillier than the last. When Prissy Andrews, attired
in
a new pink-silk waist with a string of pearls about her smooth
white
throat and real carnations in her hair--rumor whispered that the
master
had sent all the way to town for them for her--"climbed the
slimy
ladder, dark without one ray of light," Anne shivered in
luxurious
sympathy; when the choir sang "Far Above the Gentle Daisies" Anne
gazed
at the ceiling as if it were frescoed with angels; when Sam
Sloane
proceeded to explain and illustrate "How Sockery Set a Hen" Anne
laughed
until people sitting near her laughed too, more out of sympathy with
her
than with amusement at a selection that was rather threadbare even
in
Avonlea; and when Mr. Phillips gave Mark Antony's oration over the
dead
body of Caesar in the most heart-stirring tones--looking at Prissy
Andrews at
the end of every sentence--Anne felt that she could rise and
mutiny on the
spot if but one Roman citizen led the way.
Only one number on the program
failed to interest her. When Gilbert
Blythe recited "Bingen on the Rhine"
Anne picked up Rhoda Murray's
library book and read it until he had finished,
when she sat rigidly
stiff and motionless while Diana clapped her hands until
they tingled.
It was eleven when they got home, sated with dissipation,
but with the
exceeding sweet pleasure of talking it all over still to come.
Everybody
seemed asleep and the house was dark and silent. Anne and Diana
tiptoed
into the parlor, a long narrow room out of which the spare room
opened.
It was pleasantly warm and dimly lighted by the embers of a fire in
the
grate.
"Let's undress here," said Diana. "It's so nice and
warm."
"Hasn't it been a delightful time?" sighed Anne rapturously. "It
must
be splendid to get up and recite there. Do you suppose we will ever
be
asked to do it, Diana?"
"Yes, of course, someday. They're always
wanting the big scholars to
recite. Gilbert Blythe does often and he's only
two years older than us.
Oh, Anne, how could you pretend not to listen to
him? When he came to
the line,
"THERE'S ANOTHER, not A
SISTER,
he looked right down at you."
"Diana," said Anne with
dignity, "you are my bosom friend, but I cannot
allow even you to speak to me
of that person. Are you ready for bed?
Let's run a race and see who'll get to
the bed first."
The suggestion appealed to Diana. The two little
white-clad figures flew
down the long room, through the spare-room door, and
bounded on the bed
at the same moment. And then--something--moved beneath
them, there was a
gasp and a cry--and somebody said in muffled
accents:
"Merciful goodness!"
Anne and Diana were never able to
tell just how they got off that bed
and out of the room. They only knew that
after one frantic rush they
found themselves tiptoeing shiveringly
upstairs.
"Oh, who was it--WHAT was it?" whispered Anne, her teeth
chattering with
cold and fright.
"It was Aunt Josephine," said Diana,
gasping with laughter. "Oh, Anne,
it was Aunt Josephine, however she came to
be there. Oh, and I know she
will be furious. It's dreadful--it's really
dreadful--but did you ever
know anything so funny, Anne?"
"Who is your
Aunt Josephine?"
"She's father's aunt and she lives in Charlottetown.
She's awfully
old--seventy anyhow--and I don't believe she was EVER a little
girl. We
were expecting her out for a visit, but not so soon. She's awfully
prim
and proper and she'll scold dreadfully about this, I know. Well,
we'll
have to sleep with Minnie May--and you can't think how she
kicks."
Miss Josephine Barry did not appear at the early breakfast the
next
morning. Mrs. Barry smiled kindly at the two little girls.
"Did
you have a good time last night? I tried to stay awake until you
came home,
for I wanted to tell you Aunt Josephine had come and that you
would have to
go upstairs after all, but I was so tired I fell asleep. I
hope you didn't
disturb your aunt, Diana."
Diana preserved a discreet silence, but she
and Anne exchanged furtive
smiles of guilty amusement across the table. Anne
hurried home after
breakfast and so remained in blissful ignorance of the
disturbance which
presently resulted in the Barry household until the late
afternoon, when
she went down to Mrs. Lynde's on an errand for
Marilla.
"So you and Diana nearly frightened poor old Miss Barry to death
last
night?" said Mrs. Lynde severely, but with a twinkle in her eye.
"Mrs.
Barry was here a few minutes ago on her way to Carmody. She's
feeling
real worried over it. Old Miss Barry was in a terrible temper when
she
got up this morning--and Josephine Barry's temper is no joke, I can
tell
you that. She wouldn't speak to Diana at all."
"It wasn't Diana's
fault," said Anne contritely. "It was mine. I
suggested racing to see who
would get into bed first."
"I knew it!" said Mrs. Lynde, with the
exultation of a correct guesser.
"I knew that idea came out of your head.
Well, it's made a nice lot of
trouble, that's what. Old Miss Barry came out
to stay for a month, but
she declares she won't stay another day and is going
right back to town
tomorrow, Sunday and all as it is. She'd have gone today
if they could
have taken her. She had promised to pay for a quarter's music
lessons
for Diana, but now she is determined to do nothing at all for such
a
tomboy. Oh, I guess they had a lively time of it there this morning.
The
Barrys must feel cut up. Old Miss Barry is rich and they'd like to
keep
on the good side of her. Of course, Mrs. Barry didn't say just that
to
me, but I'm a pretty good judge of human nature, that's what."
"I'm
such an unlucky girl," mourned Anne. "I'm always getting into
scrapes myself
and getting my best friends--people I'd shed my heart's
blood for--into them
too. Can you tell me why it is so, Mrs. Lynde?"
"It's because you're too
heedless and impulsive, child, that's what. You
never stop to think--whatever
comes into your head to say or do you say
or do it without a moment's
reflection."
"Oh, but that's the best of it," protested Anne. "Something
just flashes
into your mind, so exciting, and you must out with it. If you
stop to
think it over you spoil it all. Haven't you never felt that
yourself,
Mrs. Lynde?"
No, Mrs. Lynde had not. She shook her head
sagely.
"You must learn to think a little, Anne, that's what. The proverb
you
need to go by is 'Look before you leap'--especially into
spare-room
beds."
Mrs. Lynde laughed comfortably over her mild joke,
but Anne remained
pensive. She saw nothing to laugh at in the situation,
which to her
eyes appeared very serious. When she left Mrs. Lynde's she took
her way
across the crusted fields to Orchard Slope. Diana met her at the
kitchen
door.
"Your Aunt Josephine was very cross about it, wasn't
she?" whispered
Anne.
"Yes," answered Diana, stifling a giggle with an
apprehensive glance
over her shoulder at the closed sitting-room door. "She
was fairly
dancing with rage, Anne. Oh, how she scolded. She said I was
the
worst-behaved girl she ever saw and that my parents ought to be
ashamed
of the way they had brought me up. She says she won't stay and I'm
sure
I don't care. But Father and Mother do."
"Why didn't you tell
them it was my fault?" demanded Anne.
"It's likely I'd do such a thing,
isn't it?" said Diana with just scorn.
"I'm no telltale, Anne Shirley, and
anyhow I was just as much to blame
as you."
"Well, I'm going in to
tell her myself," said Anne resolutely.
Diana stared.
"Anne
Shirley, you'd never! why--she'll eat you alive!"
"Don't frighten me any
more than I am frightened," implored Anne. "I'd
rather walk up to a cannon's
mouth. But I've got to do it, Diana. It
was my fault and I've got to confess.
I've had practice in confessing,
fortunately."
"Well, she's in the
room," said Diana. "You can go in if you want to. I
wouldn't dare. And I
don't believe you'll do a bit of good."
With this encouragement Anne
bearded the lion in its den--that is to
say, walked resolutely up to the
sitting-room door and knocked faintly.
A sharp "Come in"
followed.
Miss Josephine Barry, thin, prim, and rigid, was knitting
fiercely by
the fire, her wrath quite unappeased and her eyes snapping
through her
gold-rimmed glasses. She wheeled around in her chair, expecting
to see
Diana, and beheld a white-faced girl whose great eyes were brimmed
up
with a mixture of desperate courage and shrinking terror.
"Who are
you?" demanded Miss Josephine Barry, without ceremony.
"I'm Anne of Green
Gables," said the small visitor tremulously, clasping
her hands with her
characteristic gesture, "and I've come to confess, if
you
please."
"Confess what?"
"That it was all my fault about jumping
into bed on you last night. I
suggested it. Diana would never have thought of
such a thing, I am sure.
Diana is a very ladylike girl, Miss Barry. So you
must see how unjust it
is to blame her."
"Oh, I must, hey? I rather
think Diana did her share of the jumping at
least. Such carryings on in a
respectable house!"
"But we were only in fun," persisted Anne. "I think
you ought to forgive
us, Miss Barry, now that we've apologized. And anyhow,
please forgive
Diana and let her have her music lessons. Diana's heart is set
on her
music lessons, Miss Barry, and I know too well what it is to set
your
heart on a thing and not get it. If you must be cross with anyone,
be
cross with me. I've been so used in my early days to having people
cross
at me that I can endure it much better than Diana can."
Much of
the snap had gone out of the old lady's eyes by this time
and was replaced by
a twinkle of amused interest. But she still said
severely:
"I don't
think it is any excuse for you that you were only in fun.
Little girls never
indulged in that kind of fun when I was young. You
don't know what it is to
be awakened out of a sound sleep, after a long
and arduous journey, by two
great girls coming bounce down on you."
"I don't KNOW, but I can
IMAGINE," said Anne eagerly. "I'm sure it must
have been very disturbing. But
then, there is our side of it too. Have
you any imagination, Miss Barry? If
you have, just put yourself in
our place. We didn't know there was anybody in
that bed and you nearly
scared us to death. It was simply awful the way we
felt. And then we
couldn't sleep in the spare room after being promised. I
suppose you are
used to sleeping in spare rooms. But just imagine what you
would feel
like if you were a little orphan girl who had never had such an
honor."
All the snap had gone by this time. Miss Barry actually
laughed--a
sound which caused Diana, waiting in speechless anxiety in the
kitchen
outside, to give a great gasp of relief.
"I'm afraid my
imagination is a little rusty--it's so long since I used
it," she said. "I
dare say your claim to sympathy is just as strong as
mine. It all depends on
the way we look at it. Sit down here and tell me
about yourself."
"I
am very sorry I can't," said Anne firmly. "I would like to, because
you seem
like an interesting lady, and you might even be a kindred
spirit although you
don't look very much like it. But it is my duty to
go home to Miss Marilla
Cuthbert. Miss Marilla Cuthbert is a very kind
lady who has taken me to bring
up properly. She is doing her best, but
it is very discouraging work. You
must not blame her because I jumped on
the bed. But before I go I do wish you
would tell me if you will forgive
Diana and stay just as long as you meant to
in Avonlea."
"I think perhaps I will if you will come over and talk to
me
occasionally," said Miss Barry. |
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