“Julia Bell wants to send another committee to him, but I think the better way will just be to leave him severely alone,” said Anne sagely.
“And trust to Providence, as Mrs. Lynde 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’ll sow good seed betimes this winter. I’ve a treatise here on lawns and lawnmaking and I’m going to prepare a paper on the subject soon. Well, I suppose our vacation is almost over. School opens Monday. Has Ruby Gillis got the Carmody school?”
“Yes; Priscilla wrote that she had taken her own home school, so the Carmody trustees gave it to Ruby. I’m sorry Priscilla is not coming back, but since she can’t I’m glad Ruby has got the school. She will be home for Saturdays and it will seem like old times, to have her and Jane and Diana and myself all together again.”
Marilla, just home from Mrs. Lynde’s, was sitting on the back porch step when Anne returned to the house.
“Rachel and I have decided to have our cruise to town tomorrow,” she said. “Mr. Lynde 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 feathers from my old bedtick to the new one. I ought to have done it long ago but I’ve just kept putting it off … it’s such a detestable task. It’s a very bad habit to put off disagreeable things, and I never mean to again, or else I can’t 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 gardens 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 planned to do a lot of things but something happened to prevent me.”
XX. The Way It Often Happens
Anne rose betimes the next morning and blithely greeted the fresh day, when the banners of the sunrise were shaken triumphantly across the pearly skies. Green Gables lay in a pool of sunshine, flecked with the dancing shadows of poplar and willow. Beyond the land was Mr. Harrison’s wheatfield, a great, windrippled expanse of pale gold. The world was so beautiful that Anne spent ten blissful minutes hanging idly over the garden gate drinking the loveliness in.
After breakfast Marilla made ready for her journey. Dora was to go with her, having been long promised this treat.
“Now, Davy, you try to be a good boy and don’t bother Anne,” she straitly charged him. “If you are good I’ll bring you a striped candy cane from town.”
For alas, Marilla had stooped to the evil habit of bribing people to be good!
“I won’t be bad on purpose, but s’posen I’m bad zacksidentally?” Davy wanted to know.
“You’ll have to guard against accidents,” admonished Marilla. “Anne, if Mr. Shearer comes today get a nice roast and some steak. If he doesn’t you’ll have to kill a fowl for dinner tomorrow.”
Anne nodded.
“I’m not going to bother cooking any dinner for just Davy and myself today,” she said. “That cold ham bone will do for noon lunch and I’ll have some steak fried for you when you come home at night.”
“I’m going to help Mr. Harrison haul dulse this morning,” announced Davy. “He asked me to, and I guess he’ll ask me to dinner too. Mr. Harrison is an awful kind man. He’s a real sociable man. I hope I’ll be like him when I grow up. I mean BEHAVE like him … I don’t want to LOOK like him. But I guess there’s no danger, for Mrs. Lynde says I’m a very handsome child. Do you s’pose it’ll last, Anne? I want to know?”
“I daresay it will,” said Anne gravely. “You ARE a handsome boy, Davy,”
… Marilla looked volumes of disapproval … “but you must live up to
it and be just as nice and gentlemanly as you look to be.”
“And you told Minnie May Barry the other day, when you found her crying ‘cause some one said she was ugly, that if she was nice and kind and loving people wouldn’t mind her looks,” said Davy discontentedly. “Seems to me you can’t get out of being good in this world for some reason or ‘nother. You just HAVE to behave.”
“Don’t you want to be good?” asked Marilla, who had learned a great deal but had not yet learned the futility of asking such questions.
“Yes, I want to be good but not TOO good,” said Davy cautiously. “You don’t have to be very good to be a Sunday School superintendent. Mr. Bell’s that, and he’s a real bad man.”
“Indeed he’s not,” said Marila indignantly.
“He is … he says he is himself,” asseverated Davy. “He said it when he prayed in Sunday School last Sunday. He said he was a vile worm and a miserable sinner and guilty of the blackest ‘niquity. What did he do that was so bad, Marilla? Did he kill anybody? Or steal the collection cents? I want to know.”
Fortunately Mrs. Lynde came driving up the lane at this moment and Marilla made off, feeling that she had escaped from the snare of the fowler, and wishing devoutly that Mr. Bell were not quite so highly figurative in his public petitions, especially in the hearing of small boys who were always “wanting to know.”
Anne, left alone in her glory, worked with a will. The floor was swept, the beds made, the hens fed, the muslin dress washed and hung out on the line. Then Anne prepared for the transfer of feathers. She mounted to the garret and donned the first old dress that came to hand … a navy blue cashmere she had worn at fourteen. It was decidedly on the short side and as “skimpy” as the notable wincey Anne had worn upon the occasion of her debut at Green Gables; but at least it would not be materially injured by down and feathers. Anne completed her toilet by tying a big red and white spotted handkerchief that had belonged to Matthew over her head, and, thus accoutred, betook herself to the kitchen chamber, whither Marilla, before her departure, had helped her carry the feather bed.
A cracked mirror hung by the chamber window and in an unlucky moment Anne looked into it. There were those seven freckles on her nose, more rampant than ever, or so it seemed in the glare of light from the unshaded window.
“Oh, I forgot to rub that lotion on last night,” she thought. “I’d better run down to the pantry and do it now.”
Anne had already suffered many things trying to remove those freckles. On one occasion the entire skin had peeled off her nose but the freckles remained. A few days previously she had found a recipe for a freckle lotion in a magazine and, as the ingredients were within her reach, she straightway compounded it, much to the disgust of Marilla, who thought that if Providence had placed freckles on your nose it was your bounden duty to leave them there.
Anne scurried down to the pantry, which, always dim from the big willow growing close to the window, was now almost dark by reason of the shade drawn to exclude flies. Anne caught the bottle containing the lotion from the shelf and copiously anointed her nose therewith by means of a little sponge sacred to the purpose. This important duty done, she returned to her work. Any one who has ever shifted feathers from one tick to another will not need to be told that when Anne finished she was a sight to behold. Her dress was white with down and fluff, and her front hair, escaping from under the handkerchief, was adorned with a veritable halo of feathers. At this auspicious moment a knock sounded