XXII
Odds and Ends
"So you had tea at the stone house with Lavendar Lewis?" said Marillaat the breakfast table next morning. "What is she like now? It's overfifteen years since I saw her last . . . it was one Sunday in Graftonchurch. I suppose she has changed a great deal. Davy Keith, when youwant something you can't reach, ask to have it passed and don't spreadyourself over the table in that fashion. Did you ever see Paul Irvingdoing that when he was here to meals?"
"But Paul's arms are longer'n mine," brumbled Davy. "They've had elevenyears to grow and mine've only had seven. 'Sides, I DID ask, but youand Anne was so busy talking you didn't pay any 'tention. 'Sides, Paul'snever been here to any meal escept tea, and it's easier to be p'liteat tea than at breakfast. You ain't half as hungry. It's an awful longwhile between supper and breakfast. Now, Anne, that spoonful ain't anybigger than it was last year and I'M ever so much bigger."
"Of course, I don't know what Miss Lavendar used to look like but Idon't fancy somehow that she has changed a great deal," said Anne, aftershe had helped Davy to maple syrup, giving him two spoonfuls to pacifyhim. "Her hair is snow-white but her face is fresh and almost girlish,and she has the sweetest brown eyes . . . such a pretty shade ofwood-brown with little golden glints in them . . . and her voice makesyou think of white satin and tinkling water and fairy bells all mixed uptogether."
"She was reckoned a great beauty when she was a girl," said Marilla. "Inever knew her very well but I liked her as far as I did know her. Somefolks thought her peculiar even then. DAVY, if ever I catch you at sucha trick again you'll be made to wait for your meals till everyone elseis done, like the French."
Most conversations between Anne and Marilla in the presence of thetwins, were punctuated by these rebukes Davy-ward. In this instance,Davy, sad to relate, not being able to scoop up the last drops of hissyrup with his spoon, had solved the difficulty by lifting his plate inboth hands and applying his small pink tongue to it. Anne looked at himwith such horrified eyes that the little sinner turned red and said,half shamefacedly, half defiantly,
"There ain't any wasted that way."
"People who are different from other people are always called peculiar,"said Anne. "And Miss Lavendar is certainly different, though it's hardto say just where the difference comes in. Perhaps it is because she isone of those people who never grow old."
"One might as well grow old when all your generation do," said Marilla,rather reckless of her pronouns. "If you don't, you don't fit inanywhere. Far as I can learn Lavendar Lewis has just dropped out ofeverything. She's lived in that out of the way place until everybody hasforgotten her. That stone house is one of the oldest on the Island. OldMr. Lewis built it eighty years ago when he came out from England.Davy, stop joggling Dora's elbow. Oh, I saw you! You needn't try to lookinnocent. What does make you behave so this morning?"
"Maybe I got out of the wrong side of the bed," suggested Davy. "MiltyBoulter says if you do that things are bound to go wrong with you allday. His grandmother told him. But which is the right side? And what areyou to do when your bed's against the wall? I want to know."
"I've always wondered what went wrong between Stephen Irving andLavendar Lewis," continued Marilla, ignoring Davy. "They were certainlyengaged twenty-five years ago and then all at once it was broken off.I don't know what the trouble was but it must have been somethingterrible, for he went away to the States and never come home since."
"Perhaps it was nothing very dreadful after all. I think the littlethings in life often make more trouble than the big things," said Anne,with one of those flashes of insight which experience could not havebettered. "Marilla, please don't say anything about my being at MissLavendar's to Mrs. Lynde. She'd be sure to ask a hundred questions andsomehow I wouldn't like it . . . nor Miss Lavendar either if she knew, Ifeel sure."
"I daresay Rachel would be curious," admitted Marilla, "though shehasn't as much time as she used to have for looking after other people'saffairs. She's tied home now on account of Thomas; and she's feelingpretty downhearted, for I think she's beginning to lose hope of his evergetting better. Rachel will be left pretty lonely if anything happens tohim, with all her children settled out west, except Eliza in town; andshe doesn't like her husband."
Marilla's pronouns slandered Eliza, who was very fond of her husband.
"Rachel says if he'd only brace up and exert his will power he'd getbetter. But what is the use of asking a jellyfish to sit up straight?"continued Marilla. "Thomas Lynde never had any will power to exert. Hismother ruled him till he married and then Rachel carried it on. It's awonder he dared to get sick without asking her permission. But there, Ishouldn't talk so. Rachel has been a good wife to him. He'd never haveamounted to anything without her, that's certain. He was born to beruled; and it's well he fell into the hands of a clever, capable managerlike Rachel. He didn't mind her way. It saved him the bother of evermaking up his own mind about anything. Davy, do stop squirming like aneel."
"I've nothing else to do," protested Davy. "I can't eat any more, andit's no fun watching you and Anne eat."
"Well, you and Dora go out and give the hens their wheat," said Marilla."And don't you try to pull any more feathers out of the white rooster'stail either."
"I wanted some feathers for an Injun headdress," said Davy sulkily."Milty Boulter has a dandy one, made out of the feathers his mother givehim when she killed their old white gobbler. You might let me have some.That rooster's got ever so many more'n he wants."
"You may have the old feather duster in the garret," said Anne, "andI'll dye them green and red and yellow for you."
"You do spoil that boy dreadfully," said Marilla, when Davy, with aradiant face, had followed prim Dora out. Marilla's education had madegreat strides in the past six years; but she had not yet been able torid herself of the idea that it was very bad for a child to have toomany of its wishes indulged.
"All the boys of his class have Indian headdresses, and Davy wants onetoo," said Anne. "_I_ know how it feels . . . I'll never forget how I usedto long for puffed sleeves when all the other girls had them. And Davyisn't being spoiled. He is improving every day. Think what a differencethere is in him since he came here a year ago."
"He certainly doesn't get into as much mischief since he began to go toschool," acknowledged Marilla. "I suppose he works off the tendency withthe other boys. But it's a wonder to me we haven't heard from RichardKeith before this. Never a word since last May."
"I'll be afraid to hear from him," sighed Anne, beginning to clear awaythe dishes. "If a letter should come I'd dread opening it, for fear itwould tell us to send the twins to him."
A month later a letter did come. But it was not from Richard Keith. Afriend of his wrote to say that Richard Keith had died of consumption afortnight previously. The writer of the letter was the executor of hiswill and by that will the sum of two thousand dollars was left to MissMarilla Cuthbert in trust for David and Dora Keith until they came ofage or married. In the meantime the interest was to be used for theirmaintenance.
"It seems dreadful to be glad of anything in connection with a death,"said Anne soberly. "I'm sorry for poor Mr. Keith; but I AM glad that wecan keep the twins."
"It's a very good thing about the money," said Marilla practically. "Iwanted to keep them but I really didn't see how I could afford to doit, especially when they grew older. The rent of the farm doesn't do anymore than keep the house and I was bound that not a cent of your moneyshould be spent on them. You do far too much for them as it is. Doradidn't need that new hat you bought her any more than a cat needs twotails. But now the way is made clear and they are provided for."
Davy and Dora were delighted when they heard that they were to live atGreen Gables, "for good." The death of an uncle whom they had never seencould not weigh a moment in the balance against that. But Dora had onemisgiving.
"Was Uncle Richard buried?" she whispered to Anne.
"Yes, dear, of course."
"He . . . he . . . is
n't like Mirabel Cotton's uncle, is he?" in a stillmore agitated whisper. "He won't walk about houses after being buried,will he, Anne?"