Anne Of Avonlea - Chapter 12

"Anne of Avonlea" was written by L. M. Montgomery and published in 1909, following the enormous success of Anne of Green Gables the prior year.

In this second book, Anne Shirley is sixteen years old and returning to Avonlea as the local schoolteacher, determined to be sensible, responsible and worthy of the life she’s been given...

Chapter 12 shows Anne facing a day when nothing quite goes right...

Fatigue, misjudgement and wounded pride collide in the schoolroom, forcing Anne to confront her own ideals and imperfections.

By day’s end, she learns that mistakes need not be endings ...and that understanding sometimes arrives in unexpected ways...

Transcript

Hello there,

Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Anne of Avonlea,

The delightful sequel to Anne of Green Gables.

This book was published in 1909 by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery.

If you've been listening along already you'll know we're hearing about the delightful young red-headed orphan,

Anne Shirley,

Now as a 16 year old and her struggles with becoming a school teacher,

Community issues,

Friendships and other personal challenges.

If you haven't heard the preceding parts of this book and you'd like to,

You can certainly look for the playlist for Anne of Avonlea and you'll find everything there in order.

But for now,

Let's just take a moment here to have a nice deep exhale,

Letting go of the day,

Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment.

For right now,

There's nowhere else we have to go,

Nothing else we have to be doing,

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the ongoing sweet old tale of Anne of Avonlea.

Chapter 12.

A Jonah Day.

It really began the night before with a restless wakeful vigil of grumbling toothache.

When Anne arose in the dull,

Bitter winter morning,

She felt that life was flat,

Stale and unprofitable.

She went to school in no angelic mood.

Her cheek was swollen and her face ached.

The schoolroom was cold and smoky,

For the fire refused to burn and the children were huddled about it in shivering groups.

Anne sent them to their seats with a sharper tone than she had ever used before.

Anthony Pye strutted to his with his usual impertinent swagger,

And she saw him whisper something to his seatmate and then glance at her with a grin.

Never,

So it seemed to Anne,

Had there been so many squeaky pencils as there were that morning.

And when Barbara Shaw came up to the desk with a sum,

She tripped over the coal scuttle.

With disastrous results,

The coal rolled to every part of the room.

Her slate was broken into fragments,

And when she picked herself up,

Her face stained with coal dust,

Sent the boys into roars of laughter.

Anne turned from the second reader class which she was hearing.

Really,

Barbara,

She said,

I silly,

If you cannot move without falling over something,

You'd better remain in your seat.

It is positively disgraceful for a girl of your age to be so awkward.

Poor Barbara stumbled back to her desk,

Her tears combining with the coal dust to produce an effect truly grotesque.

Never before had her beloved,

Sympathetic teacher spoken to her in such a tone or fashion,

And Barbara was heartbroken.

Anne herself felt a prick of conscience,

But it only served to increase her mental irritation.

And the second reader class,

Remember that lesson yet?

As well as the unmerciful infliction of arithmetic that followed,

Just as Anne was snapping the sums out,

Sinclair Donnell arrived breathlessly.

You are half an hour late,

Sinclair.

Anne reminded him frigidly.

Why is this?

Please miss,

I had to help Ma make a pudding for dinner,

Because we're expecting company,

And Clarice Almere is sick,

Was Sinclair's answer,

Given in a perfectly respectful voice,

But nevertheless provocative of great mirth among his mates.

Take your seat and work out the six problems on page eighty-four of your arithmetic for punishment,

Said Anne.

Sinclair looked rather amazed at her tone,

But he went meekly to his desk and took out his slate.

Then he stealthily passed a small parcel to Jo Sloane across the aisle.

Anne caught him in the act and jumped to a fatal conclusion about that parcel.

Old Mrs.

Herom Sloane had lately taken to making and selling nut cakes,

By way of adding to her scanty income.

The cakes were specially tempting to small boys,

And for several weeks Anne had had not a little trouble in regard to them.

On their way to school,

The boys would invest their spare cash at Mrs.

Herom's,

Bring the cakes along with them to school,

And,

If possible,

Eat them and treat their mates during school hours.

Anne had warned them that if they brought any more cakes to school,

They would be confiscated.

And yet,

Here was Sinclair Donnell,

Coolly passing a parcel of them,

Wrapped up in the blue and white striped paper Mrs.

Herom used under her very eyes.

Joseph,

Said Anne quietly,

Bring that parcel here.

Jo,

Startled and abashed,

Obeyed.

He was a fat urchin who always blushed and stuttered when he was frightened.

Never did anybody look more guilty than poor Jo at that moment.

Throw it into the fire,

Said Anne.

Jo looked very blank.

P-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p gasped Jo in desperation.

Joseph,

Are you going to obey me or are you not,

Said Anne.

A bolder and more self-possessed lad than Jo Sloane would have been overawed by her tone and the dangerous flash of her eyes.

This was a new Anne whom none of her pupils had ever seen before.

Jo,

With an agonised glance at St Clair,

Went to the stove,

Opened the big square front door and threw the blue and white parcel in before St Clair,

Who had sprung to his feet,

Could utter a word.

Then he dodged back,

Just in time,

For a few moments.

The terrified occupants of Avonlea School did not know whether it was an earthquake or a volcanic explosion that had occurred.

The innocent-looking parcel,

Which Anne had rashly supposed to contain Mrs Herom's nut cakes,

Really held an assortment of firecrackers and pinwheels,

For which Warren Sloane had sent to town by St Clair Donnell's father the day before,

Intending to have a birthday celebration that evening.

The crackers went off in a thunderclap of noise and the pinwheels,

Bursting out of the door,

Spun madly around the room,

Hissing and spluttering.

Anne dropped into her chair,

White with dismay,

And all the girls climbed shrieking upon their desks.

Jo Sloane stood as one transfixed in the midst of the commotion,

And St Clair,

Helpless with laughter,

Rocked to and fro in the aisle,

Prilly Rogerson fainted,

And Annetta Bell went into hysterics.

It seemed a long time,

Although it was really only a few minutes before the last pinwheel subsided.

Anne,

Recovering herself,

Sprang to open doors and windows and let out the gas and smoke which filled the room.

Then she helped the girls carry the unconscious Prilly into the porch,

Where Barbara Shaw,

In an agony of desire to be useful,

Poured a pailful of half-frozen water over Prilly's face and shoulders before anyone could stop her.

It was a full hour before quiet was restored.

But it was a quiet that might be felt.

Everybody realised that even the explosion had not cleared the teacher's mental atmosphere.

Nobody,

Except Anthony Pye,

Dared whisper a word.

Ned Clay accidentally squeaked his pencil while working a sum,

Caught Anne's eye,

And wished the floor would open and swallow him up.

The geography class were whisked through a continent with a speed that made them dizzy.

The grammar class were parsed and analysed within an inch of their lives.

Chester Sloan,

Spelling ODIPHORUS with two Fs,

Was made to feel that he could never live down the disgrace of it,

Either in this world or that which is to come.

Anne knew that she had made herself ridiculous,

And that the incident would be laughed over that night at a score of tea tables.

But the knowledge only angered her further.

In a calmer mood,

She could have carried off the situation with a laugh,

But now that was impossible.

So,

She ignored it in icy disdain.

When Anne returned to the school after dinner,

All the children were,

As usual,

In their seats,

And every face was bent studiously over a desk,

Except Antony Pye's.

He peered across his book at Anne,

His black eyes sparkling with curiosity and mockery.

Anne twitched open the drawer of her desk in search of chalk,

And under her very hand,

A lively mouse sprang out of the drawer,

Scampered over the desk,

And leapt to the floor.

Anne screamed and sprang back as if it had been a snake,

And Antony Pye laughed aloud.

Then a silence fell.

A very creepy,

Uncomfortable silence.

Annetta Bell was of two minds whether to go into hysterics again or not,

Especially as she didn't know just where the mouse had gone.

But she decided not to.

Who could take any comfort out of hysterics with a teacher so white-faced and so blazing-eyed standing before one?

Who put that mouse in my desk?

Said Anne.

Her voice was quite low,

But it made a shiver go up and down Paul Irving's spine.

Jo Sloane caught her eye,

Felt responsible from the crown of his head to the sole of his feet,

But stuttered out wildly,

N-n-n-n-n-n-not m-m-m-m-me!

T-t-t-t-teacher!

N-n-n-n-n-not me!

Anne paid no attention to the wretched Joseph.

She looked at Antony Pye,

And Antony Pye looked back unabashed and unashamed.

Antony,

Was it you?

Yes,

It was,

Said Antony insolently.

Anne took her pointer from her desk.

It was a long,

Heavy,

Hardwood pointer.

Come here,

Antony.

It was far from being the most severe punishment Antony Pye had ever undergone.

Anne,

Even the stormy-souled Anne she was at that moment,

Could not have punished any child cruelly,

But the pointer nipped keenly,

And finally Antony's bravado failed him.

He winced,

Winced,

And the tears came to his eyes.

Anne,

Conscious stricken,

Dropped the pointer and told Antony to go to his seat.

She sat down at her desk,

Feeling ashamed,

Repentant,

And bitterly mortified.

Her quick anger was gone,

And she would have given much to have been able to seek relief in tears.

So,

All her boasts had come to this.

She had actually whipped one of her pupils.

How Jane would triumph,

And how Mr Harrison would chuckle.

But worse than this,

Bitterest thought of all,

She had lost her chance of winning Antony Pye.

Never would he like her now.

Anne,

By what somebody has called a Herculaneum effort,

Kept back her tears until she got home that night.

Then,

She shut herself in the East Gable room and wept all her shame and remorse and disappointment into her pillows.

Wept so long that Marilla grew alarmed,

Invaded the room and insisted on knowing what the trouble was.

The trouble is,

I've got things that matter with my conscience,

Sobbed Anne.

Oh,

This has been such a Jonah day,

Marilla.

I'm so ashamed of myself.

I lost my temper and whipped Antony Pye.

I'm glad to hear it,

Said Marilla with decision.

It's what you should have done long ago.

Oh no,

No,

Marilla.

I don't see how I can ever look those children in the face again.

I feel that I have humiliated myself to the very dust.

You don't know how cross and hateful and horrid I was.

I can't forget the expression in Paul Irving's eyes.

He looked so surprised and disappointed.

Oh,

Marilla.

I have tried so hard to be patient and to win Antony's liking and now it has all gone for nothing.

Marilla passed her hard,

Work-worn hand over the girl's glossy,

Tumbled hair with a wonderful tenderness.

When Anne's sobs grew quieter,

She said,

Very gently for her,

You take things too much to heart,

Anne.

We all make mistakes,

But people forget them.

And Jonah Days come to everybody.

As for Antony Pye,

Why need you care?

If he does dislike you,

He is the only one.

I can't help it.

I want everybody to love me and it hurts me so when anybody doesn't.

And Antony never will now.

Oh,

I just made an idiot of myself today,

Marilla.

I'll tell you the whole story.

Marilla listened to the whole story and if she smiled at certain parts of it,

Anne never knew.

When the tale was ended,

She said,

Briskly,

Well,

Never mind.

This day's done.

And there's a new one coming tomorrow with no mistakes in it yet,

As you used to say yourself.

Just come downstairs and have your supper.

You'll see if a good cup of tea and those plum puffs I made today won't hearten you up.

Plum puffs won't minister to a mind diseased,

Said Anne,

Disconsolately.

But Marilla thought it a good sign that she had recovered sufficiently to adapt a quotation.

The cheerful supper table with the twins' bright faces and Marilla's matchless plum puffs,

Of which Davy ate four,

Did hearten her up considerably,

After all.

She had a good sleep that night and awakened in the morning to find herself and the world transformed.

It had snowed softly and thickly all through the hours of darkness and the beautiful whiteness,

Glittering in the frosty sunshine,

Looked like a mantle of charity cast over all the mistakes and humiliations of the past.

Every morn is a fresh beginning,

Every morn is the world made new,

Sang Anne as she dressed.

Owing to the snow,

She had to go around by the road to school and she thought it was certainly an impish coincidence that Anthony Pye should come ploughing along just as she left the Green Gables Lane.

She felt as guilty as if their positions were reversed.

But,

To her unspeakable astonishment,

Anthony not only lifted his cap,

Which he had never done before,

But said easily,

Kind of bad walking,

Ain't it?

Can I take those books for you,

Teacher?

Anne surrendered her books and wondered if she could possibly be awake.

Anthony walked on in silence to the school,

But when Anne took her books,

She smiled down at him,

Not the stereotyped kind smile she had so persistently assumed for his benefit,

But a sudden outflashing of good comradeship.

Anthony smiled.

No,

If the truth must be told,

Anthony grinned back.

A grin is not generally supposed to be a respectful thing,

Yet Anne suddenly felt that if she had not yet won Anthony's liking,

She had somehow or other won his respect.

Mrs Rachel Lynde came up the next Saturday and confirmed this.

Well,

Anne,

I guess you've won over Anthony Pye,

That's what.

He says he believes you are some good after all,

Even if you are a girl.

Says that whipping you gave him was just as good as a man's.

I never expected to win him by whipping him,

Though,

Said Anne,

A little mournfully,

Feeling that her ideals had played her false somewhere.

It doesn't seem right.

I'm sure my theory of kindness can't be wrong.

No,

But the Pyes are an exception to every known rule,

That's what,

Declared Mrs Rachel with conviction.

Mr Harrison said thought you'd come to it when he heard it,

And Jane rubbed it in rather unmercifully.

Reviews

Whatever her conflicting emotions about it, Anne’s heart is in the right place😌❤️❤️