XVII
A Chapter of Accidents
Anne woke three times in the night and made pilgrimages to her
window to make sure that Uncle Abe's prediction was not coming true.
Finally the morning dawned pearly and lustrous in a sky full of
silver sheen and radiance, and the wonderful day had arrived.
Diana appeared soon after breakfast, with a basket of flowers over
one arm and HER muslin dress over the other. . .for it would not
do to don it until all the dinner preparations were completed.
Meanwhile she wore her afternoon pink print and a lawn apron
fearfully and wonderfully ruffled and frilled; and very neat and
pretty and rosy she was.
"You look simply sweet," said Anne admiringly.
Diana sighed.
"But I've had to let out every one of my dresses AGAIN. I weigh
four pounds more than I did in July. Anne, WHERE will this end?
Mrs. Morgan's heroines are all tall and slender."
"Well, let's forget our troubles and think of our mercies," said
Anne gaily. "Mrs. Allan says that whenever we think of anything
that is a trial to us we should also think of something nice that
we can set over against it. If you are slightly too plump you've
got the dearest dimples; and if I have a freckled nose the SHAPE of
it is all right. Do you think the lemon juice did any good?"
"Yes, I really think it did," said Diana critically; and, much
elated, Anne led the way to the garden, which was full of airy
shadows and wavering golden lights.
"We'll decorate the parlor first. We have plenty of time, for
Priscilla said they'd be here about twelve or half past at the
latest, so we'll have dinner at one."
There may have been two happier and more excited girls somewhere
in Canada or the United States at that moment, but I doubt it.
Every snip of the scissors, as rose and peony and bluebell fell,
seemed to chirp, "Mrs. Morgan is coming today." Anne wondered
how Mr. Harrison COULD go on placidly mowing hay in the field
across the lane, just as if nothing were going to happen.
The parlor at Green Gables was a rather severe and gloomy apartment,
with rigid horsehair furniture, stiff lace curtains, and white
antimacassars that were always laid at a perfectly correct angle,
except at such times as they clung to unfortunate people's buttons.
Even Anne had never been able to infuse much grace into it, for
Marilla would not permit any alterations. But it is wonderful
what flowers can accomplish if you give them a fair chance;
when Anne and Diana finished with the room you would not have
recognized it.
A great blue bowlful of snowballs overflowed on the polished table.
The shining black mantelpiece was heaped with roses and ferns.
Every shelf of the what-not held a sheaf of bluebells; the dark
corners on either side of the grate were lighted up with jars full
of glowing crimson peonies, and the grate itself was aflame with
yellow poppies. All this splendor and color, mingled with the
sunshine falling through the honeysuckle vines at the windows in a
leafy riot of dancing shadows over walls and floor, made of the
usually dismal little room the veritable "bower" of Anne's
imagination, and even extorted a tribute of admiration from
Marilla, who came in to criticize and remained to praise.
"Now, we must set the table," said Anne, in the tone of a priestess
about to perform some sacred rite in honor of a divinity. "We'll
have a big vaseful of wild roses in the center and one single rose
in front of everybody's plate -- and a special bouquet of rosebuds
only by Mrs. Morgan's -- an allusion to `The Rosebud Garden' you know."
The table was set in the sitting room, with Marilla's finest linen
and the best china, glass, and silver. You may be perfectly
certain that every article placed on it was polished or scoured to
the highest possible perfection of gloss and glitter.
Then the girls tripped out to the kitchen, which was filled with
appetizing odors emanating from the oven, where the chickens were
already sizzling splendidly. Anne prepared the potatoes and Diana
got the peas and beans ready. Then, while Diana shut herself into
the pantry to compound the lettuce salad, Anne, whose cheeks were
already beginning to glow crimson, as much with excitement as from
the heat of the fire, prepared the bread sauce for the chickens,
minced her onions for the soup, and finally whipped the cream for
her lemon pies.
And what about Davy all this time? Was he redeeming his promise to
be good? He was, indeed. To be sure, he insisted on remaining in
the kitchen, for his curiosity wanted to see all that went on. But
as he sat quietly in a corner, busily engaged in untying the knots
in a piece of herring net he had brought home from his last trip to
the shore, nobody objected to this.
At half past eleven the lettuce salad was made, the golden circles
of the pies were heaped with whipped cream, and everything was
sizzling and bubbling that ought to sizzle and bubble.
"We'd better go and dress now," said Anne, "for they may be here by twelve.
We must have dinner at sharp one, for the soup must be served as soon as
it's done."
Serious indeed were the toilet rites presently performed in the
east gable. Anne peered anxiously at her nose and rejoiced to see
that its freckles were not at all prominent, thanks either to the
lemon juice or to the unusual flush on her cheeks. When they were
ready they looked quite as sweet and trim and girlish as ever did
any of "Mrs. Morgan's heroines."
"I do hope I'll be able to say something once in a while, and not
sit like a mute," said Diana anxiously. "All Mrs. Morgan's
heroines converse so beautifully. But I'm afraid I'll be
tongue-tied and stupid. And I'll be sure to say `I seen.'
I haven't often said it since Miss Stacy taught here; but in
moments of excitement it's sure to pop out. Anne, if I were
to say `I seen' before Mrs. Morgan I'd die of mortification.
And it would be almost as bad to have nothing to say."
"I'm nervous about a good many things," said Anne, "but I
don't think there is much fear that I won't be able to talk."
And, to do her justice, there wasn't.
Anne shrouded her muslin glories in a big apron and went down to
concoct her soup. Marilla had dressed herself and the twins, and
looked more excited than she had ever been known to look before.
At half past twelve the Allans and Miss Stacy came. Everything was
going well but Anne was beginning to feel nervous. It was surely
time for Priscilla and Mrs. Morgan to arrive. She made frequent
trips to the gate and looked as anxiously down the lane as ever her
namesake in the Bluebeard story peered from the tower casement.
"Suppose they don't come at all?" she said piteously.
"Don't suppose it. It would be too mean," said Diana, who, however,
was beginning to have uncomfortable misgivings on the subject.
"Anne," said Marilla, coming out from the parlor, "Miss Stacy wants
to see Miss Barry's willowware platter."
Anne hastened to the sitting room closet to get the platter. She
had, in accordance with her promise to Mrs. Lynde, written to Miss
Barry of Charlottetown, asking for the loan of it. Miss Barry was
an old friend of Anne's, and she promply sent the platter out, with
a letter exhorting Anne to be very careful of it, for she had paid
twenty dollars for it. The platter had served its purpose at the
Aid bazaar and had then been returned to the Green Gables closet,
for Anne would not trust anybody but herself to take it back to town.
She carried the platter carefully to the front door where her
guests were enjoying the cool breeze that blew up from the brook.
It was examined and admired; then, just as Anne had taken it back
into her own hands, a terrific crash and clatter sounded from the
kitchen pantry. Marilla, Diana, and Anne fled out, the latter
pausing only long enough to set the precious platter hastily down
on the second step of the stairs.
When they reached the pantry a truly harrowing spectacle met their
eyes. . .a guilty looking small boy scrambling down from the
table, with his clean print blouse liberally plastered with yellow
filling, and on the table the shattered remnants of what had been
two brave, becreamed lemon pies.
Davy had finished ravelling out his herring net and had wound the
twine into a ball. Then he had gone into the pantry to put it up
on the shelf above the table, where he already kept a score or so
of similar balls, which, so far as could be discovered, served no
useful purpose save to yield the joy of possession. Davy had to
climb on the table and reach over to the shelf at a dangerous
angle. . .something he had been forbidden by Marilla to do, as he
had come to grief once before in the experiment. The result in
this instance was disastrous. Davy slipped and came sprawling
squarely down on the lemon pies. His clean blouse was ruined for
that time and the pies for all time. It is, however, an ill wind
that blows nobody good, and the pig was eventually the gainer by
Davy's mischance.
"Davy Keith," said Marilla, shaking him by the shoulder, "didn't I
forbid you to climb up on that table again? Didn't I?"
"I forgot," whimpered Davy. "You've told me not to do such an
awful lot of things that I can't remember them all."
"Well, you march upstairs and stay there till after dinner.
Perhaps you'll get them sorted out in your memory by that time.
No, Anne, never you mind interceding for him. I'm not punishing
him because he spoiled your pies. . .that was an accident.
I'm punishing him for his disobedience. Go, Davy, I say."
"Ain't I to have any dinner?" wailed Davy.
"You can come down after dinner is over and have yours in the kitchen."
"Oh, all right," said Davy, somewhat comforted. "I know Anne'll
save some nice bones for me, won't you, Anne? 'Cause you know I
didn't mean to fall on the pies. Say, Anne, since they ARE spoiled
can't I take some of the pieces upstairs with me?"
"No, no lemon pie for you, Master Davy," said Marilla, pushing him
toward the hall."
What shall we do for dessert?" asked Anne, looking regretfully at
the wreck and ruin.
"Get out a crock of strawberry preserves," said Marilla consolingly.
"There's plenty of whipped cream left in the bowl for it."
One o'clock came. . .but no Priscilla or Mrs. Morgan. Anne was in
an agony. Everything was done to a turn and the soup was just
what soup should be, but couldn't be depended on to remain so for
any length of time.
"I don't believe they're coming after all," said Marilla crossly.
Anne and Diana sought comfort in each other's eyes.
At half past one Marilla again emerged from the parlor.
"Girls, we MUST have dinner. Everybody is hungry and it's no use
waiting any longer. Priscilla and Mrs. Morgan are not coming,
that's plain, and nothing is being improved by waiting."
Anne and Diana set about lifting the dinner, with all the zest gone
out of the performance.
"I don't believe I'll be able to eat a mouthful," said Diana dolefully.
"Nor I. But I hope everything will be nice for Miss Stacy's and
Mr. and Mrs. Allan's sakes," said Anne listlessly.
When Diana dished the peas she tasted them and a very peculiar
expression crossed her face.
"Anne, did YOU put sugar in these peas?"
"Yes," said Anne, mashing the potatoes with the air of one expected
to do her duty. "I put a spoonful of sugar in. We always do.
Don't you like it?"
"But _I_ put a spoonful in too, when I set them on the stove," said Diana.
Anne dropped her masher and tasted the peas also. Then she made a grimace.
"How awful! I never dreamed you had put sugar in, because I knew
your mother never does. I happened to think of it, for a wonder. . .
I'm always forgetting it. . .so I popped a spoonful in."
"It's a case of too many cooks, I guess," said Marilla, who
had listened to this dialogue with a rather guilty expression.
"I didn't think you'd remember about the sugar, Anne, for I'm
perfectly certain you never did before. . .so _I_ put in a spoonful."
The guests in the parlor heard peal after peal of laughter from the
kitchen, but they never knew what the fun was about. There were no
green peas on the dinner table that day, however.
"Well," said Anne, sobering down again with a sigh of recollection,
"we have the salad anyhow and I don't think anything has happened
to the beans. Let's carry the things in and get it over."
It cannot be said that that dinner was a notable success socially.
The Allans and Miss Stacy exerted themselves to save the situation
and Marilla's customary placidity was not noticeably ruffled.
But Anne and Diana, between their disappointment and the reaction
from their excitement of the forenoon, could neither talk nor eat.
Anne tried heroically to bear her part in the conversation for the
sake of her guests; but all the sparkle had been quenched in her
for the time being, and, in spite of her love for the Allans and
Miss Stacy, she couldn't help thinking how nice it would be when
everybody had gone home and she could bury her weariness and
disappointment in the pillows of the east gable.
There is an old proverb that really seems at times to be inspired
. . ."it never rains but it pours." The measure of that day's
tribulations was not yet full. Just as Mr. Allan had finished
returning thanks there arose a strange, ominous sound on the
stairs, as of some hard, heavy object bounding from step to step,
finishing up with a grand smash at the bottom. Everybody ran out
into the hall. Anne gave a shriek of dismay.
At the bottom of the stairs lay a big pink conch shell amid the
fragments of what had been Miss Barry's platter; and at the top of
the stairs knelt a terrified Davy, gazing down with wide-open eyes
at the havoc.
"Davy," said Marilla ominously, "did you throw that conch down ON PURPOSE?"
"No, I never did," whimpered Davy. "I was just kneeling here,
quiet as quiet, to watch you folks through the bannisters, and my
foot struck that old thing and pushed it off. . .and I'm awful
hungry. . .and I do wish you'd lick a fellow and have done with it,
instead of always sending him upstairs to miss all the fun."
"Don't blame Davy," said Anne, gathering up the fragments with
trembling fingers. "It was my fault. I set that platter there and
forgot all about it. I am properly punished for my carelessness;
but oh, what will Miss Barry say?"
"Well, you know she only bought it, so it isn't the same as if it
was an heirloom," said Diana, trying to console.
The guests went away soon after, feeling that it was the most tactful
thing to do, and Anne and Diana washed the dishes, talking less than
they had ever been known to do before. Then Diana went home with a
headache and Anne went with another to the east gable, where she
stayed until Marilla came home from the post office at sunset,
with a letter from Priscilla, written the day before. Mrs. Morgan
had sprained her ankle so severely that she could not leave her room.
"And oh, Anne dear," wrote Priscilla, "I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid
we won't get up to Green Gables at all now, for by the time Aunty's
ankle is well she will have to go back to Toronto. She has to be
there by a certain date."
"Well," sighed Anne, laying the letter down on the red sandstone
step of the back porch, where she was sitting, while the twilight
rained down out of a dappled sky, "I always thought it was too good
to be true that Mrs. Morgan should really come. But there. . .that
speech sounds as pessimistic as Miss Eliza Andrews and I'm ashamed
of making it. After all, it was NOT too good to be true. . .things
just as good and far better are coming true for me all the time.
And I suppose the events of today have a funny side too.
Perhaps when Diana and I are old and gray we shall be able
to laugh over them. But I feel that I can't expect to do it
before then, for it has truly been a bitter disappointment."
"You'll probably have a good many more and worse disappointments
than that before you get through life," said Marilla, who honestly
thought she was making a comforting speech. "It seems to me, Anne,
that you are never going to outgrow your fashion of setting your
heart so on things and then crashing down into despair because you
don't get them."
"I know I'm too much inclined that, way" agreed Anne ruefully.
"When I think something nice is going to happen I seem to fly right
up on the wings of anticipation; and then the first thing I realize
I drop down to earth with a thud. But really, Marilla, the flying
part IS glorious as long as it lasts. . .it's like soaring through
a sunset. I think it almost pays for the thud."
"Well, maybe it does," admitted Marilla. "I'd rather walk calmly
along and do without both flying and thud. But everybody has her
own way of living. . .I used to think there was only one right way
. . .but since I've had you and the twins to bring up I don't feel
so sure of it. What are you going to do about Miss Barry's platter?"
"Pay her back the twenty dollars she paid for it, I suppose.
I'm so thankful it wasn't a cherished heirloom because then
no money could replace it."
"Maybe you could find one like it somewhere and buy it for her."
"I'm afraid not. Platters as old as that are very scarce. Mrs.
Lynde couldn't find one anywhere for the supper. I only wish I
could, for of course Miss Barry would just as soon have one platter
as another, if both were equally old and genuine. Marilla, look at
that big star over Mr. Harrison's maple grove, with all that holy
hush of silvery sky about it. It gives me a feeling that is like
a prayer. After all, when one can see stars and skies like that,
little disappointments and accidents can't matter so much, can they?"
"Where's Davy?" said Marilla, with an indifferent glance at the star.
"In bed. I've promised to take him and Dora to the shore for a
picnic tomorrow. Of course, the original agreement was that he
must be good. But he TRIED to be good. . .and I hadn't the heart
to disappoint him."
"You'll drown yourself or the twins, rowing about the pond in that flat,"
grumbled Marilla. "I've lived here for sixty years and I've never been
on the pond yet."
"Well, it's never too late to mend," said Anne roguishly.
"Suppose you come with us tomorrow. We'll shut Green Gables up
and spend the whole day at the shore, daffing the world aside."
"No, thank you," said Marilla, with indignant emphasis. "I'd be a
nice sight, wouldn't I, rowing down the pond in a flat? I think I
hear Rachel pronouncing on it. There's Mr. Harrison driving away
somewhere. Do you suppose there is any truth in the gossip that
Mr. Harrison is going to see Isabella Andrews?"
"No, I'm sure there isn't. He just called there one evening
on business with Mr. Harmon Andrews and Mrs. Lynde saw him and
said she knew he was courting because he had a white collar on.
I don't believe Mr. Harrison will ever marry. He seems to have
a prejudice against marriage."
"Well, you can never tell about those old bachelors. And if he had
a white collar on I'd agree with Rachel that it looks suspicious,
for I'm sure he never was seen with one before."
"I think he only put it on because he wanted to conclude a business
deal with Harmon Andrews," said Anne. "I've heard him say that's
the only time a man needs to be particular about his appearance,
because if he looks prosperous the party of the second part won't
be so likely to try to cheat him. I really feel sorry for Mr.
Harrison; I don't believe he feels satisfied with his life. It
must be very lonely to have no one to care about except a parrot,
don't you think? But I notice Mr. Harrison doesn't like to be
pitied. Nobody does, I imagine."
"There's Gilbert coming up the lane," said Marilla. "If he wants
you to go for a row on the pond mind you put on your coat and
rubbers. There's a heavy dew tonight."
