Chapter IV
April's Lady
Kingsport is a quaint old town, hearking back to early Colonial days,and wrapped in its ancient atmosphere, as some fine old dame in garmentsfashioned like those of her youth. Here and there it sprouts out intomodernity, but at heart it is still unspoiled; it is full of curiousrelics, and haloed by the romance of many legends of the past. Once itwas a mere frontier station on the fringe of the wilderness, and thosewere the days when Indians kept life from being monotonous to thesettlers. Then it grew to be a bone of contention between the Britishand the French, being occupied now by the one and now by the other,emerging from each occupation with some fresh scar of battling nationsbranded on it.
It has in its park a martello tower, autographed all over by tourists,a dismantled old French fort on the hills beyond the town, and severalantiquated cannon in its public squares. It has other historic spotsalso, which may be hunted out by the curious, and none is more quaintand delightful than Old St. John's Cemetery at the very core of thetown, with streets of quiet, old-time houses on two sides, and busy,bustling, modern thoroughfares on the others. Every citizen of Kingsportfeels a thrill of possessive pride in Old St. John's, for, if he be ofany pretensions at all, he has an ancestor buried there, with a queer,crooked slab at his head, or else sprawling protectively over the grave,on which all the main facts of his history are recorded. For the mostpart no great art or skill was lavished on those old tombstones. Thelarger number are of roughly chiselled brown or gray native stone, andonly in a few cases is there any attempt at ornamentation. Some areadorned with skull and cross-bones, and this grizzly decoration isfrequently coupled with a cherub's head. Many are prostrate and inruins. Into almost all Time's tooth has been gnawing, until someinscriptions have been completely effaced, and others can only bedeciphered with difficulty. The graveyard is very full and very bowery,for it is surrounded and intersected by rows of elms and willows,beneath whose shade the sleepers must lie very dreamlessly, forevercrooned to by the winds and leaves over them, and quite undisturbed bythe clamor of traffic just beyond.
Anne took the first of many rambles in Old St. John's the nextafternoon. She and Priscilla had gone to Redmond in the forenoon andregistered as students, after which there was nothing more to do thatday. The girls gladly made their escape, for it was not exhilarating tobe surrounded by crowds of strangers, most of whom had a rather alienappearance, as if not quite sure where they belonged.
The "freshettes" stood about in detached groups of two or three,looking askance at each other; the "freshies," wiser in their day andgeneration, had banded themselves together on the big staircase of theentrance hall, where they were shouting out glees with all the vigor ofyouthful lungs, as a species of defiance to their traditional enemies,the Sophomores, a few of whom were prowling loftily about, lookingproperly disdainful of the "unlicked cubs" on the stairs. Gilbert andCharlie were nowhere to be seen.
"Little did I think the day would ever come when I'd be glad of thesight of a Sloane," said Priscilla, as they crossed the campus, "but I'dwelcome Charlie's goggle eyes almost ecstatically. At least, they'd befamiliar eyes."
"Oh," sighed Anne. "I can't describe how I felt when I was standingthere, waiting my turn to be registered--as insignificant as theteeniest drop in a most enormous bucket. It's bad enough to feelinsignificant, but it's unbearable to have it grained into your soulthat you will never, can never, be anything but insignificant, and thatis how I did feel--as if I were invisible to the naked eye and some ofthose Sophs might step on me. I knew I would go down to my grave unwept,unhonored and unsung."
"Wait till next year," comforted Priscilla. "Then we'll be able to lookas bored and sophisticated as any Sophomore of them all. No doubt it israther dreadful to feel insignificant; but I think it's better thanto feel as big and awkward as I did--as if I were sprawled all overRedmond. That's how I felt--I suppose because I was a good two inchestaller than any one else in the crowd. I wasn't afraid a Soph might walkover me; I was afraid they'd take me for an elephant, or an overgrownsample of a potato-fed Islander."
"I suppose the trouble is we can't forgive big Redmond for not beinglittle Queen's," said Anne, gathering about her the shreds of her oldcheerful philosophy to cover her nakedness of spirit. "When we leftQueen's we knew everybody and had a place of our own. I suppose we havebeen unconsciously expecting to take life up at Redmond just where weleft off at Queen's, and now we feel as if the ground had slipped fromunder our feet. I'm thankful that neither Mrs. Lynde nor Mrs. ElishaWright know, or ever will know, my state of mind at present. They wouldexult in saying 'I told you so,' and be convinced it was the beginningof the end. Whereas it is just the end of the beginning."
"Exactly. That sounds more Anneish. In a little while we'll beacclimated and acquainted, and all will be well. Anne, did you noticethe girl who stood alone just outside the door of the coeds' dressingroom all the morning--the pretty one with the brown eyes and crookedmouth?"
"Yes, I did. I noticed her particularly because she seemed the onlycreature there who LOOKED as lonely and friendless as I FELT. I had YOU,but she had no one."
"I think she felt pretty all-by-herselfish, too. Several times I saw hermake a motion as if to cross over to us, but she never did it--too shy,I suppose. I wished she would come. If I hadn't felt so much like theaforesaid elephant I'd have gone to her. But I couldn't lumber acrossthat big hall with all those boys howling on the stairs. She was theprettiest freshette I saw today, but probably favor is deceitful andeven beauty is vain on your first day at Redmond," concluded Priscillawith a laugh.
"I'm going across to Old St. John's after lunch," said Anne. "I don'tknow that a graveyard is a very good place to go to get cheered up, butit seems the only get-at-able place where there are trees, and treesI must have. I'll sit on one of those old slabs and shut my eyes andimagine I'm in the Avonlea woods."
Anne did not do that, however, for she found enough of interest in OldSt. John's to keep her eyes wide open. They went in by the entrancegates, past the simple, massive, stone arch surmounted by the great lionof England.
"'And on Inkerman yet the wild bramble is gory, And those bleak heights henceforth shall be famous in story,'"
quoted Anne, looking at it with a thrill. They found themselves in adim, cool, green place where winds were fond of purring. Up and downthe long grassy aisles they wandered, reading the quaint, voluminousepitaphs, carved in an age that had more leisure than our own.
"'Here lieth the body of Albert Crawford, Esq.,'" read Anne from aworn, gray slab, "'for many years Keeper of His Majesty's Ordnance atKingsport. He served in the army till the peace of 1763, when he retiredfrom bad health. He was a brave officer, the best of husbands, the bestof fathers, the best of friends. He died October 29th, 1792, aged 84years.' There's an epitaph for you, Prissy. There is certainly some'scope for imagination' in it. How full such a life must have been ofadventure! And as for his personal qualities, I'm sure human eulogycouldn't go further. I wonder if they told him he was all those bestthings while he was alive."
"Here's another," said Priscilla. "Listen--
'To the memory of Alexander Ross, who died on the 22nd of September,1840, aged 43 years. This is raised as a tribute of affection by onewhom he served so faithfully for 27 years that he was regarded as afriend, deserving the fullest confidence and attachment.'"
"A very good epitaph," commented Anne thoughtfully. "I wouldn't wish abetter. We are all servants of some sort, and if the fact that we arefaithful can be truthfully inscribed on our tombstones nothing more needbe added. Here's a sorrowful little gray stone, Prissy--'to the memoryof a favorite child.' And here is another 'erected to the memory of onewho is buried elsewhere.' I wonder where that unknown grave is. Really,Pris, the graveyards of today will never be as interesting as this. Youwere right--I shall come here often. I love it already. I see we're notalone here--there's a girl down at the end of this avenue."
"Yes, and I believe it's the very girl we saw at Red
mond this morning.I've been watching her for five minutes. She has started to come up theavenue exactly half a dozen times, and half a dozen times has she turnedand gone back. Either she's dreadfully shy or she has got something onher conscience. Let's go and meet her. It's easier to get acquainted ina graveyard than at Redmond, I believe."
They walked down the long grassy arcade towards the stranger, who wassitting on a gray slab under an enormous willow. She was certainly verypretty, with a vivid, irregular, bewitching type of prettiness. Therewas a gloss as of brown nuts on her satin-smooth hair and a soft, ripeglow on her round cheeks. Her eyes were big and brown and velvety, underoddly-pointed black brows, and her crooked mouth was rose-red. Shewore a smart brown suit, with two very modish little shoes peeping frombeneath it; and her hat of dull pink straw, wreathed with golden-brownpoppies, had the indefinable, unmistakable air which pertains to the"creation" of an artist in millinery. Priscilla had a sudden stingingconsciousness that her own hat had been trimmed by her village storemilliner, and Anne wondered uncomfortably if the blouse she had madeherself, and which Mrs. Lynde had fitted, looked VERY countrified andhome-made besides the stranger's smart attire. For a moment both girlsfelt like turning back.
But they had already stopped and turned towards the gray slab. It wastoo late to retreat, for the brown-eyed girl had evidently concludedthat they were coming to speak to her. Instantly she sprang up and cameforward with outstretched hand and a gay, friendly smile in which thereseemed not a shadow of either shyness or burdened conscience.
"Oh, I want to know who you two girls are," she exclaimed eagerly. "I'vebeen DYING to know. I saw you at Redmond this morning. Say, wasn't itAWFUL there? For the time I wished I had stayed home and got married."
Anne and Priscilla both broke into unconstrained laughter at thisunexpected conclusion. The brown-eyed girl laughed, too.
"I really did. I COULD have, you know. Come, let's all sit down on thisgravestone and get acquainted. It won't be hard. I know we're goingto adore each other--I knew it as soon as I saw you at Redmond thismorning. I wanted so much to go right over and hug you both."
"Why didn't you?" asked Priscilla.
"Because I simply couldn't make up my mind to do it. I never can makeup my mind about anything myself--I'm always afflicted with indecision.Just as soon as I decide to do something I feel in my bones that anothercourse would be the correct one. It's a dreadful misfortune, but I wasborn that way, and there is no use in blaming me for it, as some peopledo. So I couldn't make up my mind to go and speak to you, much as Iwanted to."
"We thought you were too shy," said Anne.
"No, no, dear. Shyness isn't among the many failings--or virtues--ofPhilippa Gordon--Phil for short. Do call me Phil right off. Now, whatare your handles?"
"She's Priscilla Grant," said Anne, pointing.
"And SHE'S Anne Shirley," said Priscilla, pointing in turn.
"And we're from the Island," said both together.
"I hail from Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia," said Philippa.
"Bolingbroke!" exclaimed Anne. "Why, that is where I was born."
"Do you really mean it? Why, that makes you a Bluenose after all."
"No, it doesn't," retorted Anne. "Wasn't it Dan O'Connell who said thatif a man was born in a stable it didn't make him a horse? I'm Island tothe core."
"Well, I'm glad you were born in Bolingbroke anyway. It makes us kind ofneighbors, doesn't it? And I like that, because when I tell you secretsit won't be as if I were telling them to a stranger. I have to tellthem. I can't keep secrets--it's no use to try. That's my worstfailing--that, and indecision, as aforesaid. Would you believe it?--ittook me half an hour to decide which hat to wear when I was cominghere--HERE, to a graveyard! At first I inclined to my brown one withthe feather; but as soon as I put it on I thought this pink one withthe floppy brim would be more becoming. When I got IT pinned in placeI liked the brown one better. At last I put them close together on thebed, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hat pin. The pin speared the pinkone, so I put it on. It is becoming, isn't it? Tell me, what do youthink of my looks?"
At this naive demand, made in a perfectly serious tone, Priscillalaughed again. But Anne said, impulsively squeezing Philippa's hand,
"We thought this morning that you were the prettiest girl we saw atRedmond."
Philippa's crooked mouth flashed into a bewitching, crooked smile oververy white little teeth.
"I thought that myself," was her next astounding statement, "but Iwanted some one else's opinion to bolster mine up. I can't decide evenon my own appearance. Just as soon as I've decided that I'm prettyI begin to feel miserably that I'm not. Besides, have a horrible oldgreat-aunt who is always saying to me, with a mournful sigh, 'You weresuch a pretty baby. It's strange how children change when they grow up.'I adore aunts, but I detest great-aunts. Please tell me quite often thatI am pretty, if you don't mind. I feel so much more comfortable when Ican believe I'm pretty. And I'll be just as obliging to you if you wantme to--I CAN be, with a clear conscience."
"Thanks," laughed Anne, "but Priscilla and I are so firmly convinced ofour own good looks that we don't need any assurance about them, so youneedn't trouble."
"Oh, you're laughing at me. I know you think I'm abominably vain, butI'm not. There really isn't one spark of vanity in me. And I'm never abit grudging about paying compliments to other girls when they deservethem. I'm so glad I know you folks. I came up on Saturday and I'venearly died of homesickness ever since. It's a horrible feeling, isn'tit? In Bolingbroke I'm an important personage, and in Kingsport I'm justnobody! There were times when I could feel my soul turning a delicateblue. Where do you hang out?"
"Thirty-eight St. John's Street."
"Better and better. Why, I'm just around the corner on Wallace Street.I don't like my boardinghouse, though. It's bleak and lonesome, and myroom looks out on such an unholy back yard. It's the ugliest placein the world. As for cats--well, surely ALL the Kingsport cats can'tcongregate there at night, but half of them must. I adore cats on hearthrugs, snoozing before nice, friendly fires, but cats in back yards atmidnight are totally different animals. The first night I was here Icried all night, and so did the cats. You should have seen my nose inthe morning. How I wished I had never left home!"
"I don't know how you managed to make up your mind to come to Redmond atall, if you are really such an undecided person," said amused Priscilla.
"Bless your heart, honey, I didn't. It was father who wanted me to comehere. His heart was set on it--why, I don't know. It seems perfectlyridiculous to think of me studying for a B.A. degree, doesn't it? Notbut what I can do it, all right. I have heaps of brains."
"Oh!" said Priscilla vaguely.
"Yes. But it's such hard work to use them. And B.A.'s are such learned,dignified, wise, solemn creatures--they must be. No, _I_ didn't wantto come to Redmond. I did it just to oblige father. He IS such a duck.Besides, I knew if I stayed home I'd have to get married. Mother wantedthat--wanted it decidedly. Mother has plenty of decision. But I reallyhated the thought of being married for a few years yet. I want to haveheaps of fun before I settle down. And, ridiculous as the idea of mybeing a B.A. is, the idea of my being an old married woman is still moreabsurd, isn't it? I'm only eighteen. No, I concluded I would rather cometo Redmond than be married. Besides, how could I ever have made up mymind which man to marry?"
"Were there so many?" laughed Anne.
"Heaps. The boys like me awfully--they really do. But there were onlytwo that mattered. The rest were all too young and too poor. I mustmarry a rich man, you know."
"Why must you?"
"Honey, you couldn't imagine ME being a poor man's wife, could you? Ican't do a single useful thing, and I am VERY extravagant. Oh, no, myhusband must have heaps of money. So that narrowed them down to two.But I couldn't decide between two any easier than between two hundred.I knew perfectly well that whichever one I chose I'd regret all my lifethat I hadn't married the other."
"Didn't you--love--eithe
r of them?" asked Anne, a little hesitatingly.It was not easy for her to speak to a stranger of the great mystery andtransformation of life.
"Goodness, no. _I_ couldn't love anybody. It isn't in me. Besides Iwouldn't want to. Being in love makes you a perfect slave, _I_ think.And it would give a man such power to hurt you. I'd be afraid. No, no,Alec and Alonzo are two dear boys, and I like them both so much that Ireally don't know which I like the better. That is the trouble. Alecis the best looking, of course, and I simply couldn't marry a man whowasn't handsome. He is good-tempered too, and has lovely, curly, blackhair. He's rather too perfect--I don't believe I'd like a perfecthusband--somebody I could never find fault with."
"Then why not marry Alonzo?" asked Priscilla gravely.
"Think of marrying a name like Alonzo!" said Phil dolefully. "I don'tbelieve I could endure it. But he has a classic nose, and it WOULD be acomfort to have a nose in the family that could be depended on. I can'tdepend on mine. So far, it takes after the Gordon pattern, but I'm soafraid it will develop Byrne tendencies as I grow older. I examine itevery day anxiously to make sure it's still Gordon. Mother was a Byrneand has the Byrne nose in the Byrnest degree. Wait till you see it. Iadore nice noses. Your nose is awfully nice, Anne Shirley. Alonzo'snose nearly turned the balance in his favor. But ALONZO! No, I couldn'tdecide. If I could have done as I did with the hats--stood them bothup together, shut my eyes, and jabbed with a hatpin--it would have beenquite easy."
"What did Alec and Alonzo feel like when you came away?" queriedPriscilla.
"Oh, they still have hope. I told them they'd have to wait till I couldmake up my mind. They're quite willing to wait. They both worship me,you know. Meanwhile, I intend to have a good time. I expect I shall haveheaps of beaux at Redmond. I can't be happy unless I have, you know. Butdon't you think the freshmen are fearfully homely? I saw only one reallyhandsome fellow among them. He went away before you came. I heard hischum call him Gilbert. His chum had eyes that stuck out THAT FAR. Butyou're not going yet, girls? Don't go yet."
"I think we must," said Anne, rather coldly. "It's getting late, andI've some work to do."
"But you'll both come to see me, won't you?" asked Philippa, getting upand putting an arm around each. "And let me come to see you. I want tobe chummy with you. I've taken such a fancy to you both. And I haven'tquite disgusted you with my frivolity, have I?"
"Not quite," laughed Anne, responding to Phil's squeeze, with a returnof cordiality.
"Because I'm not half so silly as I seem on the surface, you know. Youjust accept Philippa Gordon, as the Lord made her, with all her faults,and I believe you'll come to like her. Isn't this graveyard a sweetplace? I'd love to be buried here. Here's a grave I didn't seebefore--this one in the iron railing--oh, girls, look, see--the stonesays it's the grave of a middy who was killed in the fight between theShannon and the Chesapeake. Just fancy!"
Anne paused by the railing and looked at the worn stone, her pulsesthrilling with sudden excitement. The old graveyard, with itsover-arching trees and long aisles of shadows, faded from her sight.Instead, she saw the Kingsport Harbor of nearly a century agone. Out ofthe mist came slowly a great frigate, brilliant with "the meteor flag ofEngland." Behind her was another, with a still, heroic form, wrapped inhis own starry flag, lying on the quarter deck--the gallant Lawrence.Time's finger had turned back his pages, and that was the Shannonsailing triumphant up the bay with the Chesapeake as her prize.
"Come back, Anne Shirley--come back," laughed Philippa, pulling her arm."You're a hundred years away from us. Come back."
Anne came back with a sigh; her eyes were shining softly.
"I've always loved that old story," she said, "and although theEnglish won that victory, I think it was because of the brave, defeatedcommander I love it. This grave seems to bring it so near and make itso real. This poor little middy was only eighteen. He 'died of desperatewounds received in gallant action'--so reads his epitaph. It is such asa soldier might wish for."
Before she turned away, Anne unpinned the little cluster of purplepansies she wore and dropped it softly on the grave of the boy who hadperished in the great sea-duel.
"Well, what do you think of our new friend?" asked Priscilla, when Philhad left them.
"I like her. There is something very lovable about her, in spite of allher nonsense. I believe, as she says herself, that she isn't half assilly as she sounds. She's a dear, kissable baby--and I don't know thatshe'll ever really grow up."
"I like her, too," said Priscilla, decidedly. "She talks as much aboutboys as Ruby Gillis does. But it always enrages or sickens me to hearRuby, whereas I just wanted to laugh good-naturedly at Phil. Now, whatis the why of that?"
"There is a difference," said Anne meditatively. "I think it's becauseRuby is really so CONSCIOUS of boys. She plays at love and love-making.Besides, you feel, when she is boasting of her beaux that she is doingit to rub it well into you that you haven't half so many. Now, when Philtalks of her beaux it sounds as if she was just speaking of chums. Shereally looks upon boys as good comrades, and she is pleased when she hasdozens of them tagging round, simply because she likes to be popular andto be thought popular. Even Alex and Alonzo--I'll never be able tothink of those two names separately after this--are to her just twoplayfellows who want her to play with them all their lives. I'm gladwe met her, and I'm glad we went to Old St. John's. I believe I've putforth a tiny soul-root into Kingsport soil this afternoon. I hope so. Ihate to feel transplanted."