VI
All Sorts and Conditions of Men. . .and women
A September day on Prince Edward Island hills; a crisp wind blowing
up over the sand dunes from the sea; a long red road, winding
through fields and woods, now looping itself about a corner of
thick set spruces, now threading a plantation of young maples with
great feathery sheets of ferns beneath them, now dipping down into
a hollow where a brook flashed out of the woods and into them again,
now basking in open sunshine between ribbons of golden-rod and
smoke-blue asters; air athrill with the pipings of myriads of crickets,
those glad little pensioners of the summer hills; a plump brown pony
ambling along the road; two girls behind him, full to the lips with
the simple, priceless joy of youth and life.
"Oh, this is a day left over from Eden, isn't it, Diana?". . .and
Anne sighed for sheer happiness. "The air has magic in it. Look
at the purple in the cup of the harvest valley, Diana. And oh, do
smell the dying fir! It's coming up from that little sunny hollow
where Mr. Eben Wright has been cutting fence poles. Bliss is it
on such a day to be alive; but to smell dying fir is very heaven.
That's two thirds Wordsworth and one third Anne Shirley. It
doesn't seem possible that there should be dying fir in heaven,
does it? And yet it doesn't seem to me that heaven would be quite
perfect if you couldn't get a whiff of dead fir as you went through
its woods. Perhaps we'll have the odor there without the death.
Yes, I think that will be the way. That delicious aroma must be the
souls of the firs. . .and of course it will be just souls in heaven."
"Trees haven't souls," said practical Diana, "but the smell of dead
fir is certainly lovely. I'm going to make a cushion and fill it
with fir needles. You'd better make one too, Anne."
"I think I shall. . .and use it for my naps. I'd be certain to
dream I was a dryad or a woodnymph then. But just this minute I'm
well content to be Anne Shirley, Avonlea schoolma'am, driving over
a road like this on such a sweet, friendly day."
"It's a lovely day but we have anything but a lovely task before us,"
sighed Diana. "Why on earth did you offer to canvass this road, Anne?
Almost all the cranks in Avonlea live along it, and we'll probably be
treated as if we were begging for ourselves. It's the very worst road
of all."
"That is why I chose it. Of course Gilbert and Fred would have
taken this road if we had asked them. But you see, Diana, I feel
myself responsible for the A.V.I.S., since I was the first to
suggest it, and it seems to me that I ought to do the most
disagreeable things. I'm sorry on your account; but you needn't
say a word at the cranky places. I'll do all the talking. . .
Mrs. Lynde would say I was well able to. Mrs. Lynde doesn't know
whether to approve of our enterprise or not. She inclines to,
when she remembers that Mr. and Mrs. Allan are in favor of it;
but the fact that village improvement societies first originated
in the States is a count against it. So she is halting between two
opinions and only success will justify us in Mrs. Lynde's eyes.
Priscilla is going to write a paper for our next Improvement meeting,
and I expect it will be good, for her aunt is such a clever writer and
no doubt it runs in the family. I shall never forget the thrill it gave
me when I found out that Mrs. Charlotte E. Morgan was Priscilla's aunt.
It seemed so wonderful that I was a friend of the girl whose aunt wrote
`Edgewood Days' and `The Rosebud Garden.'"
"Where does Mrs. Morgan live?"
"In Toronto. And Priscilla says she is coming to the Island for a
visit next summer, and if it is possible Priscilla is going to
arrange to have us meet her. That seems almost too good to be true
--but it's something pleasant to imagine after you go to bed."
The Avonlea Village Improvement Society was an organized fact.
Gilbert Blythe was president, Fred Wright vice-president, Anne
Shirley secretary, and Diana Barry treasurer. The "Improvers," as
they were promptly christened, were to meet once a fortnight at the
homes of the members. It was admitted that they could not expect
to affect many improvements so late in the season; but they meant
to plan the next summer's campaign, collect and discuss ideas,
write and read papers, and, as Anne said, educate the public
sentiment generally.
There was some disapproval, of course, and. . .which the Improvers
felt much more keenly. . .a good deal of ridicule. Mr. Elisha
Wright was reported to have said that a more appropriate name for
the organization would be Courting Club. Mrs. Hiram Sloane
declared she had heard the Improvers meant to plough up all the
roadsides and set them out with geraniums. Mr. Levi Boulter
warned his neighbors that the Improvers would insist that everybody
pull down his house and rebuild it after plans approved by the society.
Mr. James Spencer sent them word that he wished they would kindly
shovel down the church hill. Eben Wright told Anne that he wished
the Improvers could induce old Josiah Sloane to keep his whiskers trimmed.
Mr. Lawrence Bell said he would whitewash his barns if nothing else would
please them but he would NOT hang lace curtains in the cowstable windows.
Mr. Major Spencer asked Clifton Sloane, an Improver who drove the milk to
the Carmody cheese factory, if it was true that everybody would have to
have his milk-stand hand-painted next summer and keep an embroidered
centerpiece on it.
In spite of. . .or perhaps, human nature being what it is, because
of. . .this, the Society went gamely to work at the only improvement
they could hope to bring about that fall. At the second meeting,
in the Barry parlor, Oliver Sloane moved that they tart a subscription
to re-shingle and paint the hall; Julia Bell seconded it, with an
uneasy feeling that she was doing something not exactly ladylike.
Gilbert put the motion, it was carried unanimously, and Anne gravely
recorded it in her minutes. The next thing was to appoint a committee,
and Gertie Pye, determined not to let Julia Bell carry off all the laurels,
boldly moved that Miss Jane Andrews be chairman of said committee.
This motion being also duly seconded and carried, Jane returned
the compliment by appointing Gertie on the committee, along with
Gilbert, Anne, Diana, and Fred Wright. The committee chose their
routes in private conclave. Anne and Diana were told off for the
Newbridge road, Gilbert and Fred for the White Sands road, and Jane
and Gertie for the Carmody road.
"Because," explained Gilbert to Anne, as they walked home together
through the Haunted Wood, "the Pyes all live along that road and
they won't give a cent unless one of themselves canvasses them."
The next Saturday Anne and Diana started out. They drove to the end of
the road and canvassed homeward, calling first on the "Andrew girls."
"If Catherine is alone we may get something," said Diana, "but if
Eliza is there we won't."
Eliza was there. . .very much so. . .and looked even grimmer than
usual. Miss Eliza was one of those people who give you the
impression that life is indeed a vale of tears, and that a smile,
never to speak of a laugh, is a waste of nervous energy truly
reprehensible. The Andrew girls had been "girls" for fifty odd
years and seemed likely to remain girls to the end of their earthly
pilgrimage. Catherine, it was said, had not entirely given up hope,
but Eliza, who was born a pessimist, had never had any. They lived
in a little brown house built in a sunny corner scooped out of
Mark Andrew's beech woods. Eliza complained that it was terrible
hot in summer, but Catherine was wont to say it was lovely and
warm in winter.
Eliza was sewing patchwork, not because it was needed but simply as
a protest against the frivolous lace Catherine was crocheting.
Eliza listened with a frown and Catherine with a smile, as the
girls explained their errand. To be sure, whenever Catherine
caught Eliza's eye she discarded the smile in guilty confusion;
but it crept back the next moment.
"If I had money to waste," said Eliza grimly, "I'd burn it up and
have the fun of seeing a blaze maybe; but I wouldn't give it to
that hall, not a cent. It's no benefit to the settlement. . .just
a place for young folks to meet and carry on when they's better be
home in their beds."
"Oh, Eliza, young folks must have some amusement," protested
Catherine.
"I don't see the necessity. We didn't gad about to halls and
places when we were young, Catherine Andrews. This world is
getting worse every day"
"I think it's getting better," said Catherine firmly.
"YOU think!" Miss Eliza's voice expressed the utmost contempt.
"It doesn't signify what you THINK, Catherine Andrews. Facts
is facts."
"Well, I always like to look on the bright side, Eliza."
"There isn't any bright side."
"Oh, indeed there is," cried Anne, who couldn't endure such heresy
in silence." Why, there are ever so many bright sides, Miss Andrews.
It's really a beautiful world."
"You won't have such a high opinion of it when you've lived as long
in it as I have," retorted Miss Eliza sourly, "and you won't be so
enthusiastic about improving it either. How is your mother, Diana?
Dear me, but she has failed of late. She looks terrible run down.
And how long is it before Marilla expects to be stone blind, Anne?"
"The doctor thinks her eyes will not get any worse if she is very
careful," faltered Anne.
Eliza shook her head.
"Doctors always talk like that just to keep people cheered up. I wouldn't
have much hope if I was her. It's best to be prepared for the worst."
"But oughtn't we be prepared for the best too?" pleaded Anne.
"It's just as likely to happen as the worst."
"Not in my experience, and I've fifty-seven years to set against
your sixteen," retorted Eliza. "Going, are you? Well, I hope this
new society of yours will be able to keep Avonlea from running any
further down hill but I haven't much hope of it."
Anne and Diana got themselves thankfully out, and drove away as
fast as the fat pony could go. As they rounded the curve below the
beech wood a plump figure came speeding over Mr. Andrews' pasture,
waving to them excitedly. It was Catherine Andrews and she was so
out of breath that she could hardly speak, but she thrust a couple
of quarters into Anne's hand.
"That's my contribution to painting the hall," she gasped. "I'd
like to give you a dollar but I don't dare take more from my egg
money for Eliza would find it out if I did. I'm real interested
in your society and I believe you're going to do a lot of good.
I'm an optimist. I HAVE to be, living with Eliza. I must hurry
back before she misses me. . .she thinks I'm feeding the hens.
I hope you'll have good luck canvassing, and don't be cast down over
what Eliza said. The world IS getting better. . .it certainly is."
The next house was Daniel Blair's.
"Now, it all depends on whether his wife is home or not," said Diana,
as they jolted along a deep-rutted lane. "If she is we won't get a cent.
Everybody says Dan Blair doesn't dare have his hair cut without asking
her permission; and it's certain she's very close, to state it moderately.
She says she has to be just before she's generous. But Mrs. Lynde says
she's so much `before' that generosity never catches up with her at all."
Anne related their experience at the Blair place to Marilla that evening.
"We tied the horse and then rapped at the kitchen door.
Nobody came but the door was open and we could hear somebody
in the pantry, going on dreadfully. We couldn't make out the words
but Diana says she knows they were swearing by the sound of them.
I can't believe that of Mr. Blair, for he is always so quiet and meek;
but at least he had great provocation, for Marilla, when that poor man
came to the door, red as a beet, with perspiration streaming down his
face, he had on one of his wife's big gingham aprons. `I can't get
this durned thing off,' he said, `for the strings are tied in a hard
knot and I can't bust 'em, so you'll have to excuse me, ladies.'
We begged him not to mention it and went in and sat down. Mr. Blair
sat down too; he twisted the apron around to his back and rolled it up,
but he did look so ashamed and worried that I felt sorry for him,
and Diana said she feared we had called at an inconvenient time.
`Oh, not at all,' said Mr. Blair, trying to smile. . .you know he
is always very polite. . .'I'm a little busy. . .getting ready to
bake a cake as it were. My wife got a telegram today that her
sister from Montreal is coming tonight and she's gone to the
train to meet her and left orders for me to make a cake for tea.
She writ out the recipe and told me what to do but I've clean forgot
half the directions already. And it says, "flavor according to taste."
What does that mean? How can you tell? And what if my taste doesn't
happen to be other people's taste? Would a tablespoon of vanilla be
enough for a small layer cake?"
"I felt sorrier than ever for the poor man. He didn't seem to be
in his proper sphere at all. I had heard of henpecked husbands and
now I felt that I saw one. It was on my lips to say, `Mr. Blair,
if you'll give us a subscription for the hall I'll mix up your cake
for you.' But I suddenly thought it wouldn't be neighborly to drive
too sharp a bargain with a fellow creature in distress. So I
offered to mix the cake for him without any conditions at all.
He just jumped at my offer. He said he'd been used to making his
own bread before he was married but he feared cake was beyond him,
and yet he hated to disappoint his wife. He got me another apron,
and Diana beat the eggs and I mixed the cake. Mr. Blair ran about
and got us the materials. He had forgotten all about his apron and
when he ran it streamed out behind him and Diana said she thought
she would die to see it. He said he could bake the cake all right.
. .he was used to that. . .and then he asked for our list and he
put down four dollars. So you see we were rewarded. But even if
he hadn't given a cent I'd always feel that we had done a truly
Christian act in helping him."
Theodore White's was the next stopping place. Neither Anne nor
Diana had ever been there before, and they had only a very slight
acquaintance with Mrs. Theodore, who was not given to hospitality.
Should they go to the back or front door? While they held a
whispered consultation Mrs. Theodore appeared at the front door
with an armful of newspapers. Deliberately she laid them down one
by one on the porch floor and the porch steps, and then down the
path to the very feet of her mystified callers.
"Will you please wipe your feet carefully on the grass and then
walk on these papers?" she said anxiously. "I've just swept
the house all over and I can't have any more dust tracked in.
The path's been real muddy since the rain yesterday."
"Don't you dare laugh," warned Anne in a whisper, as they marched
along the newspapers. "And I implore you, Diana, not to look at me,
no matter what she says, or I shall not be able to keep a sober face."
The papers extended across the hall and into a prim, fleckless parlor.
Anne and Diana sat down gingerly on the nearest chairs and explained
their errand. Mrs. White heard them politely, interrupting only twice,
once to chase out an adventurous fly, and once to pick up a tiny wisp
of grass that had fallen on the carpet from Anne's dress. Anne felt
wretchedly guilty; but Mrs. White subscribed two dollars and paid
the money down. . ."to prevent us from having to go back for it,"
Diana said when they got away. Mrs. White had the newspapers
gathered up before they had their horse untied and as they drove
out of the yard they saw her busily wielding a broom in the hall.
"I've always heard that Mrs. Theodore White was the neatest woman
alive and I'll believe it after this," said Diana, giving way to
her suppressed laughter as soon as it was safe.
"I am glad she has no children," said Anne solemnly. "It would be
dreadful beyond words for them if she had."
At the Spencers' Mrs. Isabella Spencer made them miserable by saying
something ill-natured about everyone in Avonlea. Mr. Thomas Boulter
refused to give anything because the hall, when it had been built,
twenty years before, hadn't been built on the site he recommended.
Mrs. Esther Bell, who was the picture of health, took half an hour
to detail all her aches and pains, and sadly put down fifty cents
because she wouldn't be there that time next year to do it. . .no,
she would be in her grave.
Their worst reception, however, was at Simon Fletcher's. When they
drove into the yard they saw two faces peering at them through the
porch window. But although they rapped and waited patiently and
persistently nobody came to the door. Two decidedly ruffled and
indignant girls drove away from Simon Fletcher's. Even Anne
admitted that she was beginning to feel discouraged. But the tide
turned after that. Several Sloane homesteads came next, where they
got liberal subscriptions, and from that to the end they fared well,
with only an occasional snub. Their last place of call was at
Robert Dickson's by the pond bridge. They stayed to tea here,
although they were nearly home, rather than risk offending Mrs.
Dickson, who had the reputation of being a very "touchy" woman.
While they were there old Mrs. James White called in.
"I've just been down to Lorenzo's," she announced. "He's the
proudest man in Avonlea this minute. What do you think? There's
a brand new boy there. . .and after seven girls that's quite an
event, I can tell you." Anne pricked up her ears, and when they
drove away she said.
"I'm going straight to Lorenzo White's."
"But he lives on the White Sands road and it's quite a distance out
of our, way" protested Diana. "Gilbert and Fred will canvass him."
"They are not going around until next Saturday and it will be too
late by then," said Anne firmly. "The novelty will be worn off.
Lorenzo White is dreadfully mean but he will subscribe to ANYTHING
just now. We mustn't let such a golden opportunity slip, Diana."
The result justified Anne's foresight. Mr. White met them in the yard,
beaming like the sun upon an Easter day. When Anne asked for a
subscription he agreed enthusiastically.
"Certain, certain. Just put me down for a dollar more than the
highest subscription you've got."
"That will be five dollars. . .Mr. Daniel Blair put down four,"
said Anne, half afraid. But Lorenzo did not flinch.
"Five it is. . .and here's the money on the spot. Now, I want you
to come into the house. There's something in there worth seeing. . .
something very few people have seen as yet. Just come in and pass
YOUR opinion."
"What will we say if the baby isn't pretty?" whispered Diana in
trepidation as they followed the excited Lorenzo into the house.
"Oh, there will certainly be something else nice to say about it,"
said Anne easily. "There always is about a baby."
The baby WAS pretty, however, and Mr. White felt that he got his
five dollars' worth of the girls' honest delight over the plump
little newcomer. But that was the first, last, and only time that
Lorenzo White ever subscribed to anything.
Anne, tired as she was, made one more effort for the public weal
that night, slipping over the fields to interview Mr. Harrison, who
was as usual smoking his pipe on the veranda with Ginger beside him.
Strickly speaking he was on the Carmody road; but Jane and Gertie,
who were not acquainted with him save by doubtful report, had
nervously begged Anne to canvass him.
Mr. Harrison, however, flatly refused to subscribe a cent, and all
Anne's wiles were in vain.
"But I thought you approved of our society, Mr. Harrison," she mourned.
"So I do. . .so I do. . .but my approval doesn't go as deep as my
pocket, Anne."
"A few more experiences such as I have had today would make me as
much of a pessimist as Miss Eliza Andrews," Anne told her
reflection in the east gable mirror at bedtime.
