On the morning when the final
results of all the examina- tions
were to be posted on the bulletin
board at Queen's, Anne and Jane
walked down the street together.
Jane was smiling and happy; examinations
were over and she was comfortably
sure she had made a pass at least;
further considerations troubled
Jane not at all; she had no soaring
ambitions and consequently was
not affected with the unrest
attendant thereon. For we pay
a price for everything we get
or take in this world; and although
ambitions are well worth having,
they are not to be cheaply won,
but exact their dues of work
and self-denial, anxiety and
discouragement. Anne was pale
and quiet; in ten more minutes
she would know who had won the
medal and who the Avery. Beyond
those ten minutes there did not
seem, just then, to be anything
worth being called Time.
"Of course you'll win one of
them anyhow," said Jane, who
couldn't understand how the faculty
could be so unfair as to order
it otherwise.
"I have not hope of the Avery," said
Anne. "Everybody says Emily Clay
will win it. And I'm not going
to march up to that bulletin
board and look at it before everybody.
I haven't the moral courage.
I'm going straight to the girls'
dressing room. You must read
the announcements and then come
and tell me, Jane. And I implore
you in the name of our old friendship
to do it as quickly as possible.
If I have failed just say so,
without trying to break it gently;
and whatever you do DON'T sympathize
with me. Promise me this, Jane."
Jane promised
solemnly; but, as it happened,
there was no
necessity for such a promise.
When they went up the entrance
steps of Queen's they found the
hall full of boys who were carrying
Gilbert Blythe around on their
shoulders and yelling at the
tops of their voices, "Hurrah
for Blythe, Medalist!"
For a moment Anne felt one
sickening pang of defeat and
disappointment. So she had failed
and Gilbert had won! Well, Matthew
would be sorry--he had been so
sure she would win.
And then!
Somebody called out:
"Three cheers
for Miss Shirley, winner of
the Avery!"
"Oh, Anne," gasped Jane, as
they fled to the girls' dressing
room amid hearty cheers. "Oh,
Anne I'm so proud! Isn't it splendid?"
And then the girls were around
them and Anne was the center
of a laughing, congratulating
group. Her shoulders were thumped
and her hands shaken vigorously.
She was pushed and pulled and
hugged and among it all she managed
to whisper to Jane:
"Oh, won't
Matthew and Marilla be pleased!
I must write the
news home right away."
Commencement was the next important
happening. The exercises were
held in the big assembly hall
of the Academy. Addresses were
given, essays read, songs sung,
the public award of diplomas,
prizes and medals made.
Matthew and Marilla were there,
with eyes and ears for only one
student on the platform--a tall
girl in pale green, with faintly
flushed cheeks and starry eyes,
who read the best essay and was
pointed out and whispered about
as the Avery winner.
"Reckon you're glad we kept
her, Marilla?" whispered Matthew,
speaking for the first time since
he had entered the hall, when
Anne had finished her essay.
"It's not the first time I've
been glad," retorted Marilla. "You
do like to rub things in, Matthew
Cuthbert."
Miss Barry, who was sitting
behind them, leaned forward and
poked Marilla in the back with
her parasol.
"Aren't you proud of that Anne-girl?
I am," she said.
Anne went home to Avonlea with
Matthew and Marilla that evening.
She had not been home since April
and she felt that she could not
wait another day. The apple blossoms
were out and the world was fresh
and young. Diana was at Green
Gables to meet her. In her own
white room, where Marilla had
set a flowering house rose on
the window sill, Anne looked
about her and drew a long breath
of happiness.
"Oh, Diana,
it's so good to be back again.
It's so good to
see those pointed firs coming
out against the pink sky-- and
that white orchard and the old
Snow Queen. Isn't the breath
of the mint delicious? And that
tea rose--why, it's a song and
a hope and a prayer all in one.
And it's GOOD to see you again,
Diana!"
"I thought you like that Stella
Maynard better than me," said
Diana reproachfully. "Josie Pye
told me you did. Josie said you
were INFATUATED with her."
Anne laughed
and pelted Diana with the faded "June lilies" of
her bouquet.
"Stella Maynard is the dearest
girl in the world except one
and you are that one, Diana," she
said. "I love you more than ever--and
I've so many things to tell you.
But just now I feel as if it
were joy enough to sit here and
look at you. I'm tired, I think--tired
of being studious and ambitious.
I mean to spend at least two
hours tomorrow lying out in the
orchard grass, thinking of absolutely
nothing."
"You've done
splendidly, Anne. I suppose
you won't be teaching
now that you've won the Avery?"
"No. I'm going
to Redmond in September. Doesn't
it seem wonderful?
I'll have a brand new stock of
ambition laid in by that time
after three glorious, golden
months of vacation. Jane and
Ruby are going to teach. Isn't
it splendid to think we all got
through even to Moody Spurgeon
and Josie Pye?"
"The Newbridge trustees have
offered Jane their school already," said
Diana. "Gilbert Blythe is going
to teach, too. He has to. His
father can't afford to send him
to college next year, after all,
so he means to earn his own way
through. I expect he'll get the
school here if Miss Ames decides
to leave."
Anne felt a queer little sensation
of dismayed surprise. She had
not known this; she had expected
that Gilbert would be going to
Redmond also. What would she
do without their inspiring rivalry?
Would not work, even at a coeducational
college with a real degree in
prospect, be rather flat without
her friend the enemy?
The next morning at breakfast
it suddenly struck Anne that
Matthew was not looking well.
Surely he was much grayer than
he had been a year before.
"Marilla," she said hesitatingly
when he had gone out, "is Matthew
quite well?"
"No, he isn't," said Marilla
in a troubled tone. "He's had
some real bad spells with his
heart this spring and he won't
spare himself a mite. I've been
real worried about him, but he's
some better this while back and
we've got a good hired man, so
I'm hoping he'll kind of rest
and pick up. Maybe he will now
you're home. You always cheer
him up."
Anne leaned across the table
and took Marilla's face in her
hands.
"You are not
looking as well yourself as
I'd like to see you,
Marilla. You look tired. I'm
afraid you've been working too
hard. You must take a rest, now
that I'm home. I'm just going
to take this one day off to visit
all the dear old spots and hunt
up my old dreams, and then it
will be your turn to be lazy
while I do the work."
Marilla smiled affectionately
at her girl.
"It's not the
work--it's my head. I've got
a pain so often
now--behind my eyes. Doctor Spencer's
been fussing with glasses, but
they don't do me any good. There
is a distin- guished oculist
coming to the Island the last
of June and the doctor says I
must see him. I guess I'll have
to. I can't read or sew with
any comfort now. Well, Anne,
you've done real well at Queen's
I must say. To take First Class
License in one year and win the
Avery scholarship--well, well,
Mrs. Lynde says pride goes before
a fall and she doesn't believe
in the higher education of women
at all; she says it unfits them
for woman's true sphere. I don't
believe a word of it. Speaking
of Rachel reminds me--did you
hear anything about the Abbey
Bank lately, Anne?"
"I heard it was shaky," answered
Anne. "Why?"
"That is what
Rachel said. She was up here
one day last
week and said there was some
talk about it. Matthew felt real
worried. All we have saved is
in that bank--every penny. I
wanted Matthew to put it in the
Savings Bank in the first place,
but old Mr. Abbey was a great
friend of father's and he'd always
banked with him. Matthew said
any bank with him at the head
of it was good enough for anybody."
"I think he has only been its
nominal head for many years," said
Anne. "He is a very old man;
his nephews are really at the
head of the institution."
"Well, when
Rachel told us that, I wanted
Matthew to draw
our money right out and he said
he'd think of it. But Mr. Russell
told him yesterday that the bank
was all right."
Anne had her good day in the
companionship of the outdoor
world. She never forgot that
day; it was so bright and golden
and fair, so free from shadow
and so lavish of blossom. Anne
spent some of its rich hours
in the orchard; she went to the
Dryad's Bubble and Willowmere
and Violet Vale; she called at
the manse and had a satisfying
talk with Mrs. Allan; and finally
in the evening she went with
Matthew for the cows, through
Lovers' Lane to the back pasture.
The woods were all gloried through
with sunset and the warm splendor
of it streamed down through the
hill gaps in the west. Matthew
walked slowly with bent head;
Anne, tall and erect, suited
her springing step to his.
"You've been working too hard
today, Matthew," she said reproachfully. "Why
won't you take things easier?"
"Well now, I can't seem to," said
Matthew, as he opened the yard
gate to let the cows through. "It's
only that I'm getting old, Anne,
and keep forgetting it. Well,
well, I've always worked pretty
hard and I'd rather drop in harness."
"If I had been the boy you
sent for," said Anne wistfully, "I'd
be able to help you so much now
and spare you in a hundred ways.
I could find it in my heart to
wish I had been, just for that."
"Well now, I'd rather have
you than a dozen boys, Anne," said
Matthew patting her hand. "Just
mind you that-- rather than a
dozen boys. Well now, I guess
it wasn't a boy that took the
Avery scholarship, was it? It
was a girl--my girl--my girl
that I'm proud of."
He smiled his shy smile at
her as he went into the yard.
Anne took the memory of it with
her when she went to her room
that night and sat for a long
while at her open window, thinking
of the past and dreaming of the
future. Outside the Snow Queen
was mistily white in the moonshine;
the frogs were singing in the
marsh beyond Orchard Slope. Anne
always remembered the silvery,
peaceful beauty and fragrant
calm of that night. It was the
last night before sorrow touched
her life; and no life is ever
quite the same again when once
that cold, sanctifying touch
has been laid upon it.
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