VI
All Sorts and Conditions of Men . . . and women
A September day on Prince Edward Island hills; a crisp wind blowingup over the sand dunes from the sea; a long red road, winding throughfields and woods, now looping itself about a corner of thick setspruces, now threading a plantation of young maples with great featherysheets of ferns beneath them, now dipping down into a hollow where abrook flashed out of the woods and into them again, now basking inopen sunshine between ribbons of golden-rod and smoke-blue asters;air athrill with the pipings of myriads of crickets, those glad littlepensioners of the summer hills; a plump brown pony ambling along theroad; two girls behind him, full to the lips with the simple, pricelessjoy of youth and life.
"Oh, this is a day left over from Eden, isn't it, Diana?" . . . and Annesighed for sheer happiness. "The air has magic in it. Look at the purplein the cup of the harvest valley, Diana. And oh, do smell the dying fir!It's coming up from that little sunny hollow where Mr. Eben Wright hasbeen cutting fence poles. Bliss is it on such a day to be alive; butto smell dying fir is very heaven. That's two thirds Wordsworth and onethird Anne Shirley. It doesn't seem possible that there should be dyingfir in heaven, does it? And yet it doesn't seem to me that heaven wouldbe quite perfect if you couldn't get a whiff of dead fir as you wentthrough its woods. Perhaps we'll have the odor there without the death.Yes, I think that will be the way. That delicious aroma must be thesouls of the firs . . . and of course it will be just souls in heaven."
"Trees haven't souls," said practical Diana, "but the smell of dead firis certainly lovely. I'm going to make a cushion and fill it with firneedles. You'd better make one too, Anne."
"I think I shall . . . and use it for my naps. I'd be certain to dream Iwas a dryad or a woodnymph then. But just this minute I'm well contentto be Anne Shirley, Avonlea schoolma'am, driving over a road like thison such a sweet, friendly day."
"It's a lovely day but we have anything but a lovely task before us,"sighed Diana. "Why on earth did you offer to canvass this road, Anne?Almost all the cranks in Avonlea live along it, and we'll probably betreated as if we were begging for ourselves. It's the very worst road ofall."
"That is why I chose it. Of course Gilbert and Fred would have takenthis road if we had asked them. But you see, Diana, I feel myselfresponsible for the A.V.I.S., since I was the first to suggest it, andit seems to me that I ought to do the most disagreeable things. I'msorry on your account; but you needn't say a word at the cranky places.I'll do all the talking . . . Mrs. Lynde would say I was well able to.Mrs. Lynde doesn't know whether to approve of our enterprise or not. Sheinclines to, when she remembers that Mr. and Mrs. Allan are in favor ofit; but the fact that village improvement societies first originated inthe States is a count against it. So she is halting between two opinionsand only success will justify us in Mrs. Lynde's eyes. Priscilla isgoing to write a paper for our next Improvement meeting, and I expect itwill be good, for her aunt is such a clever writer and no doubt it runsin the family. I shall never forget the thrill it gave me when I foundout that Mrs. Charlotte E. Morgan was Priscilla's aunt. It seemed sowonderful that I was a friend of the girl whose aunt wrote 'EdgewoodDays' and 'The Rosebud Garden.'"
"Where does Mrs. Morgan live?"
"In Toronto. And Priscilla says she is coming to the Island for a visitnext summer, and if it is possible Priscilla is going to arrange to haveus meet her. That seems almost too good to be true--but it's somethingpleasant to imagine after you go to bed."
The Avonlea Village Improvement Society was an organized fact.Gilbert Blythe was president, Fred Wright vice-president, Anne Shirleysecretary, and Diana Barry treasurer. The "Improvers," as they werepromptly christened, were to meet once a fortnight at the homes ofthe members. It was admitted that they could not expect to affect manyimprovements so late in the season; but they meant to plan the nextsummer's campaign, collect and discuss ideas, write and read papers,and, as Anne said, educate the public sentiment generally.
There was some disapproval, of course, and . . . which the Improvers feltmuch more keenly . . . a good deal of ridicule. Mr. Elisha Wright wasreported to have said that a more appropriate name for the organizationwould be Courting Club. Mrs. Hiram Sloane declared she had heard theImprovers meant to plough up all the roadsides and set them out withgeraniums. Mr. Levi Boulter warned his neighbors that the Improverswould insist that everybody pull down his house and rebuild it afterplans approved by the society. Mr. James Spencer sent them word that hewished they would kindly shovel down the church hill. Eben Wright toldAnne that he wished the Improvers could induce old Josiah Sloane tokeep his whiskers trimmed. Mr. Lawrence Bell said he would whitewashhis barns if nothing else would please them but he would NOT hang lacecurtains in the cowstable windows. Mr. Major Spencer asked CliftonSloane, an Improver who drove the milk to the Carmody cheese factory,if it was true that everybody would have to have his milk-standhand-painted next summer and keep an embroidered centerpiece on it.
In spite of . . . or perhaps, human nature being what it is, because of. . . this, the Society went gamely to work at the only improvement theycould hope to bring about that fall. At the second meeting, in the Barryparlor, Oliver Sloane moved that they start a subscription to re-shingleand paint the hall; Julia Bell seconded it, with an uneasy feeling thatshe was doing something not exactly ladylike. Gilbert put the motion,it was carried unanimously, and Anne gravely recorded it in her minutes.The next thing was to appoint a committee, and Gertie Pye, determinednot to let Julia Bell carry off all the laurels, boldly moved that MissJane Andrews be chairman of said committee. This motion being also dulyseconded and carried, Jane returned the compliment by appointing Gertieon the committee, along with Gilbert, Anne, Diana, and Fred Wright. Thecommittee chose their routes in private conclave. Anne and Diana weretold off for the Newbridge road, Gilbert and Fred for the White Sandsroad, and Jane and Gertie for the Carmody road.
"Because," explained Gilbert to Anne, as they walked home togetherthrough the Haunted Wood, "the Pyes all live along that road and theywon't give a cent unless one of themselves canvasses them."
The next Saturday Anne and Diana started out. They drove to the end ofthe road and canvassed homeward, calling first on the "Andrew girls."
"If Catherine is alone we may get something," said Diana, "but if Elizais there we won't."
Eliza was there . . . very much so . . . and looked even grimmer thanusual. Miss Eliza was one of those people who give you the impressionthat life is indeed a vale of tears, and that a smile, never to speak ofa laugh, is a waste of nervous energy truly reprehensible. The Andrewgirls had been "girls" for fifty odd years and seemed likely to remaingirls to the end of their earthly pilgrimage. Catherine, it was said,had not entirely given up hope, but Eliza, who was born a pessimist, hadnever had any. They lived in a little brown house built in a sunnycorner scooped out of Mark Andrew's beech woods. Eliza complained thatit was terrible hot in summer, but Catherine was wont to say it waslovely and warm in winter.
Eliza was sewing patchwork, not because it was needed but simply asa protest against the frivolous lace Catherine was crocheting. Elizalistened with a frown and Catherine with a smile, as the girls explainedtheir errand. To be sure, whenever Catherine caught Eliza's eye shediscarded the smile in guilty confusion; but it crept back the nextmoment.
"If I had money to waste," said Eliza grimly, "I'd burn it up and havethe fun of seeing a blaze maybe; but I wouldn't give it to that hall,not a cent. It's no benefit to the settlement . . . just a place for youngfolks to meet and carry on when they's better be home in their beds."
"Oh, Eliza, young folks must have some amusement," protested Catherine.
"I don't see the necessity. We didn't gad about to halls and places whenwe were young, Catherine Andrews. This world is getting worse every day."
"I think it's getting better," said Catherine firmly.
"YOU think!" Miss Eliza's voice expressed the utmost contempt. "Itdoesn't signify what you THINK, Catheri
ne Andrews. Facts is facts."
"Well, I always like to look on the bright side, Eliza."
"There isn't any bright side."
"Oh, indeed there is," cried Anne, who couldn't endure such heresy insilence. "Why, there are ever so many bright sides, Miss Andrews. It'sreally a beautiful world."
"You won't have such a high opinion of it when you've lived as longin it as I have," retorted Miss Eliza sourly, "and you won't be soenthusiastic about improving it either. How is your mother, Diana? Dearme, but she has failed of late. She looks terrible run down. And howlong is it before Marilla expects to be stone blind, Anne?"
"The doctor thinks her eyes will not get any worse if she is verycareful," faltered Anne.
Eliza shook her head.
"Doctors always talk like that just to keep people cheered up. Iwouldn't have much hope if I was her. It's best to be prepared for theworst."
"But oughtn't we be prepared for the best too?" pleaded Anne. "It's justas likely to happen as the worst."
"Not in my experience, and I've fifty-seven years to set against yoursixteen," retorted Eliza. "Going, are you? Well, I hope this new societyof yours will be able to keep Avonlea from running any further down hillbut I haven't much hope of it."
Anne and Diana got themselves thankfully out, and drove away as fast asthe fat pony could go. As they rounded the curve below the beech wooda plump figure came speeding over Mr. Andrews' pasture, waving to themexcitedly. It was Catherine Andrews and she was so out of breath thatshe could hardly speak, but she thrust a couple of quarters into Anne'shand.
"That's my contribution to painting the hall," she gasped. "I'd like togive you a dollar but I don't dare take more from my egg money for Elizawould find it out if I did. I'm real interested in your society and Ibelieve you're going to do a lot of good. I'm an optimist. I HAVE to be,living with Eliza. I must hurry back before she misses me . . . she thinksI'm feeding the hens. I hope you'll have good luck canvassing, and don'tbe cast down over what Eliza said. The world IS getting better . . . itcertainly is."
The next house was Daniel Blair's.
"Now, it all depends on whether his wife is home or not," said Diana,as they jolted along a deep-rutted lane. "If she is we won't get a cent.Everybody says Dan Blair doesn't dare have his hair cut withoutasking her permission; and it's certain she's very close, to state itmoderately. She says she has to be just before she's generous. But Mrs.Lynde says she's so much 'before' that generosity never catches up withher at all."
Anne related their experience at the Blair place to Marilla thatevening.
"We tied the horse and then rapped at the kitchen door. Nobody came butthe door was open and we could hear somebody in the pantry, going ondreadfully. We couldn't make out the words but Diana says she knows theywere swearing by the sound of them. I can't believe that of Mr.Blair, for he is always so quiet and meek; but at least he had greatprovocation, for Marilla, when that poor man came to the door, red asa beet, with perspiration streaming down his face, he had on one of hiswife's big gingham aprons. 'I can't get this durned thing off,' he said,'for the strings are tied in a hard knot and I can't bust 'em, so you'llhave to excuse me, ladies.' We begged him not to mention it and went inand sat down. Mr. Blair sat down too; he twisted the apron around tohis back and rolled it up, but he did look so ashamed and worried thatI felt sorry for him, and Diana said she feared we had called at aninconvenient time. 'Oh, not at all,' said Mr. Blair, trying to smile. . . you know he is always very polite . . . 'I'm a little busy . . .getting ready to bake a cake as it were. My wife got a telegram todaythat her sister from Montreal is coming tonight and she's gone to thetrain to meet her and left orders for me to make a cake for tea. Shewrit out the recipe and told me what to do but I've clean forgot halfthe directions already. And it says, 'flavor according to taste.' Whatdoes that mean? How can you tell? And what if my taste doesn't happen tobe other people's taste? Would a tablespoon of vanilla be enough for asmall layer cake?"
"I felt sorrier than ever for the poor man. He didn't seem to be in hisproper sphere at all. I had heard of henpecked husbands and now I feltthat I saw one. It was on my lips to say, 'Mr. Blair, if you'll giveus a subscription for the hall I'll mix up your cake for you.' But Isuddenly thought it wouldn't be neighborly to drive too sharp a bargainwith a fellow creature in distress. So I offered to mix the cake for himwithout any conditions at all. He just jumped at my offer. He said he'dbeen used to making his own bread before he was married but he fearedcake was beyond him, and yet he hated to disappoint his wife. He got meanother apron, and Diana beat the eggs and I mixed the cake. Mr. Blairran about and got us the materials. He had forgotten all about his apronand when he ran it streamed out behind him and Diana said she thoughtshe would die to see it. He said he could bake the cake all right . . . hewas used to that . . . and then he asked for our list and he put down fourdollars. So you see we were rewarded. But even if he hadn't given a centI'd always feel that we had done a truly Christian act in helping him."
Theodore White's was the next stopping place. Neither Anne nor Dianahad ever been there before, and they had only a very slight acquaintancewith Mrs. Theodore, who was not given to hospitality. Should they go tothe back or front door? While they held a whispered consultation Mrs.Theodore appeared at the front door with an armful of newspapers.Deliberately she laid them down one by one on the porch floor and theporch steps, and then down the path to the very feet of her mystifiedcallers.
"Will you please wipe your feet carefully on the grass and then walk onthese papers?" she said anxiously. "I've just swept the house all overand I can't have any more dust tracked in. The path's been real muddysince the rain yesterday."
"Don't you dare laugh," warned Anne in a whisper, as they marched alongthe newspapers. "And I implore you, Diana, not to look at me, no matterwhat she says, or I shall not be able to keep a sober face."
The papers extended across the hall and into a prim, fleckless parlor.Anne and Diana sat down gingerly on the nearest chairs and explainedtheir errand. Mrs. White heard them politely, interrupting only twice,once to chase out an adventurous fly, and once to pick up a tiny wispof grass that had fallen on the carpet from Anne's dress. Anne feltwretchedly guilty; but Mrs. White subscribed two dollars and paid themoney down . . . "to prevent us from having to go back for it," Diana saidwhen they got away. Mrs. White had the newspapers gathered up beforethey had their horse untied and as they drove out of the yard they sawher busily wielding a broom in the hall.
"I've always heard that Mrs. Theodore White was the neatest womanalive and I'll believe it after this," said Diana, giving way to hersuppressed laughter as soon as it was safe.
"I am glad she has no children," said Anne solemnly. "It would bedreadful beyond words for them if she had."
At the Spencers' Mrs. Isabella Spencer made them miserable by sayingsomething ill-natured about everyone in Avonlea. Mr. Thomas Boulterrefused to give anything because the hall, when it had been built,twenty years before, hadn't been built on the site he recommended. Mrs.Esther Bell, who was the picture of health, took half an hour to detailall her aches and pains, and sadly put down fifty cents because shewouldn't be there that time next year to do it . . . no, she would be inher grave.
Their worst reception, however, was at Simon Fletcher's. When theydrove into the yard they saw two faces peering at them through the porchwindow. But although they rapped and waited patiently and persistentlynobody came to the door. Two decidedly ruffled and indignant girls droveaway from Simon Fletcher's. Even Anne admitted that she was beginningto feel discouraged. But the tide turned after that. Several Sloanehomesteads came next, where they got liberal subscriptions, and fromthat to the end they fared well, with only an occasional snub. Theirlast place of call was at Robert Dickson's by the pond bridge. Theystayed to tea here, although they were nearly home, rather than riskoffending Mrs. Dickson, who had the reputation of being a very "touchy"woman.
While they were there old Mrs. James White called in.
"
I've just been down to Lorenzo's," she announced. "He's the proudestman in Avonlea this minute. What do you think? There's a brand new boythere . . . and after seven girls that's quite an event, I can tell you."Anne pricked up her ears, and when they drove away she said.
"I'm going straight to Lorenzo White's."
"But he lives on the White Sands road and it's quite a distance out ofour way," protested Diana. "Gilbert and Fred will canvass him."
"They are not going around until next Saturday and it will be too lateby then," said Anne firmly. "The novelty will be worn off. LorenzoWhite is dreadfully mean but he will subscribe to ANYTHING just now. Wemustn't let such a golden opportunity slip, Diana." The result justifiedAnne's foresight. Mr. White met them in the yard, beaming like thesun upon an Easter day. When Anne asked for a subscription he agreedenthusiastically.
"Certain, certain. Just put me down for a dollar more than the highestsubscription you've got."
"That will be five dollars . . . Mr. Daniel Blair put down four," saidAnne, half afraid. But Lorenzo did not flinch.
"Five it is . . . and here's the money on the spot. Now, I want youto come into the house. There's something in there worth seeing . . .something very few people have seen as yet. Just come in and pass YOURopinion."
"What will we say if the baby isn't pretty?" whispered Diana intrepidation as they followed the excited Lorenzo into the house.
"Oh, there will certainly be something else nice to say about it," saidAnne easily. "There always is about a baby."
The baby WAS pretty, however, and Mr. White felt that he got his fivedollars' worth of the girls' honest delight over the plump littlenewcomer. But that was the first, last, and only time that Lorenzo Whiteever subscribed to anything.
Anne, tired as she was, made one more effort for the public weal thatnight, slipping over the fields to interview Mr. Harrison, who was asusual smoking his pipe on the veranda with Ginger beside him. Stricklyspeaking he was on the Carmody road; but Jane and Gertie, who were notacquainted with him save by doubtful report, had nervously begged Anneto canvass him.
Mr. Harrison, however, flatly refused to subscribe a cent, and allAnne's wiles were in vain.
"But I thought you approved of our society, Mr. Harrison," she mourned.
"So I do . . . so I do . . . but my approval doesn't go as deep as mypocket, Anne."
"A few more experiences such as I have had today would make me as muchof a pessimist as Miss Eliza Andrews," Anne told her reflection in theeast gable mirror at bedtime.
Anne of Avonlea Page 6