"Dear me, there is nothing but
meetings and partings in this
world, as Mrs. Lynde says," remarked
Anne plaintively, putting her
slate and books down on the kitchen
table on the last day of June
and wiping her red eyes with
a very damp handkerchief. "Wasn't
it fortunate, Marilla, that I
took an extra handkerchief to
school today? I had a presentiment
that it would be needed."
"I never thought you were so
fond of Mr. Phillips that you'd
require two handkerchiefs to
dry your tears just because he
was going away," said Marilla.
"I don't think I was crying
because I was really so very
fond of him," reflected Anne. "I
just cried because all the others
did. It was Ruby Gillis started
it. Ruby Gillis has always declared
she hated Mr. Phillips, but just
as soon as he got up to make
his farewell speech she burst
into tears. Then all the girls
began to cry, one after the other.
I tried to hold out, Marilla.
I tried to remember the time
Mr. Phillips made me sit with
Gil--with a, boy; and the time
he spelled my name without an
e on the blackboard; and how
he said I was the worst dunce
he ever saw at geometry and laughed
at my spelling; and all the times
he had been so horrid and sarcastic;
but somehow I couldn't, Marilla,
and I just had to cry too. Jane
Andrews has been talking for
a month about how glad she'd
be when Mr. Phillips went away
and she declared she'd never
shed a tear. Well, she was worse
than any of us and had to borrow
a handkerchief from her brother--of
course the boys didn't cry--because
she hadn't brought one of her
own, not expecting to need it.
Oh, Marilla, it was heartrending.
Mr. Phillips made such a beautiful
farewell speech beginning, `The
time has come for us to part.'
It was very affecting. And he
had tears in his eyes too, Marilla.
Oh, I felt dreadfully sorry and
remorseful for all the times
I'd talked in school and drawn
pictures of him on my slate and
made fun of him and Prissy. I
can tell you I wished I'd been
a model pupil like Minnie Andrews.
She hadn't anything on her conscience.
The girls cried all the way home
from school. Carrie Sloane kept
saying every few minutes, `The
time has come for us to part,'
and that would start us off again
whenever we were in any danger
of cheering up. I do feel dreadfully
sad, Marilla. But one can't feel
quite in the depths of despair
with two months' vacation before
them, can they, Marilla? And
besides, we met the new minister
and his wife coming from the
station. For all I was feeling
so bad about Mr. Phillips going
away I couldn't help taking a
little interest in a new minister,
could I? His wife is very pretty.
Not exactly regally lovely, of
course--it wouldn't do, I suppose,
for a minister to have a regally
lovely wife, because it might
set a bad example. Mrs. Lynde
says the minister's wife over
at Newbridge sets a very bad
example because she dresses so
fashionably. Our new minister's
wife was dressed in blue muslin
with lovely puffed sleeves and
a hat trimmed with roses. Jane
Andrews said she thought puffed
sleeves were too worldly for
a minister's wife, but I didn't
make any such uncharitable remark,
Marilla, because I know what
it is to long for puffed sleeves.
Besides, she's only been a minister's
wife for a little while, so one
should make allowances, shouldn't
they? They are going to board
with Mrs. Lynde until the manse
is ready."
If Marilla, in going down to
Mrs. Lynde's that evening, was
actuated by any motive save her
avowed one of returning the quilting
frames she had borrowed the preceding
winter, it was an amiable weakness
shared by most of the Avonlea
people. Many a thing Mrs. Lynde
had lent, sometimes never expecting
to see it again, came home that
night in charge of the borrowers
thereof. A new minister, and
moreover a minister with a wife,
was a lawful object of curiosity
in a quiet little country settlement
where sensations were few and
far between.
Old Mr. Bentley,
the minister whom Anne had
found lacking in
imagination, had been pastor
of Avonlea for eighteen years.
He was a widower when he came,
and a widower he remained, despite
the fact that gossip regularly
married him to this, that, or
the other one, every year of
his sojourn. In the preceding
February he had resigned his
charge and departed amid the
regrets of his people, most of
whom had the affection born of
long intercourse for their good
old minister in spite of his
shortcomings as an orator. Since
then the Avonlea church had enjoyed
a variety of religious dissipation
in listening to the many and
various candidates and "supplies" who
came Sunday after Sunday to preach
on trial. These stood or fell
by the judgment of the fathers
and mothers in Israel; but a
certain small, red-haired girl
who sat meekly in the corner
of the old Cuthbert pew also
had her opinions about them and
discussed the same in full with
Matthew, Marilla always declining
from principle to criticize ministers
in any shape or form.
"I don't think Mr. Smith would
have done, Matthew" was Anne's
final summing up. "Mrs. Lynde
says his delivery was so poor,
but I think his worst fault was
just like Mr. Bentley's--he had
no imagination. And Mr. Terry
had too much; he let it run away
with him just as I did mine in
the matter of the Haunted Wood.
Besides, Mrs. Lynde says his
theology wasn't sound. Mr. Gresham
was a very good man and a very
religious man, but he told too
many funny stories and made the
people laugh in church; he was
undignified, and you must have
some dignity about a minister,
mustn't you, Matthew? I thought
Mr. Marshall was decidedly attractive;
but Mrs. Lynde says he isn't
married, or even engaged, because
she made special inquiries about
him, and she says it would never
do to have a young unmarried
minister in Avonlea, because
he might marry in the congregation
and that would make trouble.
Mrs. Lynde is a very farseeing
woman, isn't she, Matthew? I'm
very glad they've called Mr.
Allan. I liked him because his
sermon was interesting and he
prayed as if he meant it and
not just as if he did it because
he was in the habit of it. Mrs.
Lynde says he isn't perfect,
but she says she supposes we
couldn't expect a perfect minister
for seven hundred and fifty dollars
a year, and anyhow his theology
is sound because she questioned
him thoroughly on all the points
of doctrine. And she knows his
wife's people and they are most
respectable and the women are
all good housekeepers. Mrs. Lynde
says that sound doctrine in the
man and good housekeeping in
the woman make an ideal combination
for a minister's family."
The new minister and his wife
were a young, pleasant-faced
couple, still on their honeymoon,
and full of all good and beautiful
enthusiasms for their chosen
lifework. Avonlea opened its
heart to them from the start.
Old and young liked the frank,
cheerful young man with his high
ideals, and the bright, gentle
little lady who assumed the mistress-ship
of the manse. With Mrs. Allan
Anne fell promptly and wholeheartedly
in love. She had discovered another
kindred spirit.
"Mrs. Allan is perfectly lovely," she
announced one Sunday afternoon. "She's
taken our class and she's a splendid
teacher. She said right away
she didn't think it was fair
for the teacher to ask all the
questions, and you know, Marilla,
that is exactly what I've always
thought. She said we could ask
her any question we liked and
I asked ever so many. I'm good
at asking questions, Marilla."
"I believe you" was
Marilla's emphatic comment.
"Nobody else
asked any except Ruby Gillis,
and she asked if
there was to be a Sunday-school
picnic this summer. I didn't
think that was a very proper
question to ask because it hadn't
any connection with the lesson--the
lesson was about Daniel in the
lions' den--but Mrs. Allan just
smiled and said she thought there
would be. Mrs. Allan has a lovely
smile; she has such EXQUISITE
dimples in her cheeks. I wish
I had dimples in my cheeks, Marilla.
I'm not half so skinny as I was
when I came here, but I have
no dimples yet. If I had perhaps
I could influence people for
good. Mrs. Allan said we ought
always to try to influence other
people for good. She talked so
nice about everything. I never
knew before that religion was
such a cheerful thing. I always
thought it was kind of melancholy,
but Mrs. Allan's isn't, and I'd
like to be a Christian if I could
be one like her. I wouldn't want
to be one like Mr. Superintendent
Bell."
"It's very naughty of you to
speak so about Mr. Bell," said
Marilla severely. "Mr. Bell is
a real good man."
"Oh, of course he's good," agreed
Anne, "but he doesn't seem to
get any comfort out of it. If
I could be good I'd dance and
sing all day because I was glad
of it. I suppose Mrs. Allan is
too old to dance and sing and
of course it wouldn't be dignified
in a minister's wife. But I can
just feel she's glad she's a
Christian and that she'd be one
even if she could get to heaven
without it."
"I suppose we must have Mr.
and Mrs. Allan up to tea someday
soon," said Marilla reflectively. "They've
been most everywhere but here.
Let me see. Next Wednesday would
be a good time to have them.
But don't say a word to Matthew
about it, for if he knew they
were coming he'd find some excuse
to be away that day. He'd got
so used to Mr. Bentley he didn't
mind him, but he's going to find
it hard to get acquainted with
a new minister, and a new minister's
wife will frighten him to death."
"I'll be as secret as the dead," assured
Anne. "But oh, Marilla, will
you let me make a cake for the
occasion? I'd love to do something
for Mrs. Allan, and you know
I can make a pretty good cake
by this time."
"You can make a layer cake," promised
Marilla.
Monday and Tuesday great preparations
went on at Green Gables. Having
the minister and his wife to
tea was a serious and important
undertaking, and Marilla was
determined not to be eclipsed
by any of the Avonlea housekeepers.
Anne was wild with excitement
and delight. She talked it all
over with Diana Tuesday night
in the twilight, as they sat
on the big red stones by the
Dryad's Bubble and made rainbows
in the water with little twigs
dipped in fir balsam.
"Everything
is ready, Diana, except my
cake which I'm to make
in the morning, and the baking-powder
biscuits which Marilla will make
just before teatime. I assure
you, Diana, that Marilla and
I have had a busy two days of
it. It's such a responsibility
having a minister's family to
tea. I never went through such
an experience before. You should
just see our pantry. It's a sight
to behold. We're going to have
jellied chicken and cold tongue.
We're to have two kinds of jelly,
red and yellow, and whipped cream
and lemon pie, and cherry pie,
and three kinds of cookies, and
fruit cake, and Marilla's famous
yellow plum preserves that she
keeps especially for ministers,
and pound cake and layer cake,
and biscuits as aforesaid; and
new bread and old both, in case
the minister is dyspeptic and
can't eat new. Mrs. Lynde says
ministers are dyspeptic, but
I don't think Mr. Allan has been
a minister long enough for it
to have had a bad effect on him.
I just grow cold when I think
of my layer cake. Oh, Diana,
what if it shouldn't be good!
I dreamed last night that I was
chased all around by a fearful
goblin with a big layer cake
for a head."
"It'll be good, all right," assured
Diana, who was a very comfortable
sort of friend. "I'm sure that
piece of the one you made that
we had for lunch in Idlewild
two weeks ago was perfectly elegant."
"Yes; but cakes have such a
terrible habit of turning out
bad just when you especially
want them to be good," sighed
Anne, setting a particularly
well-balsamed twig afloat. "However,
I suppose I shall just have to
trust to Providence and be careful
to put in the flour. Oh, look,
Diana, what a lovely rainbow!
Do you suppose the dryad will
come out after we go away and
take it for a scarf?"
"You know there is no such
thing as a dryad," said Diana.
Diana's mother had found out
about the Haunted Wood and had
been decidedly angry over it.
As a result Diana had abstained
from any further imitative flights
of imagination and did not think
it prudent to cultivate a spirit
of belief even in harmless dryads.
"But it's so easy to imagine
there is," said Anne. "Every
night before I go to bed, I look
out of my window and wonder if
the dryad is really sitting here,
combing her locks with the spring
for a mirror. Sometimes I look
for her footprints in the dew
in the morning. Oh, Diana, don't
give up your faith in the dryad!"
Wednesday morning came. Anne
got up at sunrise because she
was too excited to sleep. She
had caught a severe cold in the
head by reason of her dabbling
in the spring on the preceding
evening; but nothing short of
absolute pneumonia could have
quenched her interest in culinary
matters that morning. After breakfast
she proceeded to make her cake.
When she finally shut the oven
door upon it she drew a long
breath.
"I'm sure I
haven't forgotten anything
this time, Marilla.
But do you think it will rise?
Just suppose perhaps the baking
powder isn't good? I used it
out of the new can. And Mrs.
Lynde says you can never be sure
of getting good baking powder
nowadays when everything is so
adulterated. Mrs. Lynde says
the Government ought to take
the matter up, but she says we'll
never see the day when a Tory
Government will do it. Marilla,
what if that cake doesn't rise?"
"We'll have plenty without
it" was Marilla's unimpassioned
way of looking at the subject.
The cake did rise, however,
and came out of the oven as light
and feathery as golden foam.
Anne, flushed with delight, clapped
it together with layers of ruby
jelly and, in imagination, saw
Mrs. Allan eating it and possibly
asking for another piece!
"You'll be using the best tea
set, of course, Marilla," she
said. "Can I fix the table with
ferns and wild roses?"
"I think that's all nonsense," sniffed
Marilla. "In my opinion it's
the eatables that matter and
not flummery decorations."
"Mrs. Barry had HER table decorated," said
Anne, who was not entirely guiltless
of the wisdom of the serpent, "and
the minister paid her an elegant
compliment. He said it was a
feast for the eye as well as
the palate."
"Well, do as you like," said
Marilla, who was quite determined
not to be surpassed by Mrs. Barry
or anybody else. "Only mind you
leave enough room for the dishes
and the food."
Anne laid herself out to decorate
in a manner and after a fashion
that should leave Mrs. Barry's
nowhere. Having abundance of
roses and ferns and a very artistic
taste of her own, she made that
tea table such a thing of beauty
that when the minister and his
wife sat down to it they exclaimed
in chorus over it loveliness.
"It's Anne's doings," said
Marilla, grimly just; and Anne
felt that Mrs. Allan's approving
smile was almost too much happiness
for this world.
Matthew was there, having been
inveigled into the party only
goodness and Anne knew how. He
had been in such a state of shyness
and nervousness that Marilla
had given him up in despair,
but Anne took him in hand so
successfully that he now sat
at the table in his best clothes
and white collar and talked to
the minister not uninterestingly.
He never said a word to Mrs.
Allan, but that perhaps was not
to be expected.
All went merry as a marriage
bell until Anne's layer cake
was passed. Mrs. Allan, having
already been helped to a bewildering
variety, declined it. But Marilla,
seeing the disappointment on
Anne's face, said smilingly:
"Oh, you must
take a piece of this, Mrs.
Allan. Anne made
it on purpose for you."
"In that case I must sample
it," laughed Mrs. Allan, helping
herself to a plump triangle,
as did also the minister and
Marilla.
Mrs. Allan took a mouthful
of hers and a most peculiar expression
crossed her face; not a word
did she say, however, but steadily
ate away at it. Marilla saw the
expression and hastened to taste
the cake.
"Anne Shirley!" she exclaimed, "what
on earth did you put into that
cake?"
"Nothing but what the recipe
said, Marilla," cried Anne with
a look of anguish. "Oh, isn't
it all right?"
"All right!
It's simply horrible. Mr. Allan,
don't try to eat it.
Anne, taste it yourself. What
flavoring did you use?"
"Vanilla," said Anne, her face
scarlet with mortification after
tasting the cake. "Only vanilla.
Oh, Marilla, it must have been
the baking powder. I had my suspicions
of that bak--"
"Baking powder
fiddlesticks! Go and bring
me the bottle of
vanilla you used."
Anne fled to
the pantry and returned with
a small bottle
partially filled with a brown
liquid and labeled yellowly, "Best
Vanilla."
Marilla took it, uncorked it,
smelled it.
"Mercy on us,
Anne, you've flavored that
cake with ANODYNE
LINIMENT. I broke the liniment
bottle last week and poured what
was left into an old empty vanilla
bottle. I suppose it's partly
my fault--I should have warned
you--but for pity's sake why
couldn't you have smelled it?"
Anne dissolved into tears under
this double disgrace.
"I couldn't--I had such a cold!" and
with this she fairly fled to
the gable chamber, where she
cast herself on the bed and wept
as one who refuses to be comforted.
Presently a light step sounded
on the stairs and somebody entered
the room.
"Oh, Marilla," sobbed Anne,
without looking up, "I'm disgraced
forever. I shall never be able
to live this down. It will get
out--things always do get out
in Avonlea. Diana will ask me
how my cake turned out and I
shall have to tell her the truth.
I shall always be pointed at
as the girl who flavored a cake
with anodyne liniment. Gil--the
boys in school will never get
over laughing at it. Oh, Marilla,
if you have a spark of Christian
pity don't tell me that I must
go down and wash the dishes after
this. I'll wash them when the
minister and his wife are gone,
but I cannot ever look Mrs. Allan
in the face again. Perhaps she'll
think I tried to poison her.
Mrs. Lynde says she knows an
orphan girl who tried to poison
her benefactor. But the liniment
isn't poisonous. It's meant to
be taken internally--although
not in cakes. Won't you tell
Mrs. Allan so, Marilla?"
"Suppose you jump up and tell
her so yourself," said a merry
voice.
Anne flew up, to find Mrs.
Allan standing by her bed, surveying
her with laughing eyes.
"My dear little girl, you musn't
cry like this," she said, genuinely
disturbed by Anne's tragic face. "Why,
it's all just a funny mistake
that anybody might make."
"Oh, no, it takes me to make
such a mistake," said Anne forlornly. "And
I wanted to have that cake so
nice for you, Mrs. Allan."
"Yes, I know,
dear. And I assure you I appreciate
your kindness
and thoughtfulness just as much
as if it had turned out all right.
Now, you mustn't cry any more,
but come down with me and show
me your flower garden. Miss Cuthbert
tells me you have a little plot
all your own. I want to see it,
for I'm very much interested
in flowers."
Anne permitted herself to be
led down and comforted, reflecting
that it was really providential
that Mrs. Allan was a kindred
spirit. Nothing more was said
about the liniment cake, and
when the guests went away Anne
found that she had enjoyed the
evening more than could have
been expected, considering that
terrible incident. Nevertheless,
she sighed deeply.
"Marilla, isn't
it nice to think that tomorrow
is a new
day with no mistakes in it yet?"
"I'll warrant you'll make plenty
in it," said Marilla. "I never
saw your beat for making mistakes,
Anne."
"Yes, and well I know it," admitted
Anne mournfully. "But have you
ever noticed one encouraging
thing about me, Marilla? I never
make the same mistake twice."
"I don't know
as that's much benefit when
you're always making
new ones."
"Oh, don't
you see, Marilla? There must
be a limit to the
mistakes one person can make,
and when I get to the end of
them, then I'll be through with
them. That's a very comforting
thought."
"Well, you'd better go and
give that cake to the pigs," said
Marilla. "It isn't fit for any
human to eat, not even Jerry
Boute."
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