The Classic Children's Literature Collection: 39 Classic Novels

by Various Authors

  Then did Miss Patty lay down her knitting, take off her specs, rub them, put them on again, and for the first time look at Anne as at a human being. The other lady followed her example so perfectly that she might as well have been a reflection in a mirror.

  “You LOVE it,” said Miss Patty with emphasis. “Does that mean that you really LOVE it? Or that you merely like the looks of it? The girls nowadays indulge in such exaggerated statements that one never can tell what they DO mean. It wasn’t so in my young days. THEN a girl did not say she LOVED turnips, in just the same tone as she might have said she loved her mother or her Savior.”

  Anne’s conscience bore her up.

  “I really do love it,” she said gently. “I’ve loved it ever since I saw it last fall. My two college chums and I want to keep house next year instead of boarding, so we are looking for a little place to rent; and when I saw that this house was to let I was so happy.”

  “If you love it, you can have it,” said Miss Patty. “Maria and I decided today that we would not let it after all, because we did not like any of the people who have wanted it. We don’t HAVE to let it. We can afford to go to Europe even if we don’t let it. It would help us out, but not for gold will I let my home pass into the possession of such people as have come here and looked at it. YOU are different. I believe you do love it and will be good to it. You can have it.”

  “If—if we can afford to pay what you ask for it,” hesitated Anne.

  Miss Patty named the amount required. Anne and Priscilla looked at each other. Priscilla shook her head.

  “I’m afraid we can’t afford quite so much,” said Anne, choking back her disappointment. “You see, we are only college girls and we are poor.”

  “What were you thinking you could afford?” demanded Miss Patty, ceasing not to knit.

  Anne named her amount. Miss Patty nodded gravely.

  “That will do. As I told you, it is not strictly necessary that we should let it at all. We are not rich, but we have enough to go to Europe on. I have never been in Europe in my life, and never expected or wanted to go. But my niece there, Maria Spofford, has taken a fancy to go. Now, you know a young person like Maria can’t go globetrotting alone.”

  “No—I—I suppose not,” murmured Anne, seeing that Miss Patty was quite solemnly in earnest.

  “Of course not. So I have to go along to look after her. I expect to enjoy it, too; I’m seventy years old, but I’m not tired of living yet. I daresay I’d have gone to Europe before if the idea had occurred to me. We shall be away for two years, perhaps three. We sail in June and we shall send you the key, and leave all in order for you to take possession when you choose. We shall pack away a few things we prize especially, but all the rest will be left.”

  “Will you leave the china dogs?” asked Anne timidly.

  “Would you like me to?”

  “Oh, indeed, yes. They are delightful.”

  A pleased expression came into Miss Patty’s face.

  “I think a great deal of those dogs,” she said proudly. “They are over a hundred years old, and they have sat on either side of this fireplace ever since my brother Aaron brought them from London fifty years ago. Spofford Avenue was called after my brother Aaron.”

  “A fine man he was,” said Miss Maria, speaking for the first time. “Ah, you don’t see the like of him nowadays.”

  “He was a good uncle to you, Maria,” said Miss Patty, with evident emotion. “You do well to remember him.”

  “I shall always remember him,” said Miss Maria solemnly. “I can see him, this minute, standing there before that fire, with his hands under his coat-tails, beaming on us.”

  Miss Maria took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes; but Miss Patty came resolutely back from the regions of sentiment to those of business.

  “I shall leave the dogs where they are, if you will promise to be very careful of them,” she said. “Their names are Gog and Magog. Gog looks to the right and Magog to the left. And there’s just one thing more. You don’t object, I hope, to this house being called Patty’s Place?”

  “No, indeed. We think that is one of the nicest things about it.”

  “You have sense, I see,” said Miss Patty in a tone of great satisfaction. “Would you believe it? All the people who came here to rent the house wanted to know if they couldn’t take the name off the gate during their occupation of it. I told them roundly that the name went with the house. This has been Patty’s Place ever since my brother Aaron left it to me in his will, and Patty’s Place it shall remain until I die and Maria dies. After that happens the next possessor can call it any fool name he likes,” concluded Miss Patty, much as she might have said, “After that—the deluge.” “And now, wouldn’t you like to go over the house and see it all before we consider the bargain made?”

  Further exploration still further delighted the girls. Besides the big living-room, there was a kitchen and a small bedroom downstairs. Upstairs were three rooms, one large and two small. Anne took an especial fancy to one of the small ones, looking out into the big pines, and hoped it would be hers. It was papered in pale blue and had a little, old-timey toilet table with sconces for candles. There was a diamond-paned window with a seat under the blue muslin frills that would be a satisfying spot for studying or dreaming.

  “It’s all so delicious that I know we are going to wake up and find it a fleeting vision of the night,” said Priscilla as they went away.

  “Miss Patty and Miss Maria are hardly such stuff as dreams are made of,” laughed Anne. “Can you fancy them ‘globe-trotting’—especially in those shawls and caps?”

  “I suppose they’ll take them off when they really begin to trot,” said Priscilla, “but I know they’ll take their knitting with them everywhere. They simply couldn’t be parted from it. They will walk about Westminster Abbey and knit, I feel sure. Meanwhile, Anne, we shall be living in Patty’s Place—and on Spofford Avenue. I feel like a millionairess even now.”

  “I feel like one of the morning stars that sang for joy,” said Anne.

  Phil Gordon crept into Thirty-eight, St. John’s, that night and flung herself on Anne’s bed.

  “Girls, dear, I’m tired to death. I feel like the man without a country—or was it without a shadow? I forget which. Anyway, I’ve been packing up.”

  “And I suppose you are worn out because you couldn’t decide which things to pack first, or where to put them,” laughed Priscilla.

  “E-zackly. And when I had got everything jammed in somehow, and my landlady and her maid had both sat on it while I locked it, I discovered I had packed a whole lot of things I wanted for Convocation at the very bottom. I had to unlock the old thing and poke and dive into it for an hour before I fished out what I wanted. I would get hold of something that felt like what I was looking for, and I’d yank it up, and it would be something else. No, Anne, I did NOT swear.”

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “Well, you looked it. But I admit my thoughts verged on the profane. And I have such a cold in the head—I can do nothing but sniffle, sigh and sneeze. Isn’t that alliterative agony for you? Queen Anne, do say something to cheer me up.”

  “Remember that next Thursday night, you’ll be back in the land of Alec and Alonzo,” suggested Anne.

  Phil shook her head dolefully.

  “More alliteration. No, I don’t want Alec and Alonzo when I have a cold in the head. But what has happened you two? Now that I look at you closely you seem all lighted up with an internal iridescence. Why, you’re actually SHINING! What’s up?”

  “We are going to live in Patty’s Place next winter,” said Anne triumphantly. “Live, mark you, not board! We’ve rented it, and Stella Maynard is coming, and her aunt is going to keep house for us.”

  Phil bounced up, wiped her nose, and fell on her knees before Anne.

  “Girls—girls—let
me come, too. Oh, I’ll be so good. If there’s no room for me I’ll sleep in the little doghouse in the orchard—I’ve seen it. Only let me come.”

  “Get up, you goose.”

  “I won’t stir off my marrow bones till you tell me I can live with you next winter.”

  Anne and Priscilla looked at each other. Then Anne said slowly, “Phil dear, we’d love to have you. But we may as well speak plainly. I’m poor—Pris is poor—Stella Maynard is poor—our housekeeping will have to be very simple and our table plain. You’d have to live as we would. Now, you are rich and your boardinghouse fare attests the fact.”

  “Oh, what do I care for that?” demanded Phil tragically. “Better a dinner of herbs where your chums are than a stalled ox in a lonely boardinghouse. Don’t think I’m ALL stomach, girls. I’ll be willing to live on bread and water—with just a LEETLE jam—if you’ll let me come.”

  “And then,” continued Anne, “there will be a good deal of work to be done. Stella’s aunt can’t do it all. We all expect to have our chores to do. Now, you—”

  “Toil not, neither do I spin,” finished Philippa. “But I’ll learn to do things. You’ll only have to show me once. I CAN make my own bed to begin with. And remember that, though I can’t cook, I CAN keep my temper. That’s something. And I NEVER growl about the weather. That’s more. Oh, please, please! I never wanted anything so much in my life—and this floor is awfully hard.”

  “There’s just one more thing,” said Priscilla resolutely. “You, Phil, as all Redmond knows, entertain callers almost every evening. Now, at Patty’s Place we can’t do that. We have decided that we shall be at home to our friends on Friday evenings only. If you come with us you’ll have to abide by that rule.”

  “Well, you don’t think I’ll mind that, do you? Why, I’m glad of it. I knew I should have had some such rule myself, but I hadn’t enough decision to make it or stick to it. When I can shuffle off the responsibility on you it will be a real relief. If you won’t let me cast in my lot with you I’ll die of the disappointment and then I’ll come back and haunt you. I’ll camp on the very doorstep of Patty’s Place and you won’t be able to go out or come in without falling over my spook.”

  Again Anne and Priscilla exchanged eloquent looks.

  “Well,” said Anne, “of course we can’t promise to take you until we’ve consulted with Stella; but I don’t think she’ll object, and, as far as we are concerned, you may come and glad welcome.”

  “If you get tired of our simple life you can leave us, and no questions asked,” added Priscilla.

  Phil sprang up, hugged them both jubilantly, and went on her way rejoicing.

  “I hope things will go right,” said Priscilla soberly.

  “We must MAKE them go right,” avowed Anne. “I think Phil will fit into our ‘appy little ‘ome very well.”

  “Oh, Phil’s a dear to rattle round with and be chums. And, of course, the more there are of us the easier it will be on our slim purses. But how will she be to live with? You have to summer and winter with any one before you know if she’s LIVABLE or not.”

  “Oh, well, we’ll all be put to the test, as far as that goes. And we must quit us like sensible folk, living and let live. Phil isn’t selfish, though she’s a little thoughtless, and I believe we will all get on beautifully in Patty’s Place.”

  Chapter XI.The Round of Life

  Anne was back in Avonlea with the luster of the Thorburn Scholarship on her brow. People told her she hadn’t changed much, in a tone which hinted they were surprised and a little disappointed she hadn’t. Avonlea had not changed, either. At least, so it seemed at first. But as Anne sat in the Green Gables pew, on the first Sunday after her return, and looked over the congregation, she saw several little changes which, all coming home to her at once, made her realize that time did not quite stand still, even in Avonlea. A new minister was in the pulpit. In the pews more than one familiar face was missing forever. Old “Uncle Abe,” his prophesying over and done with, Mrs. Peter Sloane, who had sighed, it was to be hoped, for the last time, Timothy Cotton, who, as Mrs. Rachel Lynde said “had actually managed to die at last after practicing at it for twenty years,” and old Josiah Sloane, whom nobody knew in his coffin because he had his whiskers neatly trimmed, were all sleeping in the little graveyard behind the church. And Billy Andrews was married to Nettie Blewett! They “appeared out” that Sunday. When Billy, beaming with pride and happiness, showed his be-plumed and be-silked bride into the Harmon Andrews’ pew, Anne dropped her lids to hide her dancing eyes. She recalled the stormy winter night of the Christmas holidays when Jane had proposed for Billy. He certainly had not broken his heart over his rejection. Anne wondered if Jane had also proposed to Nettie for him, or if he had mustered enough spunk to ask the fateful question himself. All the Andrews family seemed to share in his pride and pleasure, from Mrs. Harmon in the pew to Jane in the choir. Jane had resigned from the Avonlea school and intended to go West in the fall.

  “Can’t get a beau in Avonlea, that’s what,” said Mrs. Rachel Lynde scornfully. “SAYS she thinks she’ll have better health out West. I never heard her health was poor before.”

  “Jane is a nice girl,” Anne had said loyally. “She never tried to attract attention, as some did.”

  “Oh, she never chased the boys, if that’s what you mean,” said Mrs. Rachel. “But she’d like to be married, just as much as anybody, that’s what. What else would take her out West to some forsaken place whose only recommendation is that men are plenty and women scarce? Don’t you tell me!”

  But it was not at Jane, Anne gazed that day in dismay and surprise. It was at Ruby Gillis, who sat beside her in the choir. What had happened to Ruby? She was even handsomer than ever; but her blue eyes were too bright and lustrous, and the color of her cheeks was hectically brilliant; besides, she was very thin; the hands that held her hymn-book were almost transparent in their delicacy.

  “Is Ruby Gillis ill?” Anne asked of Mrs. Lynde, as they went home from church.

  “Ruby Gillis is dying of galloping consumption,” said Mrs. Lynde bluntly. “Everybody knows it except herself and her FAMILY. They won’t give in. If you ask THEM, she’s perfectly well. She hasn’t been able to teach since she had that attack of congestion in the winter, but she says she’s going to teach again in the fall, and she’s after the White Sands school. She’ll be in her grave, poor girl, when White Sands school opens, that’s what.”

  Anne listened in shocked silence. Ruby Gillis, her old school-chum, dying? Could it be possible? Of late years they had grown apart; but the old tie of school-girl intimacy was there, and made itself felt sharply in the tug the news gave at Anne’s heartstrings. Ruby, the brilliant, the merry, the coquettish! It was impossible to associate the thought of her with anything like death. She had greeted Anne with gay cordiality after church, and urged her to come up the next evening.

  “I’ll be away Tuesday and Wednesday evenings,” she had whispered triumphantly. “There’s a concert at Carmody and a party at White Sands. Herb Spencer’s going to take me. He’s my LATEST. Be sure to come up tomorrow. I’m dying for a good talk with you. I want to hear all about your doings at Redmond.”

  Anne knew that Ruby meant that she wanted to tell Anne all about her own recent flirtations, but she promised to go, and Diana offered to go with her.

  “I’ve been wanting to go to see Ruby for a long while,” she told Anne, when they left Green Gables the next evening, “but I really couldn’t go alone. It’s so awful to hear Ruby rattling on as she does, and pretending there is nothing the matter with her, even when she can hardly speak for coughing. She’s fighting so hard for her life, and yet she hasn’t any chance at all, they say.”

  The girls walked silently down the red, twilit road. The robins were singing vespers in the high treetops, filling the golden air with their jubilant voices. The silver fluting of the frogs came from
marshes and ponds, over fields where seeds were beginning to stir with life and thrill to the sunshine and rain that had drifted over them. The air was fragrant with the wild, sweet, wholesome smell of young raspberry copses. White mists were hovering in the silent hollows and violet stars were shining bluely on the brooklands.

  “What a beautiful sunset,” said Diana. “Look, Anne, it’s just like a land in itself, isn’t it? That long, low back of purple cloud is the shore, and the clear sky further on is like a golden sea.”

  “If we could sail to it in the moonshine boat Paul wrote of in his old composition—you remember?—how nice it would be,” said Anne, rousing from her reverie. “Do you think we could find all our yesterdays there, Diana—all our old springs and blossoms? The beds of flowers that Paul saw there are the roses that have bloomed for us in the past?”

  “Don’t!” said Diana. “You make me feel as if we were old women with everything in life behind us.”

  “I think I’ve almost felt as if we were since I heard about poor Ruby,” said Anne. “If it is true that she is dying any other sad thing might be true, too.”

  “You don’t mind calling in at Elisha Wright’s for a moment, do you?” asked Diana. “Mother asked me to leave this little dish of jelly for Aunt Atossa.”

  “Who is Aunt Atossa?”

  “Oh, haven’t you heard? She’s Mrs. Samson Coates of Spencervale—Mrs. Elisha Wright’s aunt. She’s father’s aunt, too. Her husband died last winter and she was left very poor and lonely, so the Wrights took her to live with them. Mother thought we ought to take her, but father put his foot down. Live with Aunt Atossa he would not.”

  “Is she so terrible?” asked Anne absently.

  “You’ll probably see what she’s like before we can get away,” said Diana significantly. “Father says she has a face like a hatchet—it cuts the air. But her tongue is sharper still.”

  Late as it was Aunt Atossa was cutting potato sets in the Wright kitchen. She wore a faded old wrapper, and her gray hair was decidedly untidy. Aunt Atossa did not like being “caught in a kilter,” so she went out of her way to be disagreeable.