Anne had her "good" summer
and enjoyed it wholeheartedly.
She
and Diana fairly lived outdoors,
reveling in all the delights
that Lover's Lane and the Dryad's
Bubble and Willowmere and Victoria
Island afforded. Marilla offered
no objections to Anne's gypsyings.
The Spencervale doctor who had
come the night Minnie May had
the croup met Anne at the house
of a patient one afternoon early
in vacation, looked her over
sharply, screwed up his mouth,
shook his head, and sent a message
to Marilla Cuthbert by another
person. It was:
"Keep that
redheaded girl of yours in
the open air all summer
and don't let her read books
until she gets more spring into
her step."
This message frightened Marilla
wholesomely. She read Anne's
death warrant by consumption
in it unless it was scrupulously
obeyed. As a result, Anne had
the golden summer of her life
as far as freedom and frolic
went. She walked, rowed, berried,
and dreamed to her heart's content;
and when September came she was
bright-eyed and alert, with a
step that would have satisfied
the Spencervale doctor and a
heart full of ambition and zest
once more.
"I feel just like studying
with might and main," she declared
as she brought her books down
from the attic. "Oh, you good
old friends, I'm glad to see
your honest faces once more--yes,
even you, geometry. I've had
a perfectly beautiful summer,
Marilla, and now I'm rejoicing
as a strong man to run a race,
as Mr. Allan said last Sunday.
Doesn't Mr. Allan preach magnificent
sermons? Mrs. Lynde says he is
improving every day and the first
thing we know some city church
will gobble him up and then we'll
be left and have to turn to and
break in another green preacher.
But I don't see the use of meeting
trouble halfway, do you, Marilla?
I think it would be better just
to enjoy Mr. Allan while we have
him. If I were a man I think
I'd be a minister. They can have
such an influence for good, if
their theology is sound; and
it must be thrilling to preach
splendid sermons and stir your
hearers' hearts. Why can't women
be ministers, Marilla? I asked
Mrs. Lynde that and she was shocked
and said it would be a scandalous
thing. She said there might be
female ministers in the States
and she believed there was, but
thank goodness we hadn't got
to that stage in Canada yet and
she hoped we never would. But
I don't see why. I think women
would make splendid ministers.
When there is a social to be
got up or a church tea or anything
else to raise money the women
have to turn to and do the work.
I'm sure Mrs. Lynde can pray
every bit as well as Superintendent
Bell and I've no doubt she could
preach too with a little practice."
"Yes, I believe she could," said
Marilla dryly. "She does plenty
of unofficial preaching as it
is. Nobody has much of a chance
to go wrong in Avonlea with Rachel
to oversee them."
"Marilla," said Anne in a burst
of confidence, "I want to tell
you something and ask you what
you think about it. It has worried
me terribly--on Sunday afternoons,
that is, when I think specially
about such matters. I do really
want to be good; and when I'm
with you or Mrs. Allan or Miss
Stacy I want it more than ever
and I want to do just what would
please you and what you would
approve of. But mostly when I'm
with Mrs. Lynde I feel desperately
wicked and as if I wanted to
go and do the very thing she
tells me I oughtn't to do. I
feel irresistibly tempted to
do it. Now, what do you think
is the reason I feel like that?
Do you think it's because I'm
really bad and unregenerate?"
Marilla looked dubious for
a moment. Then she laughed.
"If you are
I guess I am too, Anne, for
Rachel often has that
very effect on me. I sometimes
think she'd have more of an influence
for good, as you say yourself,
if she didn't keep nagging people
to do right. There should have
been a special commandment against
nagging. But there, I shouldn't
talk so. Rachel is a good Christian
woman and she means well. There
isn't a kinder soul in Avonlea
and she never shirks her share
of work."
"I'm very glad you feel the
same," said Anne decidedly. "It's
so encouraging. I shan't worry
so much over that after this.
But I dare say there'll be other
things to worry me. They keep
coming up new all the time--things
to perplex you, you know. You
settle one question and there's
another right after. There are
so many things to be thought
over and decided when you're
beginning to grow up. It keeps
me busy all the time thinking
them over and deciding what is
right. It's a serious thing to
grow up, isn't it, Marilla? But
when I have such good friends
as you and Matthew and Mrs. Allan
and Miss Stacy I ought to grow
up successfully, and I'm sure
it will be my own fault if I
don't. I feel it's a great responsibility
because I have only the one chance.
If I don't grow up right I can't
go back and begin over again.
I've grown two inches this summer,
Marilla. Mr. Gillis measured
me at Ruby's party. I'm so glad
you made my new dresses longer.
That dark-green one is so pretty
and it was sweet of you to put
on the flounce. Of course I know
it wasn't really necessary, but
flounces are so stylish this
fall and Josie Pye has flounces
on all her dresses. I know I'll
be able to study better because
of mine. I shall have such a
comfortable feeling deep down
in my mind about that flounce."
"It's worth something to have
that," admitted Marilla.
Miss Stacy
came back to Avonlea school
and found all her pupils
eager for work once more. Especially
did the Queen's class gird up
their loins for the fray, for
at the end of the coming year,
dimly shadowing their pathway
already, loomed up that fateful
thing known as "the Entrance," at
the thought of which one and
all felt their hearts sink into
their very shoes. Suppose they
did not pass! That thought was
doomed to haunt Anne through
the waking hours of that winter,
Sunday afternoons inclusive,
to the almost entire exclusion
of moral and theological problems.
When Anne had bad dreams she
found herself staring miserably
at pass lists of the Entrance
exams, where Gilbert Blythe's
name was blazoned at the top
and in which hers did not appear
at all.
But it was a jolly, busy, happy
swift-flying winter. Schoolwork
was as interesting, class rivalry
as absorbing, as of yore. New
worlds of thought, feeling, and
ambition, fresh, fascinating
fields of unexplored knowledge
seemed to be opening out before
Anne's eager eyes.
"Hills peeped
o'er hill and Alps on Alps
arose."
Much of all this was due to
Miss Stacy's tactful, careful,
broadminded guidance. She led
her class to think and explore
and discover for themselves and
encouraged straying from the
old beaten paths to a degree
that quite shocked Mrs. Lynde
and the school trustees, who
viewed all innovations on established
methods rather dubiously.
Apart from her studies Anne
expanded socially, for Marilla,
mindful of the Spencervale doctor's
dictum, no longer vetoed occasional
outings. The Debating Club flourished
and gave several concerts; there
were one or two parties almost
verging on grown-up affairs;
there were sleigh drives and
skating frolics galore.
Betweentimes Anne grew, shooting
up so rapidly that Marilla was
astonished one day, when they
were standing side by side, to
find the girl was taller than
herself.
"Why, Anne, how you've grown!" she
said, almost unbelievingly. A
sigh followed on the words. Marilla
felt a queer regret over Anne's
inches. The child she had learned
to love had vanished somehow
and here was this tall, serious-eyed
girl of fifteen, with the thoughtful
brows and the proudly poised
little head, in her place. Marilla
loved the girl as much as she
had loved the child, but she
was conscious of a queer sorrowful
sense of loss. And that night,
when Anne had gone to prayer
meeting with Diana, Marilla sat
alone in the wintry twilight
and indulged in the weakness
of a cry. Matthew, coming in
with a lantern, caught her at
it and gazed at her in such consternation
that Marilla had to laugh through
her tears.
"I was thinking about Anne," she
explained. "She's got to be such
a big girl--and she'll probably
be away from us next winter.
I'll miss her terrible."
"She'll be able to come home
often," comforted Matthew, to
whom Anne was as yet and always
would be the little, eager girl
he had brought home from Bright
River on that June evening four
years before. "The branch railroad
will be built to Carmody by that
time."
"It won't be the same thing
as having her here all the time," sighed
Marilla gloomily, determined
to enjoy her luxury of grief
uncomforted. "But there--men
can't understand these things!"
There were other changes in
Anne no less real than the physical
change. For one thing, she became
much quieter. Perhaps she thought
all the more and dreamed as much
as ever, but she certainly talked
less. Marilla noticed and commented
on this also.
"You don't
chatter half as much as you
used to, Anne, nor
use half as many big words. What
has come over you?"
Anne colored and laughed a
little, as she dropped her book
and looked dreamily out of the
window, where big fat red buds
were bursting out on the creeper
in response to the lure of the
spring sunshine.
"I don't know--I don't want
to talk as much," she said, denting
her chin thoughtfully with her
forefinger. "It's nicer to think
dear, pretty thoughts and keep
them in one's heart, like treasures.
I don't like to have them laughed
at or wondered over. And somehow
I don't want to use big words
any more. It's almost a pity,
isn't it, now that I'm really
growing big enough to say them
if I did want to. It's fun to
be almost grown up in some ways,
but it's not the kind of fun
I expected, Marilla. There's
so much to learn and do and think
that there isn't time for big
words. Besides, Miss Stacy says
the short ones are much stronger
and better. She makes us write
all our essays as simply as possible.
It was hard at first. I was so
used to crowding in all the fine
big words I could think of--and
I thought of any number of them.
But I've got used to it now and
I see it's so much better."
"What has become
of your story club? I haven't
heard you speak
of it for a long time."
"The story
club isn't in existence any
longer. We hadn't time for
it--and anyhow I think we had
got tired of it. It was silly
to be writing about love and
murder and elopements and mysteries.
Miss Stacy sometimes has us write
a story for training in composition,
but she won't let us write anything
but what might happen in Avonlea
in our own lives, and she criticizes
it very sharply and makes us
criticize our own too. I never
thought my compositions had so
many faults until I began to
look for them myself. I felt
so ashamed I wanted to give up
altogether, but Miss Stacy said
I could learn to write well if
I only trained myself to be my
own severest critic. And so I
am trying to."
"You've only two more months
before the Entrance," said Marilla. "Do
you think you'll be able to get
through?"
Anne shivered.
"I don't know.
Sometimes I think I'll be all
right--and
then I get horribly afraid. We've
studied hard and Miss Stacy has
drilled us thoroughly, but we
mayn't get through for all that.
We've each got a stumbling block.
Mine is geometry of course, and
Jane's is Latin, and Ruby and
Charlie's is algebra, and Josie's
is arithmetic. Moody Spurgeon
says he feels it in his bones
that he is going to fail in English
history. Miss Stacy is going
to give us examinations in June
just as hard as we'll have at
the Entrance and mark us just
as strictly, so we'll have some
idea. I wish it was all over,
Marilla. It haunts me. Sometimes
I wake up in the night and wonder
what I'll do if I don't pass."
"Why, go to school next year
and try again," said Marilla
unconcernedly.
"Oh, I don't
believe I'd have the heart
for it. It would be
such a disgrace to fail, especially
if Gil--if the others passed.
And I get so nervous in an examination
that I'm likely to make a mess
of it. I wish I had nerves like
Jane Andrews. Nothing rattles
her."
Anne sighed and, dragging her
eyes from the witcheries of the
spring world, the beckoning day
of breeze and blue, and the green
things upspringing in the garden,
buried herself resolutely in
her book. There would be other
springs, but if she did not succeed
in passing the Entrance, Anne
felt convinced that she would
never recover sufficiently to
enjoy them.
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