The next three weeks were busy
ones at Green Gables, for Anne
was getting ready to go to Queen's,
and there was much sewing to
be done, and many things to be
talked over and arranged. Anne's
outfit was ample and pretty,
for Matthew saw to that, and
Marilla for once made no objections
whatever to anything he purchased
or suggested. More-- one evening
she went up to the east gable
with her arms full of a delicate
pale green material.
"Anne, here's
something for a nice light
dress for you. I
don't suppose you really need
it; you've plenty of pretty waists;
but I thought maybe you'd like
something real dressy to wear
if you were asked out anywhere
of an evening in town, to a party
or anything like that. I hear
that Jane and Ruby and Josie
have got `evening dresses,' as
they call them, and I don't mean
you shall be behind them. I got
Mrs. Allan to help me pick it
in town last week, and we'll
get Emily Gillis to make it for
you. Emily has got taste, and
her fits aren't to be equaled."
"Oh, Marilla, it's just lovely," said
Anne. "Thank you so much. I don't
believe you ought to be so kind
to me--it's making it harder
every day for me to go away."
The green dress
was made up with as many tucks
and frills
and shirrings as Emily's taste
permitted. Anne put it on one
evening for Matthew's and Marilla's
benefit, and recited "The Maiden's
Vow" for them in the kitchen.
As Marilla watched the bright,
animated face and graceful motions
her thoughts went back to the
evening Anne had arrived at Green
Gables, and memory recalled a
vivid picture of the odd, frightened
child in her preposterous yellowish-brown
wincey dress, the heartbreak
looking out of her tearful eyes.
Something in the memory brought
tears to Marilla's own eyes.
"I declare, my recitation has
made you cry, Marilla," said
Anne gaily stooping over Marilla's
chair to drop a butterfly kiss
on that lady's cheek. "Now, I
call that a positive triumph."
"No, I wasn't crying over your
piece," said Marilla, who would
have scorned to be betrayed into
such weakness by any poetry stuff. "I
just couldn't help thinking of
the little girl you used to be,
Anne. And I was wishing you could
have stayed a little girl, even
with all your queer ways. You've
grown up now and you're going
away; and you look so tall and
stylish and so--so--different
altogether in that dress--as
if you didn't belong in Avonlea
at all-- and I just got lonesome
thinking it all over."
"Marilla!" Anne sat down on
Marilla's gingham lap, took Marilla's
lined face between her hands,
and looked gravely and tenderly
into Marilla's eyes. "I'm not
a bit changed-- not really. I'm
only just pruned down and branched
out. The real ME--back here--is
just the same. It won't make
a bit of difference where I go
or how much I change outwardly;
at heart I shall always be your
little Anne, who will love you
and Matthew and dear Green Gables
more and better every day of
her life."
Anne laid her fresh young cheek
against Marilla's faded one,
and reached out a hand to pat
Matthew's shoulder. Marilla would
have given much just then to
have possessed Anne's power of
putting her feelings into words;
but nature and habit had willed
it otherwise, and she could only
put her arms close about her
girl and hold her tenderly to
her heart, wishing that she need
never let her go.
Matthew, with a suspicious
moisture in his eyes, got up
and went out-of-doors. Under
the stars of the blue summer
night he walked agitatedly across
the yard to the gate under the
poplars.
"Well now, I guess she ain't
been much spoiled," he muttered,
proudly. "I guess my putting
in my oar occasional never did
much harm after all. She's smart
and pretty, and loving, too,
which is better than all the
rest. She's been a blessing to
us, and there never was a luckier
mistake than what Mrs. Spencer
made--if it WAS luck. I don't
believe it was any such thing.
It was Providence, because the
Almighty saw we needed her, I
reckon."
The day finally came when Anne
must go to town. She and Matthew
drove in one fine September morning,
after a tearful parting with
Diana and an untearful practical
one-- on Marilla's side at least--with
Marilla. But when Anne had gone
Diana dried her tears and went
to a beach picnic at White Sands
with some of her Carmody cousins,
where she contrived to enjoy
herself tolerably well; while
Marilla plunged fiercely into
unnecessary work and kept at
it all day long with the bitterest
kind of heartache--the ache that
burns and gnaws and cannot wash
itself away in ready tears. But
that night, when Marilla went
to bed, acutely and miserably
conscious that the little gable
room at the end of the hall was
untenanted by any vivid young
life and unstirred by any soft
breathing, she buried her face
in her pillow, and wept for her
girl in a passion of sobs that
appalled her when she grew calm
enough to reflect how very wicked
it must be to take on so about
a sinful fellow creature.
Anne and the rest of the Avonlea
scholars reached town just in
time to hurry off to the Academy.
That first day passed pleasantly
enough in a whirl of excitement,
meeting all the new students,
learning to know the professors
by sight and being assorted and
organized into classes. Anne
intended taking up the Second
Year work being advised to do
so by Miss Stacy; Gilbert Blythe
elected to do the same. This
meant getting a First Class teacher's
license in one year instead of
two, if they were successful;
but it also meant much more and
harder work. Jane, Ruby, Josie,
Charlie, and Moody Spurgeon,
not being troubled with the stirrings
of ambition, were content to
take up the Second Class work.
Anne was conscious of a pang
of loneliness when she found
herself in a room with fifty
other students, not one of whom
she knew, except the tall, brown-haired
boy across the room; and knowing
him in the fashion she did, did
not help her much, as she reflected
pessimistically. Yet she was
undeniably glad that they were
in the same class; the old rivalry
could still be carried on, and
Anne would hardly have known
what to do if it had been lacking.
"I wouldn't feel comfortable
without it," she thought. "Gilbert
looks awfully determined. I suppose
he's making up his mind, here
and now, to win the medal. What
a splendid chin he has! I never
noticed it before. I do wish
Jane and Ruby had gone in for
First Class, too. I suppose I
won't feel so much like a cat
in a strange garret when I get
acquainted, though. I wonder
which of the girls here are going
to be my friends. It's really
an interesting speculation. Of
course I promised Diana that
no Queen's girl, no matter how
much I liked her, should ever
be as dear to me as she is; but
I've lots of second-best affections
to bestow. I like the look of
that girl with the brown eyes
and the crimson waist. She looks
vivid and red-rosy; there's that
pale, fair one gazing out of
the window. She has lovely hair,
and looks as if she knew a thing
or two about dreams. I'd like
to know them both--know them
well--well enough to walk with
my arm about their waists, and
call them nicknames. But just
now I don't know them and they
don't know me, and probably don't
want to know me particularly.
Oh, it's lonesome!"
It was lonesomer still when
Anne found herself alone in her
hall bedroom that night at twilight.
She was not to board with the
other girls, who all had relatives
in town to take pity on them.
Miss Josephine Barry would have
liked to board her, but Beechwood
was so far from the Academy that
it was out of the question; so
miss Barry hunted up a boarding-house,
assuring Matthew and Marilla
that it was the very place for
Anne.
"The lady who keeps it is a
reduced gentlewoman," explained
Miss Barry. "Her husband was
a British officer, and she is
very careful what sort of boarders
she takes. Anne will not meet
with any objectionable persons
under her roof. The table is
good, and the house is near the
Academy, in a quiet neighborhood."
All this might be quite true,
and indeed, proved to be so,
but it did not materially help
Anne in the first agony of homesickness
that seized upon her. She looked
dismally about her narrow little
room, with its dull-papered,
pictureless walls, its small
iron bedstead and empty book-
case; and a horrible choke came
into her throat as she thought
of her own white room at Green
Gables, where she would have
the pleasant consciousness of
a great green still outdoors,
of sweet peas growing in the
garden, and moonlight falling
on the orchard, of the brook
below the slope and the spruce
boughs tossing in the night wind
beyond it, of a vast starry sky,
and the light from Diana's window
shining out through the gap in
the trees. Here there was nothing
of this; Anne knew that outside
of her window was a hard street,
with a network of telephone wires
shutting out the sky, the tramp
of alien feet, and a thousand
lights gleaming on stranger faces.
She knew that she was going to
cry, and fought against it.
"I WON'T cry.
It's silly--and weak--there's
the third tear
splashing down by my nose. There
are more coming! I must think
of something funny to stop them.
But there's nothing funny except
what is connected with Avonlea,
and that only makes things worse--four--five--I'm
going home next Friday, but that
seems a hundred years away. Oh,
Matthew is nearly home by now--and
Marilla is at the gate, looking
down the lane for him--six--seven--eight--
oh, there's no use in counting
them! They're coming in a flood
presently. I can't cheer up--I
don't WANT to cheer up. It's
nicer to be miserable!"
The flood of tears would have
come, no doubt, had not Josie
Pye appeared at that moment.
In the joy of seeing a familiar
face Anne forgot that there had
never been much love lost between
her and Josie. As a part of Avonlea
life even a Pye was welcome.
"I'm so glad you came up." Anne
said sincerely.
"You've been crying," remarked
Josie, with aggravating pity. "I
suppose you're homesick--some
people have so little self-control
in that respect. I've no intention
of being homesick, I can tell
you. Town's too jolly after that
poky old Avonlea. I wonder how
I ever existed there so long.
You shouldn't cry, Anne; it isn't
becoming, for your nose and eyes
get red, and then you seem ALL
red. I'd a perfectly scrumptious
time in the Academy today. Our
French professor is simply a
duck. His moustache would give
you kerwollowps of the heart.
Have you anything eatable around,
Anne? I'm literally starving.
Ah, I guessed likely Marilla'd
load you up with cake. That's
why I called round. Otherwise
I'd have gone to the park to
hear the band play with Frank
Stockley. He boards same place
as I do, and he's a sport. He
noticed you in class today, and
asked me who the red-headed girl
was. I told him you were an orphan
that the Cuthberts had adopted,
and nobody knew very much about
what you'd been before that."
Anne was wondering
if, after all, solitude and
tears were
not more satisfactory than Josie
Pye's companionship when Jane
and Ruby appeared, each with
an inch of Queen's color ribbon--purple
and scarlet--pinned proudly to
her coat. As Josie was not "speaking" to
Jane just then she had to subside
into comparative harmlessness.
"Well," said Jane with a sigh, "I
feel as if I'd lived many moons
since the morning. I ought to
be home studying my Virgil--that
horrid old professor gave us
twenty lines to start in on tomorrow.
But I simply couldn't settle
down to study tonight. Anne,
methinks I see the traces of
tears. If you've been crying
DO own up. It will restore my
self-respect, for I was shedding
tears freely before Ruby came
along. I don't mind being a goose
so much if somebody else is goosey,
too. Cake? You'll give me a teeny
piece, won't you? Thank you.
It has the real Avonlea flavor."
Ruby, perceiving the Queen's
calendar lying on the table,
wanted to know if Anne meant
to try for the gold medal.
Anne blushed and admitted she
was thinking of it.
"Oh, that reminds me," said
Josie, "Queen's is to get one
of the Avery scholarships after
all. The word came today. Frank
Stockley told me--his uncle is
one of the board of governors,
you know. It will be announced
in the Academy tomorrow."
An Avery scholarship! Anne
felt her heart beat more quickly,
and the horizons of her ambition
shifted and broadened as if by
magic. Before Josie had told
the news Anne's highest pinnacle
of aspiration had been a teacher's
provincial license, First Class,
at the end of the year, and perhaps
the medal! But now in one moment
Anne saw herself winning the
Avery scholarship, taking an
Arts course at Redmond College,
and graduating in a gown and
mortar board, before the echo
of Josie's words had died away.
For the Avery scholarship was
in English, and Anne felt that
here her foot was on native heath.???
A wealthy manufacturer of New
Brunswick had died and left part
of his fortune to endow a large
number of scholarships to be
distributed among the various
high schools and academies of
the Maritime Provinces, according
to their respective standings.
There had been much doubt whether
one would be allotted to Queen's,
but the matter was settled at
last, and at the end of the year
the graduate who made the highest
mark in English and English Literature
would win the scholarship-- two
hundred and fifty dollars a year
for four years at Redmond College.
No wonder that Anne went to bed
that night with tingling cheeks!
"I'll win that scholarship
if hard work can do it," she
resolved. "Wouldn't Matthew be
proud if I got to be a B.A.?
Oh, it's delightful to have ambitions.
I'm so glad I have such a lot.
And there never seems to be any
end to them-- that's the best
of it. Just as soon as you attain
to one ambition you see another
one glittering higher up still.
It does make life so interesting."
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