CHAPTER X. Anne's Apology
|MARILLA said nothing to Matthew about the affair that evening; but whenAnne proved still refractory the next morning an explanation had to bemade to account for her absence from the breakfast table. Marilla toldMatthew the whole story, taking pains to impress him with a due sense ofthe enormity of Anne's behavior.
"It's a good thing Rachel Lynde got a calling down; she's a meddlesomeold gossip," was Matthew's consolatory rejoinder.
"Matthew Cuthbert, I'm astonished at you. You know that Anne's behaviorwas dreadful, and yet you take her part! I suppose you'll be saying nextthing that she oughtn't to be punished at all!"
"Well now--no--not exactly," said Matthew uneasily. "I reckon sheought to be punished a little. But don't be too hard on her, Marilla.Recollect she hasn't ever had anyone to teach her right. You're--you'regoing to give her something to eat, aren't you?"
"When did you ever hear of me starving people into good behavior?"demanded Marilla indignantly. "She'll have her meals regular, andI'll carry them up to her myself. But she'll stay up there until she'swilling to apologize to Mrs. Lynde, and that's final, Matthew."
Breakfast, dinner, and supper were very silent meals--for Anne stillremained obdurate. After each meal Marilla carried a well-filled trayto the east gable and brought it down later on not noticeably depleted.Matthew eyed its last descent with a troubled eye. Had Anne eatenanything at all?
When Marilla went out that evening to bring the cows from the backpasture, Matthew, who had been hanging about the barns and watching,slipped into the house with the air of a burglar and crept upstairs. Asa general thing Matthew gravitated between the kitchen and the littlebedroom off the hall where he slept; once in a while he ventureduncomfortably into the parlor or sitting room when the minister came totea. But he had never been upstairs in his own house since the spring hehelped Marilla paper the spare bedroom, and that was four years ago.
He tiptoed along the hall and stood for several minutes outside thedoor of the east gable before he summoned courage to tap on it with hisfingers and then open the door to peep in.
Anne was sitting on the yellow chair by the window gazing mournfully outinto the garden. Very small and unhappy she looked, and Matthew's heartsmote him. He softly closed the door and tiptoed over to her.
"Anne," he whispered, as if afraid of being overheard, "how are youmaking it, Anne?"
Anne smiled wanly.
"Pretty well. I imagine a good deal, and that helps to pass the time. Ofcourse, it's rather lonesome. But then, I may as well get used to that."
Anne smiled again, bravely facing the long years of solitaryimprisonment before her.
Matthew recollected that he must say what he had come to say withoutloss of time, lest Marilla return prematurely. "Well now, Anne, don'tyou think you'd better do it and have it over with?" he whispered."It'll have to be done sooner or later, you know, for Marilla's adreadful deter-mined woman--dreadful determined, Anne. Do it right off,I say, and have it over."
"Do you mean apologize to Mrs. Lynde?"
"Yes--apologize--that's the very word," said Matthew eagerly. "Justsmooth it over so to speak. That's what I was trying to get at."
"I suppose I could do it to oblige you," said Anne thoughtfully. "Itwould be true enough to say I am sorry, because I _am_ sorry now. I wasn'ta bit sorry last night. I was mad clear through, and I stayed mad allnight. I know I did because I woke up three times and I was justfurious every time. But this morning it was over. I wasn't in a temperanymore--and it left a dreadful sort of goneness, too. I felt so ashamedof myself. But I just couldn't think of going and telling Mrs. Lyndeso. It would be so humiliating. I made up my mind I'd stay shut up hereforever rather than do that. But still--I'd do anything for you--if youreally want me to--"
"Well now, of course I do. It's terrible lonesome downstairs withoutyou. Just go and smooth things over--that's a good girl."
"Very well," said Anne resignedly. "I'll tell Marilla as soon as shecomes in I've repented."
"That's right--that's right, Anne. But don't tell Marilla I saidanything about it. She might think I was putting my oar in and Ipromised not to do that."
"Wild horses won't drag the secret from me," promised Anne solemnly."How would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow?"
But Matthew was gone, scared at his own success. He fled hastily to theremotest corner of the horse pasture lest Marilla should suspect whathe had been up to. Marilla herself, upon her return to the house, wasagreeably surprised to hear a plaintive voice calling, "Marilla" overthe banisters.
"Well?" she said, going into the hall.
"I'm sorry I lost my temper and said rude things, and I'm willing to goand tell Mrs. Lynde so."
"Very well." Marilla's crispness gave no sign of her relief. She hadbeen wondering what under the canopy she should do if Anne did not givein. "I'll take you down after milking."
Accordingly, after milking, behold Marilla and Anne walking down thelane, the former erect and triumphant, the latter drooping and dejected.But halfway down Anne's dejection vanished as if by enchantment. Shelifted her head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the sunsetsky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her. Marilla beheld thechange disapprovingly. This was no meek penitent such as it behooved herto take into the presence of the offended Mrs. Lynde.
"What are you thinking of, Anne?" she asked sharply.
"I'm imagining out what I must say to Mrs. Lynde," answered Annedreamily.
This was satisfactory--or should have been so. But Marilla could notrid herself of the notion that something in her scheme of punishment wasgoing askew. Anne had no business to look so rapt and radiant.
Rapt and radiant Anne continued until they were in the very presenceof Mrs. Lynde, who was sitting knitting by her kitchen window. Then theradiance vanished. Mournful penitence appeared on every feature. Beforea word was spoken Anne suddenly went down on her knees before theastonished Mrs. Rachel and held out her hands beseechingly.
"Oh, Mrs. Lynde, I am so extremely sorry," she said with a quiver inher voice. "I could never express all my sorrow, no, not if I used upa whole dictionary. You must just imagine it. I behaved terribly toyou--and I've disgraced the dear friends, Matthew and Marilla, who havelet me stay at Green Gables although I'm not a boy. I'm a dreadfullywicked and ungrateful girl, and I deserve to be punished and cast outby respectable people forever. It was very wicked of me to fly into atemper because you told me the truth. It _was_ the truth; every word yousaid was true. My hair is red and I'm freckled and skinny and ugly.What I said to you was true, too, but I shouldn't have said it. Oh, Mrs.Lynde, please, please, forgive me. If you refuse it will be a lifelongsorrow on a poor little orphan girl, would you, even if she had adreadful temper? Oh, I am sure you wouldn't. Please say you forgive me,Mrs. Lynde."
Anne clasped her hands together, bowed her head, and waited for the wordof judgment.
There was no mistaking her sincerity--it breathed in every tone of hervoice. Both Marilla and Mrs. Lynde recognized its unmistakable ring.But the former under-stood in dismay that Anne was actually enjoyingher valley of humiliation--was reveling in the thoroughness of herabasement. Where was the wholesome punishment upon which she, Marilla,had plumed herself? Anne had turned it into a species of positivepleasure.
Good Mrs. Lynde, not being overburdened with perception, did not seethis. She only perceived that Anne had made a very thorough apology andall resentment vanished from her kindly, if somewhat officious, heart.
"There, there, get up, child," she said heartily. "Of course I forgiveyou. I guess I was a little too hard on you, anyway. But I'm such anoutspoken person. You just mustn't mind me, that's what. It can't bedenied your hair is terrible red; but I knew a girl once--went to schoolwith her, in fact--whose hair was every mite as red as yours when shewas young, but when she grew up it darkened to a real handsome auburn. Iwouldn't be a mite surprised if yours did, too--not a mite."
"Oh, Mrs. Lynde!" Anne drew a
long breath as she rose to her feet. "Youhave given me a hope. I shall always feel that you are a benefactor. Oh,I could endure anything if I only thought my hair would be a handsomeauburn when I grew up. It would be so much easier to be good if one'shair was a handsome auburn, don't you think? And now may I go out intoyour garden and sit on that bench under the apple-trees while you andMarilla are talking? There is so much more scope for imagination outthere."
"Laws, yes, run along, child. And you can pick a bouquet of them whiteJune lilies over in the corner if you like."
As the door closed behind Anne Mrs. Lynde got briskly up to light alamp.
"She's a real odd little thing. Take this chair, Marilla; it's easierthan the one you've got; I just keep that for the hired boy to siton. Yes, she certainly is an odd child, but there is something kind oftaking about her after all. I don't feel so surprised at you and Matthewkeeping her as I did--nor so sorry for you, either. She may turn out allright. Of course, she has a queer way of expressing herself--a littletoo--well, too kind of forcible, you know; but she'll likely get overthat now that she's come to live among civilized folks. And then, hertemper's pretty quick, I guess; but there's one comfort, a child thathas a quick temper, just blaze up and cool down, ain't never likely tobe sly or deceitful. Preserve me from a sly child, that's what. On thewhole, Marilla, I kind of like her."
When Marilla went home Anne came out of the fragrant twilight of theorchard with a sheaf of white narcissi in her hands.
"I apologized pretty well, didn't I?" she said proudly as they wentdown the lane. "I thought since I had to do it I might as well do itthoroughly."
"You did it thoroughly, all right enough," was Marilla's comment.Marilla was dismayed at finding herself inclined to laugh over therecollection. She had also an uneasy feeling that she ought to scoldAnne for apologizing so well; but then, that was ridiculous! Shecompromised with her conscience by saying severely:
"I hope you won't have occasion to make many more such apologies. I hopeyou'll try to control your temper now, Anne."
"That wouldn't be so hard if people wouldn't twit me about my looks,"said Anne with a sigh. "I don't get cross about other things; but I'm_so_ tired of being twitted about my hair and it just makes me boil rightover. Do you suppose my hair will really be a handsome auburn when Igrow up?"
"You shouldn't think so much about your looks, Anne. I'm afraid you area very vain little girl."
"How can I be vain when I know I'm homely?" protested Anne. "I lovepretty things; and I hate to look in the glass and see something thatisn't pretty. It makes me feel so sorrowful--just as I feel when I lookat any ugly thing. I pity it because it isn't beautiful."
"Handsome is as handsome does," quoted Marilla. "I've had that saidto me before, but I have my doubts about it," remarked skeptical Anne,sniffing at her narcissi. "Oh, aren't these flowers sweet! It was lovelyof Mrs. Lynde to give them to me. I have no hard feelings against Mrs.Lynde now. It gives you a lovely, comfortable feeling to apologize andbe forgiven, doesn't it? Aren't the stars bright tonight? If you couldlive in a star, which one would you pick? I'd like that lovely clear bigone away over there above that dark hill."
"Anne, do hold your tongue," said Marilla, thoroughly worn out trying tofollow the gyrations of Anne's thoughts.
Anne said no more until they turned into their own lane. A little gypsywind came down it to meet them, laden with the spicy perfume of youngdew-wet ferns. Far up in the shadows a cheerful light gleamed outthrough the trees from the kitchen at Green Gables. Anne suddenly cameclose to Marilla and slipped her hand into the older woman's hard palm.
"It's lovely to be going home and know it's home," she said. "I loveGreen Gables already, and I never loved any place before. No place everseemed like home. Oh, Marilla, I'm so happy. I could pray right now andnot find it a bit hard."
Something warm and pleasant welled up in Marilla's heart at touch ofthat thin little hand in her own--a throb of the maternity she hadmissed, perhaps. Its very unaccustomedness and sweetness disturbedher. She hastened to restore her sensations to their normal calm byinculcating a moral.
"If you'll be a good girl you'll always be happy, Anne. And you shouldnever find it hard to say your prayers."
"Saying one's prayers isn't exactly the same thing as praying," saidAnne meditatively. "But I'm going to imagine that I'm the wind that isblowing up there in those tree tops. When I get tired of the trees I'llimagine I'm gently waving down here in the ferns--and then I'll fly overto Mrs. Lynde's garden and set the flowers dancing--and then I'll gowith one great swoop over the clover field--and then I'll blow over theLake of Shining Waters and ripple it all up into little sparkling waves.Oh, there's so much scope for imagination in a wind! So I'll not talkany more just now, Marilla."
"Thanks be to goodness for that," breathed Marilla in devout relief.
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