I had a long letter from Katherine last week. She has a gift for writing letters. She has got a position as private secretary to a globe-trotting M.P. What a fascinating phrase 'globe-trotter' is! A person who would say 'Let's go to Egypt' as one might say 'Let's go to Charlottetown' - and go! That life will just suit Katherine.
She persists in ascribing all her changed outlook and prospects to me. 'I wish I could tell you what you've brought into my life,' she wrote. I suppose I did help. And it wasn't easy at first. She seldom said anything without a sting in it, and listened to any suggestion I made in regard to the school work with the air of disdainfully humouring a lunatic. But somehow I've forgotten it all. It was just born of her secret bitterness against life.
Everybody has been inviting me to supper, even Pauline Gibson. Old Mrs Gibson died a few months ago, so Pauline dared do it. And I've been to Tomgallon House for another supper with Miss Minerva of that ilk and another one-sided conversation. But I had a very good time eating the delicious meal Miss Minerva provided, and she had a good time airing a few more tragedies. She couldn't quite hide the fact that she was sorry for anyone who was not a Tomgallon, but she paid me several nice compliments, and gave me a lovely ring set with an aquamarine - a moonlight blend of blue and green - that her father had given her on her eighteenth birthday: 'when I was young and handsome, dear - quite handsome. I may say that now, I suppose.' I was glad it belonged to Miss Minerva and not to Annabella. I'm sure I could never have worn it if it had. It is very beautiful. There is a mysterious charm about the jewels of the sea.
Tomgallon House is certainly very splendid, especially now, when its grounds are all a-leaf and a-flower, but I wouldn't give my as yet unfound house of dreams for Tomgallon House and grounds with the ghost thrown in.
Not but what a ghost might be a nice aristocratic sort of thing to have around. My only quarrel with Spook's Lane is that there are no spooks.
I went to my old graveyard yesterday evening for a last prowl. Walked all round it and wondered if Stephen Pringle had closed his eyes at last, and if Herbert Pringle occasionally chuckled to himself in his grave. And I'm saying goodbye tonight to the old Storm King, with the sunset on its brow, and my little winding valley full of dusk.
I'm a wee bit tired after a month of exams and farewells and 'last things'. For a week after I get back to Green Gables I'm going to be lazy - do absolutely nothing but run free in a green world of summer lovelinesse. I'll dream by the Dryad's Bubble in the twilight; I'll drift on the Lake of Shining Waters in a shallop shaped from a moonbeam - or in Mr Barry's flat if moonbeam shallops are not in season; I'll gather starflowers and June bells in the Haunted Wood; I'll find plots of wild strawberries in Mr Harrison's hill pasture; I'll join the dance of fireflies in Lovers' Lane, and visit Hester Gray's old, forgotten garden, and sit out on the back doorstep under the stars and listen to the sea calling in its sleep.
And when the Week is ended you will be home - and I won't want anything else.
15
When the time came the next day for Anne to say goodbye to the folks at Windy Willows Rebecca Dew was not on hand. Instead Aunt Kate gravely handed Anne a letter.
DEAR MISS SHIRLEY,
I am writing this to bid farewell because I cannot trust myself to say it. For three years you have sojourned under our roof. The fortunate possessor of a spirit and a natural taste for the gaieties of youth, you have never surrendered yourself to the vain pleasures of the giddy and fickle crowd. You have conducted yourself on all occasions and to every one, especially the one who pens these lines, with the most refined delicacy. You have always been most considerate of my feelings, and I find a heavy gloom on my spirits at the thought of your departure. But we must not repine at what Providence has ordained. (First Samuel, 29th and 18th)
You will be lamented by all in Summerside who had the privilege of knowing you, and the homage of one faithful though humble heart will ever be yours, and my prayer will ever be for your happiness and welfare in this world and your eternal felicity in that which is to come.
Something whispers to me that you will not be long 'Miss Shirley', but that you will ere long be linked together in a union of souls with the choice of your heart, who, I understand from what I have heard, is a very exceptional young man. The writer, possessed of but few personal charms and beginning to feel her age (not but what I'm good for a good few years yet), has never permitted herself to cherish any matrimonial aspirations. But she does not deny herself the pleasure of an interest in the nuptials of her friends, and may I express a fervent wish that your married life will be one of continued and uninterrupted bliss? (Only do not expect too much of any man.)
My esteem and, may I say? my affection for you will never lessen, and once in a while when you have nothing better to do will you kindly remember that there is such a person as
Your obedient servant,
REBECCA DEW
P.S. God bless you.
Anne's eyes were misty as she folded the letter up. Though she strongly suspected Rebecca Dew had got most of her phrases out of her favourite Book of Deportment and Etiquette that did not make them any the less sincere, and the P.S. certainly came straight from Rebecca Dew's affectionate heart.
'Tell dear Rebecca Dew I'll never forget her, and that I'm coming back to see you all every summer.'
'We have memories of you that nothing can take away,' sobbed Aunt Chatty.
'Nothing,' said Aunt Kate emphatically.
But as Anne drove away from Windy Willows the last message from it was a large white bath-towel fluttering frantically from the tower window. Rebecca Dew was waving it.
Anne of Windy Poplars Page 26