Anne rose betimes the next morning
and blithely greeted the fresh
day, when the banners of the
sunrise were shaken triumphantly
across the pearly skies. Green
Gables lay in a pool of sunshine,
flecked with the dancing shadows
of poplar and willow. Beyond
the land was Mr. Harrison's wheatfield,
a great, windrippled expanse
of pale gold. The world was so
beautiful that Anne spent ten
blissful minutes hanging idly
over the garden gate drinking
the loveliness in.
After breakfast Marilla made
ready for her journey. Dora was
to go with her, having been long
promised this treat.
"Now, Davy, you try to be a
good boy and don't bother Anne," she
straitly charged him. "If you
are good I'll bring you a striped
candy cane from town."
For alas, Marilla had stooped
to the evil habit of bribing
people to be good!
"I won't be bad on purpose,
but s'posen I'm bad zacksidentally?" Davy
wanted to know.
"You'll have to guard against
accidents," admonished Marilla. "Anne,
if Mr. Shearer comes today get
a nice roast and some steak.
If he doesn't you'll have to
kill a fowl for dinner tomorrow."
Anne nodded.
"I'm not going to bother cooking
any dinner for just Davy and
myself today," she said. "That
cold ham bone will do for noon
lunch and I'll have some steak
fried for you when you come home
at night."
"I'm going to help Mr. Harrison
haul dulse this morning," announced
Davy. "He asked me to, and I
guess he'll ask me to dinner
too. Mr. Harrison is an awful
kind man. He's a real sociable
man. I hope I'll be like him
when I grow up. I mean BEHAVE
like him. . .I don't want to
LOOK like him. But I guess there's
no danger, for Mrs. Lynde says
I'm a very handsome child. Do
you s'pose it'll last, Anne?
I want to know"
"I daresay it will," said Anne
gravely. "You ARE a handsome
boy, Davy," . . .Marilla looked
volumes of disapproval. . ."but
you must live up to it and be
just as nice and gentlemanly
as you look to be."
"And you told Minnie May Barry
the other day, when you found
her crying 'cause some one said
she was ugly, that if she was
nice and kind and loving people
wouldn't mind her looks," said
Davy discontentedly. "Seems to
me you can't get out of being
good in this world for some reason
or 'nother. You just HAVE to
behave."
"Don't you want to be good?" asked
Marilla, who had learned a great
deal but had not yet learned
the futility of asking such questions.
"Yes, I want to be good but
not TOO good," said Davy cautiously. "You
don't have to be very good to
be a Sunday School superintendent.
Mr. Bell's that, and he's a real
bad man."
"Indeed he's not," said
Marila indignantly.
"He is. . .he says he is himself," asseverated
Davy. "He said it when he prayed
in Sunday School last Sunday.
He said he was a vile worm and
a miserable sinner and guilty
of the blackest 'niquity. What
did he do that was so bad, Marilla?
Did he kill anybody? Or steal
the collection cents? I want
to know."
Fortunately
Mrs. Lynde came driving up
the lane at this moment
and Marilla made off, feeling
that she had escaped from the
snare of the fowler, and wishing
devoutly that Mr. Bell were not
quite so highly figurative in
his public petitions, especially
in the hearing of small boys
who were always "wanting to know."
Anne, left
alone in her glory, worked
with a will. The floor
was swept, the beds made, the
hens fed, the muslin dress washed
and hung out on the line. Then
Anne prepared for the transfer
of feathers. She mounted to the
garret and donned the first old
dress that came to hand. . .a
navy blue cashmere she had worn
at fourteen. It was decidedly
on the short side and as "skimpy" as
the notable wincey Anne had worn
upon the occasion of her debut
at Green Gables; but at least
it would not be materially injured
by down and feathers. Anne completed
her toilet by tying a big red
and white spotted handkerchief
that had belonged to Matthew
over her head, and, thus accoutred,
betook herself to the kitchen
chamber, whither Marilla, before
her departure, had helped her
carry the feather bed.
A cracked mirror hung by the
chamber window and in an unlucky
moment Anne looked into it. There
were those seven freckles on
her nose, more rampant than ever,
or so it seemed in the glare
of light from the unshaded window.
"Oh, I forgot to rub that lotion
on last night," she thought. "I'd
better run down to the pantry
and do it now."
Anne had already suffered many
things trying to remove those
freckles. On one occasion the
entire skin had peeled off her
nose but the freckles remained.
A few days previously she had
found a recipe for a freckle
lotion in a magazine and, as
the ingredients were within her
reach, she straightway compounded
it, much to the disgust of Marilla,
who thought that if Providence
had placed freckles on your nose
it was your bounden duty to leave
them there.
Anne scurried down to the pantry,
which, always dim from the big
willow growing close to the window,
was now almost dark by reason
of the shade drawn to exclude
flies. Anne caught the bottle
containing the lotion from the
shelf and copiously anointed
her nose therewith by means of
a little sponge sacred to the
purpose. This important duty
done, she returned to her work.
Any one who has ever shifted
feathers from one tick to another
will not need to be told that
when Anne finished she was a
sight to behold. Her dress was
white with down and fluff, and
her front hair, escaping from
under the handkerchief, was adorned
with a veritable halo of feathers.
At this auspicious moment a knock
sounded at the kitchen door.
"That must be Mr. Shearer," thought
Anne. "I'm in a dreadful mess
but I'll have to run down as
I am, for he's always in a hurry."
Down flew Anne
to the kitchen door. If ever
a charitable floor
did open to swallow up a miserable,
befeathered damsel the Green
Gables porch floor should promptly
have engulfed Anne at that moment.
On the doorstep were standing
Priscilla Grant, golden and fair
in silk attire, a short, stout
gray-haired lady in a tweed suit,
and another lady, tall stately,
wonderfully gowned, with a beautiful,
highbred face and large, black-lashed
violet eyes, whom Anne "instinctively
felt," as she would have said
in her earlier days, to be Mrs.
Charlotte E. Morgan.
In the dismay
of the moment one thought stood
out from the
confusion of Anne's mind and
she grasped at it as at the proverbial
straw. All Mrs. Morgan's heroines
were noted for "rising to the
occasion." No matter what their
troubles were, they invariably
rose to the occasion and showed
their superiority over all ills
of time, space, and quantity.
Anne therefore felt it was HER
duty to rise to the occasion
and she did it, so perfectly
that Priscilla afterward declared
she never admired Anne Shirley
more than at that moment. No
matter what her outraged feelings
were she did not show them. She
greeted Priscilla and was introduced
to her companions as calmly and
composedly as if she had been
arrayed in purple and fine linen.
To be sure, it was somewhat of
a shock to find that the lady
she had instinctively felt to
be Mrs. Morgan was not Mrs. Morgan
at all, but an unknown Mrs. Pendexter,
while the stout little gray-haired
woman was Mrs. Morgan; but in
the greater shock the lesser
lost its power. Anne ushered
her guests to the spare room
and thence into the parlor, where
she left them while she hastened
out to help Priscilla unharness
her horse.
"It's dreadful to come upon
you so unexpectedly as this," apologized
Priscilla, "but I did not know
till last night that we were
coming. Aunt Charlotte is going
away Monday and she had promised
to spend today with a friend
in town. But last night her friend
telephoned to her not to come
because they were quarantined
for scarlet fever. So I suggested
we come here instead, for I knew
you were longing to see her.
We called at the White Sands
Hotel and brought Mrs. Pendexter
with us. She is a friend of aunt's
and lives in New York and her
husband is a millionaire. We
can't stay very long, for Mrs.
Pendexter has to be back at the
hotel by five o'clock."
Several times while they were
putting away the horse Anne caught
Priscilla looking at her in a
furtive, puzzled way.
"She needn't stare at me so," Anne
thought a little resentfully. "If
she doesn't KNOW what it is to
change a feather bed she might
IMAGINE it."
When Priscilla had gone to
the parlor, and before Anne could
escape upstairs, Diana walked
into the kitchen. Anne caught
her astonished friend by the
arm.
"Diana Barry,
who do you suppose is in that
parlor at this very
moment? Mrs. Charlotte E. Morgan.
. .and a New York millionaire's
wife. . .and here I am like THIS.
. .and NOT A THING IN THE HOUSE
FOR DINNER BUT A COLD HAM BONE,
Diana!"
By this time Anne had become
aware that Diana was staring
at her in precisely the same
bewildered fashion as Priscilla
had done. It was really too much.
"Oh, Diana, don't look at me
so," she implored. "YOU, at least,
must know that the neatest person
in the world couldn't empty feathers
from one tick into another and
remain neat in the process."
"It. . .it. . .isn't the feathers," hesitated
Diana. "It's. . . it's. . .your
nose, Anne."
"My nose? Oh,
Diana, surely nothing has gone
wrong with it!"
Anne rushed to the little looking
glass over the sink. One glance
revealed the fatal truth. Her
nose was a brilliant scarlet!
Anne sat down on the sofa,
her dauntless spirit subdued
at last.
"What is the matter with it?" asked
Diana, curiosity overcoming delicacy.
"I thought I was rubbing my
freckle lotion on it, but I must
have used that red dye Marilla
has for marking the pattern on
her rugs," was the despairing
response. "What shall I do?"
"Wash it off," said
Diana practically.
"Perhaps it
won't wash off. First I dye
my hair; then I dye
my nose. Marilla cut my hair
off when I dyed it but that remedy
would hardly be practicable in
this case. Well, this is another
punishment for vanity and I suppose
I deserve it. . .though there's
not much comfort in THAT. It
is really almost enough to make
one believe in ill-luck, though
Mrs. Lynde says there is no such
thing, because everything is
foreordained."
Fortunately the dye washed
off easily and Anne, somewhat
consoled, betook herself to the
east gable while Diana ran home.
Presently Anne came down again,
clothed and in her right mind.
The muslin dress she had fondly
hoped to wear was bobbing merrily
about on the line outside, so
she was forced to content herself
with her black lawn. She had
the fire on and the tea steeping
when Diana returned; the latter
wore HER muslin, at least, and
carried a covered platter in
her hand.
"Mother sent you this," she
said, lifting the cover and displaying
a nicely carved and jointed chicken
to Anne's greatful eyes.
The chicken was supplemented
by light new bread, excellent
butter and cheese, Marilla's
fruit cake and a dish of preserved
plums, floating in their golden
syrup as in congealed summer
sunshine. There was a big bowlful
of pink-and-white asters also,
by way of decoration; yet the
spread seemed very meager beside
the elaborate one formerly prepared
for Mrs. Morgan.
Anne's hungry guests, however,
did not seem to think anything
was lacking and they ate the
simple viands with apparent enjoyment.
But after the first few moments
Anne thought no more of what
was or was not on her bill of
fare. Mrs. Morgan's appearance
might be somewhat disappointing,
as even her loyal worshippers
had been forced to admit to each
other; but she proved to be a
delightful conversationalist.
She had traveled extensively
and was an excellent storyteller.
She had seen much of men and
women, and crystalized her experiences
into witty little sentences and
epigrams which made her hearers
feel as if they were listening
to one of the people in clever
books. But under all her sparkle
there was a strongly felt undercurrent
of true, womanly sympathy and
kindheartedness which won affection
as easily as her brilliancy won
admiration. Nor did she monopolize
the conversation. She could draw
others out as skillfully and
fully as she could talk herself,
and Anne and Diana found themselves
chattering freely to her. Mrs.
Pendexter said little; she merely
smiled with her lovely eyes and
lips, and ate chicken and fruit
cake and preserves with such
exquisite grace that she conveyed
the impression of dining on ambrosia
and honeydew. But then, as Anne
said to Diana later on, anybody
so divinely beautiful as Mrs.
Pendexter didn't need to talk;
it was enough for her just to
LOOK.
After dinner they all had a
walk through Lover's Lane and
Violet Vale and the Birch Path,
then back through the Haunted
Wood to the Dryad's Bubble, where
they sat down and talked for
a delightful last half hour.
Mrs. Morgan wanted to know how
the Haunted Wood came by its
name, and laughed until she cried
when she heard the story and
Anne's dramatic account of a
certain memorable walk through
it at the witching hour of twilight.
"It has indeed been a feast
of reason and flow of soul, hasn't
it?" said Anne, when her guests
had gone and she and Diana were
alone again. "I don't know which
I enjoyed more. . .listening
to Mrs. Morgan or gazing at Mrs.
Pendexter. I believe we had a
nicer time than if we'd known
they were coming and been cumbered
with much serving. You must stay
to tea with me, Diana, and we'll
talk it all over."
"Priscilla says Mrs. Pendexter's
husband's sister is married to
an English earl; and yet she
took a second helping of the
plum preserves," said Diana,
as if the two facts were somehow
incompatible.
"I daresay even the English
earl himself wouldn't have turned
up his aristocratic nose at Marilla's
plum preserves," said Anne proudly.
Anne did not mention the misfortune
which had befallen HER nose when
she related the day's history
to Marilla that evening. But
she took the bottle of freckle
lotion and emptied it out of
the window.
"I shall never try any beautifying
messes again," she said, darkly
resolute. "They may do for careful,
deliberate people; but for anyone
so hopelessly given over to making
mistakes as I seem to be it's
tempting fate to meddle with
them."
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