ALL things great are wound up with all things little. At first glance

it might not seem that the decision of a certain Canadian Premier to

include Prince Edward Island in a political tour could have much or

anything to do with the fortunes of little Anne Shirley at Green Gables.

But it had.

It was a January the Premier came, to address his loyal supporters and

such of his nonsupporters as chose to be present at the monster mass

meeting held in Charlottetown. Most of the Avonlea people were on

Premier’s side of politics; hence on the night of the meeting nearly

all the men and a goodly proportion of the women had gone to town thirty

miles away. Mrs. Rachel Lynde had gone too. Mrs. Rachel Lynde was a

red-hot politician and couldn’t have believed that the political rally

could be carried through without her, although she was on the opposite

side of politics. So she went to town and took her husband--Thomas would

be useful in looking after the horse--and Marilla Cuthbert with her.

Marilla had a sneaking interest in politics herself, and as she thought

it might be her only chance to see a real live Premier, she promptly

took it, leaving Anne and Matthew to keep house until her return the

following day.

Hence, while Marilla and Mrs. Rachel were enjoying themselves hugely

at the mass meeting, Anne and Matthew had the cheerful kitchen at Green

Gables all to themselves. A bright fire was glowing in the old-fashioned

Waterloo stove and blue-white frost crystals were shining on the

windowpanes. Matthew nodded over a _Farmers’ Advocate_ on the sofa and

Anne at the table studied her lessons with grim determination, despite

sundry wistful glances at the clock shelf, where lay a new book that

Jane Andrews had lent her that day. Jane had assured her that it was

warranted to produce any number of thrills, or words to that effect, and

Anne’s fingers tingled to reach out for it. But that would mean Gilbert

Blythe’s triumph on the morrow. Anne turned her back on the clock shelf

and tried to imagine it wasn’t there.

“Matthew, did you ever study geometry when you went to school?”

“Well now, no, I didn’t,” said Matthew, coming out of his doze with a

start.

“I wish you had,” sighed Anne, “because then you’d be able to sympathize

with me. You can’t sympathize properly if you’ve never studied it. It is

casting a cloud over my whole life. I’m such a dunce at it, Matthew.”

“Well now, I dunno,” said Matthew soothingly. “I guess you’re all right

at anything. Mr. Phillips told me last week in Blair’s store at Carmody

that you was the smartest scholar in school and was making rapid

progress. ‘Rapid progress’ was his very words. There’s them as runs down

Teddy Phillips and says he ain’t much of a teacher, but I guess he’s all

right.”

Matthew would have thought anyone who praised Anne was “all right.”

“I’m sure I’d get on better with geometry if only he wouldn’t change

the letters,” complained Anne. “I learn the proposition off by heart and

then he draws it on the blackboard and puts different letters from what

are in the book and I get all mixed up. I don’t think a teacher should

take such a mean advantage, do you? We’re studying agriculture now and

I’ve found out at last what makes the roads red. It’s a great comfort.

I wonder how Marilla and Mrs. Lynde are enjoying themselves. Mrs. Lynde

says Canada is going to the dogs the way things are being run at Ottawa

and that it’s an awful warning to the electors. She says if women were

allowed to vote we would soon see a blessed change. What way do you

vote, Matthew?”

“Conservative,” said Matthew promptly. To vote Conservative was part of

Matthew’s religion.

“Then I’m Conservative too,” said Anne decidedly. “I’m glad because

Gil--because some of the boys in school are Grits. I guess Mr. Phillips

is a Grit too because Prissy Andrews’s father is one, and Ruby Gillis

says that when a man is courting he always has to agree with the girl’s

mother in religion and her father in politics. Is that true, Matthew?”

“Well now, I dunno,” said Matthew.

“Did you ever go courting, Matthew?”

“Well now, no, I dunno’s I ever did,” said Matthew, who had certainly

never thought of such a thing in his whole existence.

Anne reflected with her chin in her hands.

“It must be rather interesting, don’t you think, Matthew? Ruby Gillis

says when she grows up she’s going to have ever so many beaus on the

string and have them all crazy about her; but I think that would be too

exciting. I’d rather have just one in his right mind. But Ruby Gillis

knows a great deal about such matters because she has so many big

sisters, and Mrs. Lynde says the Gillis girls have gone off like hot

cakes. Mr. Phillips goes up to see Prissy Andrews nearly every evening.

He says it is to help her with her lessons but Miranda Sloane is

studying for Queen’s too, and I should think she needed help a lot more

than Prissy because she’s ever so much stupider, but he never goes to

help her in the evenings at all. There are a great many things in this

world that I can’t understand very well, Matthew.”

“Well now, I dunno as I comprehend them all myself,” acknowledged

Matthew.

“Well, I suppose I must finish up my lessons. I won’t allow myself to

open that new book Jane lent me until I’m through. But it’s a terrible

temptation, Matthew. Even when I turn my back on it I can see it there

just as plain. Jane said she cried herself sick over it. I love a book

that makes me cry. But I think I’ll carry that book into the sitting

room and lock it in the jam closet and give you the key. And you must

_not_ give it to me, Matthew, until my lessons are done, not even if

I implore you on my bended knees. It’s all very well to say resist

temptation, but it’s ever so much easier to resist it if you can’t get

the key. And then shall I run down the cellar and get some russets,

Matthew? Wouldn’t you like some russets?”

“Well now, I dunno but what I would,” said Matthew, who never ate

russets but knew Anne’s weakness for them.

Just as Anne emerged triumphantly from the cellar with her plateful of

russets came the sound of flying footsteps on the icy board walk outside

and the next moment the kitchen door was flung open and in rushed Diana

Barry, white faced and breathless, with a shawl wrapped hastily around

her head. Anne promptly let go of her candle and plate in her surprise,

and plate, candle, and apples crashed together down the cellar ladder

and were found at the bottom embedded in melted grease, the next day,

by Marilla, who gathered them up and thanked mercy the house hadn’t been

set on fire.

“Whatever is the matter, Diana?” cried Anne. “Has your mother relented

at last?”

“Oh, Anne, do come quick,” implored Diana nervously. “Minnie May is

awful sick--she’s got croup. Young Mary Joe says--and Father and Mother

are away to town and there’s nobody to go for the doctor. Minnie May is

awful bad and Young Mary Joe doesn’t know what to do--and oh, Anne, I’m

so scared!”

Matthew, without a word, reached out for cap and coat, slipped past

Diana and away into the darkness of the yard.

“He’s gone to harness the sorrel mare to go to Carmody for the doctor,”

said Anne, who was hurrying on hood and jacket. “I know it as well as

if he’d said so. Matthew and I are such kindred spirits I can read his

thoughts without words at all.”

“I don’t believe he’ll find the doctor at Carmody,” sobbed Diana. “I

know that Dr. Blair went to town and I guess Dr. Spencer would go too.

Young Mary Joe never saw anybody with croup and Mrs. Lynde is away. Oh,

Anne!”

“Don’t cry, Di,” said Anne cheerily. “I know exactly what to do for

croup. You forget that Mrs. Hammond had twins three times. When you look

after three pairs of twins you naturally get a lot of experience. They

all had croup regularly. Just wait till I get the ipecac bottle--you

mayn’t have any at your house. Come on now.”

The two little girls hastened out hand in hand and hurried through

Lover’s Lane and across the crusted field beyond, for the snow was too

deep to go by the shorter wood way. Anne, although sincerely sorry

for Minnie May, was far from being insensible to the romance of the

situation and to the sweetness of once more sharing that romance with a

kindred spirit.

The night was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of snowy

slope; big stars were shining over the silent fields; here and there the

dark pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and the

wind whistling through them. Anne thought it was truly delightful to go

skimming through all this mystery and loveliness with your bosom friend

who had been so long estranged.

Minnie May, aged three, was really very sick. She lay on the kitchen

sofa feverish and restless, while her hoarse breathing could be heard

all over the house. Young Mary Joe, a buxom, broad-faced French girl

from the creek, whom Mrs. Barry had engaged to stay with the children

during her absence, was helpless and bewildered, quite incapable of

thinking what to do, or doing it if she thought of it.

Anne went to work with skill and promptness.

“Minnie May has croup all right; she’s pretty bad, but I’ve seen them

worse. First we must have lots of hot water. I declare, Diana, there

isn’t more than a cupful in the kettle! There, I’ve filled it up, and,

Mary Joe, you may put some wood in the stove. I don’t want to hurt your

feelings but it seems to me you might have thought of this before if

you’d any imagination. Now, I’ll undress Minnie May and put her to bed

and you try to find some soft flannel cloths, Diana. I’m going to give

her a dose of ipecac first of all.”

Minnie May did not take kindly to the ipecac but Anne had not brought up

three pairs of twins for nothing. Down that ipecac went, not only once,

but many times during the long, anxious night when the two little girls

worked patiently over the suffering Minnie May, and Young Mary Joe,

honestly anxious to do all she could, kept up a roaring fire and heated

more water than would have been needed for a hospital of croupy babies.

It was three o’clock when Matthew came with a doctor, for he had been

obliged to go all the way to Spencervale for one. But the pressing need

for assistance was past. Minnie May was much better and was sleeping

soundly.

“I was awfully near giving up in despair,” explained Anne. “She got

worse and worse until she was sicker than ever the Hammond twins were,

even the last pair. I actually thought she was going to choke to death.

I gave her every drop of ipecac in that bottle and when the last dose

went down I said to myself--not to Diana or Young Mary Joe, because I

didn’t want to worry them any more than they were worried, but I had

to say it to myself just to relieve my feelings--‘This is the last

lingering hope and I fear, tis a vain one.’ But in about three minutes

she coughed up the phlegm and began to get better right away. You must

just imagine my relief, doctor, because I can’t express it in words. You

know there are some things that cannot be expressed in words.”

“Yes, I know,” nodded the doctor. He looked at Anne as if he were

thinking some things about her that couldn’t be expressed in words.

Later on, however, he expressed them to Mr. and Mrs. Barry.

“That little redheaded girl they have over at Cuthbert’s is as smart as

they make ‘em. I tell you she saved that baby’s life, for it would have

been too late by the time I got there. She seems to have a skill and

presence of mind perfectly wonderful in a child of her age. I never saw

anything like the eyes of her when she was explaining the case to me.”

Anne had gone home in the wonderful, white-frosted winter morning, heavy

eyed from loss of sleep, but still talking unweariedly to Matthew as

they crossed the long white field and walked under the glittering fairy

arch of the Lover’s Lane maples.

“Oh, Matthew, isn’t it a wonderful morning? The world looks like

something God had just imagined for His own pleasure, doesn’t it? Those

trees look as if I could blow them away with a breath--pouf! I’m so glad

I live in a world where there are white frosts, aren’t you? And I’m so

glad Mrs. Hammond had three pairs of twins after all. If she hadn’t I

mightn’t have known what to do for Minnie May. I’m real sorry I was

ever cross with Mrs. Hammond for having twins. But, oh, Matthew, I’m so

sleepy. I can’t go to school. I just know I couldn’t keep my eyes open

and I’d be so stupid. But I hate to stay home, for Gil--some of

the others will get head of the class, and it’s so hard to get up

again--although of course the harder it is the more satisfaction you

have when you do get up, haven’t you?”

“Well now, I guess you’ll manage all right,” said Matthew, looking at

Anne’s white little face and the dark shadows under her eyes. “You just

go right to bed and have a good sleep. I’ll do all the chores.”

Anne accordingly went to bed and slept so long and soundly that it

was well on in the white and rosy winter afternoon when she awoke and

descended to the kitchen where Marilla, who had arrived home in the

meantime, was sitting knitting.

“Oh, did you see the Premier?” exclaimed Anne at once. “What did he look

like Marilla?”

“Well, he never got to be Premier on account of his looks,” said

Marilla. “Such a nose as that man had! But he can speak. I was proud of

being a Conservative. Rachel Lynde, of course, being a Liberal, had no

use for him. Your dinner is in the oven, Anne, and you can get yourself

some blue plum preserve out of the pantry. I guess you’re hungry.

Matthew has been telling me about last night. I must say it was

fortunate you knew what to do. I wouldn’t have had any idea myself, for

I never saw a case of croup. There now, never mind talking till you’ve

had your dinner. I can tell by the look of you that you’re just full up

with speeches, but they’ll keep.”

Marilla had something to tell Anne, but she did not tell it just then

for she knew if she did Anne’s consequent excitement would lift her

clear out of the region of such material matters as appetite or dinner.

Not until Anne had finished her saucer of blue plums did Marilla say:

“Mrs. Barry was here this afternoon, Anne. She wanted to see you, but I

wouldn’t wake you up. She says you saved Minnie May’s life, and she is

very sorry she acted as she did in that affair of the currant wine. She

says she knows now you didn’t mean to set Diana drunk, and she hopes

you’ll forgive her and be good friends with Diana again. You’re to go

over this evening if you like for Diana can’t stir outside the door

on account of a bad cold she caught last night. Now, Anne Shirley, for

pity’s sake don’t fly up into the air.”

The warning seemed not unnecessary, so uplifted and aerial was Anne’s

expression and attitude as she sprang to her feet, her face irradiated

with the flame of her spirit.

“Oh, Marilla, can I go right now--without washing my dishes? I’ll wash

them when I come back, but I cannot tie myself down to anything so

unromantic as dishwashing at this thrilling moment.”

“Yes, yes, run along,” said Marilla indulgently. “Anne Shirley--are you

crazy? Come back this instant and put something on you. I might as well

call to the wind. She’s gone without a cap or wrap. Look at her tearing

through the orchard with her hair streaming. It’ll be a mercy if she

doesn’t catch her death of cold.”

Anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowy

places. Afar in the southwest was the great shimmering, pearl-like

sparkle of an evening star in a sky that was pale golden and ethereal

rose over gleaming white spaces and dark glens of spruce. The tinkles

of sleigh bells among the snowy hills came like elfin chimes through

the frosty air, but their music was not sweeter than the song in Anne’s

heart and on her lips.

“You see before you a perfectly happy person, Marilla,” she announced.

“I’m perfectly happy--yes, in spite of my red hair. Just at present I

have a soul above red hair. Mrs. Barry kissed me and cried and said she

was so sorry and she could never repay me. I felt fearfully embarrassed,

Marilla, but I just said as politely as I could, ‘I have no hard

feelings for you, Mrs. Barry. I assure you once for all that I did not

mean to intoxicate Diana and henceforth I shall cover the past with the

mantle of oblivion.’ That was a pretty dignified way of speaking wasn’t

it, Marilla?”

“I felt that I was heaping coals of fire on Mrs. Barry’s head. And Diana

and I had a lovely afternoon. Diana showed me a new fancy crochet stitch

her aunt over at Carmody taught her. Not a soul in Avonlea knows it but

us, and we pledged a solemn vow never to reveal it to anyone else. Diana

gave me a beautiful card with a wreath of roses on it and a verse of

poetry:”

“If you love me as I love you

Nothing but death can part us two.”

“And that is true, Marilla. We’re going to ask Mr. Phillips to let us

sit together in school again, and Gertie Pye can go with Minnie Andrews.

We had an elegant tea. Mrs. Barry had the very best china set out,

Marilla, just as if I was real company. I can’t tell you what a thrill

it gave me. Nobody ever used their very best china on my account before.

And we had fruit cake and pound cake and doughnuts and two kinds of

preserves, Marilla. And Mrs. Barry asked me if I took tea and said ‘Pa,

why don’t you pass the biscuits to Anne?’ It must be lovely to be grown

up, Marilla, when just being treated as if you were is so nice.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Marilla, with a brief sigh.

“Well, anyway, when I am grown up,” said Anne decidedly, “I’m always

going to talk to little girls as if they were too, and I’ll never laugh

when they use big words. I know from sorrowful experience how that hurts

one’s feelings. After tea Diana and I made taffy. The taffy wasn’t very

good, I suppose because neither Diana nor I had ever made any before.

Diana left me to stir it while she buttered the plates and I forgot and

let it burn; and then when we set it out on the platform to cool the cat

walked over one plate and that had to be thrown away. But the making of

it was splendid fun. Then when I came home Mrs. Barry asked me to come

over as often as I could and Diana stood at the window and threw kisses

to me all the way down to Lover’s Lane. I assure you, Marilla, that I

feel like praying tonight and I’m going to think out a special brand-new

prayer in honor of the occasion.”