Chapter III
Greeting and Farewell
Charlie Sloane, Gilbert Blythe and Anne Shirley left Avonlea thefollowing Monday morning. Anne had hoped for a fine day. Diana was todrive her to the station and they wanted this, their last drive togetherfor some time, to be a pleasant one. But when Anne went to bed Sundaynight the east wind was moaning around Green Gables with an ominousprophecy which was fulfilled in the morning. Anne awoke to findraindrops pattering against her window and shadowing the pond's graysurface with widening rings; hills and sea were hidden in mist, and thewhole world seemed dim and dreary. Anne dressed in the cheerless graydawn, for an early start was necessary to catch the boat train; shestruggled against the tears that WOULD well up in her eyes in spite ofherself. She was leaving the home that was so dear to her, and somethingtold her that she was leaving it forever, save as a holiday refuge.Things would never be the same again; coming back for vacations wouldnot be living there. And oh, how dear and beloved everything was--thatlittle white porch room, sacred to the dreams of girlhood, the old SnowQueen at the window, the brook in the hollow, the Dryad's Bubble, theHaunted Woods, and Lover's Lane--all the thousand and one dear spotswhere memories of the old years bided. Could she ever be really happyanywhere else?
Breakfast at Green Gables that morning was a rather doleful meal. Davy,for the first time in his life probably, could not eat, but blubberedshamelessly over his porridge. Nobody else seemed to have much appetite,save Dora, who tucked away her rations comfortably. Dora, like theimmortal and most prudent Charlotte, who "went on cutting bread andbutter" when her frenzied lover's body had been carried past on ashutter, was one of those fortunate creatures who are seldom disturbedby anything. Even at eight it took a great deal to ruffle Dora'splacidity. She was sorry Anne was going away, of course, but was thatany reason why she should fail to appreciate a poached egg on toast? Notat all. And, seeing that Davy could not eat his, Dora ate it for him.
Promptly on time Diana appeared with horse and buggy, her rosy faceglowing above her raincoat. The good-byes had to be said then somehow.Mrs. Lynde came in from her quarters to give Anne a hearty embrace andwarn her to be careful of her health, whatever she did. Marilla, brusqueand tearless, pecked Anne's cheek and said she supposed they'd hear fromher when she got settled. A casual observer might have concluded thatAnne's going mattered very little to her--unless said observer hadhappened to get a good look in her eyes. Dora kissed Anne primly andsqueezed out two decorous little tears; but Davy, who had been crying onthe back porch step ever since they rose from the table, refused to saygood-bye at all. When he saw Anne coming towards him he sprang to hisfeet, bolted up the back stairs, and hid in a clothes closet, out ofwhich he would not come. His muffled howls were the last sounds Anneheard as she left Green Gables.
It rained heavily all the way to Bright River, to which station they hadto go, since the branch line train from Carmody did not connect with theboat train. Charlie and Gilbert were on the station platform when theyreached it, and the train was whistling. Anne had just time to get herticket and trunk check, say a hurried farewell to Diana, and hasten onboard. She wished she were going back with Diana to Avonlea; she knewshe was going to die of homesickness. And oh, if only that dismal rainwould stop pouring down as if the whole world were weeping over summervanished and joys departed! Even Gilbert's presence brought her nocomfort, for Charlie Sloane was there, too, and Sloanishness could betolerated only in fine weather. It was absolutely insufferable in rain.
But when the boat steamed out of Charlottetown harbor things took a turnfor the better. The rain ceased and the sun began to burst out goldenlynow and again between the rents in the clouds, burnishing the gray seaswith copper-hued radiance, and lighting up the mists that curtained theIsland's red shores with gleams of gold foretokening a fine day afterall. Besides, Charlie Sloane promptly became so seasick that he had togo below, and Anne and Gilbert were left alone on deck.
"I am very glad that all the Sloanes get seasick as soon as they go onwater," thought Anne mercilessly. "I am sure I couldn't take my farewelllook at the 'ould sod' with Charlie standing there pretending to looksentimentally at it, too."
"Well, we're off," remarked Gilbert unsentimentally.
"Yes, I feel like Byron's 'Childe Harold'--only it isn't really my'native shore' that I'm watching," said Anne, winking her gray eyesvigorously. "Nova Scotia is that, I suppose. But one's native shore isthe land one loves the best, and that's good old P.E.I. for me. I can'tbelieve I didn't always live here. Those eleven years before I came seemlike a bad dream. It's seven years since I crossed on this boat--theevening Mrs. Spencer brought me over from Hopetown. I can see myself, inthat dreadful old wincey dress and faded sailor hat, exploring decks andcabins with enraptured curiosity. It was a fine evening; and how thosered Island shores did gleam in the sunshine. Now I'm crossing the straitagain. Oh, Gilbert, I do hope I'll like Redmond and Kingsport, but I'msure I won't!"
"Where's all your philosophy gone, Anne?"
"It's all submerged under a great, swamping wave of loneliness andhomesickness. I've longed for three years to go to Redmond--and nowI'm going--and I wish I weren't! Never mind! I shall be cheerful andphilosophical again after I have just one good cry. I MUST have that,'as a went'--and I'll have to wait until I get into my boardinghousebed tonight, wherever it may be, before I can have it. Then Anne will beherself again. I wonder if Davy has come out of the closet yet."
It was nine that night when their train reached Kingsport, and theyfound themselves in the blue-white glare of the crowded station. Annefelt horribly bewildered, but a moment later she was seized by PriscillaGrant, who had come to Kingsport on Saturday.
"Here you are, beloved! And I suppose you're as tired as I was when Igot here Saturday night."
"Tired! Priscilla, don't talk of it. I'm tired, and green, andprovincial, and only about ten years old. For pity's sake take yourpoor, broken-down chum to some place where she can hear herself think."
"I'll take you right up to our boardinghouse. I've a cab ready outside."
"It's such a blessing you're here, Prissy. If you weren't I think Ishould just sit down on my suitcase, here and now, and weep bittertears. What a comfort one familiar face is in a howling wilderness ofstrangers!"
"Is that Gilbert Blythe over there, Anne? How he has grown up this pastyear! He was only a schoolboy when I taught in Carmody. And of coursethat's Charlie Sloane. HE hasn't changed--couldn't! He looked just likethat when he was born, and he'll look like that when he's eighty. Thisway, dear. We'll be home in twenty minutes."
"Home!" groaned Anne. "You mean we'll be in some horrible boardinghouse,in a still more horrible hall bedroom, looking out on a dingy backyard."
"It isn't a horrible boardinghouse, Anne-girl. Here's our cab. Hopin--the driver will get your trunk. Oh, yes, the boardinghouse--it'sreally a very nice place of its kind, as you'll admit tomorrow morningwhen a good night's sleep has turned your blues rosy pink. It's a big,old-fashioned, gray stone house on St. John Street, just a nice littleconstitutional from Redmond. It used to be the 'residence' of greatfolk, but fashion has deserted St. John Street and its houses only dreamnow of better days. They're so big that people living in them haveto take boarders just to fill up. At least, that is the reason ourlandladies are very anxious to impress on us. They're delicious,Anne--our landladies, I mean."
"How many are there?"
"Two. Miss Hannah Harvey and Miss Ada Harvey. They were born twins aboutfifty years ago."
"I can't get away from twins, it seems," smiled Anne. "Wherever I gothey confront me."
"Oh, they're not twins now, dear. After they reached the age ofthirty they never were twins again. Miss Hannah has grown old, not toogracefully, and Miss Ada has stayed thirty, less gracefully still. Idon't know whether Miss Hannah can smile or not; I've never caughther at it so far, but Miss Ada smiles all the time and that's worse.However, they're nice, kind souls, and they take two boarders everyyear because Miss Hannah's economical s
oul cannot bear to 'waste roomspace'--not because they need to or have to, as Miss Ada has told meseven times since Saturday night. As for our rooms, I admit they arehall bedrooms, and mine does look out on the back yard. Your room isa front one and looks out on Old St. John's graveyard, which is justacross the street."
"That sounds gruesome," shivered Anne. "I think I'd rather have the backyard view."
"Oh, no, you wouldn't. Wait and see. Old St. John's is a darling place.It's been a graveyard so long that it's ceased to be one and has becomeone of the sights of Kingsport. I was all through it yesterday for apleasure exertion. There's a big stone wall and a row of enormous treesall around it, and rows of trees all through it, and the queerest oldtombstones, with the queerest and quaintest inscriptions. You'll gothere to study, Anne, see if you don't. Of course, nobody is ever buriedthere now. But a few years ago they put up a beautiful monument to thememory of Nova Scotian soldiers who fell in the Crimean War. It is justopposite the entrance gates and there's 'scope for imagination' in it,as you used to say. Here's your trunk at last--and the boys coming tosay good night. Must I really shake hands with Charlie Sloane, Anne?His hands are always so cold and fishy-feeling. We must ask them to calloccasionally. Miss Hannah gravely told me we could have 'young gentlemencallers' two evenings in the week, if they went away at a reasonablehour; and Miss Ada asked me, smiling, please to be sure they didn't siton her beautiful cushions. I promised to see to it; but goodness knowswhere else they CAN sit, unless they sit on the floor, for there arecushions on EVERYTHING. Miss Ada even has an elaborate Battenburg one ontop of the piano."
Anne was laughing by this time. Priscilla's gay chatter had the intendedeffect of cheering her up; homesickness vanished for the time being, anddid not even return in full force when she finally found herself alonein her little bedroom. She went to her window and looked out. The streetbelow was dim and quiet. Across it the moon was shining above the treesin Old St. John's, just behind the great dark head of the lion on themonument. Anne wondered if it could have been only that morning that shehad left Green Gables. She had the sense of a long passage of time whichone day of change and travel gives.
"I suppose that very moon is looking down on Green Gables now," shemused. "But I won't think about it--that way homesickness lies. I'm noteven going to have my good cry. I'll put that off to a more convenientseason, and just now I'll go calmly and sensibly to bed and to sleep."
Anne of the Island Page 3