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, saidMarilla shortly. You and Diana walked home from school together andthen stood down there in the snow for half an hour more, your tonguesgoing the whole blessed time, clickety-clack. So I don't think you'revery badly off to see her again.
But she wants to see me, pleaded Anne. She has something veryimportant to tell me.
How do you know she has?
Because she just signaled to me from her window. We have arranged away to signal with our candles and cardboard. We set the candle on thewindow sill and make flashes by passing the cardboard back and forth. Somany flashes mean a certain thing. It was my idea, Marilla.
I'll warrant you it was, said Marilla emphatically. And the nextthing you'll be setting fire to the curtains with your signalingnonsense.
Oh, we're very careful, Marilla. And it's so interesting. Two flashesmean, 'Are you there?' Three mean 'yes' and four 'no.' Five mean, 'Comeover as soon as possible, because I have something important to reveal.'Diana has just signaled five flashes, and I'm really suffering to knowwhat it is.
Well, you needn't suffer any longer, said Marilla sarcastically. Youcan 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, althoughprobably no mortal will ever know just what it cost her to confine thediscussion of Diana's important communication within the limits of tenminutes. 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 fromschool and stay all night with her. And her cousins are coming over fromNewbridge in a big pung sleigh to go to the Debating Club concert atthe hall tomorrow night. And they are going to take Diana and me to theconcert--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 homein your own bed, and as for that club concert, it's all nonsense, andlittle 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 aboutto concerts and staying out all hours of the night. Pretty doings forchildren. I'm surprised at Mrs. Barry's letting Diana go.
But it's such a very special occasion, mourned Anne, on the verge oftears. Diana has only one birthday in a year. It isn't as if birthdayswere common things, Marilla. Prissy Andrews is going to recite 'CurfewMust Not Ring Tonight.' That is such a good moral piece, Marilla, I'msure it would do me lots of good to hear it. And the choir are going tosing 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 asa sermon. Please, mayn't I go, Marilla?
You heard what I said, Anne, didn't you? Take off your boots now and goto bed. It's past eight.
There's just one more thing, Marilla, said Anne, with the air ofproducing the last shot in her locker. Mrs. Barry told Diana that wemight sleep in the spare-room bed. Think of the honor of your littleAnne being put in the spare-room bed.
It's an honor you'll have to get along without. Go to bed, Anne, anddon't let me hear another word out of you.
When Anne, with tears rolling over her cheeks, had gone sorrowfullyupstairs, Matthew, who had been apparently sound asleep on the loungeduring 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 ownopinion. 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 herspend the night with Diana, if that was all. But I don't approve of thisconcert plan. She'd go there and catch cold like as not, and have herhead filled up with nonsense and excitement. It would unsettle her fora week. I understand that child's disposition and what's good for itbetter than you, Matthew.
I think you ought to let Anne go, repeated Matthew firmly. Argumentwas not his strong point, but holding fast to his opinion certainly was.Marilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took refuge in silence. Thenext 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 sheyielded 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 Iwash my hands of it. If you catch pneumonia sleeping in a strange bed orcoming 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 thefloor. 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 Idon't make, although I might. I'll get some sand and scrub up the spotsbefore I go to school. Oh, Marilla, my heart was just set on going tothat concert. I never was to a concert in my life, and when the othergirls talk about them in school I feel so out of it. You didn't knowjust how I felt about it, but you see Matthew did. Matthew understandsme, and it's so nice to be understood, Marilla.
Anne was too excited to do herself justice as to lessons that morning inschool. Gilbert Blythe spelled her down in class and left her clear outof sight in mental arithmetic. Anne's consequent humiliation wasless than it might have been, however, in view of the concert and thespare-room bed. She and Diana talked so constantly about it all day thatwith a stricter teacher than Mr. Phillips dire disgrace must inevitablyhave been their portion.
Anne felt that she could not have borne it if she had not been goingto the concert, for nothing else was discussed that day in school. TheAvonlea Debating Club, which met fortnightly all winter, had had severalsmaller free entertainments; but this was to be a big affair, admissionten cents, in aid of the library. The Avonlea young people had beenpracticing for weeks, and all the scholars were especially interested init 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 CarrieSloane, whose father shared Marilla's opinions about small girls goingout to night concerts. Carrie Sloane cried into her grammar all theafternoon and felt that life was not worth living.
For Anne the real excitement began with the dismissal of school andincreased therefrom in crescendo until it reached to a crash of positiveecstasy in the concert itself. They had a perfectly elegant tea; andthen came the delicious occupation of dressing in Diana's little roomupstairs. Diana did Anne's front hair in the new pompadour style andAnne tied Diana's bows with the especial knack she possessed; and theyexperimented with at least half a dozen different ways of arrangingtheir back hair. At last they were ready, cheeks scarlet and eyesglowing with excitement.
True, Anne could not help a little pang when she contrasted her plainblack tam and shapeless, tight-sleeved, homemade gray-cloth coat withDiana's jaunty fur cap and smart little jacket. But she remembered intime that she had an imagination and could use it.
Then Diana's cousins, the Murrays from Newbridge, came; they all crowdedinto the big pung sleigh, among straw and furry robes. Anne reveled inthe drive to the hall, slipping along over the satin-smooth roads withthe snow crisping under the runners. There was a magnificent sunset, andthe snowy hills and deep-blue water of the St. Lawrence Gulf seemed torim in the splendor like a huge bowl of pearl and sapphire brimmed withwine and fire. Tinkles of sleigh bells and distant laughter, that seemedlike the mirth of wood elves, came from every quarter.
Oh, Diana, breathed Anne, squeezing Diana's mittened hand under thefur robe, isn't it all like a beautiful dream? Do I really look thesame as usual? I feel so different that it seems to me it must show inmy looks.
You look awfully nice, said Diana, who having just received acompliment 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 onelistener in the audience, and, as Anne assured Diana, every succeedingthrill was thrillier than the last. When Prissy Andrews, attired ina new pink-silk waist with a string of pearls about her smooth whitethroat and real carnations in her hair--rumor whispered that the masterhad sent all the way to town for them for her--climbed the slimyladder, dark without one ray of light, Anne shivered in luxurioussympathy; when the choir sang Far Above the Gentle Daisies Anne gazedat the ceiling as if it were frescoed with angels; when Sam Sloaneproceeded to explain and illustrate How Sockery Set a Hen Anne laugheduntil people sitting near her laughed too, more out of sympathy with herthan with amusement at a selection that was rather threadbare even inAvonlea; and when Mr. Phillips gave Mark Antony's oration over thedead body of Caesar in the most heart-stirring tones--looking at PrissyAndrews at the end of every sentence--Anne felt that she could rise andmutiny on the spot if but one Roman citizen led the way.
Only one number on the program failed to interest her. When GilbertBlythe recited Bingen on the Rhine Anne picked up Rhoda Murray'slibrary book and read it until he had finished, when she sat rigidlystiff and motionless while Diana clapped her hands until they tingled.
It was eleven when they got home, sated with dissipation, but with theexceeding sweet pleasure of talking it all over still to come. Everybodyseemed asleep and the house was dark and silent. Anne and Diana tiptoedinto 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 thegrate.
Let's undress here, said Diana. It's so nice and warm.
Hasn't it been a delightful time? sighed Anne rapturously. It mustbe splendid to get up and recite there. Do you suppose we will ever beasked to do it, Diana?
Yes, of course, someday. They're always wanting the big scholars torecite. 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 tothe 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 cannotallow 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 flewdown the long room, through the spare-room door, and bounded on the bedat the same moment. And then--something--moved beneath them, there was agasp 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 bedand out of the room. They only knew that after one frantic rush theyfound themselves tiptoeing shiveringly upstairs.
Oh, who was it--_what_ was it? whispered Anne, her teeth chattering withcold 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 shewill be furious. It's dreadful--it's really dreadful--but did you everknow anything so funny, Anne?
Who is your Aunt Josephine?
She's father's aunt and she lives in Charlottetown. She's awfullyold--seventy anyhow--and I don't believe she was _ever_ a little girl. Wewere expecting her out for a visit, but not so soon. She's awfully primand proper and she'll scold dreadfully about this, I know. Well, we'llhave to sleep with Minnie May--and you can't think how she kicks.
Miss Josephine Barry did not appear at the early breakfast the nextmorning. Mrs. Barry smiled kindly at the two little girls.
Did you have a good time last night? I tried to stay awake until youcame home, for I wanted to tell you Aunt Josephine had come and that youwould have to go upstairs after all, but I was so tired I fell asleep. Ihope you didn't disturb your aunt, Diana.
Diana preserved a discreet silence, but she and Anne exchanged furtivesmiles of guilty amusement across the table. Anne hurried home afterbreakfast and so remained in blissful ignorance of the disturbance whichpresently resulted in the Barry household until the late afternoon, whenshe went down to Mrs. Lynde's on an errand for Marilla.
So you and Diana nearly frightened poor old Miss Barry to death lastnight? 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 feelingreal worried over it. Old Miss Barry was in a terrible temper when shegot up this morning--and Josephine Barry's temper is no joke, I can tellyou that. She wouldn't speak to Diana at all.
It wasn't Diana's fault, said Anne contritely. It was mine. Isuggested 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 oftrouble, that's what. Old Miss Barry came out to stay for a month, butshe declares she won't stay another day and is going right back to towntomorrow, Sunday and all as it is. She'd have gone today if they couldhave taken her. She had promised to pay for a quarter's music lessonsfor Diana, but now she is determined to do nothing at all for such atomboy. Oh, I guess they had a lively time of it there this morning. TheBarrys must feel cut up. Old Miss Barry is rich and they'd like to keepon the good side of her. Of course, Mrs. Barry didn't say just that tome, 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 intoscrapes myself and getting my best friends--people I'd shed my heart'sblood 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. Younever stop to think--whatever comes into your head to say or do you sayor do it without a moment's reflection.
Oh, but that's the best of it, protested Anne. Something just flashesinto your mind, so exciting, and you must out with it. If you stop tothink 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 youneed to go by is 'Look before you leap'--especially into spare-roombeds.
Mrs. Lynde laughed comfortably over her mild joke, but Anne remainedpensive. She saw nothing to laugh at in the situation, which to hereyes appeared very serious. When she left Mrs. Lynde's she took her wayacross the crusted fields to Orchard Slope. Diana met her at the kitchendoor.
Your Aunt Josephine was very cross about it, wasn't she? whisperedAnne.
Yes, answered Diana, stifling a giggle with an apprehensive glanceover her shoulder at the closed sitting-room door. She was fairlydancing with rage, Anne. Oh, how she scolded. She said I was theworst-behaved girl she ever saw and that my parents ought to be ashamedof the way they had brought me up. She says she won't stay and I'm sureI 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 blameas 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'drather walk up to a cannon's mouth. But I've got to do it, Diana. Itwas 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. Iwouldn'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 tosay, 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 bythe fire, her wrath quite unappeased and her eyes snapping through hergold-rimmed glasses. She wheeled around in her chair, expecting to seeDiana, and beheld a white-faced girl whose great eyes were brimmed upwith 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, claspingher hands with her characteristic gesture, and I've come to confess, ifyou please.
Confess what?
That it was all my fault about jumping into bed on you last night. Isuggested 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 itis to blame her.
Oh, I must, hey? I rather think Diana did her share of the jumping atleast. Such carryings on in a respectable house!
But we were only in fun, persisted Anne. I think you ought to forgiveus, Miss Barry, now that we've apologized. And anyhow, please forgiveDiana and let her have her music lessons. Diana's heart is set on hermusic lessons, Miss Barry, and I know too well what it is to set yourheart on a thing and not get it. If you must be cross with anyone, becross with me. I've been so used in my early days to having people crossat 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 timeand was replaced by a twinkle of amused interest. But she still saidseverely:
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. Youdon't know what it is to be awakened out of a sound sleep, after a longand 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 musthave been very disturbing. But then, there is our side of it too. Haveyou any imagination, Miss Barry? If you have, just put yourself inour place. We didn't know there was anybody in that bed and you nearlyscared us to death. It was simply awful the way we felt. And then wecouldn't sleep in the spare room after being promised. I suppose you areused to sleeping in spare rooms. But just imagine what you would feellike 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--asound which caused Diana, waiting in speechless anxiety in the kitchenoutside, to give a great gasp of relief.
I'm afraid my imagination is a little rusty--it's so long since I usedit, she said. I dare say your claim to sympathy is just as strong asmine. It all depends on the way we look at it. Sit down here and tell meabout yourself.
I am very sorry I can't, said Anne firmly. I would like to, becauseyou seem like an interesting lady, and you might even be a kindredspirit although you don't look very much like it. But it is my duty togo home to Miss Marilla Cuthbert. Miss Marilla Cuthbert is a very kindlady who has taken me to bring up properly. She is doing her best, butit is very discouraging work. You must not blame her because I jumped onthe bed. But before I go I do wish you would tell me if you will forgiveDiana and stay just as long as you meant to in Avonlea.
I think perhaps I will if you will come over and talk to meoccasionally, said Miss Barry.
That evening Miss Barry gave Diana a silver bangle bracelet and told thesenior members of the household that she had unpacked her valise.
I've made up my mind to stay simply for the sake of getting betteracquainted with that Anne-girl, she said frankly. She amuses me, andat my time of life an amusing person is a rarity.
Marilla's only comment when she heard the story was, I told you so.This was for Matthew's benefit.
Miss Barry stayed her month out and over. She was a more agreeable guestthan usual, for Anne kept her in good humor. They became firm friends.
When Miss Barry went away she said:
Remember, you Anne-girl, when you come to town you're to visit me andI'll put you in my very sparest spare-room bed to sleep.
Miss Barry was a kindred spirit, after all, Anne confided to Marilla.You wouldn't think so to look at her, but she is. You don't find itright out at first, as in Matthew's case, but after a while you cometo see it. Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It'ssplendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.