The Delights of Anticipation

IT’S time Anne was in to do her sewing,” said Marilla, glancing at the

clock and then out into the yellow August afternoon where everything

drowsed in the heat. “She stayed playing with Diana more than half an

hour more ‘n I gave her leave to; and now she’s perched out there on

the woodpile talking to Matthew, nineteen to the dozen, when she knows

perfectly well she ought to be at her work. And of course he’s listening

to her like a perfect ninny. I never saw such an infatuated man.

The more she talks and the odder the things she says, the more he’s

delighted evidently. Anne Shirley, you come right in here this minute,

do you hear me!”

A series of staccato taps on the west window brought Anne flying in from

the yard, eyes shining, cheeks faintly flushed with pink, unbraided hair

streaming behind her in a torrent of brightness.

“Oh, Marilla,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “there’s going to be a

Sunday-school picnic next week--in Mr. Harmon Andrews’s field, right

near the lake of Shining Waters. And Mrs. Superintendent Bell and Mrs.

Rachel Lynde are going to make ice cream--think of it, Marilla--_ice

cream!_ And, oh, Marilla, can I go to it?”

“Just look at the clock, if you please, Anne. What time did I tell you

to come in?”

“Two o’clock--but isn’t it splendid about the picnic, Marilla? Please

can I go? Oh, I’ve never been to a picnic--I’ve dreamed of picnics, but

I’ve never--”

“Yes, I told you to come at two o’clock. And it’s a quarter to three.

I’d like to know why you didn’t obey me, Anne.”

“Why, I meant to, Marilla, as much as could be. But you have no idea

how fascinating Idlewild is. And then, of course, I had to tell Matthew

about the picnic. Matthew is such a sympathetic listener. Please can I

go?”

“You’ll have to learn to resist the fascination of

Idle-whatever-you-call-it. When I tell you to come in at a certain time

I mean that time and not half an hour later. And you needn’t stop to

discourse with sympathetic listeners on your way, either. As for the

picnic, of course you can go. You’re a Sunday-school scholar, and it’s

not likely I’d refuse to let you go when all the other little girls are

going.”

“But--but,” faltered Anne, “Diana says that everybody must take a basket

of things to eat. I can’t cook, as you know, Marilla, and--and--I don’t

mind going to a picnic without puffed sleeves so much, but I’d feel

terribly humiliated if I had to go without a basket. It’s been preying

on my mind ever since Diana told me.”

“Well, it needn’t prey any longer. I’ll bake you a basket.”

“Oh, you dear good Marilla. Oh, you are so kind to me. Oh, I’m so much

obliged to you.”

Getting through with her “ohs” Anne cast herself into Marilla’s arms and

rapturously kissed her sallow cheek. It was the first time in her whole

life that childish lips had voluntarily touched Marilla’s face. Again

that sudden sensation of startling sweetness thrilled her. She was

secretly vastly pleased at Anne’s impulsive caress, which was probably

the reason why she said brusquely:

“There, there, never mind your kissing nonsense. I’d sooner see you

doing strictly as you’re told. As for cooking, I mean to begin giving

you lessons in that some of these days. But you’re so featherbrained,

Anne, I’ve been waiting to see if you’d sober down a little and learn

to be steady before I begin. You’ve got to keep your wits about you in

cooking and not stop in the middle of things to let your thoughts rove

all over creation. Now, get out your patchwork and have your square done

before teatime.”

“I do _not_ like patchwork,” said Anne dolefully, hunting out her

workbasket and sitting down before a little heap of red and white

diamonds with a sigh. “I think some kinds of sewing would be nice; but

there’s no scope for imagination in patchwork. It’s just one little seam

after another and you never seem to be getting anywhere. But of course

I’d rather be Anne of Green Gables sewing patchwork than Anne of any

other place with nothing to do but play. I wish time went as quick

sewing patches as it does when I’m playing with Diana, though. Oh, we

do have such elegant times, Marilla. I have to furnish most of the

imagination, but I’m well able to do that. Diana is simply perfect in

every other way. You know that little piece of land across the brook

that runs up between our farm and Mr. Barry’s. It belongs to Mr. William

Bell, and right in the corner there is a little ring of white birch

trees--the most romantic spot, Marilla. Diana and I have our playhouse

there. We call it Idlewild. Isn’t that a poetical name? I assure you it

took me some time to think it out. I stayed awake nearly a whole night

before I invented it. Then, just as I was dropping off to sleep, it came

like an inspiration. Diana was _enraptured_ when she heard it. We have got

our house fixed up elegantly. You must come and see it, Marilla--won’t

you? We have great big stones, all covered with moss, for seats, and

boards from tree to tree for shelves. And we have all our dishes on

them. Of course, they’re all broken but it’s the easiest thing in the

world to imagine that they are whole. There’s a piece of a plate with a

spray of red and yellow ivy on it that is especially beautiful. We keep

it in the parlor and we have the fairy glass there, too. The fairy glass

is as lovely as a dream. Diana found it out in the woods behind their

chicken house. It’s all full of rainbows--just little young rainbows

that haven’t grown big yet--and Diana’s mother told her it was broken

off a hanging lamp they once had. But it’s nice to imagine the fairies

lost it one night when they had a ball, so we call it the fairy glass.

Matthew is going to make us a table. Oh, we have named that little round

pool over in Mr. Barry’s field Willowmere. I got that name out of the

book Diana lent me. That was a thrilling book, Marilla. The heroine

had five lovers. I’d be satisfied with one, wouldn’t you? She was very

handsome and she went through great tribulations. She could faint as

easy as anything. I’d love to be able to faint, wouldn’t you, Marilla?

It’s so romantic. But I’m really very healthy for all I’m so thin. I

believe I’m getting fatter, though. Don’t you think I am? I look at my

elbows every morning when I get up to see if any dimples are coming.

Diana is having a new dress made with elbow sleeves. She is going to

wear it to the picnic. Oh, I do hope it will be fine next Wednesday. I

don’t feel that I could endure the disappointment if anything happened

to prevent me from getting to the picnic. I suppose I’d live through it,

but I’m certain it would be a lifelong sorrow. It wouldn’t matter if

I got to a hundred picnics in after years; they wouldn’t make up for

missing this one. They’re going to have boats on the Lake of Shining

Waters--and ice cream, as I told you. I have never tasted ice cream.

Diana tried to explain what it was like, but I guess ice cream is one of

those things that are beyond imagination.”

“Anne, you have talked even on for ten minutes by the clock,” said

Marilla. “Now, just for curiosity’s sake, see if you can hold your

tongue for the same length of time.”

Anne held her tongue as desired. But for the rest of the week she talked

picnic and thought picnic and dreamed picnic. On Saturday it rained and

she worked herself up into such a frantic state lest it should keep

on raining until and over Wednesday that Marilla made her sew an extra

patchwork square by way of steadying her nerves.

On Sunday Anne confided to Marilla on the way home from church that she

grew actually cold all over with excitement when the minister announced

the picnic from the pulpit.

“Such a thrill as went up and down my back, Marilla! I don’t think I’d

ever really believed until then that there was honestly going to be

a picnic. I couldn’t help fearing I’d only imagined it. But when a

minister says a thing in the pulpit you just have to believe it.”

“You set your heart too much on things, Anne,” said Marilla, with a

sigh. “I’m afraid there’ll be a great many disappointments in store for

you through life.”

“Oh, Marilla, looking forward to things is half the pleasure of them,”

exclaimed Anne. “You mayn’t get the things themselves; but nothing can

prevent you from having the fun of looking forward to them. Mrs.

Lynde says, ‘Blessed are they who expect nothing for they shall not be

disappointed.’ But I think it would be worse to expect nothing than to

be disappointed.”

Marilla wore her amethyst brooch to church that day as usual. Marilla

always wore her amethyst brooch to church. She would have thought it

rather sacrilegious to leave it off--as bad as forgetting her Bible or

her collection dime. That amethyst brooch was Marilla’s most treasured

possession. A seafaring uncle had given it to her mother who in turn

had bequeathed it to Marilla. It was an old-fashioned oval, containing

a braid of her mother’s hair, surrounded by a border of very fine

amethysts. Marilla knew too little about precious stones to realize how

fine the amethysts actually were; but she thought them very beautiful

and was always pleasantly conscious of their violet shimmer at her

throat, above her good brown satin dress, even although she could not

see it.

Anne had been smitten with delighted admiration when she first saw that

brooch.

“Oh, Marilla, it’s a perfectly elegant brooch. I don’t know how you

can pay attention to the sermon or the prayers when you have it on. I

couldn’t, I know. I think amethysts are just sweet. They are what I used

to think diamonds were like. Long ago, before I had ever seen a diamond,

I read about them and I tried to imagine what they would be like. I

thought they would be lovely glimmering purple stones. When I saw a

real diamond in a lady’s ring one day I was so disappointed I cried. Of

course, it was very lovely but it wasn’t my idea of a diamond. Will you

let me hold the brooch for one minute, Marilla? Do you think amethysts

can be the souls of good violets?”