Chapter XXIV
Enter Jonas
"PROSPECT POINT, "August 20th.
"Dear Anne--spelled--with--an--E," wrote Phil, "I must prop my eyelidsopen long enough to write you. I've neglected you shamefully thissummer, honey, but all my other correspondents have been neglected, too.I have a huge pile of letters to answer, so I must gird up the loinsof my mind and hoe in. Excuse my mixed metaphors. I'm fearfully sleepy.Last night Cousin Emily and I were calling at a neighbor's. There wereseveral other callers there, and as soon as those unfortunate creaturesleft, our hostess and her three daughters picked them all to pieces. Iknew they would begin on Cousin Emily and me as soon as the door shutbehind us. When we came home Mrs. Lilly informed us that the aforesaidneighbor's hired boy was supposed to be down with scarlet fever. You canalways trust Mrs. Lilly to tell you cheerful things like that. I havea horror of scarlet fever. I couldn't sleep when I went to bed forthinking of it. I tossed and tumbled about, dreaming fearful dreams whenI did snooze for a minute; and at three I wakened up with a high fever,a sore throat, and a raging headache. I knew I had scarlet fever; I gotup in a panic and hunted up Cousin Emily's 'doctor book' to read up thesymptoms. Anne, I had them all. So I went back to bed, and knowing theworst, slept like a top the rest of the night. Though why a top shouldsleep sounder than anything else I never could understand. But thismorning I was quite well, so it couldn't have been the fever. I supposeif I did catch it last night it couldn't have developed so soon. I canremember that in daytime, but at three o'clock at night I never can belogical.
"I suppose you wonder what I'm doing at Prospect Point. Well, I alwayslike to spend a month of summer at the shore, and father insists thatI come to his second-cousin Emily's 'select boardinghouse' at ProspectPoint. So a fortnight ago I came as usual. And as usual old 'Uncle MarkMiller' brought me from the station with his ancient buggy and what hecalls his 'generous purpose' horse. He is a nice old man and gave mea handful of pink peppermints. Peppermints always seem to me such areligious sort of candy--I suppose because when I was a little girlGrandmother Gordon always gave them to me in church. Once I asked,referring to the smell of peppermints, 'Is that the odor of sanctity?' Ididn't like to eat Uncle Mark's peppermints because he just fished themloose out of his pocket, and had to pick some rusty nails and otherthings from among them before he gave them to me. But I wouldn't hurthis dear old feelings for anything, so I carefully sowed them along theroad at intervals. When the last one was gone, Uncle Mark said, a littlerebukingly, 'Ye shouldn't a'et all them candies to onct, Miss Phil.You'll likely have the stummick-ache.'
"Cousin Emily has only five boarders besides myself--four old ladies andone young man. My right-hand neighbor is Mrs. Lilly. She is one of thosepeople who seem to take a gruesome pleasure in detailing all their manyaches and pains and sicknesses. You cannot mention any ailment but shesays, shaking her head, 'Ah, I know too well what that is'--and then youget all the details. Jonas declares he once spoke of locomotor ataxia inhearing and she said she knew too well what that was. She suffered fromit for ten years and was finally cured by a traveling doctor.
"Who is Jonas? Just wait, Anne Shirley. You'll hear all about Jonas inthe proper time and place. He is not to be mixed up with estimable oldladies.
"My left-hand neighbor at the table is Mrs. Phinney. She always speakswith a wailing, dolorous voice--you are nervously expecting her to burstinto tears every moment. She gives you the impression that life to heris indeed a vale of tears, and that a smile, never to speak of a laugh,is a frivolity truly reprehensible. She has a worse opinion of me thanAunt Jamesina, and she doesn't love me hard to atone for it, as Aunty J.does, either.
"Miss Maria Grimsby sits cati-corner from me. The first day I came Iremarked to Miss Maria that it looked a little like rain--and Miss Marialaughed. I said the road from the station was very pretty--and MissMaria laughed. I said there seemed to be a few mosquitoes left yet--andMiss Maria laughed. I said that Prospect Point was as beautiful asever--and Miss Maria laughed. If I were to say to Miss Maria, 'My fatherhas hanged himself, my mother has taken poison, my brother is in thepenitentiary, and I am in the last stages of consumption,' Miss Mariawould laugh. She can't help it--she was born so; but is very sad andawful.
"The fifth old lady is Mrs. Grant. She is a sweet old thing; butshe never says anything but good of anybody and so she is a veryuninteresting conversationalist.
"And now for Jonas, Anne.
"That first day I came I saw a young man sitting opposite me at thetable, smiling at me as if he had known me from my cradle. I knew, forUncle Mark had told me, that his name was Jonas Blake, that he was aTheological Student from St. Columbia, and that he had taken charge ofthe Point Prospect Mission Church for the summer.
"He is a very ugly young man--really, the ugliest young man I've everseen. He has a big, loose-jointed figure with absurdly long legs. Hishair is tow-color and lank, his eyes are green, and his mouth is big,and his ears--but I never think about his ears if I can help it.
"He has a lovely voice--if you shut your eyes he is adorable--and hecertainly has a beautiful soul and disposition.
"We were good chums right way. Of course he is a graduate of Redmond,and that is a link between us. We fished and boated together; and wewalked on the sands by moonlight. He didn't look so homely by moonlightand oh, he was nice. Niceness fairly exhaled from him. The oldladies--except Mrs. Grant--don't approve of Jonas, because he laughs andjokes--and because he evidently likes the society of frivolous me betterthan theirs.
"Somehow, Anne, I don't want him to think me frivolous. This isridiculous. Why should I care what a tow-haired person called Jonas,whom I never saw before thinks of me?
"Last Sunday Jonas preached in the village church. I went, of course,but I couldn't realize that Jonas was going to preach. The fact that hewas a minister--or going to be one--persisted in seeming a huge joke tome.
"Well, Jonas preached. And, by the time he had preached ten minutes, Ifelt so small and insignificant that I thought I must be invisible tothe naked eye. Jonas never said a word about women and he neverlooked at me. But I realized then and there what a pitiful, frivolous,small-souled little butterfly I was, and how horribly different I mustbe from Jonas' ideal woman. SHE would be grand and strong and noble. Hewas so earnest and tender and true. He was everything a minister oughtto be. I wondered how I could ever have thought him ugly--but he reallyis!--with those inspired eyes and that intellectual brow which theroughly-falling hair hid on week days.
"It was a splendid sermon and I could have listened to it forever, andit made me feel utterly wretched. Oh, I wish I was like YOU, Anne.
"He caught up with me on the road home, and grinned as cheerfully asusual. But his grin could never deceive me again. I had seen the REALJonas. I wondered if he could ever see the REAL PHIL--whom NOBODY, noteven you, Anne, has ever seen yet.
"'Jonas,' I said--I forgot to call him Mr. Blake. Wasn't it dreadful?But there are times when things like that don't matter--'Jonas, you wereborn to be a minister. You COULDN'T be anything else.'
"'No, I couldn't,' he said soberly. 'I tried to be something else fora long time--I didn't want to be a minister. But I came to see at lastthat it was the work given me to do--and God helping me, I shall try todo it.'
"His voice was low and reverent. I thought that he would do his work anddo it well and nobly; and happy the woman fitted by nature and trainingto help him do it. SHE would be no feather, blown about by every ficklewind of fancy. SHE would always know what hat to put on. Probably shewould have only one. Ministers never have much money. But she wouldn'tmind having one hat or none at all, because she would have Jonas.
"Anne Shirley, don't you dare to say or hint or think that I'vefallen in love with Mr. Blake. Could I care for a lank, poor, uglytheologue--named Jonas? As Uncle Mark says, 'It's impossible, and what'smore it's improbable.'
"Good night, PHIL."
"P.S. It is impossible--but I am horribly afraid it's true. I'm happyand wretched and
scared. HE can NEVER care for me, I know. Do you thinkI could ever develop into a passable minister's wife, Anne? And WOULDthey expect me to lead in prayer? P G."