"So you had tea at the stone
house with Lavendar Lewis?" said
Marilla at the breakfast table
next morning. "What is she like
now? It's over fifteen years
since I saw her last. . .it was
one Sunday in Grafton church.
I suppose she has changed a great
deal. Davy Keith, when you want
something you can't reach, ask
to have it passed and don't spread
yourself over the table in that
fashion. Did you ever see Paul
Irving doing that when he was
here to meals?"
"But Paul's arms are longer'n
mine," brumbled Davy. "They've
had eleven years to grow and
mine've only had seven. 'Sides,
I DID ask, but you and Anne was
so busy talking you didn't pay
any 'tention. 'Sides, Paul's
never been here to any meal escept
tea, and it's easier to be p'lite
at tea than at breakfast. You
ain't half as hungry. It's an
awful long while between supper
and breakfast. Now, Anne, that
spoonful ain't any bigger than
it was last year and I'M ever
so much bigger."
"Of course, I don't know what
Miss Lavendar used to look like
but I don't fancy somehow that
she has changed a great deal," said
Anne, after she had helped Davy
to maple syrup, giving him two
spoonfuls to pacify him. "Her
hair is snow-white but her face
is fresh and almost girlish,
and she has the sweetest brown
eyes. . .such a pretty shade
of wood-brown with little golden
glints in them. . . and her voice
makes you think of white satin
and tinkling water and fairy
bells all mixed up together."
"She was reckoned a great beauty
when she was a girl," said Marilla. "I
never knew her very well but
I liked her as far as I did know
her. Some folks thought her peculiar
even then. DAVY, if ever I catch
you at such a trick again you'll
be made to wait for your meals
till everyone else is done, like
the French."
Most conversations between
Anne and Marilla in the presence
of the twins, were punctuated
by these rebukes Davy-ward. In
this instance, Davy, sad to relate,
not being able to scoop up the
last drops of his syrup with
his spoon, had solved the difficulty
by lifting his plate in both
hands and applying his small
pink tongue to it. Anne looked
at him with such horrified eyes
that the little sinner turned
red and said, half shamefacedly,
half defiantly,
"There ain't
any wasted that way."
"People who are different from
other people are always called
peculiar," said Anne. "And Miss
Lavendar is certainly different,
though it's hard to say just
where the difference comes in.
Perhaps it is because she is
one of those people who never
grow old."
"One might as well grow old
when all your generation do," said
Marilla, rather reckless of her
pronouns. "If you don't, you
don't fit in anywhere. Far as
I can learn Lavendar Lewis has
just dropped out of everything.
She's lived in that out of the
way place until everybody has
forgotten her. That stone house
is one of the oldest on the Island.
Old Mr. Lewis built it eighty
years ago when he came out from
England. Davy, stop joggling
Dora's elbow. Oh, I saw you!
You needn't try to look innocent.
What does make you behave so
this morning?"
"Maybe I got out of the wrong
side of the bed," suggested Davy. "Milty
Boulter says if you do that things
are bound to go wrong with you
all day. His grandmother told
him. But which is the right side?
And what are you to do when your
bed's against the wall? I want
to know."
"I've always wondered what
went wrong between Stephen Irving
and Lavendar Lewis," continued
Marilla, ignoring Davy. "They
were certainly engaged twenty-five
years ago and then all at once
it was broken off. I don't know
what the trouble was but it must
have been something terrible,
for he went away to the States
and never come home since."
"Perhaps it was nothing very
dreadful after all. I think the
little things in life often make
more trouble than the big things," said
Anne, with one of those flashes
of insight which experience could
not have bettered. "Marilla,
please don't say anything about
my being at Miss Lavendar's to
Mrs. Lynde. She'd be sure to
ask a hundred questions and somehow
I wouldn't like it. . .nor Miss
Lavendar either if she knew,
I feel sure."
"I daresay Rachel would be
curious," admitted Marilla, "though
she hasn't as much time as she
used to have for looking after
other people's affairs. She's
tied home now on account of Thomas;
and she's feeling pretty downhearted,
for I think she's beginning to
lose hope of his ever getting
better. Rachel will be left pretty
lonely if anything happens to
him, with all her children settled
out west, except Eliza in town;
and she doesn't like her husband."
Marilla's pronouns slandered
Eliza, who was very fond of her
husband.
"Rachel says if he'd only brace
up and exert his will power he'd
get better. But what is the use
of asking a jellyfish to sit
up straight?" continued Marilla. "Thomas
Lynde never had any will power
to exert. His mother ruled him
till he married and then Rachel
carried it on. It's a wonder
he dared to get sick without
asking her permission. But there,
I shouldn't talk so. Rachel has
been a good wife to him. He'd
never have amounted to anything
without her, that's certain.
He was born to be ruled; and
it's well he fell into the hands
of a clever, capable manager
like Rachel. He didn't mind her
way. It saved him the bother
of ever making up his own mind
about anything. Davy, do stop
squirming like an eel."
"I've nothing else to do," protested
Davy. "I can't eat any more,
and it's no fun watching you
and Anne eat."
"Well, you and Dora go out
and give the hens their wheat," said
Marilla. "And don't you try to
pull any more feathers out of
the white rooster's tail either."
"I wanted some feathers for
an Injun headdress," said Davy
sulkily. "Milty Boulter has a
dandy one, made out of the feathers
his mother give him when she
killed their old white gobbler.
You might let me have some. That
rooster's got ever so many more'n
he wants."
"You may have the old feather
duster in the garret," said Anne, "and
I'll dye them green and red and
yellow for you."
"You do spoil that boy dreadfully," said
Marilla, when Davy, with a radiant
face, had followed prim Dora
out. Marilla's education had
made great strides in the past
six years; but she had not yet
been able to rid herself of the
idea that it was very bad for
a child to have too many of its
wishes indulged.
"All the boys of his class
have Indian headdresses, and
Davy wants one too," said Anne. "_I_
know how it feels. . .I'll never
forget how I used to long for
puffed sleeves when all the other
girls had them. And Davy isn't
being spoiled. He is improving
every day. Think what a difference
there is in him since he came
here a year ago."
"He certainly doesn't get into
as much mischief since he began
to go to school," acknowledged
Marilla. "I suppose he works
off the tendency with the other
boys. But it's a wonder to me
we haven't heard from Richard
Keith before this. Never a word
since last May."
"I'll be afraid to hear from
him," sighed Anne, beginning
to clear away the dishes. "If
a letter should come I'd dread
opening it, for fear it would
tell us to send the twins to
him."
A month later a letter did
come. But it was not from Richard
Keith. A friend of his wrote
to say that Richard Keith had
died of consumption a fortnight
previously. The writer of the
letter was the executor of his
will and by that will the sum
of two thousand dollars was left
to Miss Marilla Cuthbert in trust
for David and Dora Keith until
they came of age or married.
In the meantime the interest
was to be used for their maintenance.
"It seems dreadful to be glad
of anything in connection with
a death," said Anne soberly. "I'm
sorry for poor Mr. Keith; but
I AM glad that we can keep the
twins."
"It's a very good thing about
the money," said Marilla practically. "I
wanted to keep them but I really
didn't see how I could afford
to do it, especially when they
grew older. The rent of the farm
doesn't do any more than keep
the house and I was bound that
not a cent of your money should
be spent on them. You do far
too much for them as it is. Dora
didn't need that new hat you
bought her any more than a cat
needs two tails. But now the
way is made clear and they are
provided for."
Davy and Dora
were delighted when they heard
that they were
to live at Green Gables, "for
good." The death of an uncle
whom they had never seen could
not weigh a moment in the balance
against that. But Dora had one
misgiving.
"Was Uncle Richard buried?" she
whispered to Anne.
"Yes, dear,
of course."
"He. . .he. . .isn't like Mirabel
Cotton's uncle, is he?" in a
still more agitated whisper. "He
won't walk about houses after
being buried, will he, Anne?"
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