Anne had to live through more
than two weeks, as it happened.
Almost a month having elapsed
since the liniment cake episode,
it was high time for her to get
into fresh trouble of some sort,
little mistakes, such as absentmindedly
emptying a pan of skim milk into
a basket of yarn balls in the
pantry instead of into the pigs'
bucket, and walking clean over
the edge of the log bridge into
the brook while wrapped in imaginative
reverie, not really being worth
counting.
A week after the tea at the
manse Diana Barry gave a party.
"Small and select," Anne assured
Marilla. "Just the girls in our
class."
They had a
very good time and nothing
untoward happened until
after tea, when they found themselves
in the Barry garden, a little
tired of all their games and
ripe for any enticing form of
mischief which might present
itself. This presently took the
form of "daring."
Daring was
the fashionable amusement among
the Avonlea small
fry just then. It had begun among
the boys, but soon spread to
the girls, and all the silly
things that were done in Avonlea
that summer because the doers
thereof were "dared" to do them
would fill a book by themselves.
First of all Carrie Sloane
dared Ruby Gillis to climb to
a certain point in the huge old
willow tree before the front
door; which Ruby Gillis, albeit
in mortal dread of the fat green
caterpillars with which said
tree was infested and with the
fear of her mother before her
eyes if she should tear her new
muslin dress, nimbly did, to
the discomfiture of the aforesaid
Carrie Sloane. Then Josie Pye
dared Jane Andrews to hop on
her left leg around the garden
without stopping once or putting
her right foot to the ground;
which Jane Andrews gamely tried
to do, but gave out at the third
corner and had to confess herself
defeated.
Josie's triumph
being rather more pronounced
than good taste
permitted, Anne Shirley dared
her to walk along the top of
the board fence which bounded
the garden to the east. Now,
to "walk" board fences requires
more skill and steadiness of
head and heel than one might
suppose who has never tried it.
But Josie Pye, if deficient in
some qualities that make for
popularity, had at least a natural
and inborn gift, duly cultivated,
for walking board fences. Josie
walked the Barry fence with an
airy unconcern which seemed to
imply that a little thing like
that wasn't worth a "dare." Reluctant
admiration greeted her exploit,
for most of the other girls could
appreciate it, having suffered
many things themselves in their
efforts to walk fences. Josie
descended from her perch, flushed
with victory, and darted a defiant
glance at Anne.
Anne tossed her red braids.
"I don't think it's such a
very wonderful thing to walk
a little, low, board fence," she
said. "I knew a girl in Marysville
who could walk the ridgepole
of a roof."
"I don't believe it," said
Josie flatly. "I don't believe
anybody could walk a ridgepole.
YOU couldn't, anyhow."
"Couldn't I?" cried
Anne rashly.
"Then I dare you to do it," said
Josie defiantly. "I dare you
to climb up there and walk the
ridgepole of Mr. Barry's kitchen
roof."
Anne turned
pale, but there was clearly
only one thing to
be done. She walked toward the
house, where a ladder was leaning
against the kitchen roof. All
the fifth-class girls said, "Oh!" partly
in excitement, partly in dismay.
"Don't you do it, Anne," entreated
Diana. "You'll fall off and be
killed. Never mind Josie Pye.
It isn't fair to dare anybody
to do anything so dangerous."
"I must do it. My honor is
at stake," said Anne solemnly. "I
shall walk that ridgepole, Diana,
or perish in the attempt. If
I am killed you are to have my
pearl bead ring."
Anne climbed the ladder amid
breathless silence, gained the
ridgepole, balanced herself uprightly
on that precarious footing, and
started to walk along it, dizzily
conscious that she was uncomfortably
high up in the world and that
walking ridgepoles was not a
thing in which your imagination
helped you out much. Nevertheless,
she managed to take several steps
before the catastrophe came.
Then she swayed, lost her balance,
stumbled, staggered, and fell,
sliding down over the sun-baked
roof and crashing off it through
the tangle of Virginia creeper
beneath-- all before the dismayed
circle below could give a simultaneous,
terrified shriek.
If Anne had tumbled off the
roof on the side up which she
had ascended Diana would probably
have fallen heir to the pearl
bead ring then and there. Fortunately
she fell on the other side, where
the roof extended down over the
porch so nearly to the ground
that a fall therefrom was a much
less serious thing. Nevertheless,
when Diana and the other girls
had rushed frantically around
the house--except Ruby Gillis,
who remained as if rooted to
the ground and went into hysterics--they
found Anne lying all white and
limp among the wreck and ruin
of the Virginia creeper.
"Anne, are you killed?" shrieked
Diana, throwing herself on her
knees beside her friend. "Oh,
Anne, dear Anne, speak just one
word to me and tell me if you're
killed."
To the immense relief of all
the girls, and especially of
Josie Pye, who, in spite of lack
of imagination, had been seized
with horrible visions of a future
branded as the girl who was the
cause of Anne Shirley's early
and tragic death, Anne sat dizzily
up and answered uncertainly:
"No, Diana,
I am not killed, but I think
I am rendered unconscious."
"Where?" sobbed Carrie Sloane. "Oh,
where, Anne?" Before Anne could
answer Mrs. Barry appeared on
the scene. At sight of her Anne
tried to scramble to her feet,
but sank back again with a sharp
little cry of pain.
"What's the matter? Where have
you hurt yourself?" demanded
Mrs. Barry.
"My ankle," gasped Anne. "Oh,
Diana, please find your father
and ask him to take me home.
I know I can never walk there.
And I'm sure I couldn't hop so
far on one foot when Jane couldn't
even hop around the garden."
Marilla was out in the orchard
picking a panful of summer apples
when she saw Mr. Barry coming
over the log bridge and up the
slope, with Mrs. Barry beside
him and a whole procession of
little girls trailing after him.
In his arms he carried Anne,
whose head lay limply against
his shoulder.
At that moment Marilla had
a revelation. In the sudden stab
of fear that pierced her very
heart she realized what Anne
had come to mean to her. She
would have admitted that she
liked Anne--nay, that she was
very fond of Anne. But now she
knew as she hurried wildly down
the slope that Anne was dearer
to her than anything else on
earth.
"Mr. Barry, what has happened
to her?" she gasped, more white
and shaken than the self-contained,
sensible Marilla had been for
many years.
Anne herself answered, lifting
her head.
"Don't be very
frightened, Marilla. I was
walking the ridgepole
and I fell off. I expect I have
sprained my ankle. But, Marilla,
I might have broken my neck.
Let us look on the bright side
of things."
"I might have known you'd go
and do something of the sort
when I let you go to that party," said
Marilla, sharp and shrewish in
her very relief. "Bring her in
here, Mr. Barry, and lay her
on the sofa. Mercy me, the child
has gone and fainted!"
It was quite true. Overcome
by the pain of her injury, Anne
had one more of her wishes granted
to her. She had fainted dead
away.
Matthew, hastily summoned from
the harvest field, was straightway
dispatched for the doctor, who
in due time came, to discover
that the injury was more serious
than they had supposed. Anne's
ankle was broken.
That night, when Marilla went
up to the east gable, where a
white-faced girl was lying, a
plaintive voice greeted her from
the bed.
"Aren't you
very sorry for me, Marilla?"
"It was your own fault," said
Marilla, twitching down the blind
and lighting a lamp.
"And that is just why you should
be sorry for me," said Anne, "because
the thought that it is all my
own fault is what makes it so
hard. If I could blame it on
anybody I would feel so much
better. But what would you have
done, Marilla, if you had been
dared to walk a ridgepole?"
"I'd have stayed on good firm
ground and let them dare away.
Such absurdity!" said Marilla.
Anne sighed.
"But you have
such strength of mind, Marilla.
I haven't.
I just felt that I couldn't bear
Josie Pye's scorn. She would
have crowed over me all my life.
And I think I have been punished
so much that you needn't be very
cross with me, Marilla. It's
not a bit nice to faint, after
all. And the doctor hurt me dreadfully
when he was setting my ankle.
I won't be able to go around
for six or seven weeks and I'll
miss the new lady teacher. She
won't be new any more by the
time I'm able to go to school.
And Gil-- everybody will get
ahead of me in class. Oh, I am
an afflicted mortal. But I'll
try to bear it all bravely if
only you won't be cross with
me, Marilla."
"There, there, I'm not cross," said
Marilla. "You're an unlucky child,
there's no doubt about that;
but as you say, you'll have the
suffering of it. Here now, try
and eat some supper."
"Isn't it fortunate I've got
such an imagination?" said Anne. "It
will help me through splendidly,
I expect. What do people who
haven't any imagination do when
they break their bones, do you
suppose, Marilla?"
Anne had good reason to bless
her imagination many a time and
oft during the tedious seven
weeks that followed. But she
was not solely dependent on it.
She had many visitors and not
a day passed without one or more
of the schoolgirls dropping in
to bring her flowers and books
and tell her all the happenings
in the juvenile world of Avonlea.
"Everybody has been so good
and kind, Marilla," sighed Anne
happily, on the day when she
could first limp across the floor. "It
isn't very pleasant to be laid
up; but there is a bright side
to it, Marilla. You find out
how many friends you have. Why,
even Superintendent Bell came
to see me, and he's really a
very fine man. Not a kindred
spirit, of course; but still
I like him and I'm awfully sorry
I ever criticized his prayers.
I believe now he really does
mean them, only he has got into
the habit of saying them as if
he didn't. He could get over
that if he'd take a little trouble.
I gave him a good broad hint.
I told him how hard I tried to
make my own little private prayers
interesting. He told me all about
the time he broke his ankle when
he was a boy. It does seem so
strange to think of Superintendent
Bell ever being a boy. Even my
imagination has its limits, for
I can't imagine THAT. When I
try to imagine him as a boy I
see him with gray whiskers and
spectacles, just as he looks
in Sunday school, only small.
Now, it's so easy to imagine
Mrs. Allan as a little girl.
Mrs. Allan has been to see me
fourteen times. Isn't that something
to be proud of, Marilla? When
a minister's wife has so many
claims on her time! She is such
a cheerful person to have visit
you, too. She never tells you
it's your own fault and she hopes
you'll be a better girl on account
of it. Mrs. Lynde always told
me that when she came to see
me; and she said it in a kind
of way that made me feel she
might hope I'd be a better girl
but didn't really believe I would.
Even Josie Pye came to see me.
I received her as politely as
I could, because I think she
was sorry she dared me to walk
a ridgepole. If I had been killed
she would had to carry a dark
burden of remorse all her life.
Diana has been a faithful friend.
She's been over every day to
cheer my lonely pillow. But oh,
I shall be so glad when I can
go to school for I've heard such
exciting things about the new
teacher. The girls all think
she is perfectly sweet. Diana
says she has the loveliest fair
curly hair and such fascinating
eyes. She dresses beautifully,
and her sleeve puffs are bigger
than anybody else's in Avonlea.
Every other Friday afternoon
she has recitations and everybody
has to say a piece or take part
in a dialogue. Oh, it's just
glorious to think of it. Josie
Pye says she hates it but that
is just because Josie has so
little imagination. Diana and
Ruby Gillis and Jane Andrews
are preparing a dialogue, called
`A Morning Visit,' for next Friday.
And the Friday afternoons they
don't have recitations Miss Stacy
takes them all to the woods for
a `field' day and they study
ferns and flowers and birds.
And they have physical culture
exercises every morning and evening.
Mrs. Lynde says she never heard
of such goings on and it all
comes of having a lady teacher.
But I think it must be splendid
and I believe I shall find that
Miss Stacy is a kindred spirit."
"There's one thing plain to
be seen, Anne," said Marilla, "and
that is that your fall off the
Barry roof hasn't injured your
tongue at all."
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