Anne of Avonlea
marry him after all. She said she couldn’t make out what he was driving
at half the time. But I thought the letters were sweet and that I’d
just copy things out of them here and there to write you. I put
“teacher” where he put “lady” and I put in something of my own when I
could think of it and I changed some words. I put “dress” in place of
“mood.” I didn’t know just what a “mood” was but I s’posed it was
something to wear. I didn’t s’pose you’d know the difference. I don’t
see how you found out it wasn’t all mine. You must be awful clever,
teacher.’
“I told Annetta it was very wrong to copy another person’s letter and
pass it off as her own. But I’m afraid that all Annetta repented of was
being found out.
“‘And I do love you, teacher,’ she sobbed. ‘It was all true, even if
the minister wrote it first. I do love you with all my heart.’
“It’s very difficult to scold anybody properly under such
circumstances.
“Here is Barbara Shaw’s letter. I can’t reproduce the blots of the
original.
“‘Dear teacher,
“‘You said we might write about a visit. I never visited but once. It
was at my Aunt Mary’s last winter. My Aunt Mary is a very particular
woman and a great housekeeper. The first night I was there we were at
tea. I knocked over a jug and broke it. Aunt Mary said she had had that
jug ever since she was married and nobody had ever broken it before.
When we got up I stepped on her dress and all the gathers tore out of
the skirt. The next morning when I got up I hit the pitcher against the
basin and cracked them both and I upset a cup of tea on the tablecloth
at breakfast. When I was helping Aunt Mary with the dinner dishes I
dropped a china plate and it smashed. That evening I fell downstairs
and sprained my ankle and had to stay in bed for a week. I heard Aunt
Mary tell Uncle Joseph it was a mercy or I’d have broken everything in
the house. When I got better it was time to go home. I don’t like
visiting very much. I like going to school better, especially since I
came to Avonlea.
“‘Yours respectfully,
“‘Barbara Shaw.’”
“Willie White’s began,
“‘Respected Miss,
“‘I want to tell you about my Very Brave Aunt. She lives in Ontario and
one day she went out to the barn and saw a dog in the yard. The dog had
no business there so she got a stick and whacked him hard and drove him
into the barn and shut him up. Pretty soon a man came looking for an
inaginary lion’ (Query;—Did Willie mean a menagerie lion?) ‘that had
run away from a circus. And it turned out that the dog was a lion and
my Very Brave Aunt had druv him into the barn with a stick. It was a
wonder she was not et up but she was very brave. Emerson Gillis says if
she thought it was a dog she wasn’t any braver than if it really was a
dog. But Emerson is jealous because he hasn’t got a Brave Aunt himself,
nothing but uncles.’
“‘I have kept the best for the last. You laugh at me because I think
Paul is a genius but I am sure his letter will convince you that he is
a very uncommon child. Paul lives away down near the shore with his
grandmother and he has no playmates . . . no real playmates. You
remember our School Management professor told us that we must not have
‘favorites’ among our pupils, but I can’t help loving Paul Irving the
best of all mine. I don’t think it does any harm, though, for everybody
loves Paul, even Mrs. Lynde, who says she could never have believed
she’d get so fond of a Yankee. The other boys in school like him too.
There is nothing weak or girlish about him in spite of his dreams and
fancies. He is very manly and can hold his own in all games. He fought
St. Clair Donnell recently because St. Clair said the Union Jack was
away ahead of the Stars and Stripes as a flag. The result was a drawn
battle and a mutual agreement to respect each other’s patriotism
henceforth. St. Clair says he can hit the _hardest_ but Paul can hit
the _oftenest_.’”
“Paul’s Letter.
“‘My dear teacher,
“‘You told us we might write you about some interesting people we knew.
I think the most interesting people I know are my rock people and I
mean to tell you about them. I have never told anybody about them
except grandma and father but I would like to have you know about them
because you understand things. There are a great many people who do not
understand things so there is no use in telling them.’
“‘My rock people live at the shore. I used to visit them almost every
evening before the winter came. Now I can’t go till spring, but they
will be there, for people like that never change . . . that is the
splendid thing about them. Nora was the first one of them I got
acquainted with and so I think I love her the best. She lives in
Andrews’ Cove and she has black hair and black eyes, and she knows all
about the mermaids and the water kelpies. You ought to hear the stories
she can tell. Then there are the Twin Sailors. They don’t live
anywhere, they sail all the time, but they often come ashore to talk to
me. They are a pair of jolly tars and they have seen everything in the
world. . . and more than what is in the world. Do you know what
happened to the youngest Twin Sailor once? He was sailing and he sailed
right into a moonglade. A moonglade is the track the full moon makes on
the water when it is rising from the sea, you know, teacher. Well, the
youngest Twin Sailor sailed along the moonglade till he came right up
to the moon, and there was a little golden door in the moon and he
opened it and sailed right through. He had some wonderful adventures in
the moon but it would make this letter too long to tell them.’
“‘Then there is the Golden Lady of the cave. One day I found a big cave
down on the shore and I went away in and after a while I found the
Golden Lady. She has golden hair right down to her feet and her dress
is all glittering and glistening like gold that is alive. And she has a
golden harp and plays on it all day long . . . you can hear the music
any time along shore if you listen carefully but most people would
think it was only the wind among the rocks. I’ve never told Nora about
the Golden Lady. I was afraid it might hurt her feelings. It even hurt
her feelings if I talked too long with the Twin Sailors.’
“‘I always met the Twin Sailors at the Striped Rocks. The youngest Twin
Sailor is very good-tempered but the oldest Twin Sailor can look
dreadfully fierce at times. I have my suspicions about that oldest
Twin. I believe he’d be a pirate if he dared. There’s really something
very mysterious about him. He swore once and I told him if he ever did
it again he needn’t come ashore to talk to me because I’d promised
grandmother I’d never associate with anybody that swore. He was pretty
well scared, I can tell you, and he said if I would forgive him he
would take me to the sunset. So the next evening when I was sitting on
the Striped Rocks the oldest Twin came sailing over the sea in an
enchanted boat and I got in her. The boat was all pearly and rainbowy,
like the inside of the mussel shells, and her sail was like moonshine.
Well, we sailed right across to the sunset. Think of that, teacher,
I’ve been in the sunset. And what do you suppose it is? The sunset is a
land all flowers. We sailed into a great garden, and the clouds are
beds of flowers. We sailed into a great harbor, all the color of gold,
and I stepped right out of the boat on a big meadow all covered with
buttercups as big as roses. I stayed there for ever so long. It seemed
nearly a year but the Oldest Twin says it was only a few minutes. You
see, in the sunset land the time is ever so much longer than it is
here.’
“‘Your loving pupil,
“‘Paul Irving.’
“‘P. S. of course, this letter isn’t really true, teacher.
P.I.’”
XII
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 seat-mate 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 icily, “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 St. Clair Donnell arrived breathlessly.
“You are half an hour late, St. Clair,” Anne reminded him frigidly.
“Why is this?”
“Please, miss, I had to help ma make a pudding for dinner ’cause we’re
expecting company and Clarice Almira’s sick,” was St. Clair’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. St. Clair 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 Joe Sloane across
the aisle. Anne caught him in the act and jumped to a fatal conclusion
about that parcel.
Old Mrs. Hiram 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. Hiram’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 St. Clair Donnell
coolly passing a parcel of them, wrapped up in the blue and white
striped paper Mrs. Hiram used, under her very eyes.
“Joseph,” said Anne quietly, “bring that parcel here.”
Joe, 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 Joe at that moment.
“Throw it into the fire,” said Anne.
Joe looked very blank.
“P . . . p . . . p . . . lease, m . . . m . . . miss,” he began.
“Do as I tell you, Joseph, without any words about it.”
“B . . . b . . . but m . . . m . . . miss . . . th . . . th . . .
they’re . . .” gasped Joe in desperation.
“Joseph, are you going to obey me or are you _not?_” said Anne.
A bolder and more self-possessed lad than Joe 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. Joe, with an
agonized glance at St. Clair, went to the stove, opened the big, square