CHAPTER III
MOONLIT MIRTH
Rilla, who still buttoned up her eyes when she went to sleep so thatshe always looked as if she were laughing in her slumber, yawned,stretched, and smiled at Gertrude Oliver. The latter had come over fromLowbridge the previous evening and had been prevailed upon to remainfor the dance at the Four Winds lighthouse the next night.
"The new day is knocking at the window. What will it bring us, Iwonder."
Miss Oliver shivered a little. She never greeted the days with Rilla'senthusiasm. She had lived long enough to know that a day may bring aterrible thing.
"I think the nicest thing about days is their unexpectedness," went onRilla. "It's jolly to wake up like this on a golden-fine morning andwonder what surprise packet the day will hand you. I always day-dreamfor ten minutes before I get up, imagining the heaps of splendid thingsthat may happen before night."
"I hope something very unexpected will happen today," said Gertrude. "Ihope the mail will bring us news that war has been averted betweenGermany and France."
"Oh--yes," said Rilla vaguely. "It will be dreadful if it isn't, Isuppose. But it won't really matter much to us, will it? I think a warwould be so exciting. The Boer war was, they say, but I don't rememberanything about it, of course. Miss Oliver, shall I wear my white dresstonight or my new green one? The green one is by far the prettier, ofcourse, but I'm almost afraid to wear it to a shore dance for fearsomething will happen to it. And will you do my hair the new way? Noneof the other girls in the Glen wear it yet and it will make such asensation."
"How did you induce your mother to let you go to the dance?"
"Oh, Walter coaxed her over. He knew I would be heart-broken if Ididn't go. It's my first really-truly grown-up party, Miss Oliver, andI've just lain awake at nights for a week thinking it over. When I sawthe sun shining this morning I wanted to whoop for joy. It would besimply terrible if it rained tonight. I think I'll wear the green dressand risk it. I want to look my nicest at my first party. Besides, it'san inch longer than my white one. And I'll wear my silver slippers too.Mrs. Ford sent them to me last Christmas and I've never had a chance towear them yet. They're the dearest things. Oh, Miss Oliver, I do hopesome of the boys will ask me to dance. I shall die ofmortification--truly I will, if nobody does and I have to sit stuck upagainst the wall all the evening. Of course Carl and Jerry can't dancebecause they're the minister's sons, or else I could depend on them tosave me from utter disgrace."
"You'll have plenty of partners--all the over-harbour boys arecoming--there'll be far more boys than girls."
"I'm glad I'm not a minister's daughter," laughed Rilla. "Poor Faith isso furious because she won't dare to dance tonight. Una doesn't care,of course. She has never hankered after dancing. Somebody told Faiththere would be a taffy-pull in the kitchen for those who didn't danceand you should have seen the face she made. She and Jem will sit out onthe rocks most of the evening, I suppose. Did you know that we are allto walk down as far as that little creek below the old House of Dreamsand then sail to the lighthouse? Won't it just be absolutely divine?"
"When I was fifteen I talked in italics and superlatives too," saidMiss Oliver sarcastically. "I think the party promises to be pleasantfor young fry. I expect to be bored. None of those boys will botherdancing with an old maid like me. Jem and Walter will take me out onceout of charity. So you can't expect me to look forward to it with yourtouching young rapture."
"Didn't you have a good time at your first party, though, Miss Oliver?"
"No. I had a hateful time. I was shabby and homely and nobody asked meto dance except one boy, homelier and shabbier than myself. He was soawkward I hated him--and even he didn't ask me again. I had no realgirlhood, Rilla. It's a sad loss. That's why I want you to have asplendid, happy girlhood. And I hope your first party will be oneyou'll remember all your life with pleasure."
"I dreamed last night I was at the dance and right in the middle ofthings I discovered I was dressed in my kimono and bedroom shoes,"sighed Rilla. "I woke up with a gasp of horror."
"Speaking of dreams--I had an odd one," said Miss Oliver absently. "Itwas one of those vivid dreams I sometimes have--they are not the vaguejumble of ordinary dreams--they are as clear cut and real as life."
"What was your dream?"
"I was standing on the veranda steps, here at Ingleside, looking downover the fields of the Glen. All at once, far in the distance, I saw along, silvery, glistening wave breaking over them. It came nearer andnearer--just a succession of little white waves like those that breakon the sandshore sometimes. The Glen was being swallowed up. I thought,'Surely the waves will not come near Ingleside'--but they came nearerand nearer--so rapidly--before I could move or call they were breakingright at my feet--and everything was gone--there was nothing but awaste of stormy water where the Glen had been. I tried to drawback--and I saw that the edge of my dress was wet with blood--and Iwoke--shivering. I don't like the dream. There was some sinistersignificance in it. That kind of vivid dream always 'comes true' withme."
"I hope it doesn't mean there's a storm coming up from the east tospoil the party," murmured Rilla.
"Incorrigible fifteen!" said Miss Oliver dryly. "No, Rilla-my-Rilla, Idon't think there is any danger that it foretells anything so awful asthat."
There had been an undercurrent of tension in the Ingleside existencefor several days. Only Rilla, absorbed in her own budding life, wasunaware of it. Dr. Blythe had taken to looking grave and saying littleover the daily paper. Jem and Walter were keenly interested in the newsit brought. Jem sought Walter out in excitement that evening.
"Oh, boy, Germany has declared war on France. This means that Englandwill fight too, probably--and if she does--well, the Piper of your oldfancy will have come at last."
"It wasn't a fancy," said Walter slowly. "It was a presentiment--avision--Jem, I really saw him for a moment that evening long ago.Suppose England does fight?"
"Why, we'll all have to turn in and help her," cried Jem gaily. "Wecouldn't let the 'old grey mother of the northern sea' fight it outalone, could we? But you can't go--the typhoid has done you out ofthat. Sort of a shame, eh?"
Walter did not say whether it was a shame or not. He looked silentlyover the Glen to the dimpling blue harbour beyond.
"We're the cubs--we've got to pitch in tooth and claw if it comes to afamily row," Jem went on cheerfully, rumpling up his red curls with astrong, lean, sensitive brown hand--the hand of the born surgeon, hisfather often thought. "What an adventure it would be! But I supposeGrey or some of those wary old chaps will patch matters up at theeleventh hour. It'll be a rotten shame if they leave France in thelurch, though. If they don't, we'll see some fun. Well, I suppose it'stime to get ready for the spree at the light."
Jem departed whistling "Wi' a hundred pipers and a' and a'," and Walterstood for a long time where he was. There was a little frown on hisforehead. This had all come up with the blackness and suddenness of athundercloud. A few days ago nobody had even thought of such a thing.It was absurd to think of it now. Some way out would be found. War wasa hellish, horrible, hideous thing--too horrible and hideous to happenin the twentieth century between civilized nations. The mere thought ofit was hideous, and made Walter unhappy in its threat to the beauty oflife. He would not think of it--he would resolutely put it out of hismind. How beautiful the old Glen was, in its August ripeness, with itschain of bowery old homesteads, tilled meadows and quiet gardens. Thewestern sky was like a great golden pearl. Far down the harbour wasfrosted with a dawning moonlight. The air was full of exquisitesounds--sleepy robin whistles, wonderful, mournful, soft murmurs ofwind in the twilit trees, rustle of aspen poplars talking in silverywhispers and shaking their dainty, heart-shaped leaves, lilting younglaughter from the windows of rooms where the girls were making readyfor the dance. The world was steeped in maddening loveliness of soundand colour. He would think only of these things and of the deep, subtlejoy they gave him. "Anyhow, no one will expect me to go," he tho
ught."As Jem says, typhoid has seen to that."
Rilla was leaning out of her room window, dressed for the dance. Ayellow pansy slipped from her hair and fell out over the sill like afalling star of gold. She caught at it vainly--but there were enoughleft. Miss Oliver had woven a little wreath of them for her pet's hair.
"It's so beautifully calm--isn't that splendid? We'll have a perfectnight. Listen, Miss Oliver--I can hear those old bells in RainbowValley quite clearly. They've been hanging there for over ten years."
"Their wind chime always makes me think of the aerial, celestial musicAdam and Eve heard in Milton's Eden," responded Miss Oliver.
"We used to have such fun in Rainbow Valley when we were children,"said Rilla dreamily.
Nobody ever played in Rainbow Valley now. It was very silent on summerevenings. Walter liked to go there to read. Jem and Faith trysted thereconsiderably; Jerry and Nan went there to pursue uninterruptedly theceaseless wrangles and arguments on profound subjects that seemed to betheir preferred method of sweethearting. And Rilla had a beloved littlesylvan dell of her own there where she liked to sit and dream.
"I must run down to the kitchen before I go and show myself off toSusan. She would never forgive me if I didn't."
Rilla whirled into the shadowy kitchen at Ingleside, where Susan wasprosaically darning socks, and lighted it up with her beauty. She woreher green dress with its little pink daisy garlands, her silk stockingsand silver slippers. She had golden pansies in her hair and at hercreamy throat. She was so pretty and young and glowing that even CousinSophia Crawford was compelled to admire her--and Cousin Sophia Crawfordadmired few transient earthly things. Cousin Sophia and Susan had madeup, or ignored, their old feud since the former had come to live in theGlen, and Cousin Sophia often came across in the evenings to make aneighbourly call. Susan did not always welcome her rapturously forCousin Sophia was not what could be called an exhilarating companion."Some calls are visits and some are visitations, Mrs. Dr. dear," Susansaid once, and left it to be inferred that Cousin Sophia's were thelatter.
Cousin Sophia had a long, pale, wrinkled face, a long, thin nose, along, thin mouth, and very long, thin, pale hands, generally foldedresignedly on her black calico lap. Everything about her seemed longand thin and pale. She looked mournfully upon Rilla Blythe and saidsadly,
"Is your hair all your own?"
"Of course it is," cried Rilla indignantly.
"Ah, well!" Cousin Sophia sighed. "It might be better for you if itwasn't! Such a lot of hair takes from a person's strength. It's a signof consumption, I've heard, but I hope it won't turn out like that inyour case. I s'pose you'll all be dancing tonight--even the minister'sboys most likely. I s'pose his girls won't go that far. Ah, well, Inever held with dancing. I knew a girl once who dropped dead while shewas dancing. How any one could ever dance aga' after a judgment likethat I cannot comprehend."
"Did she ever dance again?" asked Rilla pertly.
"I told you she dropped dead. Of course she never danced again, poorcreature. She was a Kirke from Lowbridge. You ain't a-going off likethat with nothing on your bare neck, are you?"
"It's a hot evening," protested Rilla. "But I'll put on a scarf when wego on the water."
"I knew of a boat load of young folks who went sailing on that harbourforty years ago just such a night as this--just exactly such a night asthis," said Cousin Sophia lugubriously, "and they were upset anddrowned--every last one of them. I hope nothing like that'll happen toyou tonight. Do you ever try anything for the freckles? I used to findplantain juice real good."
"You certainly should be a judge of freckles, Cousin Sophia," saidSusan, rushing to Rilla's defence. "You were more speckled than anytoad when you was a girl. Rilla's only come in summer but yours stayedput, season in and season out; and you had not a ground colour likehers behind them neither. You look real nice, Rilla, and that way offixing your hair is becoming. But you are not going to walk to theharbour in those slippers, are you?"
"Oh, no. We'll all wear our old shoes to the harbour and carry ourslippers. Do you like my dress, Susan?"
"It minds me of a dress I wore when I was a girl," sighed Cousin Sophiabefore Susan could reply. "It was green with pink posies on it, too,and it was flounced from the waist to the hem. We didn't wear theskimpy things girls wear nowadays. Ah me, times has changed and not forthe better I'm afraid. I tore a big hole in it that night and someonespilled a cup of tea all over it. Ruined it completely. But I hopenothing will happen to your dress. It orter to be a bit longer I'mthinking--your legs are so terrible long and thin."
"Mrs. Dr. Blythe does not approve of little girls dressing likegrown-up ones," said Susan stiffly, intending merely a snub to CousinSophia. But Rilla felt insulted. A little girl indeed! She whisked outof the kitchen in high dudgeon. Another time she wouldn't go down toshow herself off to Susan--Susan, who thought nobody was grown up untilshe was sixty! And that horrid Cousin Sophia with her digs aboutfreckles and legs! What business had an old--an old beanpole like thatto talk of anybody else being long and thin? Rilla felt all herpleasure in herself and her evening clouded and spoiled. The very teethof her soul were set on edge and she could have sat down and cried.
But later on her spirits rose again when she found herself one of thegay crowd bound for the Four Winds light.
The Blythes left Ingleside to the melancholy music of howls from DogMonday, who was locked up in the barn lest he make an uninvited guestat the light. They picked up the Merediths in the village, and othersjoined them as they walked down the old harbour road. Mary Vance,resplendent in blue crepe, with lace overdress, came out of MissCornelia's gate and attached herself to Rilla and Miss Oliver who werewalking together and who did not welcome her over-warmly. Rilla was notvery fond of Mary Vance. She had never forgotten the humiliating daywhen Mary had chased her through the village with a dried codfish. MaryVance, to tell the truth, was not exactly popular with any of her set.Still, they enjoyed her society--she had such a biting tongue that itwas stimulating. "Mary Vance is a habit of ours--we can't do withouther even when we are furious with her," Di Blythe had once said.
Most of the little crowd were paired off after a fashion. Jem walkedwith Faith Meredith, of course, and Jerry Meredith with Nan Blythe. Diand Walter were together, deep in confidential conversation which Rillaenvied.
Carl Meredith was walking with Miranda Pryor, more to torment JoeMilgrave than for any other reason. Joe was known to have a stronghankering for the said Miranda, which shyness prevented him fromindulging on all occasions. Joe might summon enough courage to amble upbeside Miranda if the night were dark, but here, in this moonlit dusk,he simply could not do it. So he trailed along after the procession andthought things not lawful to be uttered of Carl Meredith. Miranda wasthe daughter of Whiskers-on-the-moon; she did not share her father'sunpopularity but she was not much run after, being a pale, neutrallittle creature, somewhat addicted to nervous giggling. She had silveryblonde hair and her eyes were big china blue orbs that looked as if shehad been badly frightened when she was little and had never got overit. She would much rather have walked with Joe than with Carl, withwhom she did not feel in the least at home. Yet it was something of anhonour, too, to have a college boy beside her, and a son of the manseat that.
Shirley Blythe was with Una Meredith and both were rather silentbecause such was their nature. Shirley was a lad of sixteen, sedate,sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour. He was Susan's "littlebrown boy" yet, with his brown hair, brown eyes, and clear brown skin.He liked to walk with Una Meredith because she never tried to make himtalk or badgered him with chatter. Una was as sweet and shy as she hadbeen in the Rainbow Valley days, and her large, dark-blue eyes were asdreamy and wistful. She had a secret, carefully-hidden fancy for WalterBlythe that nobody but Rilla ever suspected. Rilla sympathized with itand wished Walter would return it. She liked Una better than Faith,whose beauty and aplomb rather overshadowed other girls--and Rilla didnot enjoy being overshadowed.
But just no
w she was very happy. It was so delightful to be trippingwith her friends down that dark, gleaming road sprinkled with itslittle spruces and firs, whose balsam made all the air resinous aroundthem. Meadows of sunset afterlight were behind the westerning hills.Before them was the shining harbour. A bell was ringing in the littlechurch over-harbour and the lingering dream-notes died around the dim,amethystine points. The gulf beyond was still silvery blue in theafterlight. Oh, it was all glorious--the clear air with its salt tang,the balsam of the firs, the laughter of her friends. Rilla lovedlife--its bloom and brilliance; she loved the ripple of music, the humof merry conversation; she wanted to walk on forever over this road ofsilver and shadow. It was her first party and she was going to have asplendid time. There was nothing in the world to worry about--not evenfreckles and over-long legs--nothing except one little haunting fearthat nobody would ask her to dance. It was beautiful and satisfyingjust to be alive--to be fifteen--to be pretty. Rilla drew a long breathof rapture--and caught it midway rather sharply. Jem was telling somestory to Faith--something that had happened in the Balkan War.
"The doctor lost both his legs--they were smashed to pulp--and he wasleft on the field to die. And he crawled about from man to man, to allthe wounded men round him, as long as he could, and did everythingpossible to relieve their sufferings--never thinking of himself--he wastying a bit of bandage round another man's leg when he went under. Theyfound them there, the doctor's dead hands still held the bandage tight,the bleeding was stopped and the other man's life was saved. Some hero,wasn't he, Faith? I tell you when I read that--"
Jem and Faith moved on out of hearing. Gertrude Oliver suddenlyshivered. Rilla pressed her arm sympathetically.
"Wasn't it dreadful, Miss Oliver? I don't know why Jem tells suchgruesome things at a time like this when we're all out for fun."
"Do you think it dreadful, Rilla? I thought it wonderful--beautiful.Such a story makes one ashamed of ever doubting human nature. Thatman's action was godlike. And how humanity responds to the ideal ofself-sacrifice. As for my shiver, I don't know what caused it. Theevening is certainly warm enough. Perhaps someone is walking over thedark, starshiny spot that is to be my grave. That is the explanationthe old superstition would give. Well, I won't think of that on thislovely night. Do you know, Rilla, that when night-time comes I'm alwaysglad I live in the country. We know the real charm of night here astown dwellers never do. Every night is beautiful in the country--eventhe stormy ones. I love a wild night storm on this old gulf shore. Asfor a night like this, it is almost too beautiful--it belongs to youthand dreamland and I'm half afraid of it."
"I feel as if I were part of it," said Rilla.
"Ah yes, you're young enough not to be afraid of perfect things. Well,here we are at the House of Dreams. It seems lonely this summer. TheFords didn't come?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Ford and Persis didn't. Kenneth did--but he stayed withhis mother's people over-harbour. We haven't seen a great deal of himthis summer. He's a little lame, so didn't go about very much."
"Lame? What happened to him?"
"He broke his ankle in a football game last fall and was laid up mostof the winter. He has limped a little ever since but it is gettingbetter all the time and he expects it will be all right before long. Hehas been up to Ingleside only twice."
"Ethel Reese is simply crazy about him," said Mary Vance. "She hasn'tgot the sense she was born with where he is concerned. He walked homewith her from the over-harbour church last prayer-meeting night and theairs she has put on since would really make you weary of life. As if aToronto boy like Ken Ford would ever really think of a country girllike Ethel!"
Rilla flushed. It did not matter to her if Kenneth Ford walked homewith Ethel Reese a dozen times--it did not! Nothing that he didmattered to her. He was ages older than she was. He chummed with Nanand Di and Faith, and looked upon her, Rilla, as a child whom he nevernoticed except to tease. And she detested Ethel Reese and Ethel Reesehated her--always had hated her since Walter had pummelled Dan sonotoriously in Rainbow Valley days; but why need she be thought beneathKenneth Ford's notice because she was a country girl, pray? As for MaryVance, she was getting to be an out-and-out gossip and thought ofnothing but who walked home with people!
There was a little pier on the harbour shore below the House of Dreams,and two boats were moored there. One boat was skippered by Jem Blythe,the other by Joe Milgrave, who knew all about boats and was nothingloth to let Miranda Pryor see it. They raced down the harbour and Joe'sboat won. More boats were coming down from the Harbour Head and acrossthe harbour from the western side. Everywhere there was laughter. Thebig white tower on Four Winds Point was overflowing with light, whileits revolving beacon flashed overhead. A family from Charlottetown,relatives of the light's keeper, were summering at the light, and theywere giving the party to which all the young people of Four Winds andGlen St. Mary and over-harbour had been invited. As Jem's boat swung inbelow the lighthouse Rilla desperately snatched off her shoes anddonned her silver slippers behind Miss Oliver's screening back. Aglance had told her that the rock-cut steps climbing up to the lightwere lined with boys, and lighted by Chinese lanterns, and she wasdetermined she would not walk up those steps in the heavy shoes hermother had insisted on her wearing for the road. The slippers pinchedabominably, but nobody would have suspected it as Rilla trippedsmilingly up the steps, her soft dark eyes glowing and questioning, hercolour deepening richly on her round, creamy cheeks. The very minuteshe reached the top of the steps an over-harbour boy asked her to danceand the next moment they were in the pavilion that had been builtseaward of the lighthouse for dances. It was a delightful spot, roofedover with fir-boughs and hung with lanterns. Beyond was the sea in aradiance that glowed and shimmered, to the left the moonlit crests andhollows of the sand-dunes, to the right the rocky shore with its inkyshadows and its crystalline coves. Rilla and her partner swung in amongthe dancers; she drew a long breath of delight; what witching music NedBurr of the Upper Glen was coaxing from his fiddle--it was really likethe magical pipes of the old tale which compelled all who heard them todance. How cool and fresh the gulf breeze blew; how white and wonderfulthe moonlight was over everything! This was life--enchanting life.Rilla felt as if her feet and her soul both had wings.
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