Anne of Green Gables
she’s only been a minister’s wife for a little while, so one should
make allowances, shouldn’t they? They are going to board with Mrs. Lynde
until the manse is ready.”
If Marilla, in going down to Mrs. Lynde’s that evening, was actuated by
any motive save her avowed one of returning the quilting frames she had
borrowed the preceding winter, it was an amiable weakness shared by most
of the Avonlea people. Many a thing Mrs. Lynde had lent, sometimes
never expecting to see it again, came home that night in charge of the
borrowers thereof. A new minister, and moreover a minister with a wife,
was a lawful object of curiosity in a quiet little country settlement
where sensations were few and far between.
Old Mr. Bentley, the minister whom Anne had found lacking in
imagination, had been pastor of Avonlea for eighteen years. He was a
widower when he came, and a widower he remained, despite the fact that
gossip regularly married him to this, that, or the other one, every year
of his sojourn. In the preceding February he had resigned his charge and
departed amid the regrets of his people, most of whom had the affection
born of long intercourse for their good old minister in spite of his
shortcomings as an orator. Since then the Avonlea church had enjoyed a
variety of religious dissipation in listening to the many and various
candidates and “supplies” who came Sunday after Sunday to preach on
trial. These stood or fell by the judgment of the fathers and mothers
in Israel; but a certain small, red-haired girl who sat meekly in the
corner of the old Cuthbert pew also had her opinions about them and
discussed the same in full with Matthew, Marilla always declining from
principle to criticize ministers in any shape or form.
“I don’t think Mr. Smith would have done, Matthew” was Anne’s final
summing up. “Mrs. Lynde says his delivery was so poor, but I think his
worst fault was just like Mr. Bentley’s--he had no imagination. And Mr.
Terry had too much; he let it run away with him just as I did mine in
the matter of the Haunted Wood. Besides, Mrs. Lynde says his theology
wasn’t sound. Mr. Gresham was a very good man and a very religious man,
but he told too many funny stories and made the people laugh in church;
he was undignified, and you must have some dignity about a minister,
mustn’t you, Matthew? I thought Mr. Marshall was decidedly attractive;
but Mrs. Lynde says he isn’t married, or even engaged, because she made
special inquiries about him, and she says it would never do to have
a young unmarried minister in Avonlea, because he might marry in the
congregation and that would make trouble. Mrs. Lynde is a very farseeing
woman, isn’t she, Matthew? I’m very glad they’ve called Mr. Allan. I
liked him because his sermon was interesting and he prayed as if he
meant it and not just as if he did it because he was in the habit of it.
Mrs. Lynde says he isn’t perfect, but she says she supposes we couldn’t
expect a perfect minister for seven hundred and fifty dollars a year,
and anyhow his theology is sound because she questioned him thoroughly
on all the points of doctrine. And she knows his wife’s people and they
are most respectable and the women are all good housekeepers. Mrs. Lynde
says that sound doctrine in the man and good housekeeping in the woman
make an ideal combination for a minister’s family.”
The new minister and his wife were a young, pleasant-faced couple, still
on their honeymoon, and full of all good and beautiful enthusiasms for
their chosen lifework. Avonlea opened its heart to them from the start.
Old and young liked the frank, cheerful young man with his high ideals,
and the bright, gentle little lady who assumed the mistress-ship of the
manse. With Mrs. Allan Anne fell promptly and wholeheartedly in love.
She had discovered another kindred spirit.
“Mrs. Allan is perfectly lovely,” she announced one Sunday afternoon.
“She’s taken our class and she’s a splendid teacher. She said right away
she didn’t think it was fair for the teacher to ask all the questions,
and you know, Marilla, that is exactly what I’ve always thought. She
said we could ask her any question we liked and I asked ever so many.
I’m good at asking questions, Marilla.”
“I believe you,” was Marilla’s emphatic comment.
“Nobody else asked any except Ruby Gillis, and she asked if there was
to be a Sunday-school picnic this summer. I didn’t think that was a
very proper question to ask because it hadn’t any connection with the
lesson--the lesson was about Daniel in the lions’ den--but Mrs. Allan
just smiled and said she thought there would be. Mrs. Allan has a
lovely smile; she has such _exquisite_ dimples in her cheeks. I wish I had
dimples in my cheeks, Marilla. I’m not half so skinny as I was when I
came here, but I have no dimples yet. If I had perhaps I could influence
people for good. Mrs. Allan said we ought always to try to influence
other people for good. She talked so nice about everything. I never knew
before that religion was such a cheerful thing. I always thought it
was kind of melancholy, but Mrs. Allan’s isn’t, and I’d like to be a
Christian if I could be one like her. I wouldn’t want to be one like Mr.
Superintendent Bell.”
“It’s very naughty of you to speak so about Mr. Bell,” said Marilla
severely. “Mr. Bell is a real good man.”
“Oh, of course he’s good,” agreed Anne, “but he doesn’t seem to get any
comfort out of it. If I could be good I’d dance and sing all day because
I was glad of it. I suppose Mrs. Allan is too old to dance and sing and
of course it wouldn’t be dignified in a minister’s wife. But I can just
feel she’s glad she’s a Christian and that she’d be one even if she
could get to heaven without it.”
“I suppose we must have Mr. and Mrs. Allan up to tea someday soon,” said
Marilla reflectively. “They’ve been most everywhere but here. Let me
see. Next Wednesday would be a good time to have them. But don’t say a
word to Matthew about it, for if he knew they were coming he’d find some
excuse to be away that day. He’d got so used to Mr. Bentley he didn’t
mind him, but he’s going to find it hard to get acquainted with a new
minister, and a new minister’s wife will frighten him to death.”
“I’ll be as secret as the dead,” assured Anne. “But oh, Marilla, will
you let me make a cake for the occasion? I’d love to do something for
Mrs. Allan, and you know I can make a pretty good cake by this time.”
“You can make a layer cake,” promised Marilla.
Monday and Tuesday great preparations went on at Green Gables.
Having the minister and his wife to tea was a serious and important
undertaking, and Marilla was determined not to be eclipsed by any of
the Avonlea housekeepers. Anne was wild with excitement and delight. She
talked it all over with Diana Tuesday night in the twilight, as they
sat on the big red stones by the Dryad’s Bubble and made rainbows in the
water with little twigs dipped in fir balsam.
“Everything is ready, Diana, except my cake which I’m to make in the
morning, and the baking-powder biscuits which Marilla will make just
before teatime. I assure you, Diana, that Marilla and I have had a busy
two days of it. It’s such a responsibility having a minister’s family to
tea. I never went through such an experience before. You should just see
our pantry. It’s a sight to behold. We’re going to have jellied chicken
and cold tongue. We’re to have two kinds of jelly, red and yellow, and
whipped cream and lemon pie, and cherry pie, and three kinds of cookies,
and fruit cake, and Marilla’s famous yellow plum preserves that she
keeps especially for ministers, and pound cake and layer cake, and
biscuits as aforesaid; and new bread and old both, in case the minister
is dyspeptic and can’t eat new. Mrs. Lynde says ministers are dyspeptic,
but I don’t think Mr. Allan has been a minister long enough for it to
have had a bad effect on him. I just grow cold when I think of my layer
cake. Oh, Diana, what if it shouldn’t be good! I dreamed last night that
I was chased all around by a fearful goblin with a big layer cake for a
head.”
“It’ll be good, all right,” assured Diana, who was a very comfortable
sort of friend. “I’m sure that piece of the one you made that we had for
lunch in Idlewild two weeks ago was perfectly elegant.”
“Yes; but cakes have such a terrible habit of turning out bad just
when you especially want them to be good,” sighed Anne, setting a
particularly well-balsamed twig afloat. “However, I suppose I shall
just have to trust to Providence and be careful to put in the flour. Oh,
look, Diana, what a lovely rainbow! Do you suppose the dryad will come
out after we go away and take it for a scarf?”
“You know there is no such thing as a dryad,” said Diana. Diana’s mother
had found out about the Haunted Wood and had been decidedly angry over
it. As a result Diana had abstained from any further imitative flights
of imagination and did not think it prudent to cultivate a spirit of
belief even in harmless dryads.
“But it’s so easy to imagine there is,” said Anne. “Every night before
I go to bed, I look out of my window and wonder if the dryad is really
sitting here, combing her locks with the spring for a mirror. Sometimes
I look for her footprints in the dew in the morning. Oh, Diana, don’t
give up your faith in the dryad!”
Wednesday morning came. Anne got up at sunrise because she was too
excited to sleep. She had caught a severe cold in the head by reason of
her dabbling in the spring on the preceding evening; but nothing short
of absolute pneumonia could have quenched her interest in culinary
matters that morning. After breakfast she proceeded to make her cake.
When she finally shut the oven door upon it she drew a long breath.
“I’m sure I haven’t forgotten anything this time, Marilla. But do you
think it will rise? Just suppose perhaps the baking powder isn’t good? I
used it out of the new can. And Mrs. Lynde says you can never be sure of
getting good baking powder nowadays when everything is so adulterated.
Mrs. Lynde says the Government ought to take the matter up, but she says
we’ll never see the day when a Tory Government will do it. Marilla, what
if that cake doesn’t rise?”
“We’ll have plenty without it” was Marilla’s unimpassioned way of
looking at the subject.
The cake did rise, however, and came out of the oven as light and
feathery as golden foam. Anne, flushed with delight, clapped it together
with layers of ruby jelly and, in imagination, saw Mrs. Allan eating it
and possibly asking for another piece!
“You’ll be using the best tea set, of course, Marilla,” she said. “Can I
fix the table with ferns and wild roses?”
“I think that’s all nonsense,” sniffed Marilla. “In my opinion it’s the
eatables that matter and not flummery decorations.”
“Mrs. Barry had _her_ table decorated,” said Anne, who was not entirely
guiltless of the wisdom of the serpent, “and the minister paid her an
elegant compliment. He said it was a feast for the eye as well as the
palate.”
“Well, do as you like,” said Marilla, who was quite determined not to
be surpassed by Mrs. Barry or anybody else. “Only mind you leave enough
room for the dishes and the food.”
Anne laid herself out to decorate in a manner and after a fashion that
should leave Mrs. Barry’s nowhere. Having abundance of roses and ferns
and a very artistic taste of her own, she made that tea table such a
thing of beauty that when the minister and his wife sat down to it they
exclaimed in chorus over it loveliness.
“It’s Anne’s doings,” said Marilla, grimly just; and Anne felt that Mrs.
Allan’s approving smile was almost too much happiness for this world.
Matthew was there, having been inveigled into the party only goodness
and Anne knew how. He had been in such a state of shyness and