CHAPTER 16
NEW YEAR'S EVE AT THE LIGHT
The Green Gables folk went home after Christmas,
Marilla under solemn covenant to return for a month in
the spring. More snow came before New Year's, and the
harbor froze over, but the gulf still was free, beyond
the white, imprisoned fields. The last day of the old
year was one of those bright, cold, dazzling winter
days, which bombard us with their brilliancy, and
command our admiration but never our love. The sky was
sharp and blue; the snow diamonds sparkled insistently;
the stark trees were bare and shameless, with a kind of
brazen beauty; the hills shot assaulting lances of
crystal. Even the shadows were sharp and stiff and
clear-cut, as no proper shadows should be. Everything
that was handsome seemed ten times handsomer and less
attractive in the glaring splendor; and everything that
was ugly seemed ten times uglier, and everything was
either handsome or ugly. There was no soft blending,
or kind obscurity, or elusive mistiness in that
searching glitter. The only things that held their own
individuality were the firs--for the fir is the tree of
mystery and shadow, and yields never to the
encroachments of crude radiance.
But finally the day began to realise that she was
growing old. Then a certain pensiveness fell over her
beauty which dimmed yet intensified it; sharp angles,
glittering points, melted away into curves and
enticing gleams. The white harbor put on soft grays
and pinks; the far-away hills turned amethyst.
"The old year is going away beautifully," said Anne.
She and Leslie and Gilbert were on their way to the
Four Winds Point, having plotted with Captain Jim to
watch the New Year in at the light. The sun had set
and in the southwestern sky hung Venus, glorious and
golden, having drawn as near to her earth-sister as is
possible for her. For the first time Anne and Gilbert
saw the shadow cast by that brilliant star of evening,
that faint, mysterious shadow, never seen save when
there is white snow to reveal it, and then only with
averted vision, vanishing when you gaze at it directly.
"It's like the spirit of a shadow, isn't it?"
whispered Anne. "You can see it so plainly haunting
your side when you look ahead; but when you turn and
look at it--it's gone."
"I have heard that you can see the shadow of Venus only
once in a lifetime, and that within a year of seeing it
your life's most wonderful gift will come to you,"
said Leslie. But she spoke rather hardly; perhaps she
thought that even the shadow of Venus could bring her
no gift of life. Anne smiled in the soft twilight; she
felt quite sure what the mystic shadow promised her.
They found Marshall Elliott at the lighthouse. At
first Anne felt inclined to resent the intrusion of
this long-haired, long-bearded eccentric into the
familiar little circle. But Marshall Elliott soon
proved his legitimate claim to membership in the
household of Joseph. He was a witty, intelligent,
well-read man, rivalling Captain Jim himself in the
knack of telling a good story. They were all glad when
he agreed to watch the old year out with them.
Captain Jim's small nephew Joe had come down to spend
New Year's with his great-uncle, and had fallen asleep
on the sofa with the First Mate curled up in a huge
golden ball at his feet.
"Ain't he a dear little man?" said Captain Jim
gloatingly. "I do love to watch a little child asleep,
Mistress Blythe. It's the most beautiful sight in the
world, I reckon. Joe does love to get down here for a
night, because I have him sleep with me. At home he
has to sleep with the other two boys, and he doesn't
like it. "Why can't I sleep with father, Uncle Jim?"
says he. `Everybody in the Bible slept with their
fathers.' As for the questions he asks, the minister
himself couldn't answer them. They fair swamp me.
`Uncle Jim, if I wasn't ME who'd I be?' and, `Uncle
Jim, what would happen if God died?' He fired them two
off at me tonight, afore he went to sleep. As for his
imagination, it sails away from everything. He makes
up the most remarkable yarns--and then his mother shuts
him up in the closet for telling stories . And he sits
down and makes up another one, and has it ready to
relate to her when she lets him out. He had one for me
when he come down tonight. `Uncle Jim,' says he,
solemn as a tombstone, `I had a 'venture in the Glen
today.' `Yes, what was it?' says I, expecting
something quite startling, but nowise prepared for
what I really got. `I met a wolf in the street,' says
he, `a 'normous wolf with a big, red mouf and AWFUL
long teeth, Uncle Jim.' `I didn't know there was any
wolves up at the Glen,' says I. `Oh, he comed there
from far, far away,' says Joe, `and I fought he was
going to eat me up, Uncle Jim.' `Were you scared?'
says I. `No, 'cause I had a big gun,' says Joe, `and I
shot the wolf dead, Uncle Jim,--solid dead--and then
he went up to heaven and bit God,' says he. Well, I
was fair staggered, Mistress Blythe."
The hours bloomed into mirth around the driftwood fire.
Captain Jim told tales, and Marshall Elliott sang old
Scotch ballads in a fine tenor voice; finally Captain
Jim took down his old brown fiddle from the wall and
began to play. He had a tolerable knack of fiddling,
which all appreciated save the First Mate, who sprang
from the sofa as if he had been shot, emitted a shriek
of protest, and fled wildly up the stairs.
"Can't cultivate an ear for music in that cat nohow,"
said Captain Jim. "He won't stay long enough to learn
to like it. When we got the organ up at the Glen
church old Elder Richards bounced up from his seat the
minute the organist began to play and scuttled down the
aisle and out of the church at the rate of
no-man's-business. It reminded me so strong of the
First Mate tearing loose as soon as I begin to fiddle
that I come nearer to laughing out loud in church than
I ever did before or since."
There was something so infectious in the rollicking
tunes which Captain Jim played that very soon Marshall
Elliott's feet began to twitch. He had been a noted
dancer in his youth. Presently he started up and held
out his hands to Leslie. Instantly she responded.
Round and round the firelit room they circled with a
rhythmic grace that was wonderful. Leslie danced like
one inspired; the wild, sweet abandon of the music
seemed to have entered into and possessed her. Anne
watched her in fascinated admiration. She had never
seen her like this. All the innate richness and color
and charm of her nature seemed to have broken loose and
overflowed in crimson cheek and glowing eye and grace
of motion. Even the aspect of Marshall Elliott, with
his long beard and hair, could not spoil the picture.
On the contrary, it seemed to enhance it. Marshall
Elliott looked like a Viking of elder days, dancing
with one of the blue-eyed, golden-haired daughters of
the Northland.
"The purtiest dancing I ever saw, and I've seen some in
my time," declared Captain Jim, when at last the bow
fell from his tired hand. Leslie dropped into her
chair, laughing, breathless.
"I love dancing," she said apart to Anne. "I haven't
danced since I was sixteen--but I love it. The music
seems to run through my veins like quicksilver and I
forget everything--everything--except the delight of
keeping time to it. There isn't any floor beneath me,
or walls about me, or roof over me--I'm floating amid
the stars."
Captain Jim hung his fiddle up in its place, beside a
large frame enclosing several banknotes.
"Is there anybody else of your acquaintance who can
afford to hang his walls with banknotes for pictures?"
he asked. "There's twenty ten-dollar notes there, not
worth the glass over them. They're old Bank of P. E.
Island notes. Had them by me when the bank failed, and
I had 'em framed and hung up, partly as a reminder not
to put your trust in banks, and partly to give me a
real luxurious, millionairy feeling. Hullo, Matey,
don't be scared. You can come back now. The music and
revelry is over for tonight. The old year has just
another hour to stay with us. I've seen seventy-six
New Years come in over that gulf yonder, Mistress
Blythe."
"You'll see a hundred," said Marshall Elliott.
Captain Jim shook his head.
"No; and I don't want to--at least, I think I don't.
Death grows friendlier as we grow older. Not that one
of us really wants to die though, Marshall. Tennyson
spoke truth when he said that. There's old Mrs.
Wallace up at the Glen. She's had heaps of trouble all
her life, poor soul, and she's lost almost everyone she
cared about. She's always saying that she'll be glad
when her time comes, and she doesn't want to sojourn
any longer in this vale of tears. But when she takes a
sick spell there's a fuss! Doctors from town, and a
trained nurse, and enough medicine to kill a dog. Life
may be a vale of tears, all right, but there are some
folks who enjoy weeping, I reckon."
They spent the old year's last hour quietly around the
fire. A few minutes before twelve Captain Jim rose and
opened the door.
"We must let the New Year in," he said.
Outside was a fine blue night. A sparkling ribbon of
moonlight garlanded the gulf. Inside the bar the
harbor shone like a pavement of pearl. They stood
before the door and waited--Captain Jim with his ripe,
full experience, Marshall Elliott in his vigorous but
empty middle life, Gilbert and Anne with their precious
memories and exquisite hopes, Leslie with her record of
starved years and her hopeless future. The clock on
the little shelf above the fireplace struck twelve.
"Welcome, New Year," said Captain Jim, bowing low as
the last stroke died away. "I wish you all the best
year of your lives, mates. I reckon that whatever the
New Year brings us will be the best the Great Captain
has for us--and somehow or other we'll all make port in
a good harbor."
