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Chapter XXIX


CHAPTER XXIX

An Epoch in Anne's Life


Anne was bringing the cows home from the back pasture by way of
Lover's Lane.  It was a September evening and all the gaps and
clearings in the woods were brimmed up with ruby sunset light.
Here and there the lane was splashed with it, but for the most
part it was already quite shadowy beneath the maples, and the
spaces under the firs were filled with a clear violet dusk like
airy wine.  The winds were out in their tops, and there is no
sweeter music on earth than that which the wind makes in the fir
trees at evening.

The cows swung placidly down the lane, and Anne followed them
dreamily, repeating aloud the battle canto from MARMION--which
had also been part of their English course the preceding winter
and which Miss Stacy had made them learn off by heart--and
exulting in its rushing lines and the clash of spears in its
imagery.  When she came to the lines


             The stubborn spearsmen still made good
             Their dark impenetrable wood,


she stopped in ecstasy to shut her eyes that she might the better
fancy herself one of that heroic ring.  When she opened them
again it was to behold Diana coming through the gate that led
into the Barry field and looking so important that Anne instantly
divined there was news to be told.  But betray too eager
curiosity she would not.

"Isn't this evening just like a purple dream, Diana?  It makes me
so glad to be alive.  In the mornings I always think the mornings
are best; but when evening comes I think it's lovelier still."

"It's a very fine evening," said Diana, "but oh, I have such
news, Anne.  Guess.  You can have three guesses."

"Charlotte Gillis is going to be married in the church after all
and Mrs. Allan wants us to decorate it," cried Anne.

"No.  Charlotte's beau won't agree to that, because nobody ever
has been married in the church yet, and he thinks it would seem
too much like a funeral.  It's too mean, because it would be such fun.
Guess again."

"Jane's mother is going to let her have a birthday party?"

Diana shook her head, her black eyes dancing with merriment.

"I can't think what it can be," said Anne in despair, "unless
it's that Moody Spurgeon MacPherson saw you home from prayer
meeting last night.  Did he?"

"I should think not," exclaimed Diana indignantly.  "I wouldn't
be likely to boast of it if he did, the horrid creature!  I knew
you couldn't guess it.  Mother had a letter from Aunt Josephine
today, and Aunt Josephine wants you and me to go to town next
Tuesday and stop with her for the Exhibition.  There!"

"Oh, Diana," whispered Anne, finding it necessary to lean up against
a maple tree for support, "do you really mean it?  But I'm afraid
Marilla won't let me go.  She will say that she can't encourage
gadding about.  That was what she said last week when Jane invited
me to go with them in their double-seated buggy to the American
concert at the White Sands Hotel.  I wanted to go, but Marilla
said I'd be better at home learning my lessons and so would Jane.
I was bitterly disappointed, Diana.  I felt so heartbroken that
I wouldn't say my prayers when I went to bed.  But I repented of
that and got up in the middle of the night and said them."

"I'll tell you," said Diana, "we'll get Mother to ask Marilla.
She'll be more likely to let you go then; and if she does we'll
have the time of our lives, Anne.  I've never been to an
Exhibition, and it's so aggravating to hear the other girls
talking about their trips.  Jane and Ruby have been twice, and
they're going this year again."

"I'm not going to think about it at all until I know whether I
can go or not," said Anne resolutely.  "If I did and then was
disappointed, it would be more than I could bear.  But in case I
do go I'm very glad my new coat will be ready by that time.
Marilla didn't think I needed a new coat.  She said my old one
would do very well for another winter and that I ought to be
satisfied with having a new dress.  The dress is very pretty,
Diana--navy blue and made so fashionably.  Marilla always makes
my dresses fashionably now, because she says she doesn't intend
to have Matthew going to Mrs. Lynde to make them.  I'm so glad.
It is ever so much easier to be good if your clothes are
fashionable.  At least, it is easier for me.  I suppose it
doesn't make such a difference to naturally good people.  But
Matthew said I must have a new coat, so Marilla bought a lovely
piece of blue broadcloth, and it's being made by a real
dressmaker over at Carmody.  It's to be done Saturday night, and
I'm trying not to imagine myself walking up the church aisle on
Sunday in my new suit and cap, because I'm afraid it isn't right
to imagine such things.  But it just slips into my mind in spite
of me.  My cap is so pretty.  Matthew bought it for me the day we
were over at Carmody.  It is one of those little blue velvet ones
that are all the rage, with gold cord and tassels.  Your new hat
is elegant, Diana, and so becoming.  When I saw you come into
church last Sunday my heart swelled with pride to think you were
my dearest friend.  Do you suppose it's wrong for us to think so
much about our clothes?  Marilla says it is very sinful.  But it
is such an interesting subject, isn't it?"

Marilla agreed to let Anne go to town, and it was arranged that
Mr. Barry should take the girls in on the following Tuesday.  As
Charlottetown was thirty miles away and Mr. Barry wished to go
and return the same day, it was necessary to make a very early
start.  But Anne counted it all joy, and was up before sunrise on
Tuesday morning.  A glance from her window assured her that the
day would be fine, for the eastern sky behind the firs of the
Haunted Wood was all silvery and cloudless.  Through the gap in
the trees a light was shining in the western gable of Orchard
Slope, a token that Diana was also up.

Anne was dressed by the time Matthew had the fire on and had the
breakfast ready when Marilla came down, but for her own part was
much too excited to eat.  After breakfast the jaunty new cap and
jacket were donned, and Anne hastened over the brook and up
through the firs to Orchard Slope.  Mr. Barry and Diana were
waiting for her, and they were soon on the road.

It was a long drive, but Anne and Diana enjoyed every minute of it.
It was delightful to rattle along over the moist roads in the early
red sunlight that was creeping across the shorn harvest fields.
The air was fresh and crisp, and little smoke-blue mists
curled through the valleys and floated off from the hills.
Sometimes the road went through woods where maples were beginning
to hang out scarlet banners; sometimes it crossed rivers on
bridges that made Anne's flesh cringe with the old,
half-delightful fear; sometimes it wound along a harbor shore and
passed by a little cluster of weather-gray fishing huts; again it
mounted to hills whence a far sweep of curving upland or
misty-blue sky could be seen; but wherever it went there was much
of interest to discuss.  It was almost noon when they reached
town and found their way to "Beechwood." It was quite a fine old
mansion, set back from the street in a seclusion of green elms
and branching beeches.  Miss Barry met them at the door with a
twinkle in her sharp black eyes.

"So you've come to see me at last, you Anne-girl," she said.
"Mercy, child, how you have grown!  You're taller than I am, I
declare.  And you're ever so much better looking than you used to
be, too.  But I dare say you know that without being told."

"Indeed I didn't," said Anne radiantly.  "I know I'm not so
freckled as I used to be, so I've much to be thankful for, but
I really hadn't dared to hope there was any other improvement.
I'm so glad you think there is, Miss Barry."  Miss Barry's house
was furnished with "great magnificence," as Anne told Marilla
afterward.  The two little country girls were rather abashed by
the splendor of the parlor where Miss Barry left them when she
went to see about dinner.

"Isn't it just like a palace?" whispered Diana.  "I never was in
Aunt Josephine's house before, and I'd no idea it was so grand.
I just wish Julia Bell could see this--she puts on such airs
about her mother's parlor."

"Velvet carpet," sighed Anne luxuriously, "and silk curtains!
I've dreamed of such things, Diana.  But do you know I don't
believe I feel very comfortable with them after all.  There are
so many things in this room and all so splendid that there is no
scope for imagination.  That is one consolation when you are
poor--there are so many more things you can imagine about."

Their sojourn in town was something that Anne and Diana dated
from for years.  From first to last it was crowded with delights.

On Wednesday Miss Barry took them to the Exhibition grounds and
kept them there all day.

"It was splendid," Anne related to Marilla later on.  "I never
imagined anything so interesting.  I don't really know which
department was the most interesting.  I think I liked the horses
and the flowers and the fancywork best.  Josie Pye took first
prize for knitted lace.  I was real glad she did.  And I was glad
that I felt glad, for it shows I'm improving, don't you think,
Marilla, when I can rejoice in Josie's success?  Mr. Harmon
Andrews took second prize for Gravenstein apples and Mr. Bell
took first prize for a pig.  Diana said she thought it was
ridiculous for a Sunday-school superintendent to take a prize in
pigs, but I don't see why.  Do you?  She said she would always
think of it after this when he was praying so solemnly.  Clara
Louise MacPherson took a prize for painting, and Mrs. Lynde got
first prize for homemade butter and cheese.  So Avonlea was
pretty well represented, wasn't it?  Mrs. Lynde was there that
day, and I never knew how much I really liked her until I saw her
familiar face among all those strangers.  There were thousands of
people there, Marilla.  It made me feel dreadfully insignificant.
And Miss Barry took us up to the grandstand to see the horse
races.  Mrs. Lynde wouldn't go; she said horse racing was an
abomination and, she being a church member, thought it her
bounden duty to set a good example by staying away.  But there
were so many there I don't believe Mrs. Lynde's absence would
ever be noticed.  I don't think, though, that I ought to go very
often to horse races, because they ARE awfully fascinating.
Diana got so excited that she offered to bet me ten cents that
the red horse would win.  I didn't believe he would, but I
refused to bet, because I wanted to tell Mrs. Allan all about
everything, and I felt sure it wouldn't do to tell her that.
It's always wrong to do anything you can't tell the minister's
wife.  It's as good as an extra conscience to have a minister's
wife for your friend.  And I was very glad I didn't bet, because
the red horse DID win, and I would have lost ten cents.  So you
see that virtue was its own reward.  We saw a man go up in a
balloon.  I'd love to go up in a balloon, Marilla; it would be
simply thrilling; and we saw a man selling fortunes.  You paid
him ten cents and a little bird picked out your fortune for you.
Miss Barry gave Diana and me ten cents each to have our fortunes
told.  Mine was that I would marry a dark-complected man who was
very wealthy, and I would go across water to live.  I looked
carefully at all the dark men I saw after that, but I didn't care
much for any of them, and anyhow I suppose it's too early to be
looking out for him yet.  Oh, it was a never-to-be-forgotten day,
Marilla.  I was so tired I couldn't sleep at night.  Miss Barry
put us in the spare room, according to promise.  It was an
elegant room, Marilla, but somehow sleeping in a spare room isn't
what I used to think it was.  That's the worst of growing up, and
I'm beginning to realize it.  The things you wanted so much when you
were a child don't seem half so wonderful to you when you get them."

Thursday the girls had a drive in the park, and in the evening
Miss Barry took them to a concert in the Academy of Music, where
a noted prima donna was to sing.  To Anne the evening was a
glittering vision of delight.

"Oh, Marilla, it was beyond description.  I was so excited I
couldn't even talk, so you may know what it was like.  I just sat
in enraptured silence.  Madame Selitsky was perfectly beautiful,
and wore white satin and diamonds.  But when she began to sing I
never thought about anything else.  Oh, I can't tell you how I
felt.  But it seemed to me that it could never be hard to be good
any more.  I felt like I do when I look up to the stars.  Tears
came into my eyes, but, oh, they were such happy tears.  I was so
sorry when it was all over, and I told Miss Barry I didn't see
how I was ever to return to common life again.  She said she
thought if we went over to the restaurant across the street and
had an ice cream it might help me.  That sounded so prosaic; but
to my surprise I found it true.  The ice cream was delicious,
Marilla, and it was so lovely and dissipated to be sitting there
eating it at eleven o'clock at night.  Diana said she believed
she was born for city life.  Miss Barry asked me what my opinion
was, but I said I would have to think it over very seriously
before I could tell her what I really thought.  So I thought it
over after I went to bed.  That is the to think things out.  And I
came to the conclusion, Marilla, that I wasn't born for city life
and that I was glad of it.  It's nice to be eating ice cream at
brilliant restaurants at eleven o'clock at night once in a while;
but as a regular thing I'd rather be in the east gable at eleven,
sound asleep, but kind of knowing even in my sleep that the stars
were shining outside and that the wind was blowing in the firs
across the brook.  I told Miss Barry so at breakfast the next
morning and she laughed.  Miss Barry generally laughed at
anything I said, even when I said the most solemn things.
I don't think I liked it, Marilla, because I wasn't trying to be
funny.  But she is a most hospitable lady and treated us royally."

Friday brought going-home time, and Mr. Barry drove in for the girls.

"Well, I hope you've enjoyed yourselves," said Miss Barry, as she
bade them good-bye.

"Indeed we have," said Diana.

"And you, Anne-girl?"

"I've enjoyed every minute of the time," said Anne, throwing her
arms impulsively about the old woman's neck and kissing her
wrinkled cheek.  Diana would never have dared to do such a thing
and felt rather aghast at Anne's freedom.  But Miss Barry was
pleased, and she stood on her veranda and watched the buggy out
of sight.  Then she went back into her big house with a sigh.  It
seemed very lonely, lacking those fresh young lives.  Miss Barry
was a rather selfish old lady, if the truth must be told, and had
never cared much for anybody but herself.  She valued people only
as they were of service to her or amused her.  Anne had amused
her, and consequently stood high in the old lady's good graces.
But Miss Barry found herself thinking less about Anne's quaint
speeches than of her fresh enthusiasms, her transparent emotions,
her little winning ways, and the sweetness of her eyes and lips.

"I thought Marilla Cuthbert was an old fool when I heard she'd
adopted a girl out of an orphan asylum," she said to herself,
"but I guess she didn't make much of a mistake after all.  If I'd
a child like Anne in the house all the time I'd be a better and
happier woman."

Anne and Diana found the drive home as pleasant as the
drive in--pleasanter, indeed, since there was the delightful
consciousness of home waiting at the end of it.  It was sunset
when they passed through White Sands and turned into the shore road.
Beyond, the Avonlea hills came out darkly against the saffron sky.
Behind them the moon was rising out of the sea that grew all radiant
and transfigured in her light.  Every little cove along the curving
road was a marvel of dancing ripples.  The waves broke with a soft
swish on the rocks below them, and the tang of the sea was in the
strong, fresh air.

"Oh, but it's good to be alive and to be going home," breathed Anne.

When she crossed the log bridge over the brook the kitchen light of
Green Gables winked her a friendly welcome back, and through the
open door shone the hearth fire, sending out its warm red glow
athwart the chilly autumn night.  Anne ran blithely up the hill
and into the kitchen, where a hot supper was waiting on the table.

"So you've got back?" said Marilla, folding up her knitting.

"Yes, and oh, it's so good to be back," said Anne joyously.  "I
could kiss everything, even to the clock.  Marilla, a broiled
chicken!  You don't mean to say you cooked that for me!"

"Yes, I did," said Marilla.  "I thought you'd be hungry after
such a drive and need something real appetizing.  Hurry and take
off your things, and we'll have supper as soon as Matthew comes in.
I'm glad you've got back, I must say.  It's been fearful lonesome
here without you, and I never put in four longer days."

After supper Anne sat before the fire between Matthew and
Marilla, and gave them a full account of her visit.

"I've had a splendid time," she concluded happily, "and I feel
that it marks an epoch in my life.  But the best of it all was
the coming home."


Lucy Maud Montgomery