Junior Avonlea found it hard
to settle down to humdrum existence
again. To Anne in particular
things seemed fearfully flat,
stale, and unprofitable after
the goblet of excitement she
had been sipping for weeks. Could
she go back to the former quiet
pleasures of those faraway days
before the concert? At first,
as she told Diana, she did not
really think she could.
"I'm positively certain, Diana,
that life can never be quite
the same again as it was in those
olden days," she said mournfully,
as if referring to a period of
at least fifty years back. "Perhaps
after a while I'll get used to
it, but I'm afraid concerts spoil
people for everyday life. I suppose
that is why Marilla disapproves
of them. Marilla is such a sensible
woman. It must be a great deal
better to be sensible; but still,
I don't believe I'd really want
to be a sensible person, because
they are so unromantic. Mrs.
Lynde says there is no danger
of my ever being one, but you
can never tell. I feel just now
that I may grow up to be sensible
yet. But perhaps that is only
because I'm tired. I simply couldn't
sleep last night for ever so
long. I just lay awake and imagined
the concert over and over again.
That's one splendid thing about
such affairs--it's so lovely
to look back to them."
Eventually,
however, Avonlea school slipped
back into its
old groove and took up its old
interests. To be sure, the concert
left traces. Ruby Gillis and
Emma White, who had quarreled
over a point of precedence in
their platform seats, no longer
sat at the same desk, and a promising
friendship of three years was
broken up. Josie Pye and Julia
Bell did not "speak" for three
months, because Josie Pye had
told Bessie Wright that Julia
Bell's bow when she got up to
recite made her think of a chicken
jerking its head, and Bessie
told Julia. None of the Sloanes
would have any dealings with
the Bells, because the Bells
had declared that the Sloanes
had too much to do in the program,
and the Sloanes had retorted
that the Bells were not capable
of doing the little they had
to do properly. Finally, Charlie
Sloane fought Moody Spurgeon
MacPherson, because Moody Spurgeon
had said that Anne Shirley put
on airs about her recitations,
and Moody Spurgeon was "licked";
consequently Moody Spurgeon's
sister, Ella May, would not "speak" to
Anne Shirley all the rest of
the winter. With the exception
of these trifling frictions,
work in Miss Stacy's little kingdom
went on with regularity and smoothness.
The winter
weeks slipped by. It was an
unusually mild winter,
with so little snow that Anne
and Diana could go to school
nearly every day by way of the
Birch Path. On Anne's birthday
they were tripping lightly down
it, keeping eyes and ears alert
amid all their chatter, for Miss
Stacy had told them that they
must soon write a composition
on "A Winter's Walk in the Woods," and
it behooved them to be observant.
"Just think, Diana, I'm thirteen
years old today," remarked Anne
in an awed voice. "I can scarcely
realize that I'm in my teens.
When I woke this morning it seemed
to me that everything must be
different. You've been thirteen
for a month, so I suppose it
doesn't seem such a novelty to
you as it does to me. It makes
life seem so much more interesting.
In two more years I'll be really
grown up. It's a great comfort
to think that I'll be able to
use big words then without being
laughed at."
"Ruby Gillis says she means
to have a beau as soon as she's
fifteen," said Diana.
"Ruby Gillis thinks of nothing
but beaus," said Anne disdainfully. "She's
actually delighted when anyone
writes her name up in a take-notice
for all she pretends to be so
mad. But I'm afraid that is an
uncharitable speech. Mrs. Allan
says we should never make uncharitable
speeches; but they do slip out
so often before you think, don't
they? I simply can't talk about
Josie Pye without making an uncharitable
speech, so I never mention her
at all. You may have noticed
that. I'm trying to be as much
like Mrs. Allan as I possibly
can, for I think she's perfect.
Mr. Allan thinks so too. Mrs.
Lynde says he just worships the
ground she treads on and she
doesn't really think it right
for a minister to set his affections
so much on a mortal being. But
then, Diana, even ministers are
human and have their besetting
sins just like everybody else.
I had such an interesting talk
with Mrs. Allan about besetting
sins last Sunday afternoon. There
are just a few things it's proper
to talk about on Sundays and
that is one of them. My besetting
sin is imagining too much and
forgetting my duties. I'm striving
very hard to overcome it and
now that I'm really thirteen
perhaps I'll get on better."
"In four more years we'll be
able to put our hair up," said
Diana. "Alice Bell is only sixteen
and she is wearing hers up, but
I think that's ridiculous. I
shall wait until I'm seventeen."
"If I had Alice Bell's crooked
nose," said Anne decidedly, "I
wouldn't--but there! I won't
say what I was going to because
it was extremely uncharitable.
Besides, I was comparing it with
my own nose and that's vanity.
I'm afraid I think too much about
my nose ever since I heard that
compliment about it long ago.
It really is a great comfort
to me. Oh, Diana, look, there's
a rabbit. That's something to
remember for our woods composition.
I really think the woods are
just as lovely in winter as in
summer. They're so white and
still, as if they were asleep
and dreaming pretty dreams."
"I won't mind writing that
composition when its time comes," sighed
Diana. "I can manage to write
about the woods, but the one
we're to hand in Monday is terrible.
The idea of Miss Stacy telling
us to write a story out of our
own heads!"
"Why, it's as easy as wink," said
Anne.
"It's easy for you because
you have an imagination," retorted
Diana, "but what would you do
if you had been born without
one? I suppose you have your
composition all done?"
Anne nodded, trying hard not
to look virtuously complacent
and failing miserably.
"I wrote it
last Monday evening. It's called
`The Jealous Rival;
or In Death Not Divided.' I read
it to Marilla and she said it
was stuff and nonsense. Then
I read it to Matthew and he said
it was fine. That is the kind
of critic I like. It's a sad,
sweet story. I just cried like
a child while I was writing it.
It's about two beautiful maidens
called Cordelia Montmorency and
Geraldine Seymour who lived in
the same village and were devotedly
attached to each other. Cordelia
was a regal brunette with a coronet
of midnight hair and duskly flashing
eyes. Geraldine was a queenly
blonde with hair like spun gold
and velvety purple eyes."
"I never saw anybody with purple
eyes," said Diana dubiously.
"Neither did
I. I just imagined them. I
wanted something out
of the common. Geraldine had
an alabaster brow too. I've found
out what an alabaster brow is.
That is one of the advantages
of being thirteen. You know so
much more than you did when you
were only twelve."
"Well, what became of Cordelia
and Geraldine?" asked Diana,
who was beginning to feel rather
interested in their fate.
"They grew
in beauty side by side until
they were sixteen.
Then Bertram DeVere came to their
native village and fell in love
with the fair Geraldine. He saved
her life when her horse ran away
with her in a carriage, and she
fainted in his arms and he carried
her home three miles; because,
you understand, the carriage
was all smashed up. I found it
rather hard to imagine the proposal
because I had no experience to
go by. I asked Ruby Gillis if
she knew anything about how men
proposed because I thought she'd
likely be an authority on the
subject, having so many sisters
married. Ruby told me she was
hid in the hall pantry when Malcolm
Andres proposed to her sister
Susan. She said Malcolm told
Susan that his dad had given
him the farm in his own name
and then said, `What do you say,
darling pet, if we get hitched
this fall?' And Susan said, `Yes--no--I
don't know--let me see'--and
there they were, engaged as quick
as that. But I didn't think that
sort of a proposal was a very
romantic one, so in the end I
had to imagine it out as well
as I could. I made it very flowery
and poetical and Bertram went
on his knees, although Ruby Gillis
says it isn't done nowadays.
Geraldine accepted him in a speech
a page long. I can tell you I
took a lot of trouble with that
speech. I rewrote it five times
and I look upon it as my masterpiece.
Bertram gave her a diamond ring
and a ruby necklace and told
her they would go to Europe for
a wedding tour, for he was immensely
wealthy. But then, alas, shadows
began to darken over their path.
Cordelia was secretly in love
with Bertram herself and when
Geraldine told her about the
engagement she was simply furious,
especially when she saw the necklace
and the diamond ring. All her
affection for Geraldine turned
to bitter hate and she vowed
that she should never marry Bertram.
But she pretended to be Geraldine's
friend the same as ever. One
evening they were standing on
the bridge over a rushing turbulent
stream and Cordelia, thinking
they were alone, pushed Geraldine
over the brink with a wild, mocking,
`Ha, ha, ha.' But Bertram saw
it all and he at once plunged
into the current, exclaiming,
`I will save thee, my peerless
Geraldine.' But alas, he had
forgotten he couldn't swim, and
they were both drowned, clasped
in each other's arms. Their bodies
were washed ashore soon afterwards.
They were buried in the one grave
and their funeral was most imposing,
Diana. It's so much more romantic
to end a story up with a funeral
than a wedding. As for Cordelia,
she went insane with remorse
and was shut up in a lunatic
asylum. I thought that was a
poetical retribution for her
crime."
"How perfectly lovely!" sighed
Diana, who belonged to Matthew's
school of critics. "I don't see
how you can make up such thrilling
things out of your own head,
Anne. I wish my imagination was
as good as yours."
"It would be if you'd only
cultivate it," said Anne cheeringly. "I've
just thought of a plan, Diana.
Let you and me have a story club
all our own and write stories
for practice. I'll help you along
until you can do them by yourself.
You ought to cultivate your imagination,
you know. Miss Stacy says so.
Only we must take the right way.
I told her about the Haunted
Wood, but she said we went the
wrong way about it in that."
This was how the story club
came into existence. It was limited
to Diana and Anne at first, but
soon it was extended to include
Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis
and one or two others who felt
that their imaginations needed
cultivating. No boys were allowed
in it--although Ruby Gillis opined
that their admission would make
it more exciting--and each member
had to produce one story a week.
"It's extremely interesting," Anne
told Marilla. "Each girl has
to read her story out loud and
then we talk it over. We are
going to keep them all sacredly
and have them to read to our
descendants. We each write under
a nom-de-plume. Mine is Rosamond
Montmorency. All the girls do
pretty well. Ruby Gillis is rather
sentimental. She puts too much
lovemaking into her stories and
you know too much is worse than
too little. Jane never puts any
because she says it makes her
feel so silly when she had to
read it out loud. Jane's stories
are extremely sensible. Then
Diana puts too many murders into
hers. She says most of the time
she doesn't know what to do with
the people so she kills them
off to get rid of them. I mostly
always have to tell them what
to write about, but that isn't
hard for I've millions of ideas."
"I think this story-writing
business is the foolishest yet," scoffed
Marilla. "You'll get a pack of
nonsense into your heads and
waste time that should be put
on your lessons. Reading stories
is bad enough but writing them
is worse."
"But we're so careful to put
a moral into them all, Marilla," explained
Anne. "I insist upon that. All
the good people are rewarded
and all the bad ones are suitably
punished. I'm sure that must
have a wholesome effect. The
moral is the great thing. Mr.
Allan says so. I read one of
my stories to him and Mrs. Allan
and they both agreed that the
moral was excellent. Only they
laughed in the wrong places.
I like it better when people
cry. Jane and Ruby almost always
cry when I come to the pathetic
parts. Diana wrote her Aunt Josephine
about our club and her Aunt Josephine
wrote back that we were to send
her some of our stories. So we
copied out four of our very best
and sent them. Miss Josephine
Barry wrote back that she had
never read anything so amusing
in her life. That kind of puzzled
us because the stories were all
very pathetic and almost everybody
died. But I'm glad Miss Barry
liked them. It shows our club
is doing some good in the world.
Mrs. Allan says that ought to
be our object in everything.
I do really try to make it my
object but I forget so often
when I'm having fun. I hope I
shall be a little like Mrs. Allan
when I grow up. Do you think
there is any prospect of it,
Marilla?"
"I shouldn't say there was
a great deal" was Marilla's encouraging
answer. "I'm sure Mrs. Allan
was never such a silly, forgetful
little girl as you are."
"No; but she wasn't always
so good as she is now either," said
Anne seriously. "She told me
so herself--that is, she said
she was a dreadful mischief when
she was a girl and was always
getting into scrapes. I felt
so encouraged when I heard that.
Is it very wicked of me, Marilla,
to feel encouraged when I hear
that other people have been bad
and mischievous? Mrs. Lynde says
it is. Mrs. Lynde says she always
feels shocked when she hears
of anyone ever having been naughty,
no matter how small they were.
Mrs. Lynde says she once heard
a minister confess that when
he was a boy he stole a strawberry
tart out of his aunt's pantry
and she never had any respect
for that minister again. Now,
I wouldn't have felt that way.
I'd have thought that it was
real noble of him to confess
it, and I'd have thought what
an encouraging thing it would
be for small boys nowadays who
do naughty things and are sorry
for them to know that perhaps
they may grow up to be ministers
in spite of it. That's how I'd
feel, Marilla."
"The way I feel at present,
Anne," said Marilla, "is that
it's high time you had those
dishes washed. You've taken half
an hour longer than you should
with all your chattering. Learn
to work first and talk afterwards."
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