Anne of Avonlea

by L. M. Montgomery

  XVII

  A Chapter of Accidents

  Anne woke three times in the night and made pilgrimages to her window tomake sure that Uncle Abe's prediction was not coming true. Finally themorning dawned pearly and lustrous in a sky full of silver sheen andradiance, and the wonderful day had arrived.

  Diana appeared soon after breakfast, with a basket of flowers over onearm and HER muslin dress over the other . . . for it would not do to donit until all the dinner preparations were completed. Meanwhile she woreher afternoon pink print and a lawn apron fearfully and wonderfullyruffled and frilled; and very neat and pretty and rosy she was.

  "You look simply sweet," said Anne admiringly.

  Diana sighed.

  "But I've had to let out every one of my dresses AGAIN. I weigh fourpounds more than I did in July. Anne, WHERE will this end? Mrs. Morgan'sheroines are all tall and slender."

  "Well, let's forget our troubles and think of our mercies," said Annegaily. "Mrs. Allan says that whenever we think of anything that is atrial to us we should also think of something nice that we can setover against it. If you are slightly too plump you've got the dearestdimples; and if I have a freckled nose the SHAPE of it is all right. Doyou think the lemon juice did any good?"

  "Yes, I really think it did," said Diana critically; and, much elated,Anne led the way to the garden, which was full of airy shadows andwavering golden lights.

  "We'll decorate the parlor first. We have plenty of time, for Priscillasaid they'd be here about twelve or half past at the latest, so we'llhave dinner at one."

  There may have been two happier and more excited girls somewhere inCanada or the United States at that moment, but I doubt it. Every snipof the scissors, as rose and peony and bluebell fell, seemed to chirp,"Mrs. Morgan is coming today." Anne wondered how Mr. Harrison COULD goon placidly mowing hay in the field across the lane, just as if nothingwere going to happen.

  The parlor at Green Gables was a rather severe and gloomy apartment,with rigid horsehair furniture, stiff lace curtains, and whiteantimacassars that were always laid at a perfectly correct angle, exceptat such times as they clung to unfortunate people's buttons. Even Annehad never been able to infuse much grace into it, for Marilla would notpermit any alterations. But it is wonderful what flowers can accomplishif you give them a fair chance; when Anne and Diana finished with theroom you would not have recognized it.

  A great blue bowlful of snowballs overflowed on the polished table. Theshining black mantelpiece was heaped with roses and ferns. Every shelfof the what-not held a sheaf of bluebells; the dark corners on eitherside of the grate were lighted up with jars full of glowing crimsonpeonies, and the grate itself was aflame with yellow poppies. Allthis splendor and color, mingled with the sunshine falling through thehoneysuckle vines at the windows in a leafy riot of dancing shadows overwalls and floor, made of the usually dismal little room the veritable"bower" of Anne's imagination, and even extorted a tribute of admirationfrom Marilla, who came in to criticize and remained to praise.

  "Now, we must set the table," said Anne, in the tone of a priestessabout to perform some sacred rite in honor of a divinity. "We'll have abig vaseful of wild roses in the center and one single rose in frontof everybody's plate--and a special bouquet of rosebuds only by Mrs.Morgan's--an allusion to 'The Rosebud Garden' you know."

  The table was set in the sitting room, with Marilla's finest linen andthe best china, glass, and silver. You may be perfectly certain thatevery article placed on it was polished or scoured to the highestpossible perfection of gloss and glitter.

  Then the girls tripped out to the kitchen, which was filled withappetizing odors emanating from the oven, where the chickens werealready sizzling splendidly. Anne prepared the potatoes and Diana gotthe peas and beans ready. Then, while Diana shut herself into the pantryto compound the lettuce salad, Anne, whose cheeks were already beginningto glow crimson, as much with excitement as from the heat of the fire,prepared the bread sauce for the chickens, minced her onions for thesoup, and finally whipped the cream for her lemon pies.

  And what about Davy all this time? Was he redeeming his promise tobe good? He was, indeed. To be sure, he insisted on remaining in thekitchen, for his curiosity wanted to see all that went on. But as he satquietly in a corner, busily engaged in untying the knots in a piece ofherring net he had brought home from his last trip to the shore, nobodyobjected to this.

  At half past eleven the lettuce salad was made, the golden circles ofthe pies were heaped with whipped cream, and everything was sizzling andbubbling that ought to sizzle and bubble.

  "We'd better go and dress now," said Anne, "for they may be here bytwelve. We must have dinner at sharp one, for the soup must be served assoon as it's done."

  Serious indeed were the toilet rites presently performed in the eastgable. Anne peered anxiously at her nose and rejoiced to see that itsfreckles were not at all prominent, thanks either to the lemon juiceor to the unusual flush on her cheeks. When they were ready they lookedquite as sweet and trim and girlish as ever did any of "Mrs. Morgan'sheroines."

  "I do hope I'll be able to say something once in a while, and not sitlike a mute," said Diana anxiously. "All Mrs. Morgan's heroines converseso beautifully. But I'm afraid I'll be tongue-tied and stupid. And I'llbe sure to say 'I seen.' I haven't often said it since Miss Stacy taughthere; but in moments of excitement it's sure to pop out. Anne, if Iwere to say 'I seen' before Mrs. Morgan I'd die of mortification. And itwould be almost as bad to have nothing to say."

  "I'm nervous about a good many things," said Anne, "but I don't thinkthere is much fear that I won't be able to talk."

  And, to do her justice, there wasn't.

  Anne shrouded her muslin glories in a big apron and went down to concocther soup. Marilla had dressed herself and the twins, and looked moreexcited than she had ever been known to look before. At half past twelvethe Allans and Miss Stacy came. Everything was going well but Anne wasbeginning to feel nervous. It was surely time for Priscilla and Mrs.Morgan to arrive. She made frequent trips to the gate and looked asanxiously down the lane as ever her namesake in the Bluebeard storypeered from the tower casement.

  "Suppose they don't come at all?" she said piteously.

  "Don't suppose it. It would be too mean," said Diana, who, however, wasbeginning to have uncomfortable misgivings on the subject.

  "Anne," said Marilla, coming out from the parlor, "Miss Stacy wants tosee Miss Barry's willowware platter."

  Anne hastened to the sitting room closet to get the platter. She had,in accordance with her promise to Mrs. Lynde, written to Miss Barry ofCharlottetown, asking for the loan of it. Miss Barry was an old friendof Anne's, and she promptly sent the platter out, with a letter exhortingAnne to be very careful of it, for she had paid twenty dollars for it.The platter had served its purpose at the Aid bazaar and had then beenreturned to the Green Gables closet, for Anne would not trust anybodybut herself to take it back to town.

  She carried the platter carefully to the front door where her guestswere enjoying the cool breeze that blew up from the brook. It wasexamined and admired; then, just as Anne had taken it back into her ownhands, a terrific crash and clatter sounded from the kitchen pantry.Marilla, Diana, and Anne fled out, the latter pausing only long enoughto set the precious platter hastily down on the second step of thestairs.

  When they reached the pantry a truly harrowing spectacle met their eyes. . . a guilty looking small boy scrambling down from the table, with hisclean print blouse liberally plastered with yellow filling, and on thetable the shattered remnants of what had been two brave, becreamed lemonpies.

  Davy had finished ravelling out his herring net and had wound the twineinto a ball. Then he had gone into the pantry to put it up on the shelfabove the table, where he already kept a score or so of similar balls,which, so far as could be discovered, served no useful purpose save toyield the joy of possession. Davy had to climb on the table and reachover to the shelf at a dangerous angle . . . something he had b
eenforbidden by Marilla to do, as he had come to grief once before in theexperiment. The result in this instance was disastrous. Davy slippedand came sprawling squarely down on the lemon pies. His clean blouse wasruined for that time and the pies for all time. It is, however, an illwind that blows nobody good, and the pig was eventually the gainer byDavy's mischance.

  "Davy Keith," said Marilla, shaking him by the shoulder, "didn't Iforbid you to climb up on that table again? Didn't I?"

  "I forgot," whimpered Davy. "You've told me not to do such an awful lotof things that I can't remember them all."

  "Well, you march upstairs and stay there till after dinner. Perhapsyou'll get them sorted out in your memory by that time. No, Anne, neveryou mind interceding for him. I'm not punishing him because hespoiled your pies . . . that was an accident. I'm punishing him for hisdisobedience. Go, Davy, I say."

  "Ain't I to have any dinner?" wailed Davy.

  "You can come down after dinner is over and have yours in the kitchen."

  "Oh, all right," said Davy, somewhat comforted. "I know Anne'll savesome nice bones for me, won't you, Anne? 'Cause you know I didn't meanto fall on the pies. Say, Anne, since they ARE spoiled can't I take someof the pieces upstairs with me?"

  "No, no lemon pie for you, Master Davy," said Marilla, pushing himtoward the hall.

  "What shall we do for dessert?" asked Anne, looking regretfully at thewreck and ruin.

  "Get out a crock of strawberry preserves," said Marilla consolingly."There's plenty of whipped cream left in the bowl for it."

  One o'clock came . . . but no Priscilla or Mrs. Morgan. Anne was in anagony. Everything was done to a turn and the soup was just what soupshould be, but couldn't be depended on to remain so for any length oftime.

  "I don't believe they're coming after all," said Marilla crossly.

  Anne and Diana sought comfort in each other's eyes.

  At half past one Marilla again emerged from the parlor.

  "Girls, we MUST have dinner. Everybody is hungry and it's no use waitingany longer. Priscilla and Mrs. Morgan are not coming, that's plain, andnothing is being improved by waiting."

  Anne and Diana set about lifting the dinner, with all the zest gone outof the performance.

  "I don't believe I'll be able to eat a mouthful," said Diana dolefully.

  "Nor I. But I hope everything will be nice for Miss Stacy's and Mr. andMrs. Allan's sakes," said Anne listlessly.

  When Diana dished the peas she tasted them and a very peculiarexpression crossed her face.

  "Anne, did YOU put sugar in these peas?"

  "Yes," said Anne, mashing the potatoes with the air of one expected todo her duty. "I put a spoonful of sugar in. We always do. Don't you likeit?"

  "But _I_ put a spoonful in too, when I set them on the stove," saidDiana.

  Anne dropped her masher and tasted the peas also. Then she made agrimace.

  "How awful! I never dreamed you had put sugar in, because I knew yourmother never does. I happened to think of it, for a wonder . . . I'malways forgetting it . . . so I popped a spoonful in."

  "It's a case of too many cooks, I guess," said Marilla, who had listenedto this dialogue with a rather guilty expression. "I didn't think you'dremember about the sugar, Anne, for I'm perfectly certain you never didbefore . . . so _I_ put in a spoonful."

  The guests in the parlor heard peal after peal of laughter from thekitchen, but they never knew what the fun was about. There were no greenpeas on the dinner table that day, however.

  "Well," said Anne, sobering down again with a sigh of recollection, "wehave the salad anyhow and I don't think anything has happened to thebeans. Let's carry the things in and get it over."

  It cannot be said that that dinner was a notable success socially.The Allans and Miss Stacy exerted themselves to save the situation andMarilla's customary placidity was not noticeably ruffled. But Anneand Diana, between their disappointment and the reaction from theirexcitement of the forenoon, could neither talk nor eat. Anne triedheroically to bear her part in the conversation for the sake of herguests; but all the sparkle had been quenched in her for the time being,and, in spite of her love for the Allans and Miss Stacy, she couldn'thelp thinking how nice it would be when everybody had gone home and shecould bury her weariness and disappointment in the pillows of the eastgable.

  There is an old proverb that really seems at times to be inspired . . ."it never rains but it pours." The measure of that day's tribulationswas not yet full. Just as Mr. Allan had finished returning thanks therearose a strange, ominous sound on the stairs, as of some hard, heavyobject bounding from step to step, finishing up with a grand smashat the bottom. Everybody ran out into the hall. Anne gave a shriek ofdismay.

  At the bottom of the stairs lay a big pink conch shell amid thefragments of what had been Miss Barry's platter; and at the top of thestairs knelt a terrified Davy, gazing down with wide-open eyes at thehavoc.

  "Davy," said Marilla ominously, "did you throw that conch down ONPURPOSE?"

  "No, I never did," whimpered Davy. "I was just kneeling here, quiet asquiet, to watch you folks through the bannisters, and my foot struckthat old thing and pushed it off . . . and I'm awful hungry . . . and Ido wish you'd lick a fellow and have done with it, instead of alwayssending him upstairs to miss all the fun."

  "Don't blame Davy," said Anne, gathering up the fragments with tremblingfingers. "It was my fault. I set that platter there and forgot all aboutit. I am properly punished for my carelessness; but oh, what will MissBarry say?"

  "Well, you know she only bought it, so it isn't the same as if it was anheirloom," said Diana, trying to console.

  The guests went away soon after, feeling that it was the most tactfulthing to do, and Anne and Diana washed the dishes, talking less thanthey had ever been known to do before. Then Diana went home with aheadache and Anne went with another to the east gable, where she stayeduntil Marilla came home from the post office at sunset, with a letterfrom Priscilla, written the day before. Mrs. Morgan had sprained herankle so severely that she could not leave her room.

  "And oh, Anne dear," wrote Priscilla, "I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid wewon't get up to Green Gables at all now, for by the time Aunty's ankleis well she will have to go back to Toronto. She has to be there by acertain date."

  "Well," sighed Anne, laying the letter down on the red sandstone stepof the back porch, where she was sitting, while the twilight rained downout of a dappled sky, "I always thought it was too good to be true thatMrs. Morgan should really come. But there . . . that speech sounds aspessimistic as Miss Eliza Andrews and I'm ashamed of making it. Afterall, it was NOT too good to be true . . . things just as good and farbetter are coming true for me all the time. And I suppose the events oftoday have a funny side too. Perhaps when Diana and I are old and graywe shall be able to laugh over them. But I feel that I can't expect todo it before then, for it has truly been a bitter disappointment."

  "You'll probably have a good many more and worse disappointments thanthat before you get through life," said Marilla, who honestly thoughtshe was making a comforting speech. "It seems to me, Anne, that you arenever going to outgrow your fashion of setting your heart so on thingsand then crashing down into despair because you don't get them."

  "I know I'm too much inclined that, way" agreed Anne ruefully. "When Ithink something nice is going to happen I seem to fly right up on thewings of anticipation; and then the first thing I realize I drop down toearth with a thud. But really, Marilla, the flying part IS gloriousas long as it lasts . . . it's like soaring through a sunset. I think italmost pays for the thud."

  "Well, maybe it does," admitted Marilla. "I'd rather walk calmly alongand do without both flying and thud. But everybody has her own way ofliving . . . I used to think there was only one right way . . . but sinceI've had you and the twins to bring up I don't feel so sure of it. Whatare you going to do about Miss Barry's platter?"

  "Pay her back the twenty dollars she paid for it, I suppose. I'm sothankful it wasn't a c
herished heirloom because then no money couldreplace it."

  "Maybe you could find one like it somewhere and buy it for her."

  "I'm afraid not. Platters as old as that are very scarce. Mrs. Lyndecouldn't find one anywhere for the supper. I only wish I could, for ofcourse Miss Barry would just as soon have one platter as another, ifboth were equally old and genuine. Marilla, look at that big star overMr. Harrison's maple grove, with all that holy hush of silvery sky aboutit. It gives me a feeling that is like a prayer. After all, when onecan see stars and skies like that, little disappointments and accidentscan't matter so much, can they?"

  "Where's Davy?" said Marilla, with an indifferent glance at the star.

  "In bed. I've promised to take him and Dora to the shore for a picnictomorrow. Of course, the original agreement was that he must be good.But he TRIED to be good . . . and I hadn't the heart to disappoint him."

  "You'll drown yourself or the twins, rowing about the pond in thatflat," grumbled Marilla. "I've lived here for sixty years and I've neverbeen on the pond yet."

  "Well, it's never too late to mend," said Anne roguishly. "Suppose youcome with us tomorrow. We'll shut Green Gables up and spend the wholeday at the shore, daffing the world aside."

  "No, thank you," said Marilla, with indignant emphasis. "I'd be a nicesight, wouldn't I, rowing down the pond in a flat? I think I hear Rachelpronouncing on it. There's Mr. Harrison driving away somewhere. Do yousuppose there is any truth in the gossip that Mr. Harrison is going tosee Isabella Andrews?"

  "No, I'm sure there isn't. He just called there one evening on businesswith Mr. Harmon Andrews and Mrs. Lynde saw him and said she knew he wascourting because he had a white collar on. I don't believe Mr. Harrisonwill ever marry. He seems to have a prejudice against marriage."

  "Well, you can never tell about those old bachelors. And if he had awhite collar on I'd agree with Rachel that it looks suspicious, for I'msure he never was seen with one before."

  "I think he only put it on because he wanted to conclude a business dealwith Harmon Andrews," said Anne. "I've heard him say that's the onlytime a man needs to be particular about his appearance, because if helooks prosperous the party of the second part won't be so likely to tryto cheat him. I really feel sorry for Mr. Harrison; I don't believe hefeels satisfied with his life. It must be very lonely to have no one tocare about except a parrot, don't you think? But I notice Mr. Harrisondoesn't like to be pitied. Nobody does, I imagine."

  "There's Gilbert coming up the lane," said Marilla. "If he wants you togo for a row on the pond mind you put on your coat and rubbers. There'sa heavy dew tonight."