MATTHEW was having a bad ten minutes of it. He had come into the

kitchen, in the twilight of a cold, gray December evening, and had sat

down in the woodbox corner to take off his heavy boots, unconscious of

the fact that Anne and a bevy of her schoolmates were having a practice

of “The Fairy Queen” in the sitting room. Presently they came trooping

through the hall and out into the kitchen, laughing and chattering

gaily. They did not see Matthew, who shrank bashfully back into the

shadows beyond the woodbox with a boot in one hand and a bootjack in the

other, and he watched them shyly for the aforesaid ten minutes as they

put on caps and jackets and talked about the dialogue and the concert.

Anne stood among them, bright eyed and animated as they; but Matthew

suddenly became conscious that there was something about her different

from her mates. And what worried Matthew was that the difference

impressed him as being something that should not exist. Anne had a

brighter face, and bigger, starrier eyes, and more delicate features

than the other; even shy, unobservant Matthew had learned to take note

of these things; but the difference that disturbed him did not consist

in any of these respects. Then in what did it consist?

Matthew was haunted by this question long after the girls had gone, arm

in arm, down the long, hard-frozen lane and Anne had betaken herself

to her books. He could not refer it to Marilla, who, he felt, would be

quite sure to sniff scornfully and remark that the only difference she

saw between Anne and the other girls was that they sometimes kept their

tongues quiet while Anne never did. This, Matthew felt, would be no

great help.

He had recourse to his pipe that evening to help him study it out, much

to Marilla’s disgust. After two hours of smoking and hard reflection

Matthew arrived at a solution of his problem. Anne was not dressed like

the other girls!

The more Matthew thought about the matter the more he was convinced that

Anne never had been dressed like the other girls--never since she had

come to Green Gables. Marilla kept her clothed in plain, dark dresses,

all made after the same unvarying pattern. If Matthew knew there was

such a thing as fashion in dress it was as much as he did; but he was

quite sure that Anne’s sleeves did not look at all like the sleeves the

other girls wore. He recalled the cluster of little girls he had seen

around her that evening--all gay in waists of red and blue and pink

and white--and he wondered why Marilla always kept her so plainly and

soberly gowned.

Of course, it must be all right. Marilla knew best and Marilla was

bringing her up. Probably some wise, inscrutable motive was to be served

thereby. But surely it would do no harm to let the child have one pretty

dress--something like Diana Barry always wore. Matthew decided that

he would give her one; that surely could not be objected to as an

unwarranted putting in of his oar. Christmas was only a fortnight off.

A nice new dress would be the very thing for a present. Matthew, with a

sigh of satisfaction, put away his pipe and went to bed, while Marilla

opened all the doors and aired the house.

The very next evening Matthew betook himself to Carmody to buy the

dress, determined to get the worst over and have done with it. It would

be, he felt assured, no trifling ordeal. There were some things Matthew

could buy and prove himself no mean bargainer; but he knew he would be

at the mercy of shopkeepers when it came to buying a girl’s dress.

After much cogitation Matthew resolved to go to Samuel Lawson’s store

instead of William Blair’s. To be sure, the Cuthberts always had gone to

William Blair’s; it was almost as much a matter of conscience with them

as to attend the Presbyterian church and vote Conservative. But William

Blair’s two daughters frequently waited on customers there and Matthew

held them in absolute dread. He could contrive to deal with them when he

knew exactly what he wanted and could point it out; but in such a matter

as this, requiring explanation and consultation, Matthew felt that he

must be sure of a man behind the counter. So he would go to Lawson’s,

where Samuel or his son would wait on him.

Alas! Matthew did not know that Samuel, in the recent expansion of his

business, had set up a lady clerk also; she was a niece of his wife’s

and a very dashing young person indeed, with a huge, drooping pompadour,

big, rolling brown eyes, and a most extensive and bewildering smile. She

was dressed with exceeding smartness and wore several bangle bracelets

that glittered and rattled and tinkled with every movement of her hands.

Matthew was covered with confusion at finding her there at all; and

those bangles completely wrecked his wits at one fell swoop.

“What can I do for you this evening, Mr. Cuthbert?” Miss Lucilla Harris

inquired, briskly and ingratiatingly, tapping the counter with both

hands.

“Have you any--any--any--well now, say any garden rakes?” stammered

Matthew.

Miss Harris looked somewhat surprised, as well she might, to hear a man

inquiring for garden rakes in the middle of December.

“I believe we have one or two left over,” she said, “but they’re

upstairs in the lumber room. I’ll go and see.” During her absence

Matthew collected his scattered senses for another effort.

When Miss Harris returned with the rake and cheerfully inquired:

“Anything else tonight, Mr. Cuthbert?” Matthew took his courage in

both hands and replied: “Well now, since you suggest it, I might as

well--take--that is--look at--buy some--some hayseed.”

Miss Harris had heard Matthew Cuthbert called odd. She now concluded

that he was entirely crazy.

“We only keep hayseed in the spring,” she explained loftily. “We’ve none

on hand just now.”

“Oh, certainly--certainly--just as you say,” stammered unhappy

Matthew, seizing the rake and making for the door. At the threshold he

recollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back.

While Miss Harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers for

a final desperate attempt.

“Well now--if it isn’t too much trouble--I might as well--that is--I’d

like to look at--at--some sugar.”

“White or brown?” queried Miss Harris patiently.

“Oh--well now--brown,” said Matthew feebly.

“There’s a barrel of it over there,” said Miss Harris, shaking her

bangles at it. “It’s the only kind we have.”

“I’ll--I’ll take twenty pounds of it,” said Matthew, with beads of

perspiration standing on his forehead.

Matthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again. It had

been a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought, for

committing the heresy of going to a strange store. When he reached

home he hid the rake in the tool house, but the sugar he carried in to

Marilla.

“Brown sugar!” exclaimed Marilla. “Whatever possessed you to get so

much? You know I never use it except for the hired man’s porridge or

black fruit cake. Jerry’s gone and I’ve made my cake long ago. It’s not

good sugar, either--it’s coarse and dark--William Blair doesn’t usually

keep sugar like that.”

“I--I thought it might come in handy sometime,” said Matthew, making

good his escape.

When Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was

required to cope with the situation. Marilla was out of the question.

Matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once.

Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would Matthew

have dared to ask advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly, and that

good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man’s hands.

“Pick out a dress for you to give Anne? To be sure I will. I’m going to

Carmody tomorrow and I’ll attend to it. Have you something particular in

mind? No? Well, I’ll just go by my own judgment then. I believe a nice

rich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has some new gloria

in that’s real pretty. Perhaps you’d like me to make it up for her, too,

seeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would probably get wind of it

before the time and spoil the surprise? Well, I’ll do it. No, it isn’t

a mite of trouble. I like sewing. I’ll make it to fit my niece, Jenny

Gillis, for she and Anne are as like as two peas as far as figure goes.”

“Well now, I’m much obliged,” said Matthew, “and--and--I dunno--but I’d

like--I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what they used

to be. If it wouldn’t be asking too much I--I’d like them made in the

new way.”

“Puffs? Of course. You needn’t worry a speck more about it, Matthew.

I’ll make it up in the very latest fashion,” said Mrs. Lynde. To herself

she added when Matthew had gone:

“It’ll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something

decent for once. The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous,

that’s what, and I’ve ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times. I’ve

held my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn’t want advice and she

thinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for all

she’s an old maid. But that’s always the way. Folks that has brought up

children know that there’s no hard and fast method in the world that’ll

suit every child. But them as never have think it’s all as plain and

easy as Rule of Three--just set your three terms down so fashion, and

the sum ‘ll work out correct. But flesh and blood don’t come under the

head of arithmetic and that’s where Marilla Cuthbert makes her mistake.

I suppose she’s trying to cultivate a spirit of humility in Anne by

dressing her as she does; but it’s more likely to cultivate envy and

discontent. I’m sure the child must feel the difference between her

clothes and the other girls’. But to think of Matthew taking notice of

it! That man is waking up after being asleep for over sixty years.”

Marilla knew all the following fortnight that Matthew had something on

his mind, but what it was she could not guess, until Christmas Eve, when

Mrs. Lynde brought up the new dress. Marilla behaved pretty well on the

whole, although it is very likely she distrusted Mrs. Lynde’s diplomatic

explanation that she had made the dress because Matthew was afraid Anne

would find out about it too soon if Marilla made it.

“So this is what Matthew has been looking so mysterious over and

grinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?” she said a little

stiffly but tolerantly. “I knew he was up to some foolishness. Well, I

must say I don’t think Anne needed any more dresses. I made her three

good, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer

extravagance. There’s enough material in those sleeves alone to make a

waist, I declare there is. You’ll just pamper Anne’s vanity, Matthew,

and she’s as vain as a peacock now. Well, I hope she’ll be satisfied

at last, for I know she’s been hankering after those silly sleeves ever

since they came in, although she never said a word after the first. The

puffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right along; they’re

as big as balloons now. Next year anybody who wears them will have to go

through a door sideways.”

Christmas morning broke on a beautiful white world. It had been a very

mild December and people had looked forward to a green Christmas; but

just enough snow fell softly in the night to transfigure Avonlea. Anne

peeped out from her frosted gable window with delighted eyes. The firs

in the Haunted Wood were all feathery and wonderful; the birches

and wild cherry-trees were outlined in pearl; the plowed fields were

stretches of snowy dimples; and there was a crisp tang in the air that

was glorious. Anne ran downstairs singing until her voice reechoed

through Green Gables.

“Merry Christmas, Marilla! Merry Christmas, Matthew! Isn’t it a lovely

Christmas? I’m so glad it’s white. Any other kind of Christmas doesn’t

seem real, does it? I don’t like green Christmases. They’re not

green--they’re just nasty faded browns and grays. What makes people call

them green? Why--why--Matthew, is that for me? Oh, Matthew!”

Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and

held it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to be

contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene

out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air.

Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how pretty

it was--a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt

with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in the

most fashionable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck.

But the sleeves--they were the crowning glory! Long elbow cuffs, and

above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of

brown-silk ribbon.

“That’s a Christmas present for you, Anne,” said Matthew shyly.

“Why--why--Anne, don’t you like it? Well now--well now.”

For Anne’s eyes had suddenly filled with tears.

“Like it! Oh, Matthew!” Anne laid the dress over a chair and clasped

her hands. “Matthew, it’s perfectly exquisite. Oh, I can never thank you

enough. Look at those sleeves! Oh, it seems to me this must be a happy

dream.”

“Well, well, let us have breakfast,” interrupted Marilla. “I must say,

Anne, I don’t think you needed the dress; but since Matthew has got it

for you, see that you take good care of it. There’s a hair ribbon Mrs.

Lynde left for you. It’s brown, to match the dress. Come now, sit in.”

“I don’t see how I’m going to eat breakfast,” said Anne rapturously.

“Breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment. I’d rather

feast my eyes on that dress. I’m so glad that puffed sleeves are still

fashionable. It did seem to me that I’d never get over it if they went

out before I had a dress with them. I’d never have felt quite satisfied,

you see. It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give me the ribbon too. I feel

that I ought to be a very good girl indeed. It’s at times like this I’m

sorry I’m not a model little girl; and I always resolve that I will

be in future. But somehow it’s hard to carry out your resolutions when

irresistible temptations come. Still, I really will make an extra effort

after this.”

When the commonplace breakfast was over Diana appeared, crossing the

white log bridge in the hollow, a gay little figure in her crimson

ulster. Anne flew down the slope to meet her.

“Merry Christmas, Diana! And oh, it’s a wonderful Christmas. I’ve

something splendid to show you. Matthew has given me the loveliest

dress, with _such_ sleeves. I couldn’t even imagine any nicer.”

“I’ve got something more for you,” said Diana breathlessly. “Here--this

box. Aunt Josephine sent us out a big box with ever so many things in

it--and this is for you. I’d have brought it over last night, but it

didn’t come until after dark, and I never feel very comfortable coming

through the Haunted Wood in the dark now.”

Anne opened the box and peeped in. First a card with “For the Anne-girl

and Merry Christmas,” written on it; and then, a pair of the daintiest

little kid slippers, with beaded toes and satin bows and glistening

buckles.

“Oh,” said Anne, “Diana, this is too much. I must be dreaming.”

“I call it providential,” said Diana. “You won’t have to borrow Ruby’s

slippers now, and that’s a blessing, for they’re two sizes too big for

you, and it would be awful to hear a fairy shuffling. Josie Pye would

be delighted. Mind you, Rob Wright went home with Gertie Pye from the

practice night before last. Did you ever hear anything equal to that?”

All the Avonlea scholars were in a fever of excitement that day, for the

hall had to be decorated and a last grand rehearsal held.

The concert came off in the evening and was a pronounced success. The

little hall was crowded; all the performers did excellently well, but

Anne was the bright particular star of the occasion, as even envy, in

the shape of Josie Pye, dared not deny.

“Oh, hasn’t it been a brilliant evening?” sighed Anne, when it was all

over and she and Diana were walking home together under a dark, starry

sky.

“Everything went off very well,” said Diana practically. “I guess we

must have made as much as ten dollars. Mind you, Mr. Allan is going to

send an account of it to the Charlottetown papers.”

“Oh, Diana, will we really see our names in print? It makes me thrill to

think of it. Your solo was perfectly elegant, Diana. I felt prouder than

you did when it was encored. I just said to myself, ‘It is my dear bosom

friend who is so honored.’”

“Well, your recitations just brought down the house, Anne. That sad one

was simply splendid.”

“Oh, I was so nervous, Diana. When Mr. Allan called out my name I really

cannot tell how I ever got up on that platform. I felt as if a million

eyes were looking at me and through me, and for one dreadful moment I

was sure I couldn’t begin at all. Then I thought of my lovely puffed

sleeves and took courage. I knew that I must live up to those sleeves,

Diana. So I started in, and my voice seemed to be coming from ever so

far away. I just felt like a parrot. It’s providential that I practiced

those recitations so often up in the garret, or I’d never have been able

to get through. Did I groan all right?”

“Yes, indeed, you groaned lovely,” assured Diana.

“I saw old Mrs. Sloane wiping away tears when I sat down. It was

splendid to think I had touched somebody’s heart. It’s so romantic

to take part in a concert, isn’t it? Oh, it’s been a very memorable

occasion indeed.”

“Wasn’t the boys’ dialogue fine?” said Diana. “Gilbert Blythe was just

splendid. Anne, I do think it’s awful mean the way you treat Gil. Wait

till I tell you. When you ran off the platform after the fairy dialogue

one of your roses fell out of your hair. I saw Gil pick it up and put

it in his breast pocket. There now. You’re so romantic that I’m sure you

ought to be pleased at that.”

“It’s nothing to me what that person does,” said Anne loftily. “I simply

never waste a thought on him, Diana.”

That night Marilla and Matthew, who had been out to a concert for the

first time in twenty years, sat for a while by the kitchen fire after

Anne had gone to bed.

“Well now, I guess our Anne did as well as any of them,” said Matthew

proudly.

“Yes, she did,” admitted Marilla. “She’s a bright child, Matthew. And

she looked real nice too. I’ve been kind of opposed to this concert

scheme, but I suppose there’s no real harm in it after all. Anyhow, I

was proud of Anne tonight, although I’m not going to tell her so.”

“Well now, I was proud of her and I did tell her so ‘fore she went

upstairs,” said Matthew. “We must see what we can do for her some of

these days, Marilla. I guess she’ll need something more than Avonlea

school by and by.”

“There’s time enough to think of that,” said Marilla. “She’s only

thirteen in March. Though tonight it struck me she was growing quite a

big girl. Mrs. Lynde made that dress a mite too long, and it makes Anne

look so tall. She’s quick to learn and I guess the best thing we can do

for her will be to send her to Queen’s after a spell. But nothing need

be said about that for a year or two yet.”

“Well now, it’ll do no harm to be thinking it over off and on,” said

Matthew. “Things like that are all the better for lots of thinking

over.”