CHAPTER XXVI. The Story Club Is Formed
|JUNIOR Avonlea found it hard to settle down to humdrum existenceagain. To Anne in particular things seemed fearfully flat, stale, andunprofitable after the goblet of excitement she had been sipping forweeks. Could she go back to the former quiet pleasures of those farawaydays before the concert? At first, as she told Diana, she did not reallythink she could.
"I'm positively certain, Diana, that life can never be quite thesame again as it was in those olden days," she said mournfully, as ifreferring to a period of at least fifty years back. "Perhaps after awhile I'll get used to it, but I'm afraid concerts spoil people foreveryday life. I suppose that is why Marilla disapproves of them.Marilla is such a sensible woman. It must be a great deal better to besensible; but still, I don't believe I'd really want to be a sensibleperson, because they are so unromantic. Mrs. Lynde says there is nodanger of my ever being one, but you can never tell. I feel just nowthat I may grow up to be sensible yet. But perhaps that is only becauseI'm tired. I simply couldn't sleep last night for ever so long. I justlay awake and imagined the concert over and over again. That's onesplendid thing about such affairs--it's so lovely to look back to them."
Eventually, however, Avonlea school slipped back into its old grooveand took up its old interests. To be sure, the concert left traces. RubyGillis and Emma White, who had quarreled over a point of precedence intheir platform seats, no longer sat at the same desk, and a promisingfriendship of three years was broken up. Josie Pye and Julia Bell didnot "speak" for three months, because Josie Pye had told Bessie Wrightthat Julia Bell's bow when she got up to recite made her think of achicken jerking its head, and Bessie told Julia. None of the Sloaneswould have any dealings with the Bells, because the Bells had declaredthat the Sloanes had too much to do in the program, and the Sloanes hadretorted that the Bells were not capable of doing the little they had todo properly. Finally, Charlie Sloane fought Moody Spurgeon MacPherson,because Moody Spurgeon had said that Anne Shirley put on airs abouther recitations, and Moody Spurgeon was "licked"; consequently MoodySpurgeon's sister, Ella May, would not "speak" to Anne Shirley all therest of the winter. With the exception of these trifling frictions, workin Miss Stacy's little kingdom went on with regularity and smoothness.
The winter weeks slipped by. It was an unusually mild winter, with solittle snow that Anne and Diana could go to school nearly every day byway of the Birch Path. On Anne's birthday they were tripping lightlydown it, keeping eyes and ears alert amid all their chatter, for MissStacy had told them that they must soon write a composition on "AWinter's Walk in the Woods," and it behooved them to be observant.
"Just think, Diana, I'm thirteen years old today," remarked Anne in anawed voice. "I can scarcely realize that I'm in my teens. When I wokethis morning it seemed to me that everything must be different. You'vebeen thirteen for a month, so I suppose it doesn't seem such a noveltyto 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 thinkthat 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 atake-notice for all she pretends to be so mad. But I'm afraid that is anuncharitable speech. Mrs. Allan says we should never make uncharitablespeeches; but they do slip out so often before you think, don't they? Isimply 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 tobe 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 shetreads on and she doesn't really think it right for a minister toset his affections so much on a mortal being. But then, Diana, evenministers are human and have their besetting sins just like everybodyelse. I had such an interesting talk with Mrs. Allan about besettingsins last Sunday afternoon. There are just a few things it's properto talk about on Sundays and that is one of them. My besetting sin isimagining too much and forgetting my duties. I'm striving very hardto overcome it and now that I'm really thirteen perhaps I'll get onbetter."
"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 thinkthat's ridiculous. I shall wait until I'm seventeen."
"If I had Alice Bell's crooked nose," said Anne decidedly, "Iwouldn't--but there! I won't say what I was going to because it wasextremely uncharitable. Besides, I was comparing it with my own nose andthat's vanity. I'm afraid I think too much about my nose ever since Iheard that compliment about it long ago. It really is a great comfort tome. Oh, Diana, look, there's a rabbit. That's something to remember forour woods composition. I really think the woods are just as lovely inwinter as in summer. They're so white and still, as if they were asleepand dreaming pretty dreams."
"I won't mind writing that composition when its time comes," sighedDiana. "I can manage to write about the woods, but the one we're tohand in Monday is terrible. The idea of Miss Stacy telling us to write astory 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 youhave your composition all done?"
Anne nodded, trying hard not to look virtuously complacent and failingmiserably.
"I wrote it last Monday evening. It's called 'The Jealous Rival; or InDeath Not Divided.' I read it to Marilla and she said it was stuff andnonsense. Then I read it to Matthew and he said it was fine. That isthe kind of critic I like. It's a sad, sweet story. I just cried likea child while I was writing it. It's about two beautiful maidens calledCordelia Montmorency and Geraldine Seymour who lived in the same villageand were devotedly attached to each other. Cordelia was a regal brunettewith a coronet of midnight hair and duskly flashing eyes. Geraldine wasa 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 thecommon. Geraldine had an alabaster brow too. I've found out what analabaster brow is. That is one of the advantages of being thirteen. Youknow so much more than you did when you were only twelve."
"Well, what became of Cordelia and Geraldine?" asked Diana, who wasbeginning to feel rather interested in their fate.
"They grew in beauty side by side until they were sixteen. Then BertramDeVere came to their native village and fell in love with the fairGeraldine. He saved her life when her horse ran away with her in acarriage, and she fainted in his arms and he carried her home threemiles; because, you understand, the carriage was all smashed up. I foundit rather hard to imagine the proposal because I had no experience togo by. I asked Ruby Gillis if she knew anything about how men proposedbecause I thought she'd likely be an authority on the subject, having somany sisters married. Ruby told me she was hid in the hall pantry whenMalcolm Andres proposed to her sister Susan. She said Malcolm told Susanthat his dad had given him the farm in his own name and then said, 'Whatdo 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 asquick as that. But I didn't think that sort of a proposal was a veryromantic 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 acceptedhim in a speech a page long. I can tell you I took a lot of troublewith that speech. I rewrote it five times and I look upon it as mymasterpiece. Bertram gave her a diamond ring and a ruby necklaceand told her they would go to Europe for a wedding tour, for he wasimmensely wealthy. But then, alas, shadows began to darken over theirpath. Cordelia was secretly in love with Bertram herself and whenGeraldine told her about the engagement she was simply furious,especi
ally when she saw the necklace and the diamond ring. All heraffection for Geraldine turned to bitter hate and she vowed that sheshould never marry Bertram. But she pretended to be Geraldine's friendthe same as ever. One evening they were standing on the bridge over arushing turbulent stream and Cordelia, thinking they were alone, pushedGeraldine over the brink with a wild, mocking, 'Ha, ha, ha.' But Bertramsaw it all and he at once plunged into the current, exclaiming, 'Iwill save thee, my peerless Geraldine.' But alas, he had forgotten hecouldn't swim, and they were both drowned, clasped in each other's arms.Their bodies were washed ashore soon afterwards. They were buried in theone grave and their funeral was most imposing, Diana. It's so muchmore romantic to end a story up with a funeral than a wedding. As forCordelia, she went insane with remorse and was shut up in a lunaticasylum. I thought that was a poetical retribution for her crime."
"How perfectly lovely!" sighed Diana, who belonged to Matthew's schoolof critics. "I don't see how you can make up such thrilling things outof 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'vejust thought of a plan, Diana. Let you and me have a story club all ourown and write stories for practice. I'll help you along until you cando 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 aboutthe 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 Dianaand Anne at first, but soon it was extended to include Jane Andrewsand Ruby Gillis and one or two others who felt that their imaginationsneeded cultivating. No boys were allowed in it--although Ruby Gillisopined that their admission would make it more exciting--and each memberhad to produce one story a week.
"It's extremely interesting," Anne told Marilla. "Each girl has to readher story out loud and then we talk it over. We are going to keep themall sacredly and have them to read to our descendants. We each writeunder a nom-de-plume. Mine is Rosamond Montmorency. All the girlsdo pretty well. Ruby Gillis is rather sentimental. She puts too muchlovemaking into her stories and you know too much is worse than toolittle. Jane never puts any because she says it makes her feel so sillywhen 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 timeshe doesn't know what to do with the people so she kills them off to getrid of them. I mostly always have to tell them what to write about, butthat isn't hard for I've millions of ideas."
"I think this story-writing business is the foolishest yet," scoffedMarilla. "You'll get a pack of nonsense into your heads and waste timethat should be put on your lessons. Reading stories is bad enough butwriting them is worse."
"But we're so careful to put a moral into them all, Marilla," explainedAnne. "I insist upon that. All the good people are rewarded and allthe bad ones are suitably punished. I'm sure that must have a wholesomeeffect. The moral is the great thing. Mr. Allan says so. I read one ofmy stories to him and Mrs. Allan and they both agreed that the moral wasexcellent. Only they laughed in the wrong places. I like it better whenpeople cry. Jane and Ruby almost always cry when I come to the patheticparts. Diana wrote her Aunt Josephine about our club and her AuntJosephine wrote back that we were to send her some of our stories. Sowe copied out four of our very best and sent them. Miss Josephine Barrywrote back that she had never read anything so amusing in her life. Thatkind of puzzled us because the stories were all very pathetic and almosteverybody died. But I'm glad Miss Barry liked them. It shows our clubis doing some good in the world. Mrs. Allan says that ought to be ourobject in everything. I do really try to make it my object but I forgetso often when I'm having fun. I hope I shall be a little like Mrs. Allanwhen 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 encouraginganswer. "I'm sure Mrs. Allan was never such a silly, forgetful littlegirl as you are."
"No; but she wasn't always so good as she is now either," said Anneseriously. "She told me so herself--that is, she said she was a dreadfulmischief when she was a girl and was always getting into scrapes. I feltso encouraged when I heard that. Is it very wicked of me, Marilla,to feel encouraged when I hear that other people have been bad andmischievous? Mrs. Lynde says it is. Mrs. Lynde says she always feelsshocked when she hears of anyone ever having been naughty, no matter howsmall they were. Mrs. Lynde says she once heard a minister confess thatwhen he was a boy he stole a strawberry tart out of his aunt's pantryand she never had any respect for that minister again. Now, I wouldn'thave felt that way. I'd have thought that it was real noble of him toconfess it, and I'd have thought what an encouraging thing it would befor small boys nowadays who do naughty things and are sorry for themto 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 timeyou had those dishes washed. You've taken half an hour longer thanyou should with all your chattering. Learn to work first and talkafterwards."