Chapter XVIII
Miss Josephine Remembers the Anne-girl
When Christmas holidays came the girls of Patty's Place scattered totheir respective homes, but Aunt Jamesina elected to stay where she was.
"I couldn't go to any of the places I've been invited and take thosethree cats," she said. "And I'm not going to leave the poor creatureshere alone for nearly three weeks. If we had any decent neighbors whowould feed them I might, but there's nothing except millionaires on thisstreet. So I'll stay here and keep Patty's Place warm for you."
Anne went home with the usual joyous anticipations--which were notwholly fulfilled. She found Avonlea in the grip of such an early, cold,and stormy winter as even the "oldest inhabitant" could not recall.Green Gables was literally hemmed in by huge drifts. Almost every day ofthat ill-starred vacation it stormed fiercely; and even on fine days itdrifted unceasingly. No sooner were the roads broken than they filledin again. It was almost impossible to stir out. The A.V.I.S. tried, onthree evenings, to have a party in honor of the college students, and oneach evening the storm was so wild that nobody could go, so they gave upthe attempt in despair. Anne, despite her love of and loyalty to GreenGables, could not help thinking longingly of Patty's Place, its cosyopen fire, Aunt Jamesina's mirthful eyes, the three cats, the merrychatter of the girls, the pleasantness of Friday evenings when collegefriends dropped in to talk of grave and gay.
Anne was lonely; Diana, during the whole of the holidays, was imprisonedat home with a bad attack of bronchitis. She could not come to GreenGables and it was rarely Anne could get to Orchard Slope, for the oldway through the Haunted Wood was impassable with drifts, and the longway over the frozen Lake of Shining Waters was almost as bad. RubyGillis was sleeping in the white-heaped graveyard; Jane Andrews wasteaching a school on western prairies. Gilbert, to be sure, was stillfaithful, and waded up to Green Gables every possible evening. ButGilbert's visits were not what they once were. Anne almost dreaded them.It was very disconcerting to look up in the midst of a sudden silenceand find Gilbert's hazel eyes fixed upon her with a quite unmistakableexpression in their grave depths; and it was still more disconcertingto find herself blushing hotly and uncomfortably under his gaze, just asif--just as if--well, it was very embarrassing. Anne wished herself backat Patty's Place, where there was always somebody else about to take theedge off a delicate situation. At Green Gables Marilla went promptly toMrs. Lynde's domain when Gilbert came and insisted on taking the twinswith her. The significance of this was unmistakable and Anne was in ahelpless fury over it.
Davy, however, was perfectly happy. He reveled in getting out in themorning and shoveling out the paths to the well and henhouse. He gloriedin the Christmas-tide delicacies which Marilla and Mrs. Lynde vied witheach other in preparing for Anne, and he was reading an enthrallingtale, in a school library book, of a wonderful hero who seemed blessedwith a miraculous faculty for getting into scrapes from which he wasusually delivered by an earthquake or a volcanic explosion, which blewhim high and dry out of his troubles, landed him in a fortune, andclosed the story with proper ECLAT.
"I tell you it's a bully story, Anne," he said ecstatically. "I'd everso much rather read it than the Bible."
"Would you?" smiled Anne.
Davy peered curiously at her.
"You don't seem a bit shocked, Anne. Mrs. Lynde was awful shocked when Isaid it to her."
"No, I'm not shocked, Davy. I think it's quite natural that anine-year-old boy would sooner read an adventure story than the Bible.But when you are older I hope and think that you will realize what awonderful book the Bible is."
"Oh, I think some parts of it are fine," conceded Davy. "That storyabout Joseph now--it's bully. But if I'd been Joseph _I_ wouldn't haveforgive the brothers. No, siree, Anne. I'd have cut all their heads off.Mrs. Lynde was awful mad when I said that and shut the Bible up and saidshe'd never read me any more of it if I talked like that. So I don'ttalk now when she reads it Sunday afternoons; I just think things andsay them to Milty Boulter next day in school. I told Milty the storyabout Elisha and the bears and it scared him so he's never made fun ofMr. Harrison's bald head once. Are there any bears on P.E. Island, Anne?I want to know."
"Not nowadays," said Anne, absently, as the wind blew a scud of snowagainst the window. "Oh, dear, will it ever stop storming."
"God knows," said Davy airily, preparing to resume his reading.
Anne WAS shocked this time.
"Davy!" she exclaimed reproachfully.
"Mrs. Lynde says that," protested Davy. "One night last week Marillasaid 'Will Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix EVER get married?" and Mrs.Lynde said, "'God knows'--just like that."
"Well, it wasn't right for her to say it," said Anne, promptly decidingupon which horn of this dilemma to empale herself. "It isn't right foranybody to take that name in vain or speak it lightly, Davy. Don't everdo it again."
"Not if I say it slow and solemn, like the minister?" queried Davygravely.
"No, not even then."
"Well, I won't. Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix live in Middle Graftonand Mrs. Rachel says he has been courting her for a hundred years. Won'tthey soon be too old to get married, Anne? I hope Gilbert won't courtYOU that long. When are you going to be married, Anne? Mrs. Lynde saysit's a sure thing."
"Mrs. Lynde is a--" began Anne hotly; then stopped. "Awful old gossip,"completed Davy calmly. "That's what every one calls her. But is it asure thing, Anne? I want to know."
"You're a very silly little boy, Davy," said Anne, stalking haughtilyout of the room. The kitchen was deserted and she sat down by the windowin the fast falling wintry twilight. The sun had set and the wind haddied down. A pale chilly moon looked out behind a bank of purple cloudsin the west. The sky faded out, but the strip of yellow along thewestern horizon grew brighter and fiercer, as if all the stray gleamsof light were concentrating in one spot; the distant hills, rimmed withpriest-like firs, stood out in dark distinctness against it. Anne lookedacross the still, white fields, cold and lifeless in the harsh light ofthat grim sunset, and sighed. She was very lonely; and she was sad atheart; for she was wondering if she would be able to return to Redmondnext year. It did not seem likely. The only scholarship possible in theSophomore year was a very small affair. She would not take Marilla'smoney; and there seemed little prospect of being able to earn enough inthe summer vacation.
"I suppose I'll just have to drop out next year," she thought drearily,"and teach a district school again until I earn enough to finish mycourse. And by that time all my old class will have graduated andPatty's Place will be out of the question. But there! I'm not going tobe a coward. I'm thankful I can earn my way through if necessary."
"Here's Mr. Harrison wading up the lane," announced Davy, running out."I hope he's brought the mail. It's three days since we got it. I wantto see what them pesky Grits are doing. I'm a Conservative, Anne. And Itell you, you have to keep your eye on them Grits."
Mr. Harrison had brought the mail, and merry letters from Stella andPriscilla and Phil soon dissipated Anne's blues. Aunt Jamesina, too, hadwritten, saying that she was keeping the hearth-fire alight, and thatthe cats were all well, and the house plants doing fine.
"The weather has been real cold," she wrote, "so I let the cats sleepin the house--Rusty and Joseph on the sofa in the living-room, and theSarah-cat on the foot of my bed. It's real company to hear her purringwhen I wake up in the night and think of my poor daughter in the foreignfield. If it was anywhere but in India I wouldn't worry, but they saythe snakes out there are terrible. It takes all the Sarah-cats's purringto drive away the thought of those snakes. I have enough faith foreverything but the snakes. I can't think why Providence ever made them.Sometimes I don't think He did. I'm inclined to believe the Old Harryhad a hand in making THEM."
Anne had left a thin, typewritten communication till the last, thinkingit unimportant. When she had read it she sat very still, with tears inher eyes.
"What is the matter, Anne?" asked Marilla.
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"Miss Josephine Barry is dead," said Anne, in a low tone.
"So she has gone at last," said Marilla. "Well, she has been sick forover a year, and the Barrys have been expecting to hear of her death anytime. It is well she is at rest for she has suffered dreadfully, Anne.She was always kind to you."
"She has been kind to the last, Marilla. This letter is from her lawyer.She has left me a thousand dollars in her will."
"Gracious, ain't that an awful lot of money," exclaimed Davy. "She'sthe woman you and Diana lit on when you jumped into the spare room bed,ain't she? Diana told me that story. Is that why she left you so much?"
"Hush, Davy," said Anne gently. She slipped away to the porch gable witha full heart, leaving Marilla and Mrs. Lynde to talk over the news totheir hearts' content.
"Do you s'pose Anne will ever get married now?" speculated Davyanxiously. "When Dorcas Sloane got married last summer she said if she'dhad enough money to live on she'd never have been bothered with aman, but even a widower with eight children was better'n living with asister-in-law."
"Davy Keith, do hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel severely. "The wayyou talk is scandalous for a small boy, that's what."