Chapter II
Garlands of Autumn
The following week sped swiftly, crowded with innumerable "last things,"as Anne called them. Good-bye calls had to be made and received, beingpleasant or otherwise, according to whether callers and called-uponwere heartily in sympathy with Anne's hopes, or thought she was too muchpuffed-up over going to college and that it was their duty to "take herdown a peg or two."
The A.V.I.S. gave a farewell party in honor of Anne and Gilbert oneevening at the home of Josie Pye, choosing that place, partly becauseMr. Pye's house was large and convenient, partly because it was stronglysuspected that the Pye girls would have nothing to do with the affair iftheir offer of the house for the party was not accepted. It was a verypleasant little time, for the Pye girls were gracious, and said and didnothing to mar the harmony of the occasion--which was not accordingto their wont. Josie was unusually amiable--so much so that she evenremarked condescendingly to Anne,
"Your new dress is rather becoming to you, Anne. Really, you look ALMOSTPRETTY in it."
"How kind of you to say so," responded Anne, with dancing eyes. Hersense of humor was developing, and the speeches that would have hurt herat fourteen were becoming merely food for amusement now. Josie suspectedthat Anne was laughing at her behind those wicked eyes; but shecontented herself with whispering to Gertie, as they went downstairs,that Anne Shirley would put on more airs than ever now that she wasgoing to college--you'd see!
All the "old crowd" was there, full of mirth and zest and youthfullightheartedness. Diana Barry, rosy and dimpled, shadowed by thefaithful Fred; Jane Andrews, neat and sensible and plain; Ruby Gillis,looking her handsomest and brightest in a cream silk blouse, with redgeraniums in her golden hair; Gilbert Blythe and Charlie Sloane, bothtrying to keep as near the elusive Anne as possible; Carrie Sloane,looking pale and melancholy because, so it was reported, her fatherwould not allow Oliver Kimball to come near the place; Moody SpurgeonMacPherson, whose round face and objectionable ears were as round andobjectionable as ever; and Billy Andrews, who sat in a corner all theevening, chuckled when any one spoke to him, and watched Anne Shirleywith a grin of pleasure on his broad, freckled countenance.
Anne had known beforehand of the party, but she had not known that sheand Gilbert were, as the founders of the Society, to be presented witha very complimentary "address" and "tokens of respect"--in her case avolume of Shakespeare's plays, in Gilbert's a fountain pen. She was sotaken by surprise and pleased by the nice things said in the address,read in Moody Spurgeon's most solemn and ministerial tones, that thetears quite drowned the sparkle of her big gray eyes. She had workedhard and faithfully for the A.V.I.S., and it warmed the cockles of herheart that the members appreciated her efforts so sincerely. And theywere all so nice and friendly and jolly--even the Pye girls had theirmerits; at that moment Anne loved all the world.
She enjoyed the evening tremendously, but the end of it rather spoiledall. Gilbert again made the mistake of saying something sentimentalto her as they ate their supper on the moonlit verandah; and Anne, topunish him, was gracious to Charlie Sloane and allowed the latter towalk home with her. She found, however, that revenge hurts nobody quiteso much as the one who tries to inflict it. Gilbert walked airily offwith Ruby Gillis, and Anne could hear them laughing and talking gaily asthey loitered along in the still, crisp autumn air. They were evidentlyhaving the best of good times, while she was horribly bored by CharlieSloane, who talked unbrokenly on, and never, even by accident, said onething that was worth listening to. Anne gave an occasional absent "yes"or "no," and thought how beautiful Ruby had looked that night, howvery goggly Charlie's eyes were in the moonlight--worse even than bydaylight--and that the world, somehow, wasn't quite such a nice place asshe had believed it to be earlier in the evening.
"I'm just tired out--that is what is the matter with me," she said, whenshe thankfully found herself alone in her own room. And she honestlybelieved it was. But a certain little gush of joy, as from some secret,unknown spring, bubbled up in her heart the next evening, when she sawGilbert striding down through the Haunted Wood and crossing the old logbridge with that firm, quick step of his. So Gilbert was not going tospend this last evening with Ruby Gillis after all!
"You look tired, Anne," he said.
"I am tired, and, worse than that, I'm disgruntled. I'm tired becauseI've been packing my trunk and sewing all day. But I'm disgruntledbecause six women have been here to say good-bye to me, and every one ofthe six managed to say something that seemed to take the color rightout of life and leave it as gray and dismal and cheerless as a Novembermorning."
"Spiteful old cats!" was Gilbert's elegant comment.
"Oh, no, they weren't," said Anne seriously. "That is just the trouble.If they had been spiteful cats I wouldn't have minded them. But they areall nice, kind, motherly souls, who like me and whom I like, and that iswhy what they said, or hinted, had such undue weight with me. They letme see they thought I was crazy going to Redmond and trying to takea B.A., and ever since I've been wondering if I am. Mrs. Peter Sloanesighed and said she hoped my strength would hold out till I got through;and at once I saw myself a hopeless victim of nervous prostration at theend of my third year; Mrs. Eben Wright said it must cost an awful lotto put in four years at Redmond; and I felt all over me that it wasunpardonable of me to squander Marilla's money and my own on such afolly. Mrs. Jasper Bell said she hoped I wouldn't let college spoil me,as it did some people; and I felt in my bones that the end of my fourRedmond years would see me a most insufferable creature, thinking I knewit all, and looking down on everything and everybody in Avonlea; Mrs.Elisha Wright said she understood that Redmond girls, especially thosewho belonged to Kingsport, were 'dreadful dressy and stuck-up,' and sheguessed I wouldn't feel much at home among them; and I saw myself, asnubbed, dowdy, humiliated country girl, shuffling through Redmond'sclassic halls in coppertoned boots."
Anne ended with a laugh and a sigh commingled. With her sensitive natureall disapproval had weight, even the disapproval of those for whoseopinions she had scant respect. For the time being life was savorless,and ambition had gone out like a snuffed candle.
"You surely don't care for what they said," protested Gilbert. "You knowexactly how narrow their outlook on life is, excellent creatures thoughthey are. To do anything THEY have never done is anathema maranatha. Youare the first Avonlea girl who has ever gone to college; and youknow that all pioneers are considered to be afflicted with moonstruckmadness."
"Oh, I know. But FEELING is so different from KNOWING. My common sensetells me all you can say, but there are times when common sense hasno power over me. Common nonsense takes possession of my soul. Really,after Mrs. Elisha went away I hardly had the heart to finish packing."
"You're just tired, Anne. Come, forget it all and take a walk withme--a ramble back through the woods beyond the marsh. There should besomething there I want to show you."
"Should be! Don't you know if it is there?"
"No. I only know it should be, from something I saw there in spring.Come on. We'll pretend we are two children again and we'll go the way ofthe wind."
They started gaily off. Anne, remembering the unpleasantness of thepreceding evening, was very nice to Gilbert; and Gilbert, who waslearning wisdom, took care to be nothing save the schoolboy comradeagain. Mrs. Lynde and Marilla watched them from the kitchen window.
"That'll be a match some day," Mrs. Lynde said approvingly.
Marilla winced slightly. In her heart she hoped it would, but it wentagainst her grain to hear the matter spoken of in Mrs. Lynde's gossipymatter-of-fact way.
"They're only children yet," she said shortly.
Mrs. Lynde laughed good-naturedly.
"Anne is eighteen; I was married when I was that age. We old folks,Marilla, are too much given to thinking children never grow up, that'swhat. Anne is a young woman and Gilbert's a man, and he worships theground she walks on, as any one can see. He's a fine fellow, and Annecan't do better. I hope she won't
get any romantic nonsense into herhead at Redmond. I don't approve of them coeducational places and neverdid, that's what. I don't believe," concluded Mrs. Lynde solemnly, "thatthe students at such colleges ever do much else than flirt."
"They must study a little," said Marilla, with a smile.
"Precious little," sniffed Mrs. Rachel. "However, I think Anne will. Shenever was flirtatious. But she doesn't appreciate Gilbert at his fullvalue, that's what. Oh, I know girls! Charlie Sloane is wild about her,too, but I'd never advise her to marry a Sloane. The Sloanes are good,honest, respectable people, of course. But when all's said and done,they're SLOANES."
Marilla nodded. To an outsider, the statement that Sloanes were Sloanesmight not be very illuminating, but she understood. Every village hassuch a family; good, honest, respectable people they may be, but SLOANESthey are and must ever remain, though they speak with the tongues of menand angels.
Gilbert and Anne, happily unconscious that their future was thus beingsettled by Mrs. Rachel, were sauntering through the shadows of theHaunted Wood. Beyond, the harvest hills were basking in an amber sunsetradiance, under a pale, aerial sky of rose and blue. The distant sprucegroves were burnished bronze, and their long shadows barred the uplandmeadows. But around them a little wind sang among the fir tassels, andin it there was the note of autumn.
"This wood really is haunted now--by old memories," said Anne, stoopingto gather a spray of ferns, bleached to waxen whiteness by frost. "Itseems to me that the little girls Diana and I used to be play herestill, and sit by the Dryad's Bubble in the twilights, trysting withthe ghosts. Do you know, I can never go up this path in the dusk withoutfeeling a bit of the old fright and shiver? There was one especiallyhorrifying phantom which we created--the ghost of the murdered childthat crept up behind you and laid cold fingers on yours. I confess that,to this day, I cannot help fancying its little, furtive footsteps behindme when I come here after nightfall. I'm not afraid of the White Lady orthe headless man or the skeletons, but I wish I had never imagined thatbaby's ghost into existence. How angry Marilla and Mrs. Barry were overthat affair," concluded Anne, with reminiscent laughter.
The woods around the head of the marsh were full of purple vistas,threaded with gossamers. Past a dour plantation of gnarled spruces anda maple-fringed, sun-warm valley they found the "something" Gilbert waslooking for.
"Ah, here it is," he said with satisfaction.
"An apple tree--and away back here!" exclaimed Anne delightedly.
"Yes, a veritable apple-bearing apple tree, too, here in the very midstof pines and beeches, a mile away from any orchard. I was here one daylast spring and found it, all white with blossom. So I resolved I'd comeagain in the fall and see if it had been apples. See, it's loaded. Theylook good, too--tawny as russets but with a dusky red cheek. Most wildseedlings are green and uninviting."
"I suppose it sprang years ago from some chance-sown seed," said Annedreamily. "And how it has grown and flourished and held its own here allalone among aliens, the brave determined thing!"
"Here's a fallen tree with a cushion of moss. Sit down, Anne--it willserve for a woodland throne. I'll climb for some apples. They all growhigh--the tree had to reach up to the sunlight."
The apples proved to be delicious. Under the tawny skin was a white,white flesh, faintly veined with red; and, besides their own properapple taste, they had a certain wild, delightful tang no orchard-grownapple ever possessed.
"The fatal apple of Eden couldn't have had a rarer flavor," commentedAnne. "But it's time we were going home. See, it was twilight threeminutes ago and now it's moonlight. What a pity we couldn't have caughtthe moment of transformation. But such moments never are caught, Isuppose."
"Let's go back around the marsh and home by way of Lover's Lane. Do youfeel as disgruntled now as when you started out, Anne?"
"Not I. Those apples have been as manna to a hungry soul. I feel that Ishall love Redmond and have a splendid four years there."
"And after those four years--what?"
"Oh, there's another bend in the road at their end," answered Annelightly. "I've no idea what may be around it--I don't want to have. It'snicer not to know."
Lover's Lane was a dear place that night, still and mysteriously dimin the pale radiance of the moonlight. They loitered through it in apleasant chummy silence, neither caring to talk.
"If Gilbert were always as he has been this evening how nice and simpleeverything would be," reflected Anne.
Gilbert was looking at Anne, as she walked along. In her light dress,with her slender delicacy, she made him think of a white iris.
"I wonder if I can ever make her care for me," he thought, with a pangof self-distrust.