"And what are your eyes popping
out of your head about. Now?" asked
Marilla, when Anne had just come
in from a run to the
post office. "Have you discovered another kindred spirit?" Excitement hung around
Anne like a garment, shone in her eyes, kindled in every feature. She had come
dancing up the lane, like a wind-blown sprite, through the mellow sunshine and
lazy shadows
of the August evening.
"No, Marilla,
but oh, what do you think?
I am invited to
tea at the manse tomorrow afternoon!
Mrs. Allan left the letter for
me at the post office. Just look
at it, Marilla. `Miss Anne Shirley,
Green Gables.' That is the first
time I was ever called `Miss.'
Such a thrill as it gave me!
I shall cherish it forever among
my choicest treasures."
"Mrs. Allan told me she meant
to have all the members of her
Sunday-school class to tea in
turn," said Marilla, regarding
the wonderful event very coolly. "You
needn't get in such a fever over
it. Do learn to take things calmly,
child."
For Anne to
take things calmly would have
been to change her
nature. All "spirit and fire
and dew," as she was, the pleasures
and pains of life came to her
with trebled intensity. Marilla
felt this and was vaguely troubled
over it, realizing that the ups
and downs of existence would
probably bear hardly on this
impulsive soul and not sufficiently
understanding that the equally
great capacity for delight might
more than compensate. Therefore
Marilla conceived it to be her
duty to drill Anne into a tranquil
uniformity of disposition as
impossible and alien to her as
to a dancing sunbeam in one of
the brook shallows. She did not
make much headway, as she sorrowfully
admitted to herself. The downfall
of some dear hope or plan plunged
Anne into "deeps of affliction." The
fulfillment thereof exalted her
to dizzy realms of delight. Marilla
had almost begun to despair of
ever fashioning this waif of
the world into her model little
girl of demure manners and prim
deportment. Neither would she
have believed that she really
liked Anne much better as she
was.
Anne went to bed that night
speechless with misery because
Matthew had said the wind was
round northeast and he feared
it would be a rainy day tomorrow.
The rustle of the poplar leaves
about the house worried her,
it sounded so like pattering
raindrops, and the full, faraway
roar of the gulf, to which she
listened delightedly at other
times, loving its strange, sonorous,
haunting rhythm, now seemed like
a prophecy of storm and disaster
to a small maiden who particularly
wanted a fine day. Anne thought
that the morning would never
come.
But all things
have an end, even nights before
the day on
which you are invited to take
tea at the manse. The morning,
in spite of Matthew's predictions,
was fine and Anne's spirits soared
to their highest. "Oh, Marilla,
there is something in me today
that makes me just love everybody
I see," she exclaimed as she
washed the breakfast dishes. "You
don't know how good I feel! Wouldn't
it be nice if it could last?
I believe I could be a model
child if I were just invited
out to tea every day. But oh,
Marilla, it's a solemn occasion
too. I feel so anxious. What
if I shouldn't behave properly?
You know I never had tea at a
manse before, and I'm not sure
that I know all the rules of
etiquette, although I've been
studying the rules given in the
Etiquette Department of the Family
Herald ever since I came here.
I'm so afraid I'll do something
silly or forget to do something
I should do. Would it be good
manners to take a second helping
of anything if you wanted to
VERY much?"
"The trouble with you, Anne,
is that you're thinking too much
about yourself. You should just
think of Mrs. Allan and what
would be nicest and most agreeable
to her," said Marilla, hitting
for once in her life on a very
sound and pithy piece of advice.
Anne instantly realized this.
"You are right,
Marilla. I'll try not to think
about myself
at all."
Anne evidently
got through her visit without
any serious
breach of "etiquette," for she
came home through the twilight,
under a great, high-sprung sky
gloried over with trails of saffron
and rosy cloud, in a beatified
state of mind and told Marilla
all about it happily, sitting
on the big red-sandstone slab
at the kitchen door with her
tired curly head in Marilla's
gingham lap.
A cool wind was blowing down
over the long harvest fields
from the rims of firry western
hills and whistling through the
poplars. One clear star hung
over the orchard and the fireflies
were flitting over in Lover's
Lane, in and out among the ferns
and rustling boughs. Anne watched
them as she talked and somehow
felt that wind and stars and
fireflies were all tangled up
together into something unutterably
sweet and enchanting.
"Oh, Marilla,
I've had a most FASCINATING
time. I feel that
I have not lived in vain and
I shall always feel like that
even if I should never be invited
to tea at a manse again. When
I got there Mrs. Allan met me
at the door. She was dressed
in the sweetest dress of pale-pink
organdy, with dozens of frills
and elbow sleeves, and she looked
just like a seraph. I really
think I'd like to be a minister's
wife when I grow up, Marilla.
A minister mightn't mind my red
hair because he wouldn't be thinking
of such worldly things. But then
of course one would have to be
naturally good and I'll never
be that, so I suppose there's
no use in thinking about it.
Some people are naturally good,
you know, and others are not.
I'm one of the others. Mrs. Lynde
says I'm full of original sin.
No matter how hard I try to be
good I can never make such a
success of it as those who are
naturally good. It's a good deal
like geometry, I expect. But
don't you think the trying so
hard ought to count for something?
Mrs. Allan is one of the naturally
good people. I love her passionately.
You know there are some people,
like Matthew and Mrs. Allan that
you can love right off without
any trouble. And there are others,
like Mrs. Lynde, that you have
to try very hard to love. You
know you OUGHT to love them because
they know so much and are such
active workers in the church,
but you have to keep reminding
yourself of it all the time or
else you forget. There was another
little girl at the manse to tea,
from the White Sands Sunday school.
Her name was Laurette Bradley,
and she was a very nice little
girl. Not exactly a kindred spirit,
you know, but still very nice.
We had an elegant tea, and I
think I kept all the rules of
etiquette pretty well. After
tea Mrs. Allan played and sang
and she got Lauretta and me to
sing too. Mrs. Allan says I have
a good voice and she says I must
sing in the Sunday-school choir
after this. You can't think how
I was thrilled at the mere thought.
I've longed so to sing in the
Sunday-school choir, as Diana
does, but I feared it was an
honor I could never aspire to.
Lauretta had to go home early
because there is a big concert
in the White Sands Hotel tonight
and her sister is to recite at
it. Lauretta says that the Americans
at the hotel give a concert every
fortnight in aid of the Charlottetown
hospital, and they ask lots of
the White Sands people to recite.
Lauretta said she expected to
be asked herself someday. I just
gazed at her in awe. After she
had gone Mrs. Allan and I had
a heart-to-heart talk. I told
her everything--about Mrs. Thomas
and the twins and Katie Maurice
and Violetta and coming to Green
Gables and my troubles over geometry.
And would you believe it, Marilla?
Mrs. Allan told me she was a
dunce at geometry too. You don't
know how that encouraged me.
Mrs. Lynde came to the manse
just before I left, and what
do you think, Marilla? The trustees
have hired a new teacher and
it's a lady. Her name is Miss
Muriel Stacy. Isn't that a romantic
name? Mrs. Lynde says they've
never had a female teacher in
Avonlea before and she thinks
it is a dangerous innovation.
But I think it will be splendid
to have a lady teacher, and I
really don't see how I'm going
to live through the two weeks
before school begins. I'm so
impatient to see her."
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