The Story Girl - Part 6

"The Story Girl" is a 1911 novel by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery (also the author of "Anne of Green Gables" and "The Blue Castle").

"The Story Girl" narrates the delightful adventures of a group of young cousins and their friends in a rural farming community on Prince Edward Island, Canada.

The children's own adventures are interwoven with the fascinating storytelling of the precocious, 14-year-old protagonist, Sara Stanley - known to everyone locally as "The Story Girl"...enjoy!

Transcript

Hello there.

Thank you so much for being here for this continued reading of The Story Girl,

Which is a 1911 novel by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Perhaps you've heard the preceding parts of this story.

If not,

And if you would like to,

You can find them all together in The Story Girl playlist.

They're all there in order.

But for now,

Let's 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 that we have to be,

Nothing else that we have to be doing.

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable,

And enjoy the ongoing tale of The Story Girl.

Chapter 11.

The Story Girl does penance.

Ten days later,

Aunt Olivia and Uncle Roger went to town one evening to remain overnight and the next day.

Peter and The Story Girl were to stay at Uncle Alec's during their absence.

We were in the orchard at sunset,

Listening to the story of King Coffetua and the Beggar Maid.

All of us except Peter,

Who was hoeing turnips,

And Felicity,

Who had gone down the hill on an errand to Mrs.

Ray.

The Story Girl impersonated the Beggar Maid so vividly and with such an illusion of beauty that we did not wonder in the least at the King's love for her.

I had read the story before and it had been my opinion that it was rot.

No King,

I felt certain,

Would ever marry a Beggar Maid when he had princesses galore from whom to choose.

But now I understood it all.

When Felicity returned,

We concluded from her expression that she had news and she had.

Sarah is real sick,

She said,

With regret and something that was not regret mingled in her voice.

She has a cold and sore throat and she is feverish.

Mrs.

Ray says if she isn't better by the morning,

She's going to send for the doctor and she is afraid it's the measles.

Felicity flung the last sentence at the Story Girl who turned very pale.

Oh,

Do you suppose she caught them at the magic lantern show,

She said miserably.

Where else could she have caught them,

Said Felicity mercilessly.

I didn't see her,

Of course.

Mrs.

Ray met me at the door and told me not to come in,

But Mrs.

Ray says the measles always go awful hard with the Rays.

If they don't die completely of them,

It leaves them deaf or half blind or something like that.

Of course,

Added Felicity,

Her heart melting at sight of the misery in the Story Girl's piteous eyes.

Mrs.

Ray always looks on the dark side and it may not be the measles Sarah has after all,

But Felicity had done her work too thoroughly.

The Story Girl was not to be comforted.

I'd give anything if I'd never put Sarah up to going to that show,

She said.

It's all my fault,

But the punishment falls on Sarah and that isn't fair.

I'd go this minute and confess the whole thing to Mrs.

Ray,

But if I did,

It might get Sarah into more trouble and I mustn't do that.

I shan't sleep a wink tonight.

I don't think she did.

She looked very pale and woebegone when she came down to breakfast,

But for all that,

There was a certain exhilaration about her.

I'm going to do penance all day for coaxing Sarah to disobey her mother,

She announced with chastened triumph.

Penance?

We murmured in bewilderment.

Yes,

I'm going to deny myself everything I like and do everything I can think of that I don't like,

Just to punish myself for being so wicked.

And if any of you think of anything I don't,

Just mention it to me.

I thought it out last night.

Maybe Sarah won't be so very sick if God sees I'm truly sorry.

He can see it anyhow,

Without your doing anything,

Said Cecily.

Well,

My conscience will feel better.

I don't believe Presbyterians ever do penance,

Said Felicity dubiously.

I never heard of one doing it.

But the rest of us rather looked with favour on the story girl's idea.

We felt sure that she would do penance as picturesquely and thoroughly as she did everything else.

You might put peas in your shoes,

You know,

Suggested Peter.

The very thing.

I never thought of that.

I'll get some after breakfast.

I'm not going to eat a single thing all day except bread and water and not much of that.

This we felt was a heroic measure indeed.

To sit down to one of Aunt Janet's meals in ordinary health and appetite and eat nothing but bread and water.

That would be penance with a vengeance.

We felt we could never do it.

But the story girl did it.

We admired and pitied her.

But now I do not think that she either needed our pity or deserved our admiration.

Her ascetic fare was really sweeter to her than honey of Hematus.

She was,

Though quite unconsciously,

Acting a part and tasting all the subtle joy of the artist,

Which is so much more exquisite than any material pleasure.

Aunt Janet,

Of course,

Noticed the story girl's abstinence and asked if she was sick.

No,

I am just doing penance,

Aunt Janet,

For a sin I committed.

I can't confess it because that would bring trouble on another person.

So I'm going to do penance all day.

You don't mind,

Do you?

Aunt Janet was in a very good humour that morning,

So she merely laughed.

Not if you don't go too far with your nonsense,

She said tolerantly.

Thank you.

And will you give me a handful of hard peas after breakfast,

Aunt Janet?

I want to put them in my shoes.

There isn't any.

I used the last in the soup yesterday.

Oh,

The story girl was much disappointed.

Then I suppose I'll have to do without.

The new peas wouldn't hurt enough.

They're so soft,

They'd just squash flat.

I'll tell you,

Said Peter.

I'll pick up a lot of those little round pebbles on Mr.

King's front walk.

They'll be just as good as peas.

You'll do nothing of the sort,

Said Aunt Janet.

Sarah must not do penance in that way.

She would wear holes in her stockings and might seriously bruise her feet.

What would you say if I took a whip and whipped my bare shoulders till the blood came,

Demanded the story girl,

Aggrieved.

I wouldn't say anything,

Retorted Aunt Janet.

I'd simply turn you over my knee and give you a sound,

Solid spanking,

Miss Sarah.

You'd find that penance enough.

The story girl was crimson with indignation.

To have such a remark made to you when you were fourteen and a half,

And before the boys too.

Really,

Aunt Janet could be very dreadful.

It was vacation and there was not much to do that day.

We were soon free to seek the orchard,

But the story girl would not come.

She had seated herself in the darkest,

Hottest corner of the kitchen with a piece of old cotton in her hand.

I am not going to play today,

She said,

And I'm not going to tell a single story.

Aunt Janet won't let me put pebbles in my shoes,

But I've put a thistle next my skin on my back and it sticks into me if I lean back the least bit.

And I'm going to work buttonholes all over this cotton.

I hate working buttonholes worse than anything in the world.

So I'm going to work them all day.

What's the good of working buttonholes on an old rag?

Rag?

Asked Felicity.

It isn't any good.

The beauty of penance is that it makes you feel uncomfortable.

So it doesn't matter what you do,

Whether it's useful or not,

So long as it's nasty.

Oh,

I wonder how Sarah is this morning.

Mother's going down this afternoon,

Said Felicity.

She says none of us must go near the place till we know whether it is the measles or not.

I've thought of a great penance,

Said Cecily eagerly.

Don't go to the missionary meeting tonight.

The story girl looked piteous.

I thought of that myself.

But I can't stay home,

Cecily.

It would be more than flesh and blood could endure.

I must hear that missionary speak.

They say he was all but eaten by cannibals once.

Just think how many new stories I'd have to tell after I'd heard him.

No,

I must go,

But I'll tell you what I'll do.

I'll wear my school dress and hat.

That will be penance.

Felicity,

When you set the table for dinner,

Put the broken handled knife for me.

I hate it so.

And I'm going to take a dose of Mexican tea every two hours.

It's such dreadful tasting stuff.

But it's a good blood purifier,

So Aunt Janet can't object to it.

The story girl carried out her self-imposed penance fully.

All day,

She sat in the kitchen and worked buttonholes,

Subsisting on bread and water and Mexican tea.

Felicity did a mean thing.

Did a mean thing.

She went to work and made little raisin pies right there in the kitchen before the story girl.

The smell of raisin pies is something to tempt and anchorite,

And the story girl was exceedingly fond of them.

Felicity ate two in her very presence and then brought the rest out to us in the orchard.

The story girl could see us through the window,

Through the window,

Cruising without stint on raisin pies and Uncle Edward's cherries.

But she worked on at her buttonholes.

She would not look at the exciting cereal in the new magazine Dan brought home from the post office.

Neither would she open a letter from her father.

Pat came over,

But his most seductive purse won no notice from his mistress,

Who refused herself the pleasure of even patting him.

Aunt Janet could not go down the hill in the afternoon to find out how Sarah was,

Because company came to tea.

The Millwards from Markdale.

Mr.

Millward was a doctor and Mrs.

Millward was a BA.

Aunt Janet was very desirous that everything should be as nice as possible,

And we were all sent to our rooms before tea to wash and dress up.

The story girl slipped over home and when she came back,

We gasped.

She had combed her hair out straight and braided it in a tight,

Kinky,

Pudgy braid,

And she wore an old dress of faded print with holes in the elbows and ragged flounces,

Which was much too short for her.

Sarah Stanley,

Have you taken leave of your senses?

Demanded Aunt Janet.

What do you mean by putting on such a rig?

Don't you know I have company to tea?

Yes,

And that is just why I put it on,

Aunt Janet.

I want to mortify the flesh.

I'll mortify you if I catch you showing yourself to the Millwards like that,

My girl.

Go right home and dress yourself decently,

Or eat your supper in the kitchen.

The story girl chose the latter alternative.

She was highly indignant.

I verily believe that to sit at the dining room table in that shabby,

Outgrown dress,

Conscious of looking her ugliest and eating only bread and water before the critical Millwards,

Would have been positive bliss to her.

When we went to the missionary meeting that evening,

The story girl wore her school dress and hat,

While Felicity and Cecily were in their pretty muslins.

And she had tied her hair with a snuff brown ribbon,

Which was very unbecoming to her.

The first person we saw in the church porch was Mrs.

Ray.

She told us that Sarah had nothing worse than a feverish cold.

The missionary had at least seven happy listeners that night.

We were all glad that Sarah did not have measles.

And the story girl was radiant.

Now,

You see,

All your penance was wasted,

Said Felicity as we walked home,

Keeping close together because of the rumour that Peg Bowen was abroad.

Oh,

I don't know.

I feel better since I punished myself.

But I'm going to make up for it tomorrow,

Said the story girl energetically.

In fact,

I'll begin tonight.

I'm going to the pantry as soon as I get home and I'll read father's letter before I go to bed.

Wasn't the missionary splendid?

That cannibal story was simply grand.

And I tried to remember every word so that I can tell it just as he told it.

Missionaries are such noble people.

I'd like to be a missionary and have adventures like that,

Said Felix.

It would be all right if you could be sure the cannibals would be interrupted in the nick of time,

As is were,

Said Dan,

But supposing they weren't.

Nothing would prevent cannibals from eating Felix if they once caught him,

Giggled Felicity.

He's so nice and fat.

I am sure Felix felt very unlike a missionary at that precise moment.

I'm going to put two cents more a week in my missionary box than I've been doing,

Said Cecily determinedly.

Two cents more a week out of Cecily's egg money meant something of a sacrifice.

It inspired the rest of us.

We all decided to increase our weekly contribution by a cent or so,

And Peter,

Who had had no missionary box at all up to this time,

Determined to start one.

I don't seem to be able to feel as interested in missionaries as you folks do,

He said,

But maybe if I begin to give something,

I'll get interested.

I'll want to know how my money's being spent.

I won't be able to give much when your father's run away and your mother goes out washing and you're only old enough to get 50 cents a week.

You can't give much to the even,

But I'll do the best I can.

My aunt Jane was fond of missions.

Are there any Methodist heathen?

I suppose I ought to give my box to them rather than to Presbyterian heathen.

No,

It's only after they're converted that they're anything in particular.

Said Felicity.

Before that,

They're just plain heathen.

But if you want your money to go to a Methodist missionary,

You can give it to the Methodist minister at Markdale.

I guess the Presbyterians can get along without it and look after their own heathen.

Just smell Mrs.

Sampson's flowers,

Said Cecily,

As we passed a trim white paling close to the road,

Over which blew odours sweeter than the perfume of Araby's shore.

Her roses are all out and that bed of sweet William is a sight by daylight.

Sweet William is a dreadful name for a flower,

Said the story girl.

William is a man's name and men are never sweet.

They are a great many nice things,

But they are not sweet and shouldn't be.

That is for women.

Oh,

Look at the moonshine on the road in that gap between the spruces.

I'd like a dress of moonshine with stars for buttons.

It wouldn't do,

Said Felicity decidedly.

You could see through it,

Which seemed to settle the question of moonshine dresses,

Effectually.

Chapter 12.

The Blue Chest of Rachel Ward.

It's utterly out of the question,

Said Aunt Janet seriously.

When Aunt Janet said seriously that anything was out of the question,

It meant that she was thinking about it and would probably end up by doing it.

If a thing really was out of the question,

She merely laughed and refused to discuss it at all.

The particular matter in or out of the question that opening day of August was a project which Uncle Edward had recently mooted.

Uncle Edward's youngest daughter was to be married and Uncle Edward had written over urging Uncle Alec,

Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia to go down to Halifax for the wedding and spend a week there.

Uncle Alec and Aunt Olivia were eager to go,

But Aunt Janet at first declared it was impossible.

How could we go away and leave the place to the mercy of all those young ones,

She demanded.

We'd come home and find them all sick and the house burned down.

Not a bit of fear of it,

Scoffed Uncle Roger.

Felicity is as good a housekeeper as you are,

And I shall be here to look after them all and keep them from burning the house down.

You've been promising Edward for years to visit him and you'll never have a better chance.

The haying is over and harvest isn't on and Alec needs a change.

He isn't looking well at all.

I think it was Uncle Roger's last argument which convinced Aunt Janet.

In the end,

She decided to go.

Uncle Roger's house was to be closed and he and Peter and the story girl were to take up their abode with us.

We were all delighted.

Felicity,

In a special,

Seemed to be in seventh heaven to be left in sole charge of a big house with three meals a day to plan and prepare with poultry and cows and dairy and garden to super intend.

Apparently,

Furnished forth Felicity's conception of paradise.

Of course,

We were all to help but Felicity was to run things and she gloried in it.

The story girl was pleased too.

Felicity is going to give me cooking lessons.

She confided to me as we walked in the orchard.

Isn't that fine?

It will be easier when there are no grown-ups around to make me nervous and laugh if I make mistakes.

Uncle Alec and aunts left on Monday morning.

Poor Aunt Janet was full of dismal forebodings and gave us so many charges and warnings that we did not try to remember any of them.

Uncle Alec merely told us to be good and mind what Uncle Roger said.

Aunt Olivia laughed at us out of her pansy blue eyes and told us she knew exactly what we felt like and hoped we'd have a gorgeous time.

Mind they go to bed at a decent hour.

Aunt Janet called back to Uncle Roger as she drove out of the gate and if anything dreadful happens,

Telegraph us.

Then they were really gone and we were all left to keep house.

Uncle Roger and Peter went away to their work.

Felicity at once set the preparations for dinner agoing and allotted to each of us his portion of service.

The story girl was to prepare the potatoes.

Felix and Dan were to pick and shell the peas.

Cecily was to attend the fire.

I was to peel the turnips.

Felicity made our mouths water by announcing that she was going to make a roly-poly jam pudding for dinner.

I peeled my turnips on the back porch,

Put them in their pot and set them on the stove.

Then I was at liberty to watch the others who had longer jobs.

The kitchen was a scene of happy activity.

The story girl peeled her potatoes,

Somewhat slowly and awkwardly for she was not deft at household tasks.

Dan and Felix shelled peas and tormented Pat by attaching pods to his ears and tail.

Felicity flushed and serious,

Measured and stirred skillfully.

I am sitting on a tragedy,

Said the story girl suddenly.

Felix and I stared.

We were not quite sure what a tragedy was,

But we did not think it was an old blue wooden chest such as the story girl was undoubtedly sitting on,

If eyesight counted for anything.

The old chest filled up the corner between the table and the wall.

Neither Felix nor I had ever thought about it particularly.

It was very large and heavy and Felicity generally said hard things of it when she swept the kitchen.

This old blue chest holds a tragedy,

Explained the story girl.

I know a story about it.

Cousin Rachel Ward's wedding things are all in that old chest,

Said Felicity.

Who was Cousin Rachel Ward and why were her wedding things shut up in an old blue chest in Uncle Alec's kitchen?

We demanded the tale instantly.

The story girl told it to us as she peeled her potatoes.

Perhaps the potatoes suffered.

Felicity declared the eyes were not properly done at all,

But the story did not.

It is a sad story,

Said the story girl,

And it happened 50 years ago when Grandfather and Grandmother King were quite young.

Grandmother's cousin,

Rachel Ward,

Came to spend a winter with them.

She belonged to Montreal and she was an orphan too,

Just like the family ghost.

I have never heard what she looked like,

But she must have been beautiful of course.

Mother says she was awful sentimental and romantic,

Interjected Felicity.

Well,

Anyway,

She met Will Montague that winter.

He was handsome,

Everybody says so,

And an awful flirt,

Said Felicity.

Felicity,

I wish you wouldn't interrupt.

It spoils the effect.

What would you feel like if I went and kept stirring things that didn't belong to it into that pudding?

I feel just the same way.

Well,

Will Montague fell in love with Rachel Ward and she with him,

And it was all arranged that they were to be married from here in the spring.

Poor Rachel was so happy that winter.

She made all her wedding things with her own hands.

Girls did then,

You know,

For there was no such thing as a sewing machine.

Well,

At last,

In April,

The wedding day came and all the guests were here and Rachel was dressed in her wedding robes,

Waiting for her bridegroom and the story girl laid down her knife and potato and clasped her wet hands.

Will Montague never came.

We felt as much of a shock as if we had been one of the expectant guests ourselves.

What happened to him?

Was he killed too?

Asked Felix.

The story girl sighed and resumed her work.

No,

Indeed.

I wish he had been.

That would have been suitable and romantic.

No,

It was just something horrid.

He had to run away for debt.

Fancy.

He acted mean right through,

Aunt Janet says.

He never sent even a word to Rachel and she never heard from him again.

Pig,

Said Felix forcibly.

She was broken hearted,

Of course.

When she found out what had happened,

She took all her wedding things and her supply of linen and some presents that had been given her and packed them all away in this old blue chest.

Then she went away back to Montreal and took the key with her.

She never came back to the island again.

I suppose she couldn't bear to.

And she has lived in Montreal ever since and never married.

Married?

She is an old woman now,

Nearly 75,

And this chest has never been opened since.

Mother wrote to cousin Rachel ten years ago,

Said Cecily,

And asked her if she might open the chest to see if the moths had got into it.

There's a crack in the back as big as your finger.

Cousin Rachel wrote back that if it wasn't for one thing that was in the trunk,

She would ask mother to open the chest and dispose of the things as she liked,

But she could not bear that anyone but herself should see or touch that one thing,

So she wanted it left as it was.

Ma said she washed her hands of it,

Moths or no moths.

She said if cousin Rachel had to move that chest every time the floor had to be scrubbed,

It would cure her of her sentimental nonsense.

But I think,

Concluded Cecily,

That I would feel just like cousin Rachel in her place.

What was the thing she couldn't bear anyone to see?

I asked.

Ma thinks it was her wedding dress,

But father says he believes it was Will Montague's picture,

Said Felicity.

He saw her put it in.

Father knows some of the things that are in the chest.

He was 10 years old and he saw her pack it.

There's a white muslin wedding dress and a veil and,

And,

Uh,

Uh,

Felicity dropped her eyes and blushed painfully.

A petticoat embroidered by hand from hem to belt,

Said the story girl calmly.

And a china fruit basket with an apple on the handle,

Went on Felicity,

Much relieved,

And a tea set and a blue candlestick.

I'd dearly love to see all the things that are in it,

Said the story girl.

Pa says it must never be opened without cousin Rachel's permission,

Said Cecily.

Felix and I looked at the chest reverently.

It had taken on a new significance in our eyes and seemed like a tomb wherein lay buried some dead romance of the vanished years.

What happened to Will Montague?

I asked.

Nothing,

Said the story girl viciously.

He just went on living and flourishing.

He patched up matters with his creditors after a while and came back to the island.

And in the end,

He married a real nice girl with money and was very happy.

Did you ever hear of anything so unjust?

Beverly King,

Suddenly cried Felicity,

Who had been peering into a pot.

You've gone and put the turnips onto boil whole,

Just like potatoes.

Wasn't that right?

I cried in an agony of shame.

Right?

But Felicity had already whisked the turnips out and was slicing them while all the others were laughing at me.

I had added a tradition on my own account to the family archives.

Uncle Roger roared when he heard it,

And he roared again at night over Peter's account of Felix attempting to milk a cow.

Felix had previously acquired the knack of extracting milk from the udder,

But he had never before tried to milk a whole cow.

He did not get on well.

The cow tramped on his foot and finally upset the bucket.

What are you to do when a cow won't stand straight?

Spluttered Felix angrily.

That's the question,

Said Uncle Roger,

Shaking his head gravely.

Uncle Roger's laughter was hard to bear,

But his gravity was harder.

Meanwhile,

In the pantry,

The story girl,

Apron enshrouded,

Was being initiated into the mysteries of bread making.

Under Felicity's eyes,

She set the bread,

And on the morrow,

She was to bake it.

The first thing you must do in the morning is knead it well,

Said Felicity,

And the earlier it's done,

The better,

Because it's such a warm night.

With that,

We went to bed and slept as soundly as if tragedies of blue chests and turnips and crooked cows had no place in the scheme of things at all.

Reviews

Thank you so much for sharing— so evocative. I could do without missionaries personally but 😂❤️