Anne of Green Gables
and that Diana’s merry words and ways moved her to laughter and
smiles--that, in brief, the beautiful world of blossom and love and
friendship had lost none of its power to please her fancy and thrill her
heart, that life still called to her with many insistent voices.
“It seems like disloyalty to Matthew, somehow, to find pleasure in
these things now that he has gone,” she said wistfully to Mrs. Allan
one evening when they were together in the manse garden. “I miss him so
much--all the time--and yet, Mrs. Allan, the world and life seem very
beautiful and interesting to me for all. Today Diana said something
funny and I found myself laughing. I thought when it happened I could
never laugh again. And it somehow seems as if I oughtn’t to.”
“When Matthew was here he liked to hear you laugh and he liked to know
that you found pleasure in the pleasant things around you,” said Mrs.
Allan gently. “He is just away now; and he likes to know it just the
same. I am sure we should not shut our hearts against the healing
influences that nature offers us. But I can understand your feeling.
I think we all experience the same thing. We resent the thought that
anything can please us when someone we love is no longer here to share
the pleasure with us, and we almost feel as if we were unfaithful to our
sorrow when we find our interest in life returning to us.”
“I was down to the graveyard to plant a rosebush on Matthew’s grave
this afternoon,” said Anne dreamily. “I took a slip of the little white
Scotch rosebush his mother brought out from Scotland long ago; Matthew
always liked those roses the best--they were so small and sweet on
their thorny stems. It made me feel glad that I could plant it by his
grave--as if I were doing something that must please him in taking it
there to be near him. I hope he has roses like them in heaven. Perhaps
the souls of all those little white roses that he has loved so many
summers were all there to meet him. I must go home now. Marilla is all
alone and she gets lonely at twilight.”
“She will be lonelier still, I fear, when you go away again to college,”
said Mrs. Allan.
Anne did not reply; she said good night and went slowly back to Green
Gables. Marilla was sitting on the front door-steps and Anne sat down
beside her. The door was open behind them, held back by a big pink conch
shell with hints of sea sunsets in its smooth inner convolutions.
Anne gathered some sprays of pale-yellow honeysuckle and put them in
her hair. She liked the delicious hint of fragrance, as some aerial
benediction, above her every time she moved.
“Doctor Spencer was here while you were away,” Marilla said. “He says
that the specialist will be in town tomorrow and he insists that I must
go in and have my eyes examined. I suppose I’d better go and have it
over. I’ll be more than thankful if the man can give me the right kind
of glasses to suit my eyes. You won’t mind staying here alone while I’m
away, will you? Martin will have to drive me in and there’s ironing and
baking to do.”
“I shall be all right. Diana will come over for company for me. I shall
attend to the ironing and baking beautifully--you needn’t fear that I’ll
starch the handkerchiefs or flavor the cake with liniment.”
Marilla laughed.
“What a girl you were for making mistakes in them days, Anne. You were
always getting into scrapes. I did use to think you were possessed. Do
you mind the time you dyed your hair?”
“Yes, indeed. I shall never forget it,” smiled Anne, touching the heavy
braid of hair that was wound about her shapely head. “I laugh a little
now sometimes when I think what a worry my hair used to be to me--but I
don’t laugh _much_, because it was a very real trouble then. I did suffer
terribly over my hair and my freckles. My freckles are really gone; and
people are nice enough to tell me my hair is auburn now--all but Josie
Pye. She informed me yesterday that she really thought it was redder
than ever, or at least my black dress made it look redder, and she asked
me if people who had red hair ever got used to having it. Marilla, I’ve
almost decided to give up trying to like Josie Pye. I’ve made what I
would once have called a heroic effort to like her, but Josie Pye won’t
_be_ liked.”
“Josie is a Pye,” said Marilla sharply, “so she can’t help being
disagreeable. I suppose people of that kind serve some useful purpose in
society, but I must say I don’t know what it is any more than I know the
use of thistles. Is Josie going to teach?”
“No, she is going back to Queen’s next year. So are Moody Spurgeon and
Charlie Sloane. Jane and Ruby are going to teach and they have both got
schools--Jane at Newbridge and Ruby at some place up west.”
“Gilbert Blythe is going to teach too, isn’t he?”
“Yes”--briefly.
“What a nice-looking fellow he is,” said Marilla absently. “I saw him in
church last Sunday and he seemed so tall and manly. He looks a lot like
his father did at the same age. John Blythe was a nice boy. We used to
be real good friends, he and I. People called him my beau.”
Anne looked up with swift interest.
“Oh, Marilla--and what happened?--why didn’t you--”
“We had a quarrel. I wouldn’t forgive him when he asked me to. I meant
to, after awhile--but I was sulky and angry and I wanted to punish him
first. He never came back--the Blythes were all mighty independent. But
I always felt--rather sorry. I’ve always kind of wished I’d forgiven him
when I had the chance.”
“So you’ve had a bit of romance in your life, too,” said Anne softly.
“Yes, I suppose you might call it that. You wouldn’t think so to look at
me, would you? But you never can tell about people from their outsides.
Everybody has forgot about me and John. I’d forgotten myself. But it all
came back to me when I saw Gilbert last Sunday.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Bend in the Road
MARILLA went to town the next day and returned in the evening. Anne had
gone over to Orchard Slope with Diana and came back to find Marilla in
the kitchen, sitting by the table with her head leaning on her hand.
Something in her dejected attitude struck a chill to Anne’s heart. She
had never seen Marilla sit limply inert like that.
“Are you very tired, Marilla?”
“Yes--no--I don’t know,” said Marilla wearily, looking up. “I suppose I
am tired but I haven’t thought about it. It’s not that.”
“Did you see the oculist? What did he say?” asked Anne anxiously.
“Yes, I saw him. He examined my eyes. He says that if I give up all
reading and sewing entirely and any kind of work that strains the eyes,
and if I’m careful not to cry, and if I wear the glasses he’s given me
he thinks my eyes may not get any worse and my headaches will be cured.
But if I don’t he says I’ll certainly be stone-blind in six months.
Blind! Anne, just think of it!”
For a minute Anne, after her first quick exclamation of dismay, was
silent. It seemed to her that she could _not_ speak. Then she said
bravely, but with a catch in her voice:
“Marilla, _don’t_ think of it. You know he has given you hope. If you are
careful you won’t lose your sight altogether; and if his glasses cure
your headaches it will be a great thing.”
“I don’t call it much hope,” said Marilla bitterly. “What am I to live
for if I can’t read or sew or do anything like that? I might as well
be blind--or dead. And as for crying, I can’t help that when I get
lonesome. But there, it’s no good talking about it. If you’ll get me
a cup of tea I’ll be thankful. I’m about done out. Don’t say anything
about this to any one for a spell yet, anyway. I can’t bear that folks
should come here to question and sympathize and talk about it.”
When Marilla had eaten her lunch Anne persuaded her to go to bed. Then
Anne went herself to the east gable and sat down by her window in the
darkness alone with her tears and her heaviness of heart. How sadly
things had changed since she had sat there the night after coming home!
Then she had been full of hope and joy and the future had looked rosy
with promise. Anne felt as if she had lived years since then, but before
she went to bed there was a smile on her lips and peace in her heart.
She had looked her duty courageously in the face and found it a
friend--as duty ever is when we meet it frankly.
One afternoon a few days later Marilla came slowly in from the front
yard where she had been talking to a caller--a man whom Anne knew by
sight as Sadler from Carmody. Anne wondered what he could have been
saying to bring that look to Marilla’s face.
“What did Mr. Sadler want, Marilla?”
Marilla sat down by the window and looked at Anne. There were tears in
her eyes in defiance of the oculist’s prohibition and her voice broke as
she said:
“He heard that I was going to sell Green Gables and he wants to buy it.”
“Buy it! Buy Green Gables?” Anne wondered if she had heard aright. “Oh,
Marilla, you don’t mean to sell Green Gables!”
“Anne, I don’t know what else is to be done. I’ve thought it all over.
If my eyes were strong I could stay here and make out to look after
things and manage, with a good hired man. But as it is I can’t. I may
lose my sight altogether; and anyway I’ll not be fit to run things. Oh,
I never thought I’d live to see the day when I’d have to sell my home.
But things would only go behind worse and worse all the time, till
nobody would want to buy it. Every cent of our money went in that bank;
and there’s some notes Matthew gave last fall to pay. Mrs. Lynde advises
me to sell the farm and board somewhere--with her I suppose. It won’t
bring much--it’s small and the buildings are old. But it’ll be enough
for me to live on I reckon. I’m thankful you’re provided for with that
scholarship, Anne. I’m sorry you won’t have a home to come to in your
vacations, that’s all, but I suppose you’ll manage somehow.”
Marilla broke down and wept bitterly.
“You mustn’t sell Green Gables,” said Anne resolutely.
“Oh, Anne, I wish I didn’t have to. But you can see for yourself. I
can’t stay here alone. I’d go crazy with trouble and loneliness. And my
sight would go--I know it would.”
“You won’t have to stay here alone, Marilla. I’ll be with you. I’m not
going to Redmond.”
“Not going to Redmond!” Marilla lifted her worn face from her hands and
looked at Anne. “Why, what do you mean?”
“Just what I say. I’m not going to take the scholarship. I decided so
the night after you came home from town. You surely don’t think I could
leave you alone in your trouble, Marilla, after all you’ve done for me.
I’ve been thinking and planning. Let me tell you my plans. Mr. Barry
wants to rent the farm for next year. So you won’t have any bother over
that. And I’m going to teach. I’ve applied for the school here--but I
don’t expect to get it for I understand the trustees have promised it to
Gilbert Blythe. But I can have the Carmody school--Mr. Blair told me
so last night at the store. Of course that won’t be quite as nice or
convenient as if I had the Avonlea school. But I can board home and
drive myself over to Carmody and back, in the warm weather at least. And
even in winter I can come home Fridays. We’ll keep a horse for that. Oh,
I have it all planned out, Marilla. And I’ll read to you and keep you
cheered up. You sha’n’t be dull or lonesome. And we’ll be real cozy and
happy here together, you and I.”
Marilla had listened like a woman in a dream.
“Oh, Anne, I could get on real well if you were here, I know. But I
can’t let you sacrifice yourself so for me. It would be terrible.”
“Nonsense!” Anne laughed merrily. “There is no sacrifice. Nothing could
be worse than giving up Green Gables--nothing could hurt me more. We
must keep the dear old place. My mind is quite made up, Marilla. I’m _not_
going to Redmond; and I _am_ going to stay here and teach. Don’t you worry