"I think I'll take a walk through
to Echo Lodge this evening," said
Anne, one Friday afternoon in
December.
"It looks like snow," said
Marilla dubiously.
"I'll be there
before the snow comes and I
mean to stay all
night. Diana can't go because
she has company, and I'm sure
Miss Lavendar will be looking
for me tonight. It's a whole
fortnight since I was there."
Anne had paid
many a visit to Echo Lodge
since that October
day. Sometimes she and Diana
drove around by the road; sometimes
they walked through the woods.
When Diana could not go Anne
went alone. Between her and Miss
Lavendar had sprung up one of
those fervent, helpful friendships
possible only between a woman
who has kept the freshness of
youth in her heart and soul,
and a girl whose imagination
and intuition supplied the place
of experience. Anne had at last
discovered a real "kindred spirit," while
into the little lady's lonely,
sequestered life of dreams Anne
and Diana came with the wholesome
joy and exhilaration of the outer
existence, which Miss Lavendar, "the
world forgetting, by the world
forgot," had long ceased to share;
they brought an atmosphere of
youth and reality to the little
stone house. Charlotta the Fourth
always greeted them with her
very widest smile. . .and Charlotta's
smiles WERE fearfully wide. .
.loving them for the sake of
her adored mistress as well as
for their own. Never had there
been such "high jinks" held in
the little stone house as were
held there that beautiful, late-lingering
autumn, when November seemed
October over again, and even
December aped the sunshine and
hazes of summer.
But on this
particular day it seemed as
if December had
remembered that it was time for
winter and had turned suddenly
dull and brooding, with a windless
hush predictive of coming snow.
Nevertheless, Anne keenly enjoyed
her walk through the great gray
maze of the beechlands; though
alone she never found it lonely;
her imagination peopled her path
with merry companions, and with
these she carried on a gay, pretended
conversation that was wittier
and more fascinating than conversations
are apt to be in real life, where
people sometimes fail most lamentably
to talk up to the requirements.
In a "make believe" assembly
of choice spirits everybody says
just the thing you want her to
say and so gives you the chance
to say just what YOU want to
say. Attended by this invisible
company, Anne traversed the woods
and arrived at the fir lane just
as broad, feathery flakes began
to flutter down softly.
At the first bend she came
upon Miss Lavendar, standing
under a big, broad-branching
fir. She wore a gown of warm,
rich red, and her head and shoulders
were wrapped in a silvery gray
silk shawl.
"You look like the queen of
the fir wood fairies," called
Anne merrily.
"I thought you would come tonight,
Anne," said Miss Lavendar, running
forward. "And I'm doubly glad,
for Charlotta the Fourth is away.
Her mother is sick and she had
to go home for the night. I should
have been very lonely if you
hadn't come. . .even the dreams
and the echoes wouldn't have
been enough company. Oh, Anne,
how pretty you are," she added
suddenly, looking up at the tall,
slim girl with the soft rose-flush
of walking on her face. "How
pretty and how young! It's so
delightful to be seventeen, isn't
it? I do envy you," concluded
Miss Lavendar candidly.
"But you are only seventeen
at heart," smiled Anne.
"No, I'm old. . .or rather
middle-aged, which is far worse," sighed
Miss Lavendar. "Sometimes I can
pretend I'm not, but at other
times I realize it. And I can't
reconcile myself to it as most
women seem to. I'm just as rebellious
as I was when I discovered my
first gray hair. Now, Anne, don't
look as if you were trying to
understand. Seventeen CAN'T understand.
I'm going to pretend right away
that I am seventeen too, and
I can do it, now that you're
here. You always bring youth
in your hand like a gift. We're
going to have a jolly evening.
Tea first. . .what do you want
for tea? We'll have whatever
you like. Do think of something
nice and indigestible."
There were
sounds of riot and mirth in
the little stone house
that night. What with cooking
and feasting and making candy
and laughing and "pretending," it
is quite true that Miss Lavendar
and Anne comported themselves
in a fashion entirely unsuited
to the dignity of a spinster
of forty-five and a sedate schoolma'am.
Then, when they were tired, they
sat down on the rug before the
grate in the parlor, lighted
only by the soft fireshine and
perfumed deliciously by Miss
Lavendar's open rose-jar on the
mantel. The wind had risen and
was sighing and wailing around
the eaves and the snow was thudding
softly against the windows, as
if a hundred storm sprites were
tapping for entrance.
"I'm so glad you're here, Anne," said
Miss Lavendar, nibbling at her
candy. "If you weren't I should
be blue. . .very blue. . . almost
navy blue. Dreams and make-believes
are all very well in the daytime
and the sunshine, but when dark
and storm come they fail to satisfy.
One wants real things then. But
you don't know this. . .seventeen
never knows it. At seventeen
dreams DO satisfy because you
think the realities are waiting
for you further on. When I was
seventeen, Anne, I didn't think
forty-five would find me a white-haired
little old maid with nothing
but dreams to fill my life."
"But you aren't an old maid," said
Anne, smiling into Miss Lavendar's
wistful woodbrown eyes. "Old
maids are BORN. . .they don't
BECOME."
"Some are born old maids, some
achieve old maidenhood, and some
have old maidenhood thrust upon
them," parodied Miss Lavendar
whimsically.
"You are one of those who have
achieved it then," laughed Anne, "and
you've done it so beautifully
that if every old maid were like
you they would come into the
fashion, I think."
"I always like to do things
as well as possible," said Miss
Lavendar meditatively, "and since
an old maid I had to be I was
determined to be a very nice
one. People say I'm odd; but
it's just because I follow my
own way of being an old maid
and refuse to copy the traditional
pattern. Anne, did anyone ever
tell you anything about Stephen
Irving and me?"
"Yes," said Anne candidly, "I've
heard that you and he were engaged
once."
"So we were.
. .twenty-five years ago. .
.a lifetime ago.
And we were to have been married
the next spring. I had my wedding
dress made, although nobody but
mother and Stephen ever knew
THAT. We'd been engaged in a
way almost all our lives, you
might say. When Stephen was a
little boy his mother would bring
him here when she came to see
my mother; and the second time
he ever came. . . he was nine
and I was six. . .he told me
out in the garden that he had
pretty well made up his mind
to marry me when he grew up.
I remember that I said `Thank
you'; and when he was gone I
told mother very gravely that
there was a great weight off
my mind, because I wasn't frightened
any more about having to be an
old maid. How poor mother laughed!"
"And what went wrong?" asked
Anne breathlessly.
"We had just a stupid, silly,
commonplace quarrel. So commonplace
that, if you'll believe me, I
don't even remember just how
it began. I hardly know who was
the more to blame for it. Stephen
did really begin it, but I suppose
I provoked him by some foolishness
of mine. He had a rival or two,
you see. I was vain and coquettish
and liked to tease him a little.
He was a very high-strung, sensitive
fellow. Well, we parted in a
temper on both sides. But I thought
it would all come right; and
it would have if Stephen hadn't
come back too soon. Anne, my
dear, I'm sorry to say". . .Miss
Lavendar dropped her voice as
if she were about to confess
a predilection for murdering
people, "that I am a dreadfully
sulky person. Oh, you needn't
smile,. . . it's only too true.
I DO sulk; and Stephen came back
before I had finished sulking.
I wouldn't listen to him and
I wouldn't forgive him; and so
he went away for good. He was
too proud to come again. And
then I sulked because he didn't
come. I might have sent for him
perhaps, but I couldn't humble
myself to do that. I was just
as proud as he was. . .pride
and sulkiness make a very bad
combination, Anne. But I could
never care for anybody else and
I didn't want to. I knew I would
rather be an old maid for a thousand
years than marry anybody who
wasn't Stephen Irving. Well,
it all seems like a dream now,
of course. How sympathetic you
look, Anne. . .as sympathetic
as only seventeen can look. But
don't overdo it. I'm really a
very happy, contented little
person in spite of my broken
heart. My heart did break, if
ever a heart did, when I realized
that Stephen Irving was not coming
back. But, Anne, a broken heart
in real life isn't half as dreadful
as it is in books. It's a good
deal like a bad tooth. . .though
you won't think THAT a very romantic
simile. It takes spells of aching
and gives you a sleepless night
now and then, but between times
it lets you enjoy life and dreams
and echoes and peanut candy as
if there were nothing the matter
with it. And now you're looking
disappointed. You don't think
I'm half as interesting a person
as you did five minutes ago when
you believed I was always the
prey of a tragic memory bravely
hidden beneath external smiles.
That's the worst. . .or the best.
. . of real life, Anne. It WON'T
let you be miserable. It keeps
on trying to make you comfortable.
. .and succeeding...even when
you're determined to be unhappy
and romantic. Isn't this candy
scrumptious? I've eaten far more
than is good for me already but
I'm going to keep recklessly
on."
After a little silence Miss
Lavendar said abruptly,
"It gave me
a shock to hear about Stephen's
son that first
day you were here, Anne. I've
never been able to mention him
to you since, but I've wanted
to know all about him. What sort
of a boy is he?"
"He is the
dearest, sweetest child I ever
knew, Miss Lavendar.
. . and he pretends things too,
just as you and I do."
"I'd like to see him," said
Miss Lavendar softly, as if talking
to herself. "I wonder if he looks
anything like the little dream-boy
who lives here with me. . .MY
little dream-boy."
"If you would like to see Paul
I'll bring him through with me
sometime," said Anne.
"I would like
it. . .but not too soon. I
want to get used
to the thought. There might be
more pain than pleasure in it.
. .if he looked too much like
Stephen. . .or if he didn't look
enough like him. In a month's
time you may bring him."
Accordingly, a month later
Anne and Paul walked through
the woods to the stone house,
and met Miss Lavendar in the
lane. She had not been expecting
them just then and she turned
very pale.
"So this is Stephen's boy," she
said in a low tone, taking Paul's
hand and looking at him as he
stood, beautiful and boyish,
in his smart little fur coat
and cap. "He. . .he is very like
his father."
"Everybody says I'm a chip
off the old block," remarked
Paul, quite at his ease.
Anne, who had
been watching the little scene,
drew a relieved
breath. She saw that Miss Lavendar
and Paul had "taken" to each
other, and that there would be
no constraint or stiffness. Miss
Lavendar was a very sensible
person, in spite of her dreams
and romance, and after that first
little betrayal she tucked her
feelings out of sight and entertained
Paul as brightly and naturally
as if he were anybody's son who
had come to see her. They all
had a jolly afternoon together
and such a feast of fat things
by way of supper as would have
made old Mrs. Irving hold up
her hands in horror, believing
that Paul's digestion would be
ruined for ever.
"Come again, laddie," said
Miss Lavendar, shaking hands
with him at parting.
"You may kiss me if you like," said
Paul gravely.
Miss Lavendar stooped and kissed
him.
"How did you know I wanted
to?" she whispered.
"Because you
looked at me just as my little
mother used to do
when she wanted to kiss me. As
a rule, I don't like to be kissed.
Boys don't. You know, Miss Lewis.
But I think I rather like to
have you kiss me. And of course
I'll come to see you again. I
think I'd like to have you for
a particular friend of mine,
if you don't object."
"I. . .I don't think I shall
object," said Miss Lavendar.
She turned and went in very quickly;
but a moment later she was waving
a gay and smiling good-bye to
them from the window.
"I like Miss Lavendar," announced
Paul, as they walked through
the beech woods. "I like the
way she looked at me, and I like
her stone house, and I like Charlotta
the Fourth. I wish Grandma Irving
had a Charlotta the Fourth instead
of a Mary Joe. I feel sure Charlotta
the Fourth wouldn't think I was
wrong in my upper story when
I told her what I think about
things. Wasn't that a splendid
tea we had, teacher? Grandma
says a boy shouldn't be thinking
about what he gets to eat, but
he can't help it sometimes when
he is real hungry. YOU know,
teacher. I don't think Miss Lavendar
would make a boy eat porridge
for breakfast if he didn't like
it. She'd get things for him
he did like. But of course".
. . Paul was nothing if not fair-minded.
. ."that mightn't be very good
for him. It's very nice for a
change though, teacher. YOU know."
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