Anne Of Avonlea (Bedtime Story) Part 19

Now a young woman, Anne Shirley is ready to take on the world—starting with a classroom full of students, a pair of troublesome twins, and a town that always keeps her on her toes. But as Avonlea’s most imaginative redhead soon learns, growing up is an adventure all on its own!

In Anne of Avonlea, Anne Shirley steps into adulthood as a schoolteacher in her childhood village, facing new adventures, friendships, and the delightful chaos of mischievous twins.

Transcript

Chapter 90 Just a Happy Day After all, Anne had said to Marilou, I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens, But just those that bring simple little pleasures, Following one another softly like pearls slipping off a string. For Anne's adventures, Like those of other people, Did not all happen at once, But were sprinkled over the year, With long stretches of harmless, Happy days between, Filled with work and dreams and laughter and lessons. Such a day came late in August in the forenoon, Anne and Diana rode the delighted twins down the pond. The sand shored the big sweet grass, And paddled in the surf, Over which the wind was harping Anne. Old Lyric learned, When the world was young, In the afternoon Anne walked down to the old Irving place to see Paul. She found him stretched out on the grassy bank beside the thick, Fir grove that sheltered the house on the north, Absorbed in a book of fairy tales. He sprang up radiantly at sight of her. Oh, I am so glad you've come, Teacher, He said eagerly, Because Grandma's away. You'll stay and have tea with me, Won't you? It is so lonesome to have tea all by oneself. You know, Teacher, I had serious thoughts of asking young Mary Jo to sit down and eat her tea with me, But I expect Grandma wouldn't approve. She says the French have to be kept in their place. And anyhow, It is difficult to talk with young Mary Jo. She just laughs and says, Well, Used to beat all the kids I've ever known. That isn't my idea of a conversation. Of course I'll stay to tea, Said Anne gaily. I was dying to be asked. My mouth has been watering for some more of your Grandma's delicious shortbread ever since I had tea here before. Paul looked very sober. If it depended on me, Teacher, He said, Standing before Anne with his hands in his pocket, And his beautiful little face showed with a sudden care. You should have shortbread with the right goodwill, But it depends on Mary Jo. I heard Grandma tell her before she left that she wasn't to give me any shortcake because it was too rich for a little boy's stomach. But maybe Mary Jo will cut some for you, If I promise I won't eat any. Let us hope for the best. Yes, Let us, Agreed Anne, Whom this cheerful philosophy suited exactly. And if Mary Jo proves hard-hearted and won't give me any shortbread, It doesn't matter in the least. So you are not to worry over that. You are sure you won't mind if she doesn't, Said Paul anxiously. Perfectly sure, Dear heart. Then I don't worry, Said Paul with a long breath of relief, Especially as I really think Mary Jo will listen to a reason. She is not a naturally unreasonable person, But she has learned by experience that it doesn't do to disobey Grandma's orders. Grandma is an excellent woman, But people must do as she tells them. Grandma is an excellent woman, But people must do as she tells them. She was very much pleased with me this morning because I managed at last to eat all my plate full of porridge. It was a great effort, But I succeeded. Grandma says she thinks she'll make a man out of me, But teacher, I want to ask you a very important question. You will answer it truthfully, Won't you? I'll try, Promised Anne. You think I am wrong in my upper story, Asked Paul, As if his very existence depended on her reply. Goodness, No, Paul, Exclaimed Anne in amazement. Certainly you are not, But put such an idea into your head. Mary Jo, But she didn't know I heard her. Mrs. Peter Sloan's hired girl, Veronica, Came to see Mary Jo last evening, And I heard them talking in the kitchen as I was going through the hall. I heard Mary Jo say that Paul, He is the queerest little boy, He talks that queer. I think there is something wrong in his upper story. I couldn't sleep all night for ever so long thinking of it and wondering if Mary Jo was right. I couldn't bear to ask grandma about it somehow, But I made up my mind I'd ask you. I'm so glad you think I am more right in my upper story. Of course you are. Mary Jo is a silly, Ignorant girl, And you are never to worry about anything she says, Said Anne indignantly, Secretly resolving to give Miss Irving a discreet hint. As to the advisability of restraining Mary Jo's tongue, Well, That's a weight off my mind, Said Paul. I am perfectly happy now, Teacher. Thanks to you, It wouldn't be nice to have something wrong in your upper story, Wouldn't it, Teacher? I suppose the reason Mary Jo imagined I have it is because I tell her what I think about things sometimes. It is a rather dangerous practice, Admitted Anne, Out of the depths of her own experience. Well, By and by, I'll tell you the thoughts I taught Mary Jo, And you can see for yourself if there is anything queer in them, Said Paul, But I will wait till it begins to get dark. That is the time I ache to tell people things, And when nobody else is handy, I just have to tell Mary Jo. But after this, I won't. If it makes her imagine I am wrong in my upper story, I just ache and bear it, And if the ache gets too bad, You can come to Green Gables and tell me your thoughts, Jested Anne with all the gravity that endeared her to children, Who so dearly love to be taken seriously. Yes, I will, But I hope Davy won't be there when I go, Because he makes faces. I don't mind very much, Because he is such a little boy, And I am quite a big one, But still it is not pleasant to have faces made at you, And Davy makes such terrible ones. Sometimes I am frightened he will never get his face straightened out of it. He makes them at me in church, When I ought to be thinking of sacred things. Dora likes me, Though, And I like her, But not so well as I did before she taught Minnie May Berry that she meant to marry me when I grow up. I may marry somebody when I grow up, But I am far too young to be thinking of it yet. Don't you think, Teacher? Rather young, Agreed teacher. Speaking of marrying reminds me of another thing that has been troubling me of late, Continued Paul. Miss Lint was down here one day last week having tea with grandma. Grandma made me show her my little mother's picture the one father sent me for my birthday present. I didn't exactly want to show it to Miss Lint. Miss Lint is a good, Kind woman, But she isn't the sort of person you want to show your mother's picture, You know. But of course I obeyed grandma. Miss Lint said she was very pretty, But kind of actressy looking, And must have been an awful lot younger than father. Then she said, Some of these days your pa will be marrying again, Likely. How will you like to have a new ma, Master Paul? Well, The idea almost took my breath away, Teacher. But I wasn't going to let Miss Lint to see that. I just looked her straight in the face like this, And I said, Miss Lint, Father made a pretty good job of picking out my first mother, And I could trust him to pick out just as good one the second time, And I can trust him, Teacher. But still I hope if he ever does give me a new mother he'll ask my opinion about her before it is too late. There is Mary Jo coming to call us tea. I'll go and consult her about the shortbread. As a result of the consultation, Mary Jo cut the shortbread and added the dish of preserves. The bill of fare, Anne poured the tea, And she and Paul had a very merry meal in the dim old sitting room, Whose windows were open to the gulf breezes, And they talked so much nonsense that Mary Jo was quite scandalized, And told Veronica the next evening that this cool miss was as queer as Paul. After tea, Paul took Anne up to his room to show her his mother's picture, Which had been the mysterious birthday present kept by Miss Irving in the bookcase. Paul's little low-ceiling room was a soft whirl of ruddy light from the sun that was setting over the sea, And swinging shadows from the fir trees, That grew close to the square deep-set window. From out of this soft glow and glamour shone a sweet girlish face with tender mother eyes that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed. That is my little mother, Said Paul with loving pride. I got grandma to hang it there where I'd see it as soon as I opened my eyes in the morning. I never mind not having the light when I go to bed now. It just seems as if my little mother was right here with me. Father knew just what I would like for my birthday present, Although he never asked me. Isn't it wonderful how much fathers do know? Your mother was very lovely, Paul, And you look a little like her, But her eyes and hair are darker than yours. My eyes are the same colour as father's, Said Paul, Flying about the room to heap all available cushions on the window seat. But father's hair is grey. He has lots of it, But it is grey. You see father is nearly fifty. That's ripe old age, Isn't it? But it's only outside he is old. Inside he is just as young as anybody. Now teacher, Please sit here, And I'll sit at your feet. Now lay my head against your knee. That's the way my little mother and I used to sit. Oh, This is real splendid, I think. Now I want to hear those thoughts which Mary Jo pronounced so queer, Said Anne. Paul never needed any coaxing to tell his thoughts, At least to congenial souls. I thought them out in the fir grove one night, He said dreamily. Of course I didn't believe them, But I thought of them, You know, Teacher. And then I wanted to tell them to somebody, And there was nobody but Mary Jo. Mary Jo was in the pantry, Setting bread, And I sat down on the bench beside her. And I said, Mary Jo, Do you know what I think? I think the evening star is a lighthouse on the land where the fairies dwell. And Mary Jo said, Well, Yous are the queer one, There ain't no such thing as fairies. I was very much provoked, Of course. I knew there are no fairies, But that didn't prevent my thinking theories, You know, Teacher. But I tried again, Quite patiently. I said, Well then, Mary Jo, Do you know what I think? I think an angel walks over the world after the sun sets, A great tall white angel with silvery folded wings, And sings the flowers and birds to sleep. Children can hear him, They know how to listen. Then Mary Jo held up her hands all over the floor and said, Well, You are the queer little boy, You'll make me feel so scared. And she really did look scared. I went out then, Whispered the rest of my thoughts to the garden. There was a little birch tree in the garden and it died. Grandma says the salt spray killed it, But I think the triad belonging to it was a foolish triad who wandered away to see the world and got lost. And the little tree was so lonely it died of a broken heart. And when the poor foolish little triad gets tired of the world and comes back to her tree, Her heart will break, Said Anne. Yes, But if triads are foolish, They must take the consequences. Just as they were real people, Said Paul gravely. Do you know what I think about the new moon, Teacher? I think it is a little golden boat full of dreams, And when it dips on a cloud, Some of them spill out and fall into your sleep. Exactly, Teacher, You do know. And I think the violets are little snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut out holes for the stars to shine through. The buttercups are made out of old sunshine, And I think the sweet peas will be butterflies when they go to heaven now. Now teacher, Do you see anything so very queer about those thoughts? No laddie dear, They are not queer at all. They are strange and beautiful thoughts for a little boy to think, And some people who couldn't think anything of the sort themselves, If they tried for a hundred years, Think them queer, But keep on thinking them, Paul. Someday you are going to be a poet, I believe. When Anne reached home, She found a very different type of boyhood waiting to be put to bed. Davey was sulky, And when Anne had undressed him, He bounced into bed and buried his face into the pillow. Davey, You have forgotten to say your prayers, Said Anne repugnantly. No I didn't forget, Said Davey defiantly, But I ain't going to say my prayers anymore. I'm going to give up trying to be good, Cause no matter how good I am. You like Paul Irving better, So I might as well be bad and have the fun of it. I don't like Paul Irving better, Said Anne seriously. I like you just as well, Only in a different way. But I want you to like me the same way, Pouted Davey. You can't like different people the same way. You don't like Dora and me the same way, Do you? Davey sat up and reflected. No. He admitted at last. I like Dora because she is my sister, But I like you because you are you. And I like Paul because he is Paul and Davey because he is Davey, Said Anne gaily. Well, I kind of wish I'd said my prayers then, Said Davey convinced by this logic. But it is too much bother getting out now to say them. I'll say them twice over in the morning, Anne. Won't that do as well? No, Anne was positive it would not do as well. So Davey scrambled out and knelt down at her knee. When he had finished his devotions, He leaned back on his little bare brown heels and looked up at her. Anne, I am gooder than I used to be. Yes, Indeed you are, Davey, Said Anne, Who never hesitated to give credit where credit was due. I know I am gooder, Said Davey confidently, And I'll tell you how I know it. Today Marilla gave me two pieces of bread and jam, One for me and one for Dora. One was a good deal bigger than the other, And Marilla didn't say which was mine, Like give the biggest piece to Dora. That was good of me, Wasn't it? Very good and very manly, Davey. Of course, Admitted Davey. Dora wasn't very hungry and she only ate half of her slice. Then she gave the rest to me, But I didn't know she was going to do that. Then I give it to her. So I was good, Anne. In the twilight Anne sauntered down to the Triad's bubble and saw Gilbert Blight coming down through the dusky haunted wood. She had a sudden realization that Gilbert was a schoolboy no longer, And how manly he looked, Tall, Frank-faced fellow, With the clear, Straightforward eyes and the broad shoulders. Anne thought Gilbert was a very handsome lad, Even though he didn't look at all like her ideal man. She and Diane had long ago decided what kind of man they admired, And their tastes seemed exactly similar. He must be a very tall and distinguished looking, With melancholy, Instructable eyes, A melting, Sympathetic voice. There was nothing either melancholy or inscrutable in Gilbert's physiognomy, But of course that didn't matter in friendship. Gilbert stretched himself out on the fence beside the bubble and looked approvingly at Anne. If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman, The description would have answered point for point to Anne, Even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul. Gilbert was yet little more than a boy, But a boy has his dreams as have others, And in Gilbert's future there was always a girl with big, Limpid gray eyes and a face as fine and delicate as a flower. He had made up his mind also that his future must be worthy of its goddess. Even in quiet Allen Lee there were temptations to be met and faced. White sands he would wear rather fast, Said, And Gilbert was popular wherever he went, But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne's friendship, And perhaps some distant day love her. And he watched over word and thought and did as Chelsea, As if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl whose ideals are high and pure wields over her friends, An influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would uncertainly lose if she were ever forced to them. In Gilbert's eyes, Anne's greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to petty practices of so many of the Allen Lee girls. The small jealousies, Their little deceits and rivalries, Palpable bids for favor. Anne held herself apart from all this, Not consciously or of design, But simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to a transparent, Impulsive nature, Crystal clear in its motives and aspirations. But Gilbert did not attempt to put his thoughts into words, For he had already too good reason to know that Anne would mercilessly and frostily nip all attempts at sentiment in the butt or laugh at him, Which was ten times worse. You look like a real triad under that birch tree, He said teasingly. I love birch trees, Said Anne, Laying her cheek against the creamy satin of the slim bowl with one of her pretty, Caressing gestures, Came so natural to her. Then you'll be glad to hear that Mr. Major Spence has decided to set out a row of white birches all along the road front of his farm by way of encouraging A. V. I. S. , Said Gilbert. He was talking to me about it to-day. Major Spencer is the most progressive and public-spirited man in Allen Lee, And Mr. William Bell is going to set out a spruce hedge along his road front and up his lane. Our society is getting on splendidly, Anne. It is past the experimental stage, And is an accepted fact. The older folks are beginning to take an interest in it, And the Whitesands people are talking of starting one too. Even Eliza Fright has come around since, That day the Americans from the hotel had the picnic at the shore. They praised our roadside so highly, And said they were so much prettier than in any other part of the island. And when, In due time, The other farmers follow Mr. Spencer's good example, And plant ornamental trees and hedges along their road fronts, Allen Lee will be the prettiest settlement in the Providence. The Eights are talking of taking up the graveyards, Said Anne, And I hope they will, Because there will have to be a subscription for that, And it would be no use for the society to try it after the Harpool affair. But the Eights would never have stirred in the matter if the society hadn't put into their thoughts unofficially. Those trees we planted on the church grounds are flourishing, And the trustees have promised me they will fence in the school grounds next year. If they do, I'll have an Aubur day, And every schooler shall plant a tree, And we'll have a garden in the corner by the road. We have succeeded in almost all our plans so far, Except in getting the old boulter house removed, Said Gilbert, And I've given that up in despair, Though I won't have it taken down, Just to vex us. There's a contrary streak in all the boulters, And it is strongly developed in him. Julia Bell wants to set another committee to him, But I think the better way will just be to leave him severely alone, Said Anne sagely. And trust Providence, As Miss Lynch says, Smiled Gilbert. Certainly no more committees. They only aggravate him. Julia Bell thinks you can do anything if you only have a committee to attempt it. Next spring, Anne, We must start an agitation for nice lawns and grounds. We are so good seed, B times this winter. I have treaties here on lawns and lawn making, And I am going to bear a paper on the subject soon. Well, I suppose our vacation is almost over, As Ruby Gillis got into the comedy school. Yes, Priscilla wrote that she had taken her own home school, So the comedy trustees gave it to Ruby. I'm sorry Priscilla is not coming back, But since she can, I'm glad Ruby has got the school. She will be home for Saturdays, And it will seem like old time to have her and Jane and Diana and myself all together again. Marilla, Just home from Mrs. Lynch's, Was sitting on the back porch. When Anne returned to the house, Rachel and I have decided to have our cruise to town tomorrow, She said. Mr. Lynch is feeling better this week, And Rachel wants to go before he has another sick spell. I intend to get up extra early tomorrow morning, For I've ever so much to do, Said Anne virtuously. For one thing, I'm going to shift the fetters from my old bed tick to the new one. I ought to have it done long ago, But I've just kept putting it off. It is such a detestable task. It's a very bad habit to put off disagreeable things, And I never mean to again, Or else I cannot comfortably tell my pupils not to do it. That would be inconsistent. Then I want to make a cake for Mr. Harrison, And finish my paper on garden for the A. V. I. S. , And write Stella, And wash and starch my muslin dress, And make Dora's new apron. You won't get half done, Said Marilla pessimistically. I never yet plan to do a lot of things, But something happened to prevent me.