CHAPTER XXVII. Vanity and Vexation of Spirit
Marilla, walking home one late April evening from an Aid meeting,realized that the winter was over and gone with the thrill of delightthat spring never fails to bring to the oldest and saddest as well as tothe youngest and merriest. Marilla was not given to subjective analysisof her thoughts and feelings. She probably imagined that she wasthinking about the Aids and their missionary box and the new carpetfor the vestry room, but under these reflections was a harmoniousconsciousness of red fields smoking into pale-purply mists in thedeclining sun, of long, sharp-pointed fir shadows falling over themeadow beyond the brook, of still, crimson-budded maples around amirrorlike wood pool, of a wakening in the world and a stir of hiddenpulses under the gray sod. The spring was abroad in the land andMarilla's sober, middle-aged step was lighter and swifter because of itsdeep, primal gladness.
Her eyes dwelt affectionately on Green Gables, peering through itsnetwork of trees and reflecting the sunlight back from its windows inseveral little coruscations of glory. Marilla, as she picked her stepsalong the damp lane, thought that it was really a satisfaction to knowthat she was going home to a briskly snapping wood fire and a tablenicely spread for tea, instead of to the cold comfort of old Aid meetingevenings before Anne had come to Green Gables.
Consequently, when Marilla entered her kitchen and found the fire blackout, with no sign of Anne anywhere, she felt justly disappointed andirritated. She had told Anne to be sure and have tea ready at fiveo'clock, but now she must hurry to take off her second-best dress andprepare the meal herself against Matthew's return from plowing.
"I'll settle Miss Anne when she comes home," said Marilla grimly, asshe shaved up kindlings with a carving knife and with more vim than wasstrictly necessary. Matthew had come in and was waiting patiently forhis tea in his corner. "She's gadding off somewhere with Diana, writingstories or practicing dialogues or some such tomfoolery, and neverthinking once about the time or her duties. She's just got to be pulledup short and sudden on this sort of thing. I don't care if Mrs. Allandoes say she's the brightest and sweetest child she ever knew. She maybe bright and sweet enough, but her head is full of nonsense and there'snever any knowing what shape it'll break out in next. Just as soon asshe grows out of one freak she takes up with another. But there! Here Iam saying the very thing I was so riled with Rachel Lynde for saying atthe Aid today. I was real glad when Mrs. Allan spoke up for Anne, forif she hadn't I know I'd have said something too sharp to Rachel beforeeverybody. Anne's got plenty of faults, goodness knows, and far be itfrom me to deny it. But I'm bringing her up and not Rachel Lynde, who'dpick faults in the Angel Gabriel himself if he lived in Avonlea. Justthe same, Anne has no business to leave the house like this when I toldher she was to stay home this afternoon and look after things. I mustsay, with all her faults, I never found her disobedient or untrustworthybefore and I'm real sorry to find her so now."
"Well now, I dunno," said Matthew, who, being patient and wise and,above all, hungry, had deemed it best to let Marilla talk her wrathout unhindered, having learned by experience that she got throughwith whatever work was on hand much quicker if not delayed by untimelyargument. "Perhaps you're judging her too hasty, Marilla. Don't call heruntrustworthy until you're sure she has disobeyed you. Mebbe it can allbe explained--Anne's a great hand at explaining."
"She's not here when I told her to stay," retorted Marilla. "I reckonshe'll find it hard to explain _that_ to my satisfaction. Of course I knewyou'd take her part, Matthew. But I'm bringing her up, not you."
It was dark when supper was ready, and still no sign of Anne, cominghurriedly over the log bridge or up Lover's Lane, breathless andrepentant with a sense of neglected duties. Marilla washed and put awaythe dishes grimly. Then, wanting a candle to light her way down thecellar, she went up to the east gable for the one that generally stoodon Anne's table. Lighting it, she turned around to see Anne herselflying on the bed, face downward among the pillows.
"Mercy on us," said astonished Marilla, "have you been asleep, Anne?"
"No," was the muffled reply.
"Are you sick then?" demanded Marilla anxiously, going over to the bed.
Anne cowered deeper into her pillows as if desirous of hiding herselfforever from mortal eyes.
"No. But please, Marilla, go away and don't look at me. I'm in thedepths of despair and I don't care who gets head in class or writes thebest composition or sings in the Sunday-school choir any more. Littlethings like that are of no importance now because I don't suppose I'llever be able to go anywhere again. My career is closed. Please, Marilla,go away and don't look at me."
"Did anyone ever hear the like?" the mystified Marilla wanted to know."Anne Shirley, whatever is the matter with you? What have you done? Getright up this minute and tell me. This minute, I say. There now, what isit?"
Anne had slid to the floor in despairing obedience.
"Look at my hair, Marilla," she whispered.
Accordingly, Marilla lifted her candle and looked scrutinizingly atAnne's hair, flowing in heavy masses down her back. It certainly had avery strange appearance.
"Anne Shirley, what have you done to your hair? Why, it's _green!_"
Green it might be called, if it were any earthly color--a queer,dull, bronzy green, with streaks here and there of the original redto heighten the ghastly effect. Never in all her life had Marilla seenanything so grotesque as Anne's hair at that moment.
"Yes, it's green," moaned Anne. "I thought nothing could be as bad asred hair. But now I know it's ten times worse to have green hair. Oh,Marilla, you little know how utterly wretched I am."
"I little know how you got into this fix, but I mean to find out," saidMarilla. "Come right down to the kitchen--it's too cold up here--andtell me just what you've done. I've been expecting something queer forsome time. You haven't got into any scrape for over two months, and Iwas sure another one was due. Now, then, what did you do to your hair?"
"I dyed it."
"Dyed it! Dyed your hair! Anne Shirley, didn't you know it was a wickedthing to do?"
"Yes, I knew it was a little wicked," admitted Anne. "But I thought itwas worth while to be a little wicked to get rid of red hair. I countedthe cost, Marilla. Besides, I meant to be extra good in other ways tomake up for it."
"Well," said Marilla sarcastically, "if I'd decided it was worth whileto dye my hair I'd have dyed it a decent color at least. I wouldn't havedyed it green."
"But I didn't mean to dye it green, Marilla," protested Anne dejectedly."If I was wicked I meant to be wicked to some purpose. He said it wouldturn my hair a beautiful raven black--he positively assured me that itwould. How could I doubt his word, Marilla? I know what it feels liketo have your word doubted. And Mrs. Allan says we should never suspectanyone of not telling us the truth unless we have proof that they'renot. I have proof now--green hair is proof enough for anybody. But Ihadn't then and I believed every word he said _implicitly_."
"Who said? Who are you talking about?"
"The peddler that was here this afternoon. I bought the dye from him."
"Anne Shirley, how often have I told you never to let one of thoseItalians in the house! I don't believe in encouraging them to comearound at all."
"Oh, I didn't let him in the house. I remembered what you told me, and Iwent out, carefully shut the door, and looked at his things on the step.Besides, he wasn't an Italian--he was a German Jew. He had a big boxfull of very interesting things and he told me he was working hard tomake enough money to bring his wife and children out from Germany. Hespoke so feelingly about them that it touched my heart. I wanted to buysomething from him to help him in such a worthy object. Then all at onceI saw the bottle of hair dye. The peddler said it was warranted to dyeany hair a beautiful raven black and wouldn't wash off. In a trice Isaw myself with beautiful raven-black hair and the temptation wasirresistible. But the price of the bottle was seventy-five cents and Ihad only fifty cents left out of my chicken money. I think the peddlerhad a
very kind heart, for he said that, seeing it was me, he'd sell itfor fifty cents and that was just giving it away. So I bought it, and assoon as he had gone I came up here and applied it with an old hairbrushas the directions said. I used up the whole bottle, and oh, Marilla,when I saw the dreadful color it turned my hair I repented of beingwicked, I can tell you. And I've been repenting ever since."
"Well, I hope you'll repent to good purpose," said Marilla severely,"and that you've got your eyes opened to where your vanity has led you,Anne. Goodness knows what's to be done. I suppose the first thing is togive your hair a good washing and see if that will do any good."
Accordingly, Anne washed her hair, scrubbing it vigorously with soap andwater, but for all the difference it made she might as well have beenscouring its original red. The peddler had certainly spoken the truthwhen he declared that the dye wouldn't wash off, however his veracitymight be impeached in other respects.
"Oh, Marilla, what shall I do?" questioned Anne in tears. "I can neverlive this down. People have pretty well forgotten my other mistakes--theliniment cake and setting Diana drunk and flying into a temper withMrs. Lynde. But they'll never forget this. They will think I am notrespectable. Oh, Marilla, 'what a tangled web we weave when first wepractice to deceive.' That is poetry, but it is true. And oh, how JosiePye will laugh! Marilla, I _cannot_ face Josie Pye. I am the unhappiestgirl in Prince Edward Island."
Anne's unhappiness continued for a week. During that time she wentnowhere and shampooed her hair every day. Diana alone of outsiders knewthe fatal secret, but she promised solemnly never to tell, and it maybe stated here and now that she kept her word. At the end of the weekMarilla said decidedly:
"It's no use, Anne. That is fast dye if ever there was any. Your hairmust be cut off; there is no other way. You can't go out with it lookinglike that."
Anne's lips quivered, but she realized the bitter truth of Marilla'sremarks. With a dismal sigh she went for the scissors.
"Please cut it off at once, Marilla, and have it over. Oh, I feel thatmy heart is broken. This is such an unromantic affliction. The girls inbooks lose their hair in fevers or sell it to get money for some gooddeed, and I'm sure I wouldn't mind losing my hair in some such fashionhalf so much. But there is nothing comforting in having your hair cutoff because you've dyed it a dreadful color, is there? I'm going to weepall the time you're cutting it off, if it won't interfere. It seems sucha tragic thing."
Anne wept then, but later on, when she went upstairs and looked in theglass, she was calm with despair. Marilla had done her work thoroughlyand it had been necessary to shingle the hair as closely as possible.The result was not becoming, to state the case as mildly as may be. Annepromptly turned her glass to the wall.
"I'll never, never look at myself again until my hair grows," sheexclaimed passionately.
Then she suddenly righted the glass.
"Yes, I will, too. I'd do penance for being wicked that way. I'll lookat myself every time I come to my room and see how ugly I am. And Iwon't try to imagine it away, either. I never thought I was vain aboutmy hair, of all things, but now I know I was, in spite of its beingred, because it was so long and thick and curly. I expect something willhappen to my nose next."
Anne's clipped head made a sensation in school on the following Monday,but to her relief nobody guessed the real reason for it, not even JosiePye, who, however, did not fail to inform Anne that she looked like aperfect scarecrow.
"I didn't say anything when Josie said that to me," Anne confidedthat evening to Marilla, who was lying on the sofa after one of herheadaches, "because I thought it was part of my punishment and I oughtto bear it patiently. It's hard to be told you look like a scarecrowand I wanted to say something back. But I didn't. I just swept her onescornful look and then I forgave her. It makes you feel very virtuouswhen you forgive people, doesn't it? I mean to devote all my energiesto being good after this and I shall never try to be beautiful again. Ofcourse it's better to be good. I know it is, but it's sometimes so hardto believe a thing even when you know it. I do really want to be good,Marilla, like you and Mrs. Allan and Miss Stacy, and grow up to be acredit to you. Diana says when my hair begins to grow to tie a blackvelvet ribbon around my head with a bow at one side. She says shethinks it will be very becoming. I will call it a snood--that sounds soromantic. But am I talking too much, Marilla? Does it hurt your head?"
"My head is better now. It was terrible bad this afternoon, though.These headaches of mine are getting worse and worse. I'll have to seea doctor about them. As for your chatter, I don't know that I mindit--I've got so used to it."
Which was Marilla's way of saying that she liked to hear it.
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