Anne was bringing the cows home
from the back pasture by way
of Lover's Lane. It was a September
evening and all the gaps and
clearings in the woods were brimmed
up with ruby sunset light. Here
and there the lane was splashed
with it, but for the most part
it was already quite shadowy
beneath the maples, and the spaces
under the firs were filled with
a clear violet dusk like airy
wine. The winds were out in their
tops, and there is no sweeter
music on earth than that which
the wind makes in the fir trees
at evening.
The cows swung placidly down
the lane, and Anne followed them
dreamily, repeating aloud the
battle canto from MARMION--which
had also been part of their English
course the preceding winter and
which Miss Stacy had made them
learn off by heart--and exulting
in its rushing lines and the
clash of spears in its imagery.
When she came to the lines
The stubborn spearsmen still
made good Their dark impenetrable
wood,
she stopped in ecstasy to shut
her eyes that she might the better
fancy herself one of that heroic
ring. When she opened them again
it was to behold Diana coming
through the gate that led into
the Barry field and looking so
important that Anne instantly
divined there was news to be
told. But betray too eager curiosity
she would not.
"Isn't this
evening just like a purple
dream, Diana? It makes
me so glad to be alive. In the
mornings I always think the mornings
are best; but when evening comes
I think it's lovelier still."
"It's a very fine evening," said
Diana, "but oh, I have such news,
Anne. Guess. You can have three
guesses."
"Charlotte Gillis is going
to be married in the church after
all and Mrs. Allan wants us to
decorate it," cried Anne.
"No. Charlotte's
beau won't agree to that, because
nobody
ever has been married in the
church yet, and he thinks it
would seem too much like a funeral.
It's too mean, because it would
be such fun. Guess again."
"Jane's mother
is going to let her have a
birthday party?"
Diana shook her head, her black
eyes dancing with merriment.
"I can't think what it can
be," said Anne in despair, "unless
it's that Moody Spurgeon MacPherson
saw you home from prayer meeting
last night. Did he?"
"I should think not," exclaimed
Diana indignantly. "I wouldn't
be likely to boast of it if he
did, the horrid creature! I knew
you couldn't guess it. Mother
had a letter from Aunt Josephine
today, and Aunt Josephine wants
you and me to go to town next
Tuesday and stop with her for
the Exhibition. There!"
"Oh, Diana," whispered Anne,
finding it necessary to lean
up against a maple tree for support, "do
you really mean it? But I'm afraid
Marilla won't let me go. She
will say that she can't encourage
gadding about. That was what
she said last week when Jane
invited me to go with them in
their double-seated buggy to
the American concert at the White
Sands Hotel. I wanted to go,
but Marilla said I'd be better
at home learning my lessons and
so would Jane. I was bitterly
disappointed, Diana. I felt so
heartbroken that I wouldn't say
my prayers when I went to bed.
But I repented of that and got
up in the middle of the night
and said them."
"I'll tell you," said Diana, "we'll
get Mother to ask Marilla. She'll
be more likely to let you go
then; and if she does we'll have
the time of our lives, Anne.
I've never been to an Exhibition,
and it's so aggravating to hear
the other girls talking about
their trips. Jane and Ruby have
been twice, and they're going
this year again."
"I'm not going to think about
it at all until I know whether
I can go or not," said Anne resolutely. "If
I did and then was disappointed,
it would be more than I could
bear. But in case I do go I'm
very glad my new coat will be
ready by that time. Marilla didn't
think I needed a new coat. She
said my old one would do very
well for another winter and that
I ought to be satisfied with
having a new dress. The dress
is very pretty, Diana--navy blue
and made so fashionably. Marilla
always makes my dresses fashionably
now, because she says she doesn't
intend to have Matthew going
to Mrs. Lynde to make them. I'm
so glad. It is ever so much easier
to be good if your clothes are
fashionable. At least, it is
easier for me. I suppose it doesn't
make such a difference to naturally
good people. But Matthew said
I must have a new coat, so Marilla
bought a lovely piece of blue
broadcloth, and it's being made
by a real dressmaker over at
Carmody. It's to be done Saturday
night, and I'm trying not to
imagine myself walking up the
church aisle on Sunday in my
new suit and cap, because I'm
afraid it isn't right to imagine
such things. But it just slips
into my mind in spite of me.
My cap is so pretty. Matthew
bought it for me the day we were
over at Carmody. It is one of
those little blue velvet ones
that are all the rage, with gold
cord and tassels. Your new hat
is elegant, Diana, and so becoming.
When I saw you come into church
last Sunday my heart swelled
with pride to think you were
my dearest friend. Do you suppose
it's wrong for us to think so
much about our clothes? Marilla
says it is very sinful. But it
is such an interesting subject,
isn't it?"
Marilla agreed to let Anne
go to town, and it was arranged
that Mr. Barry should take the
girls in on the following Tuesday.
As Charlottetown was thirty miles
away and Mr. Barry wished to
go and return the same day, it
was necessary to make a very
early start. But Anne counted
it all joy, and was up before
sunrise on Tuesday morning. A
glance from her window assured
her that the day would be fine,
for the eastern sky behind the
firs of the Haunted Wood was
all silvery and cloudless. Through
the gap in the trees a light
was shining in the western gable
of Orchard Slope, a token that
Diana was also up.
Anne was dressed by the time
Matthew had the fire on and had
the breakfast ready when Marilla
came down, but for her own part
was much too excited to eat.
After breakfast the jaunty new
cap and jacket were donned, and
Anne hastened over the brook
and up through the firs to Orchard
Slope. Mr. Barry and Diana were
waiting for her, and they were
soon on the road.
It was a long
drive, but Anne and Diana enjoyed
every minute
of it. It was delightful to rattle
along over the moist roads in
the early red sunlight that was
creeping across the shorn harvest
fields. The air was fresh and
crisp, and little smoke-blue
mists curled through the valleys
and floated off from the hills.
Sometimes the road went through
woods where maples were beginning
to hang out scarlet banners;
sometimes it crossed rivers on
bridges that made Anne's flesh
cringe with the old, half-delightful
fear; sometimes it wound along
a harbor shore and passed by
a little cluster of weather-gray
fishing huts; again it mounted
to hills whence a far sweep of
curving upland or misty-blue
sky could be seen; but wherever
it went there was much of interest
to discuss. It was almost noon
when they reached town and found
their way to "Beechwood." It
was quite a fine old mansion,
set back from the street in a
seclusion of green elms and branching
beeches. Miss Barry met them
at the door with a twinkle in
her sharp black eyes.
"So you've come to see me at
last, you Anne-girl," she said. "Mercy,
child, how you have grown! You're
taller than I am, I declare.
And you're ever so much better
looking than you used to be,
too. But I dare say you know
that without being told."
"Indeed I didn't," said Anne
radiantly. "I know I'm not so
freckled as I used to be, so
I've much to be thankful for,
but I really hadn't dared to
hope there was any other improvement.
I'm so glad you think there is,
Miss Barry." Miss Barry's house
was furnished with "great magnificence," as
Anne told Marilla afterward.
The two little country girls
were rather abashed by the splendor
of the parlor where Miss Barry
left them when she went to see
about dinner.
"Isn't it just like a palace?" whispered
Diana. "I never was in Aunt Josephine's
house before, and I'd no idea
it was so grand. I just wish
Julia Bell could see this--she
puts on such airs about her mother's
parlor."
"Velvet carpet," sighed Anne
luxuriously, "and silk curtains!
I've dreamed of such things,
Diana. But do you know I don't
believe I feel very comfortable
with them after all. There are
so many things in this room and
all so splendid that there is
no scope for imagination. That
is one consolation when you are
poor--there are so many more
things you can imagine about."
Their sojourn in town was something
that Anne and Diana dated from
for years. From first to last
it was crowded with delights.
On Wednesday Miss Barry took
them to the Exhibition grounds
and kept them there all day.
"It was splendid," Anne related
to Marilla later on. "I never
imagined anything so interesting.
I don't really know which department
was the most interesting. I think
I liked the horses and the flowers
and the fancywork best. Josie
Pye took first prize for knitted
lace. I was real glad she did.
And I was glad that I felt glad,
for it shows I'm improving, don't
you think, Marilla, when I can
rejoice in Josie's success? Mr.
Harmon Andrews took second prize
for Gravenstein apples and Mr.
Bell took first prize for a pig.
Diana said she thought it was
ridiculous for a Sunday-school
superintendent to take a prize
in pigs, but I don't see why.
Do you? She said she would always
think of it after this when he
was praying so solemnly. Clara
Louise MacPherson took a prize
for painting, and Mrs. Lynde
got first prize for homemade
butter and cheese. So Avonlea
was pretty well represented,
wasn't it? Mrs. Lynde was there
that day, and I never knew how
much I really liked her until
I saw her familiar face among
all those strangers. There were
thousands of people there, Marilla.
It made me feel dreadfully insignificant.
And Miss Barry took us up to
the grandstand to see the horse
races. Mrs. Lynde wouldn't go;
she said horse racing was an
abomination and, she being a
church member, thought it her
bounden duty to set a good example
by staying away. But there were
so many there I don't believe
Mrs. Lynde's absence would ever
be noticed. I don't think, though,
that I ought to go very often
to horse races, because they
ARE awfully fascinating. Diana
got so excited that she offered
to bet me ten cents that the
red horse would win. I didn't
believe he would, but I refused
to bet, because I wanted to tell
Mrs. Allan all about everything,
and I felt sure it wouldn't do
to tell her that. It's always
wrong to do anything you can't
tell the minister's wife. It's
as good as an extra conscience
to have a minister's wife for
your friend. And I was very glad
I didn't bet, because the red
horse DID win, and I would have
lost ten cents. So you see that
virtue was its own reward. We
saw a man go up in a balloon.
I'd love to go up in a balloon,
Marilla; it would be simply thrilling;
and we saw a man selling fortunes.
You paid him ten cents and a
little bird picked out your fortune
for you. Miss Barry gave Diana
and me ten cents each to have
our fortunes told. Mine was that
I would marry a dark-complected
man who was very wealthy, and
I would go across water to live.
I looked carefully at all the
dark men I saw after that, but
I didn't care much for any of
them, and anyhow I suppose it's
too early to be looking out for
him yet. Oh, it was a never-to-be-forgotten
day, Marilla. I was so tired
I couldn't sleep at night. Miss
Barry put us in the spare room,
according to promise. It was
an elegant room, Marilla, but
somehow sleeping in a spare room
isn't what I used to think it
was. That's the worst of growing
up, and I'm beginning to realize
it. The things you wanted so
much when you were a child don't
seem half so wonderful to you
when you get them."
Thursday the girls had a drive
in the park, and in the evening
Miss Barry took them to a concert
in the Academy of Music, where
a noted prima donna was to sing.
To Anne the evening was a glittering
vision of delight.
"Oh, Marilla,
it was beyond description.
I was so excited
I couldn't even talk, so you
may know what it was like. I
just sat in enraptured silence.
Madame Selitsky was perfectly
beautiful, and wore white satin
and diamonds. But when she began
to sing I never thought about
anything else. Oh, I can't tell
you how I felt. But it seemed
to me that it could never be
hard to be good any more. I felt
like I do when I look up to the
stars. Tears came into my eyes,
but, oh, they were such happy
tears. I was so sorry when it
was all over, and I told Miss
Barry I didn't see how I was
ever to return to common life
again. She said she thought if
we went over to the restaurant
across the street and had an
ice cream it might help me. That
sounded so prosaic; but to my
surprise I found it true. The
ice cream was delicious, Marilla,
and it was so lovely and dissipated
to be sitting there eating it
at eleven o'clock at night. Diana
said she believed she was born
for city life. Miss Barry asked
me what my opinion was, but I
said I would have to think it
over very seriously before I
could tell her what I really
thought. So I thought it over
after I went to bed. That is
the to think things out. And
I came to the conclusion, Marilla,
that I wasn't born for city life
and that I was glad of it. It's
nice to be eating ice cream at
brilliant restaurants at eleven
o'clock at night once in a while;
but as a regular thing I'd rather
be in the east gable at eleven,
sound asleep, but kind of knowing
even in my sleep that the stars
were shining outside and that
the wind was blowing in the firs
across the brook. I told Miss
Barry so at breakfast the next
morning and she laughed. Miss
Barry generally laughed at anything
I said, even when I said the
most solemn things. I don't think
I liked it, Marilla, because
I wasn't trying to be funny.
But she is a most hospitable
lady and treated us royally."
Friday brought going-home time,
and Mr. Barry drove in for the
girls.
"Well, I hope you've enjoyed
yourselves," said Miss Barry,
as she bade them good-bye.
"Indeed we have," said
Diana.
"And you, Anne-girl?"
"I've enjoyed every minute
of the time," said Anne, throwing
her arms impulsively about the
old woman's neck and kissing
her wrinkled cheek. Diana would
never have dared to do such a
thing and felt rather aghast
at Anne's freedom. But Miss Barry
was pleased, and she stood on
her veranda and watched the buggy
out of sight. Then she went back
into her big house with a sigh.
It seemed very lonely, lacking
those fresh young lives. Miss
Barry was a rather selfish old
lady, if the truth must be told,
and had never cared much for
anybody but herself. She valued
people only as they were of service
to her or amused her. Anne had
amused her, and consequently
stood high in the old lady's
good graces. But Miss Barry found
herself thinking less about Anne's
quaint speeches than of her fresh
enthusiasms, her transparent
emotions, her little winning
ways, and the sweetness of her
eyes and lips.
"I thought Marilla Cuthbert
was an old fool when I heard
she'd adopted a girl out of an
orphan asylum," she said to herself, "but
I guess she didn't make much
of a mistake after all. If I'd
a child like Anne in the house
all the time I'd be a better
and happier woman."
Anne and Diana found the drive
home as pleasant as the drive
in--pleasanter, indeed, since
there was the delightful consciousness
of home waiting at the end of
it. It was sunset when they passed
through White Sands and turned
into the shore road. Beyond,
the Avonlea hills came out darkly
against the saffron sky. Behind
them the moon was rising out
of the sea that grew all radiant
and transfigured in her light.
Every little cove along the curving
road was a marvel of dancing
ripples. The waves broke with
a soft swish on the rocks below
them, and the tang of the sea
was in the strong, fresh air.
"Oh, but it's good to be alive
and to be going home," breathed
Anne.
When she crossed the log bridge
over the brook the kitchen light
of Green Gables winked her a
friendly welcome back, and through
the open door shone the hearth
fire, sending out its warm red
glow athwart the chilly autumn
night. Anne ran blithely up the
hill and into the kitchen, where
a hot supper was waiting on the
table.
"So you've got back?" said
Marilla, folding up her knitting.
"Yes, and oh, it's so good
to be back," said Anne joyously. "I
could kiss everything, even to
the clock. Marilla, a broiled
chicken! You don't mean to say
you cooked that for me!"
"Yes, I did," said Marilla. "I
thought you'd be hungry after
such a drive and need something
real appetizing. Hurry and take
off your things, and we'll have
supper as soon as Matthew comes
in. I'm glad you've got back,
I must say. It's been fearful
lonesome here without you, and
I never put in four longer days."
After supper Anne sat before
the fire between Matthew and
Marilla, and gave them a full
account of her visit.
"I've had a splendid time," she
concluded happily, "and I feel
that it marks an epoch in my
life. But the best of it all
was the coming home."
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