Matthew was
having a bad ten minutes of
it. He had come into
the kitchen, in the twilight
of a cold, gray December evening,
and had sat down in the woodbox
corner to take off his heavy
boots, unconscious of the fact
that Anne and a bevy of her schoolmates
were having a practice of "The
Fairy Queen" in the sitting room.
Presently they came trooping
through the hall and out into
the kitchen, laughing and chattering
gaily. They did not see Matthew,
who shrank bashfully back into
the shadows beyond the woodbox
with a boot in one hand and a
bootjack in the other, and he
watched them shyly for the aforesaid
ten minutes as they put on caps
and jackets and talked about
the dialogue and the concert.
Anne stood among them, bright
eyed and animated as they; but
Matthew suddenly became conscious
that there was something about
her different from her mates.
And what worried Matthew was
that the difference impressed
him as being something that should
not exist. Anne had a brighter
face, and bigger, starrier eyes,
and more delicate features than
the other; even shy, unobservant
Matthew had learned to take note
of these things; but the difference
that disturbed him did not consist
in any of these respects. Then
in what did it consist?
Matthew was haunted by this
question long after the girls
had gone, arm in arm, down the
long, hard-frozen lane and Anne
had betaken herself to her books.
He could not refer it to Marilla,
who, he felt, would be quite
sure to sniff scornfully and
remark that the only difference
she saw between Anne and the
other girls was that they sometimes
kept their tongues quiet while
Anne never did. This, Matthew
felt, would be no great help.
He had recourse to his pipe
that evening to help him study
it out, much to Marilla's disgust.
After two hours of smoking and
hard reflection Matthew arrived
at a solution of his problem.
Anne was not dressed like the
other girls!
The more Matthew thought about
the matter the more he was convinced
that Anne never had been dressed
like the other girls--never since
she had come to Green Gables.
Marilla kept her clothed in plain,
dark dresses, all made after
the same unvarying pattern. If
Matthew knew there was such a
thing as fashion in dress it
was as much as he did; but he
was quite sure that Anne's sleeves
did not look at all like the
sleeves the other girls wore.
He recalled the cluster of little
girls he had seen around her
that evening--all gay in waists
of red and blue and pink and
white--and he wondered why Marilla
always kept her so plainly and
soberly gowned.
Of course, it must be all right.
Marilla knew best and Marilla
was bringing her up. Probably
some wise, inscrutable motive
was to be served thereby. But
surely it would do no harm to
let the child have one pretty
dress--something like Diana Barry
always wore. Matthew decided
that he would give her one; that
surely could not be objected
to as an unwarranted putting
in of his oar. Christmas was
only a fortnight off. A nice
new dress would be the very thing
for a present. Matthew, with
a sigh of satisfaction, put away
his pipe and went to bed, while
Marilla opened all the doors
and aired the house.
The very next evening Matthew
betook himself to Carmody to
buy the dress, determined to
get the worst over and have done
with it. It would be, he felt
assured, no trifling ordeal.
There were some things Matthew
could buy and prove himself no
mean bargainer; but he knew he
would be at the mercy of shopkeepers
when it came to buying a girl's
dress.
After much cogitation Matthew
resolved to go to Samuel Lawson's
store instead of William Blair's.
To be sure, the Cuthberts always
had gone to William Blair's;
it was almost as much a matter
of conscience with them as to
attend the Presbyterian church
and vote Conservative. But William
Blair's two daughters frequently
waited on customers there and
Matthew held them in absolute
dread. He could contrive to deal
with them when he knew exactly
what he wanted and could point
it out; but in such a matter
as this, requiring explanation
and consultation, Matthew felt
that he must be sure of a man
behind the counter. So he would
go to Lawson's, where Samuel
or his son would wait on him.
Alas! Matthew did not know
that Samuel, in the recent expansion
of his business, had set up a
lady clerk also; she was a niece
of his wife's and a very dashing
young person indeed, with a huge,
drooping pompadour, big, rolling
brown eyes, and a most extensive
and bewildering smile. She was
dressed with exceeding smartness
and wore several bangle bracelets
that glittered and rattled and
tinkled with every movement of
her hands. Matthew was covered
with confusion at finding her
there at all; and those bangles
completely wrecked his wits at
one fell swoop.
"What can I do for you this
evening, Mr. Cuthbert?" Miss
Lucilla Harris inquired, briskly
and ingratiatingly, tapping the
counter with both hands.
"Have you any--any--any--well
now, say any garden rakes?" stammered
Matthew.
Miss Harris looked somewhat
surprised, as well she might,
to hear a man inquiring for garden
rakes in the middle of December.
"I believe we have one or two
left over," she said, "but they're
upstairs in the lumber room.
I'll go and see." During her
absence Matthew collected his
scattered senses for another
effort.
When Miss Harris
returned with the rake and
cheerfully inquired: "Anything
else tonight, Mr. Cuthbert?" Matthew
took his courage in both hands
and replied: "Well now, since
you suggest it, I might as well--take--that
is--look at--buy some--some hayseed."
Miss Harris had heard Matthew
Cuthbert called odd. She now
concluded that he was entirely
crazy.
"We only keep hayseed in the
spring," she explained loftily. "We've
none on hand just now."
"Oh, certainly--certainly--just
as you say," stammered unhappy
Matthew, seizing the rake and
making for the door. At the threshold
he recollected that he had not
paid for it and he turned miserably
back. While Miss Harris was counting
out his change he rallied his
powers for a final desperate
attempt.
"Well now--if
it isn't too much trouble--I
might as well--that
is--I'd like to look at--at--some
sugar."
"White or brown?" queried
Miss Harris patiently.
"Oh--well now--brown," said
Matthew feebly.
"There's a barrel of it over
there," said Miss Harris, shaking
her bangles at it. "It's the
only kind we have."
"I'll--I'll take twenty pounds
of it," said Matthew, with beads
of perspiration standing on his
forehead.
Matthew had driven halfway
home before he was his own man
again. It had been a gruesome
experience, but it served him
right, he thought, for committing
the heresy of going to a strange
store. When he reached home he
hid the rake in the tool house,
but the sugar he carried in to
Marilla.
"Brown sugar!" exclaimed Marilla. "Whatever
possessed you to get so much?
You know I never use it except
for the hired man's porridge
or black fruit cake. Jerry's
gone and I've made my cake long
ago. It's not good sugar, either--it's
coarse and dark--William Blair
doesn't usually keep sugar like
that."
"I--I thought it might come
in handy sometime," said Matthew,
making good his escape.
When Matthew came to think
the matter over he decided that
a woman was required to cope
with the situation. Marilla was
out of the question. Matthew
felt sure she would throw cold
water on his project at once.
Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for
of no other woman in Avonlea
would Matthew have dared to ask
advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went
accordingly, and that good lady
promptly took the matter out
of the harassed man's hands.
"Pick out a
dress for you to give Anne?
To be sure I will.
I'm going to Carmody tomorrow
and I'll attend to it. Have you
something particular in mind?
No? Well, I'll just go by my
own judgment then. I believe
a nice rich brown would just
suit Anne, and William Blair
has some new gloria in that's
real pretty. Perhaps you'd like
me to make it up for her, too,
seeing that if Marilla was to
make it Anne would probably get
wind of it before the time and
spoil the surprise? Well, I'll
do it. No, it isn't a mite of
trouble. I like sewing. I'll
make it to fit my niece, Jenny
Gillis, for she and Anne are
as like as two peas as far as
figure goes."
"Well now, I'm much obliged," said
Matthew, "and--and--I dunno--but
I'd like--I think they make the
sleeves different nowadays to
what they used to be. If it wouldn't
be asking too much I--I'd like
them made in the new way."
"Puffs? Of course. You needn't
worry a speck more about it,
Matthew. I'll make it up in the
very latest fashion," said Mrs.
Lynde. To herself she added when
Matthew had gone:
"It'll be a
real satisfaction to see that
poor child wearing
something decent for once. The
way Marilla dresses her is positively
ridiculous, that's what, and
I've ached to tell her so plainly
a dozen times. I've held my tongue
though, for I can see Marilla
doesn't want advice and she thinks
she knows more about bringing
children up than I do for all
she's an old maid. But that's
always the way. Folks that has
brought up children know that
there's no hard and fast method
in the world that'll suit every
child. But them as never have
think it's all as plain and easy
as Rule of Three--just set your
three terms down so fashion,
and the sum'll work out correct.
But flesh and blood don't come
under the head of arithmetic
and that's where Marilla Cuthbert
makes her mistake. I suppose
she's trying to cultivate a spirit
of humility in Anne by dressing
her as she does; but it's more
likely to cultivate envy and
discontent. I'm sure the child
must feel the difference between
her clothes and the other girls'.
But to think of Matthew taking
notice of it! That man is waking
up after being asleep for over
sixty years."
Marilla knew all the following
fortnight that Matthew had something
on his mind, but what it was
she could not guess, until Christmas
Eve, when Mrs. Lynde brought
up the new dress. Marilla behaved
pretty well on the whole, although
it is very likely she distrusted
Mrs. Lynde's diplomatic explanation
that she had made the dress because
Matthew was afraid Anne would
find out about it too soon if
Marilla made it.
"So this is what Matthew has
been looking so mysterious over
and grinning about to himself
for two weeks, is it?" she said
a little stiffly but tolerantly. "I
knew he was up to some foolishness.
Well, I must say I don't think
Anne needed any more dresses.
I made her three good, warm,
serviceable ones this fall, and
anything more is sheer extravagance.
There's enough material in those
sleeves alone to make a waist,
I declare there is. You'll just
pamper Anne's vanity, Matthew,
and she's as vain as a peacock
now. Well, I hope she'll be satisfied
at last, for I know she's been
hankering after those silly sleeves
ever since they came in, although
she never said a word after the
first. The puffs have been getting
bigger and more ridiculous right
along; they're as big as balloons
now. Next year anybody who wears
them will have to go through
a door sideways."
Christmas morning broke on
a beautiful white world. It had
been a very mild December and
people had looked forward to
a green Christmas; but just enough
snow fell softly in the night
to transfigure Avonlea. Anne
peeped out from her frosted gable
window with delighted eyes. The
firs in the Haunted Wood were
all feathery and wonderful; the
birches and wild cherry trees
were outlined in pearl; the plowed
fields were stretches of snowy
dimples; and there was a crisp
tang in the air that was glorious.
Anne ran downstairs singing until
her voice reechoed through Green
Gables.
"Merry Christmas,
Marilla! Merry Christmas, Matthew!
Isn't
it a lovely Christmas? I'm so
glad it's white. Any other kind
of Christmas doesn't seem real,
does it? I don't like green Christmases.
They're not green-- they're just
nasty faded browns and grays.
What makes people call them green?
Why--why--Matthew, is that for
me? Oh, Matthew!"
Matthew had sheepishly unfolded
the dress from its paper swathings
and held it out with a deprecatory
glance at Marilla, who feigned
to be contemptuously filling
the teapot, but nevertheless
watched the scene out of the
corner of her eye with a rather
interested air.
Anne took the dress and looked
at it in reverent silence. Oh,
how pretty it was--a lovely soft
brown gloria with all the gloss
of silk; a skirt with dainty
frills and shirrings; a waist
elaborately pintucked in the
most fashionable way, with a
little ruffle of filmy lace at
the neck. But the sleeves--they
were the crowning glory! Long
elbow cuffs, and above them two
beautiful puffs divided by rows
of shirring and bows of brown-silk
ribbon.
"That's a Christmas present
for you, Anne," said Matthew
shyly. "Why--why--Anne, don't
you like it? Well now--well now."
For Anne's eyes had suddenly
filled with tears.
"Like it! Oh, Matthew!" Anne
laid the dress over a chair and
clasped her hands. "Matthew,
it's perfectly exquisite. Oh,
I can never thank you enough.
Look at those sleeves! Oh, it
seems to me this must be a happy
dream."
"Well, well, let us have breakfast," interrupted
Marilla. "I must say, Anne, I
don't think you needed the dress;
but since Matthew has got it
for you, see that you take good
care of it. There's a hair ribbon
Mrs. Lynde left for you. It's
brown, to match the dress. Come
now, sit in."
"I don't see how I'm going
to eat breakfast," said Anne
rapturously. "Breakfast seems
so commonplace at such an exciting
moment. I'd rather feast my eyes
on that dress. I'm so glad that
puffed sleeves are still fashionable.
It did seem to me that I'd never
get over it if they went out
before I had a dress with them.
I'd never have felt quite satisfied,
you see. It was lovely of Mrs.
Lynde to give me the ribbon too.
I feel that I ought to be a very
good girl indeed. It's at times
like this I'm sorry I'm not a
model little girl; and I always
resolve that I will be in future.
But somehow it's hard to carry
out your resolutions when irresistible
temptations come. Still, I really
will make an extra effort after
this."
When the commonplace breakfast
was over Diana appeared, crossing
the white log bridge in the hollow,
a gay little figure in her crimson
ulster. Anne flew down the slope
to meet her.
"Merry Christmas,
Diana! And oh, it's a wonderful
Christmas.
I've something splendid to show
you. Matthew has given me the
loveliest dress, with SUCH sleeves.
I couldn't even imagine any nicer."
"I've got something more for
you," said Diana breathlessly. "Here--
this box. Aunt Josephine sent
us out a big box with ever so
many things in it--and this is
for you. I'd have brought it
over last night, but it didn't
come until after dark, and I
never feel very comfortable coming
through the Haunted Wood in the
dark now."
Anne opened
the box and peeped in. First
a card with "For the
Anne-girl and Merry Christmas," written
on it; and then, a pair of the
daintiest little kid slippers,
with beaded toes and satin bows
and glistening buckles.
"Oh," said Anne, "Diana,
this is too much. I must be
dreaming."
"I call it providential," said
Diana. "You won't have to borrow
Ruby's slippers now, and that's
a blessing, for they're two sizes
too big for you, and it would
be awful to hear a fairy shuffling.
Josie Pye would be delighted.
Mind you, Rob Wright went home
with Gertie Pye from the practice
night before last. Did you ever
hear anything equal to that?"
All the Avonlea scholars were
in a fever of excitement that
day, for the hall had to be decorated
and a last grand rehearsal held.
The concert came off in the
evening and was a pronounced
success. The little hall was
crowded; all the performers did
excellently well, but Anne was
the bright particular star of
the occasion, as even envy, in
the shape of Josie Pye, dared
not deny.
"Oh, hasn't it been a brilliant
evening?" sighed Anne, when it
was all over and she and Diana
were walking home together under
a dark, starry sky.
"Everything went off very well," said
Diana practically. "I guess we
must have made as much as ten
dollars. Mind you, Mr. Allan
is going to send an account of
it to the Charlottetown papers."
"Oh, Diana,
will we really see our names
in print? It makes
me thrill to think of it. Your
solo was perfectly elegant, Diana.
I felt prouder than you did when
it was encored. I just said to
myself, `It is my dear bosom
friend who is so honored.'"
"Well, your
recitations just brought down
the house, Anne.
That sad one was simply splendid."
"Oh, I was
so nervous, Diana. When Mr.
Allan called out my
name I really cannot tell how
I ever got up on that platform.
I felt as if a million eyes were
looking at me and through me,
and for one dreadful moment I
was sure I couldn't begin at
all. Then I thought of my lovely
puffed sleeves and took courage.
I knew that I must live up to
those sleeves, Diana. So I started
in, and my voice seemed to be
coming from ever so far away.
I just felt like a parrot. It's
providential that I practiced
those recitations so often up
in the garret, or I'd never have
been able to get through. Did
I groan all right?"
"Yes, indeed, you groaned lovely," assured
Diana.
"I saw old
Mrs. Sloane wiping away tears
when I sat down. It
was splendid to think I had touched
somebody's heart. It's so romantic
to take part in a concert, isn't
it? Oh, it's been a very memorable
occasion indeed."
"Wasn't the boys' dialogue
fine?" said Diana. "Gilbert Blythe
was just splendid. Anne, I do
think it's awful mean the way
you treat Gil. Wait till I tell
you. When you ran off the platform
after the fairy dialogue one
of your roses fell out of your
hair. I saw Gil pick it up and
put it in his breast pocket.
There now. You're so romantic
that I'm sure you ought to be
pleased at that."
"It's nothing to me what that
person does," said Anne loftily. "I
simply never waste a thought
on him, Diana."
That night Marilla and Matthew,
who had been out to a concert
for the first time in twenty
years, sat for a while by the
kitchen fire after Anne had gone
to bed.
"Well now, I guess our Anne
did as well as any of them," said
Matthew proudly.
"Yes, she did," admitted Marilla. "She's
a bright child, Matthew. And
she looked real nice too. I've
been kind of opposed to this
concert scheme, but I suppose
there's no real harm in it after
all. Anyhow, I was proud of Anne
tonight, although I'm not going
to tell her so."
"Well now, I was proud of her
and I did tell her so 'fore she
went upstairs," said Matthew. "We
must see what we can do for her
some of these days, Marilla.
I guess she'll need something
more than Avonlea school by and
by."
"There's time enough to think
of that," said Marilla. "She's
only thirteen in March. Though
tonight it struck me she was
growing quite a big girl. Mrs.
Lynde made that dress a mite
too long, and it makes Anne look
so tall. She's quick to learn
and I guess the best thing we
can do for her will be to send
her to Queen's after a spell.
But nothing need be said about
that for a year or two yet."
"Well now, it'll do no harm
to be thinking it over off and
on," said Matthew. "Things like
that are all the better for lots
of thinking over."
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