Anne of Ingleside

by L. M. Montgomery

  'Curt, why didn't you clean your nails when you knew company was coming,' demanded Jenny. 'Annabel, don't speak with your mouth full. I'm the only one who ever tries to teach this family any manners,' she explained aside to Di.

  'Shut up,' said Uncle Ben in a great booming voice.

  'I won't shut up... you can't make me shut up,' cried Jenny.

  'Don't sass your uncle,' said Aunt Lina placidly. 'Come now, girls, behave like ladies. Curt, pass the potatoes to Miss Blythe.'

  'Oh, ho, Miss Blythe,' sniggered Curt.

  But Diana had got at least one thrill. For the first time in her life she had been called Miss Blythe.

  For a wonder the food was good and abundant. Di, who was hungry, would have enjoyed the meal... though she hated drinking out of a chipped cup... if she had only been sure it was clean... and if everybody hadn't quarrelled so. Private fights were going on all the time... between George Andrew and Curt... between Curt and Annabel... between Gert and Jen... even between Uncle Ben and Aunt Lina. They had a terrible fight and hurled the bitterest accusations at each other. Aunt Lina cast up to Ben all the fine men she might have married, and Uncle Ben said he only wished she had married anybody but him.

  'Wouldn't it be dreadful if my father and mother fought like that?' thought Di. 'Oh, if I were only back home.'

  'Don't suck your thumb, Tuppy.'

  She said that before she thought. They had had such a time breaking Rilla of sucking her thumb.

  Instantly Curt was red with rage.

  'Let him alone,' he shouted. 'He can suck his thumb if he likes. We ain't bossed to death like you Ingleside kids are. Who do you think you are?'

  'Curt, Curt! Miss Blythe will think you haven't any manners,' said Aunt Lina. She was quite calm and smiling again and put two teaspoons of sugar in Uncle Ben's tea. 'Don't mind him, dear. Have another piece of pie.'

  Di did not want another piece of pie. She only wanted to go home... and she did not see how it could be brought about.

  'Well,' boomed Uncle Ben, as he drained the last of his tea noisily from the saucer. 'That's so much over. Get up in the morning, work all day, eat three meals and go to bed. What a life!'

  'Pa loves his little joke,' smiled Aunt Lina.

  'Talking of jokes... I saw the Methodist minister in Flagg's store today. He tried to contradict me when I said there was no God. "You talk on Sunday," I told him. "It's my turn now. Prove to me there's a God," I told him. "It's you that's doing the talking," sez he. They all laughed like ninnies. Thought he was smart.'

  No God! The bottom seemed falling out of Di's world. She wanted to cry.

  31

  It was worse after supper. Before that she and Jenny had been alone at least. Now there was a mob. George Andrew grabbed her hand and galloped her through a mud-puddle before she could escape him. Di had never been treated like this in her life. Jem and Walter teased her, as did Ken Ford, but she did not know anything about boys like these.

  Curt offered her a chew of gum, fresh from his mouth, and was mad when she refused it.

  'I'll put a live mouse on you,' he yelled. 'Smarty cat! Stuckupitty! Got a sissy for a brother!'

  'Walter isn't a sissy,' said Di. She was half sick from fright, but she would not hear Walter called names.

  'He is. He writes poetry. Do you know what I'd do if I'd a brother that writ po'try? I'd drown him... like they do kittens.'

  'Talking of kittens, there's a lot of wild ones in the barn', said Jen. 'Let's go and hunt them out.'

  Di simply would not go hunting kittens with those boys and said so.

  'We've got plenty of kittens at home. We've got eleven,' she said proudly.

  'I don't believe it,' cried Jen. 'You haven't! Nobody ever had eleven kittens!... it wouldn't be right to have eleven kittens.'

  'One cat has five and the other six. And I'm not going to the barn anyhow. I fell off the loft in Amy Taylor's barn last winter. I'd have been killed if I hadn't lit on a pile of chaff.'

  'Well, I'd have fell off our loft once if Curt hadn't caught me,' said Jen sulkily. Nobody had any right to be falling off lofts but her. Di Blythe having adventures! The impudence of her!

  'You should say "I'd have fallen",' said Di; and from that moment everything was over between her and Jenny.

  But the night had to be got through somehow. They did not go to bed till late because none of the Pennys ever went to bed early. The big bedroom where Jenny took her at half-past ten had two beds in it. Annabel and Gert were getting ready for theirs. Di looked at the other. The pillows were very frowsy. The quilt needed washing very badly, the paper... the famous 'parrot' paper... had been leaked on and even the parrots did not look very parrotty. On the stand by the bed were a granite pitcher and a tin wash-basin half full of dirty water. She could never wash her face in that. Well, for once she must go to bed without washing her face. At least the nightgown Aunt Lina had left for her was clean.

  When Di got up from saying her prayers Jenny laughed.

  'My, but you're old-fashioned. You looked so funny and holy saying your prayers. I didn't know anybody said prayers now. Prayers ain't any good. What do you say them for?'

  'I've got to save my soul,' said Di, quoting Susan.

  'I haven't any soul,' mocked Jenny.

  'Perhaps not, but I have,' said Di, drawing herself up.

  Jenny looked at her. But the spell of Jenny's eyes was broken. Never again would Di succumb to its magic.

  'You're not the girl I thought you were, Diana Blythe,' said Jenny sadly, as one much deceived.

  Before Di could reply George Andrew and Curt rushed into the room. George Andrew wore a mask, a hideous thing with an enormous nose. Di screamed.

  'Stop squealing like a pig under a gate,' ordered George Andrew. 'You've got to kiss us good night.'

  'If you don't we'll lock you up in that closet... and it's full of rats,' said Curt.

  George Andrew advanced towards Di, who shrieked again and retreated before him. The mask paralysed her with terror. She knew quite well it was only George Andrew behind it and she was not afraid of him; but she would die if that awful mask came near her... she knew she would. Just as it seemed that the dreadful nose was touching her face she tripped over a stool and fell backward on the floor, striking her head on the sharp edge of Annabel's bed as she fell. For a moment she was dazed and lay with her eyes shut.

  'She's gone dead... she's gone dead,' sniffled Gert, beginning to cry.

  'Oh, won't you get a licking if you've killed her, George Andrew!' said Annabel.

  'Maybe she's only pretending,' said Curt. 'Put a worm on her. I've some in this can. If she's only foxing that will bring her to.'

  Di heard this, but was too frightened to open her eyes. (Perhaps they would go away and leave her alone if they thought her dead. But if they put a worm on her...)

  'Prick her with a pin. If she bleeds she ain't dead,' said Gert. (She could stand a pin but not a worm.)

  'She ain't dead... she can't be dead,' whimpered Jenny. 'You've just scared her into a fit. But if she comes to she'll be screeching all over the place, and Uncle Ben'll come in and lambast the daylights out of us. I wish I'd never asked her here, the fraid-cat!'

  'Do you s'pose we could carry her home before she comes to?' suggested George Andrew.

  (Oh, if they only would!)

  'We couldn't... not that far,' said Jenny.

  'It's only a quarter of a mile 'cross lots. We'll each take an arm or a leg, you and Curt and me and Annabel.'

  Nobody but the Pennys could have conceived such an idea or carried it out if they had. But they were used to doing anything they took it into their heads to do, and a 'lambasting' from the head of the household was something to be avoided if possible. Dad didn't bother about them up to a certain point, but beyond that... good-night!

  'If she comes to while we're carrying her we'll just cut and run,' said George Andrew.

  There wasn't the least danger of Di coming to. She trembled with thankfulness
when she felt herself being hoisted up between the four of them. They crept downstairs and out of the house, across the yard and over the long clover field... past the woods... down the hill. Twice they had to lay her down while they rested. They were quite sure now she was dead and all they wanted was to get her home without being seen. If Jenny Penny never prayed in her life before she was praying now... that nobody in the village would be up. If they could get Di Blythe home they would all swear she had got so homesick at bed-time that she had insisted on going home. What happened after that would be no concern of theirs.

  Di ventured to open her eyes once as they plotted this. The sleeping world around them looked very strange to her. The fir-trees were dark and alien. The stars were laughing at her. (I don't like such a big sky. But if I can just hold on a little spell longer I'll be home. If they find out that I'm not dead they'll just leave me here and I'll never get home in the dark alone.)

  When the Pennys dropped Di on the veranda of Ingleside they ran like mad. Di did not dare come back to life too soon, but at last she ventured to open her eyes. Yes, she was home. It seemed almost too good to be true. She had been a very, very naughty girl, but she was quite sure she would never be naughty again. She sat up, and the Shrimp came stealthily up the steps and rubbed against her, purring. She hugged him to her. How nice and warm and friendly he was! She did not think she would be able to get in... she knew Susan would have all the doors locked when Dad was away and she dared not wake Susan up at this hour. But she did not mind. The June night was cold enough, but she would get into the hammock and cuddle down with the Shrimp, knowing that near to her, behind those locked doors, were Susan and the boys and Nan... and home.

  How strange the world was after dark! Was every one in it asleep but her? The large white roses on the bush by the steps looked like small human faces in the night. The smell of the mint was like a friend. There was a glint of firefly in the orchard. After all, she would be able to brag that she had 'slept out all night'.

  But it was not to be. Two dark figures came through the gate and up the driveway. Gilbert went around by the back way to force open a kitchen window, but Anne came up the steps and stood looking in amazement at the poor mite who sat there, with her armful of cat.

  'Mummy... oh, Mummy!' She was safe in Mother's arms.

  'Di, darling! What does this mean?'

  'Oh, Mummy, I was bad... but I'm so sorry... and you were right... but I thought you wouldn't be back till tomorrow?'

  'Daddy got a telephone from Lowbridge... they have to operate on Mrs Parker tomorrow and Dr Parker wanted him to be there. So we caught the evening train and walked up from the station. Now, tell me...'

  The whole story was sobbed out by the time Gilbert had got in and opened the front door. He thought he had effected a very silent entrance, but Susan had ears that could hear a bat squeak when the safety of Ingleside was concerned, and she came limping downstairs with a wrapper over her nightgown.

  There were exclamations and explanations, but Anne cut them short.

  'Nobody is blaming you, Susan, dear. Di has been very naughty, but she knows it and I think she has had her punishment. I'm sorry we disturbed you... you must go straight back to bed, and the doctor will see to your ankle.'

  'I was not asleep, Mrs Doctor dear. Do you think I could sleep, knowing where that blessed child was? And ankle or no ankle I am going to get you both a cup of tea.'

  'Mummy,' said Di, from her own white pillow. 'Is Daddy ever cruel to you?'

  'Cruel? To me? Why, Di...'

  'The Pennys said he was... said he beat you...'

  'Dear, you know what the Pennys are now, so you know better than to worry your small head over anything they said. There is always a bit of malicious gossip floating round in any place... people like that invent it. You must never bother about it.'

  'Are you going to scold me in the morning, Mummy?'

  'No. I think you've learned your lesson. Now go to sleep, precious.'

  'Mummy is so sensible' was Di's last conscious thought. But Susan, as she stretched out peacefully in bed, with her ankle expertly and comfortably bandaged, was saying to herself, 'I must hunt up the fine-tooth comb in the morning... and when I see my fine Miss Jenny Penny I shall give her a ticking off she will not forget.'

  Jenny Penny never got the promised ticking off, for she came no more to the Glen school. Instead she went with the other Pennys to Mowbray Narrows school, whence rumours drifted back of her yarns, among them being one of how Di Blythe, who lived in the 'big house' at Glen St Mary but was always coming down to sleep with her, had fainted one night and had been carried home at midnight, pick-a-back, by her, Jenny Penny, alone and unassisted. The Ingleside people had knelt and kissed her hands out of gratitude, and the doctor himself had got out his fringed-top buggy and his famous dappled grey span and driven her home. 'And if there is ever anything I can do for you, Miss Penny, for your kindness to my beloved child you have only to name it. My best heart's blood would not be enough to repay you. I would go to Equatorial Africa to reward you for what you have done,' the doctor had vowed.

  32

  'I know something you don't know... something you don't know... something you don't know,' chanted Dovie Johnson, as she teetered back and forth on the very edge of the wharf.

  It was Nan's turn for the spot light... Nan's turn to add a tale to the do-you-remembers of after-Ingleside years. Though Nan to the day of her death would blush to be reminded of it. She had been so silly.

  Nan shuddered to see Dovie teetering... and yet it had a fascination. She was so sure Dovie would fall off some time, and then what? But Dovie never fell. Her luck always held.

  Everything Dovie did, or said she did... which were, perhaps, two very different things, although Nan, brought up at Ingleside, where nobody ever told anything but the truth, even as a joke, was too innocent and credulous to know that... had a fascination for Nan. Dovie, who was eleven and had lived in Charlottetown all her life, knew so much more than Nan, who was only eight. Charlottetown, Dovie said, was the only place where people knew anything. What could you know, shut off in a one-horse place like Glen St Mary?

  Dovie was spending part of her vacation with her Aunt Ella in the Glen and she and Nan had struck up a very intimate friendship, in spite of the difference in their ages. Perhaps because Nan looked up to Dovie, who seemed to her to be almost grown up, with the adoration we needs must give the highest when we see it... or think we see it, Dovie liked her humble and adoring little satellite.

  'There's no harm in Nan Blythe... she's only a bit soft,' she told Aunt Ella.

  The watchful folks at Ingleside could not see anything out of the way about Dovie... even if, as Anne reflected, her mother was a cousin of the Avonlea Pyes... and made no objection to Nan's chumming with her, though Susan from the first mistrusted those gooseberry-green eyes with their pale golden lashes. But what would you? Dovie was 'nice-mannered', well-dressed, ladylike, and did not talk too much. Susan could not give any reason for her mistrust and held her peace. Dovie would be going home when school opened, and in the meantime there was certainly no need of fine-tooth combs in this case.

  So Nan and Dovie spent most of their spare time together at the wharf, where there was generally a ship or two with their folded wings, and Rainbow Valley hardly knew Nan that August. The other Ingleside children did not care greatly for Dovie and no love was lost. She had played a practical joke on Walter and Di had been furious and 'said things'. Dovie was, it seemed, fond of playing practical jokes. Perhaps that was why none of the Glen girls ever tried to lure her from Nan.

  'Oh, please tell me,' pleaded Nan. But Dovie only winked a wicked eye and said that Nan was far too young to be told such a thing. This was just maddening.

  'Please tell me, Dovie.'

  'Can't. It was told me as a secret by Aunt Kate and she's dead. I'm the only person in the world that knows it now. I promised when I heard it that I'd never tell a soul. You'd tell somebody... you couldn't he
lp it.'

  'I wouldn't... I could so,' cried Nan.

  'People say you folks at Ingleside tell each other everything. Susan'd pick it out of you in no time.'

  'She wouldn't. I know lots of things I've never told Susan. Secrets. I'll tell mine to you if you'll tell me yours.'

  'Oh, I'm not int'rested in the secrets of a little girl like you,' said Dovie.

  A nice insult that! Nan thought her little secrets were lovely... that one wild cherry-tree she had found blooming in the spruce wood away back behind Mr Taylor's hay-barn... her dream of a tiny white fairy lying on a lily-pad in the marsh... her fancy of a boat coming up the harbour drawn by swans attached to silver chains... the romance she was beginning to weave about the beautiful lady at the old MacAllister place. They were all very wonderful and magical to Nan and she felt glad, when she thought it over, that she did not have to tell them to Dovie after all.

  But what did Dovie know about her that she didn't know? The query haunted Nan like a mosquito.

  The next day Dovie again referred to her secret knowledge.

  'I've been thinking it over, Nan, perhaps you ought to know it since it's about you. Of course, what Aunt Kate meant was that I mustn't tell anyone but the person concerned. Look here. If you'll give me that china stag of yours I'll tell you now what I know about you.'

  'Oh, I couldn't give you that, Dovie. Susan gave it to me my last birthday. It would hurt her feelings dreadfully.'

  'All right then. If you'd rather have your old stag than know an important thing about yourself you can keep him. I don't care. I'd rather keep it. I always like to know things other girls don't. It makes you important. I'll look at you next Sunday in church and I'll think to myself, "If you just knew what I know about you, Nan Blythe." It'll be fun.'

  'Is what you know about me nice?' queried Nan.

  'Oh, it's very romantic... just like something you'd read in a story book. But never mind. You ain't interested and I know what I know.'