An Epoch in Anne’s Life

ANNE was bringing the cows home from the back pasture by way of Lover’s

Lane. It was a September evening and all the gaps and clearings in the

woods were brimmed up with ruby sunset light. Here and there the lane

was splashed with it, but for the most part it was already quite shadowy

beneath the maples, and the spaces under the firs were filled with a

clear violet dusk like airy wine. The winds were out in their tops, and

there is no sweeter music on earth than that which the wind makes in the

fir trees at evening.

The cows swung placidly down the lane, and Anne followed them dreamily,

repeating aloud the battle canto from _Marmion_--which had also been part

of their English course the preceding winter and which Miss Stacy had

made them learn off by heart--and exulting in its rushing lines and the

clash of spears in its imagery. When she came to the lines

The stubborn spearsmen still made good

Their dark impenetrable wood,

she stopped in ecstasy to shut her eyes that she might the better fancy

herself one of that heroic ring. When she opened them again it was to

behold Diana coming through the gate that led into the Barry field and

looking so important that Anne instantly divined there was news to be

told. But betray too eager curiosity she would not.

“Isn’t this evening just like a purple dream, Diana? It makes me so glad

to be alive. In the mornings I always think the mornings are best; but

when evening comes I think it’s lovelier still.”

“It’s a very fine evening,” said Diana, “but oh, I have such news, Anne.

Guess. You can have three guesses.”

“Charlotte Gillis is going to be married in the church after all and

Mrs. Allan wants us to decorate it,” cried Anne.

“No. Charlotte’s beau won’t agree to that, because nobody ever has been

married in the church yet, and he thinks it would seem too much like a

funeral. It’s too mean, because it would be such fun. Guess again.”

“Jane’s mother is going to let her have a birthday party?”

Diana shook her head, her black eyes dancing with merriment.

“I can’t think what it can be,” said Anne in despair, “unless it’s that

Moody Spurgeon MacPherson saw you home from prayer meeting last night.

Did he?”

“I should think not,” exclaimed Diana indignantly. “I wouldn’t be likely

to boast of it if he did, the horrid creature! I knew you couldn’t guess

it. Mother had a letter from Aunt Josephine today, and Aunt Josephine

wants you and me to go to town next Tuesday and stop with her for the

Exhibition. There!”

“Oh, Diana,” whispered Anne, finding it necessary to lean up against a

maple tree for support, “do you really mean it? But I’m afraid Marilla

won’t let me go. She will say that she can’t encourage gadding about.

That was what she said last week when Jane invited me to go with them

in their double-seated buggy to the American concert at the White Sands

Hotel. I wanted to go, but Marilla said I’d be better at home learning

my lessons and so would Jane. I was bitterly disappointed, Diana. I felt

so heartbroken that I wouldn’t say my prayers when I went to bed. But I

repented of that and got up in the middle of the night and said them.”

“I’ll tell you,” said Diana, “we’ll get Mother to ask Marilla. She’ll be

more likely to let you go then; and if she does we’ll have the time

of our lives, Anne. I’ve never been to an Exhibition, and it’s so

aggravating to hear the other girls talking about their trips. Jane and

Ruby have been twice, and they’re going this year again.”

“I’m not going to think about it at all until I know whether I can go

or not,” said Anne resolutely. “If I did and then was disappointed, it

would be more than I could bear. But in case I do go I’m very glad my

new coat will be ready by that time. Marilla didn’t think I needed a new

coat. She said my old one would do very well for another winter and

that I ought to be satisfied with having a new dress. The dress is very

pretty, Diana--navy blue and made so fashionably. Marilla always makes

my dresses fashionably now, because she says she doesn’t intend to have

Matthew going to Mrs. Lynde to make them. I’m so glad. It is ever so

much easier to be good if your clothes are fashionable. At least, it is

easier for me. I suppose it doesn’t make such a difference to naturally

good people. But Matthew said I must have a new coat, so Marilla

bought a lovely piece of blue broadcloth, and it’s being made by a real

dressmaker over at Carmody. It’s to be done Saturday night, and I’m

trying not to imagine myself walking up the church aisle on Sunday in

my new suit and cap, because I’m afraid it isn’t right to imagine such

things. But it just slips into my mind in spite of me. My cap is so

pretty. Matthew bought it for me the day we were over at Carmody. It is

one of those little blue velvet ones that are all the rage, with gold

cord and tassels. Your new hat is elegant, Diana, and so becoming. When

I saw you come into church last Sunday my heart swelled with pride to

think you were my dearest friend. Do you suppose it’s wrong for us to

think so much about our clothes? Marilla says it is very sinful. But it

is such an interesting subject, isn’t it?”

Marilla agreed to let Anne go to town, and it was arranged that

Mr. Barry should take the girls in on the following Tuesday. As

Charlottetown was thirty miles away and Mr. Barry wished to go and

return the same day, it was necessary to make a very early start. But

Anne counted it all joy, and was up before sunrise on Tuesday morning.

A glance from her window assured her that the day would be fine, for

the eastern sky behind the firs of the Haunted Wood was all silvery

and cloudless. Through the gap in the trees a light was shining in the

western gable of Orchard Slope, a token that Diana was also up.

Anne was dressed by the time Matthew had the fire on and had the

breakfast ready when Marilla came down, but for her own part was much

too excited to eat. After breakfast the jaunty new cap and jacket were

donned, and Anne hastened over the brook and up through the firs to

Orchard Slope. Mr. Barry and Diana were waiting for her, and they were

soon on the road.

It was a long drive, but Anne and Diana enjoyed every minute of it. It

was delightful to rattle along over the moist roads in the early red

sunlight that was creeping across the shorn harvest fields. The air was

fresh and crisp, and little smoke-blue mists curled through the valleys

and floated off from the hills. Sometimes the road went through woods

where maples were beginning to hang out scarlet banners; sometimes it

crossed rivers on bridges that made Anne’s flesh cringe with the old,

half-delightful fear; sometimes it wound along a harbor shore and passed

by a little cluster of weather-gray fishing huts; again it mounted to

hills whence a far sweep of curving upland or misty-blue sky could be

seen; but wherever it went there was much of interest to discuss. It was

almost noon when they reached town and found their way to “Beechwood.”

It was quite a fine old mansion, set back from the street in a seclusion

of green elms and branching beeches. Miss Barry met them at the door

with a twinkle in her sharp black eyes.

“So you’ve come to see me at last, you Anne-girl,” she said. “Mercy,

child, how you have grown! You’re taller than I am, I declare. And

you’re ever so much better-looking than you used to be, too. But I dare

say you know that without being told.”

“Indeed I didn’t,” said Anne radiantly. “I know I’m not so freckled as

I used to be, so I’ve much to be thankful for, but I really hadn’t dared

to hope there was any other improvement. I’m so glad you think there is,

Miss Barry.” Miss Barry’s house was furnished with “great magnificence,”

as Anne told Marilla afterward. The two little country girls were rather

abashed by the splendor of the parlor where Miss Barry left them when

she went to see about dinner.

“Isn’t it just like a palace?” whispered Diana. “I never was in Aunt

Josephine’s house before, and I’d no idea it was so grand. I just wish

Julia Bell could see this--she puts on such airs about her mother’s

parlor.”

“Velvet carpet,” sighed Anne luxuriously, “and silk curtains! I’ve

dreamed of such things, Diana. But do you know I don’t believe I feel

very comfortable with them after all. There are so many things in this

room and all so splendid that there is no scope for imagination. That is

one consolation when you are poor--there are so many more things you can

imagine about.”

Their sojourn in town was something that Anne and Diana dated from for

years. From first to last it was crowded with delights.

On Wednesday Miss Barry took them to the Exhibition grounds and kept

them there all day.

“It was splendid,” Anne related to Marilla later on. “I never imagined

anything so interesting. I don’t really know which department was the

most interesting. I think I liked the horses and the flowers and the

fancywork best. Josie Pye took first prize for knitted lace. I was

real glad she did. And I was glad that I felt glad, for it shows I’m

improving, don’t you think, Marilla, when I can rejoice in Josie’s

success? Mr. Harmon Andrews took second prize for Gravenstein apples

and Mr. Bell took first prize for a pig. Diana said she thought it was

ridiculous for a Sunday-school superintendent to take a prize in pigs,

but I don’t see why. Do you? She said she would always think of it after

this when he was praying so solemnly. Clara Louise MacPherson took a

prize for painting, and Mrs. Lynde got first prize for homemade butter

and cheese. So Avonlea was pretty well represented, wasn’t it? Mrs.

Lynde was there that day, and I never knew how much I really liked her

until I saw her familiar face among all those strangers. There

were thousands of people there, Marilla. It made me feel dreadfully

insignificant. And Miss Barry took us up to the grandstand to see

the horse races. Mrs. Lynde wouldn’t go; she said horse racing was an

abomination and, she being a church member, thought it her bounden duty

to set a good example by staying away. But there were so many there I

don’t believe Mrs. Lynde’s absence would ever be noticed. I don’t think,

though, that I ought to go very often to horse races, because they _are_

awfully fascinating. Diana got so excited that she offered to bet me

ten cents that the red horse would win. I didn’t believe he would, but

I refused to bet, because I wanted to tell Mrs. Allan all about

everything, and I felt sure it wouldn’t do to tell her that. It’s always

wrong to do anything you can’t tell the minister’s wife. It’s as good as

an extra conscience to have a minister’s wife for your friend. And I was

very glad I didn’t bet, because the red horse _did_ win, and I would have

lost ten cents. So you see that virtue was its own reward. We saw a man

go up in a balloon. I’d love to go up in a balloon, Marilla; it would

be simply thrilling; and we saw a man selling fortunes. You paid him ten

cents and a little bird picked out your fortune for you. Miss Barry gave

Diana and me ten cents each to have our fortunes told. Mine was that I

would marry a dark-complected man who was very wealthy, and I would go

across water to live. I looked carefully at all the dark men I saw after

that, but I didn’t care much for any of them, and anyhow I suppose

it’s too early to be looking out for him yet. Oh, it was a

never-to-be-forgotten day, Marilla. I was so tired I couldn’t sleep at

night. Miss Barry put us in the spare room, according to promise. It

was an elegant room, Marilla, but somehow sleeping in a spare room isn’t

what I used to think it was. That’s the worst of growing up, and I’m

beginning to realize it. The things you wanted so much when you were a

child don’t seem half so wonderful to you when you get them.”

Thursday the girls had a drive in the park, and in the evening Miss

Barry took them to a concert in the Academy of Music, where a noted

prima donna was to sing. To Anne the evening was a glittering vision of

delight.

“Oh, Marilla, it was beyond description. I was so excited I couldn’t

even talk, so you may know what it was like. I just sat in enraptured

silence. Madame Selitsky was perfectly beautiful, and wore white satin

and diamonds. But when she began to sing I never thought about anything

else. Oh, I can’t tell you how I felt. But it seemed to me that it could

never be hard to be good any more. I felt like I do when I look up to

the stars. Tears came into my eyes, but, oh, they were such happy tears.

I was so sorry when it was all over, and I told Miss Barry I didn’t see

how I was ever to return to common life again. She said she thought if

we went over to the restaurant across the street and had an ice cream

it might help me. That sounded so prosaic; but to my surprise I found

it true. The ice cream was delicious, Marilla, and it was so lovely and

dissipated to be sitting there eating it at eleven o’clock at night.

Diana said she believed she was born for city life. Miss Barry asked

me what my opinion was, but I said I would have to think it over very

seriously before I could tell her what I really thought. So I thought it

over after I went to bed. That is the best time to think things out. And

I came to the conclusion, Marilla, that I wasn’t born for city life and

that I was glad of it. It’s nice to be eating ice cream at brilliant

restaurants at eleven o’clock at night once in a while; but as a regular

thing I’d rather be in the east gable at eleven, sound asleep, but kind

of knowing even in my sleep that the stars were shining outside and that

the wind was blowing in the firs across the brook. I told Miss Barry

so at breakfast the next morning and she laughed. Miss Barry generally

laughed at anything I said, even when I said the most solemn things. I

don’t think I liked it, Marilla, because I wasn’t trying to be funny.

But she is a most hospitable lady and treated us royally.”

Friday brought going-home time, and Mr. Barry drove in for the girls.

“Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves,” said Miss Barry, as she bade

them good-bye.

“Indeed we have,” said Diana.

“And you, Anne-girl?”

“I’ve enjoyed every minute of the time,” said Anne, throwing her arms

impulsively about the old woman’s neck and kissing her wrinkled cheek.

Diana would never have dared to do such a thing and felt rather aghast

at Anne’s freedom. But Miss Barry was pleased, and she stood on her

veranda and watched the buggy out of sight. Then she went back into her

big house with a sigh. It seemed very lonely, lacking those fresh young

lives. Miss Barry was a rather selfish old lady, if the truth must

be told, and had never cared much for anybody but herself. She valued

people only as they were of service to her or amused her. Anne had

amused her, and consequently stood high in the old lady’s good graces.

But Miss Barry found herself thinking less about Anne’s quaint speeches

than of her fresh enthusiasms, her transparent emotions, her little

winning ways, and the sweetness of her eyes and lips.

“I thought Marilla Cuthbert was an old fool when I heard she’d adopted

a girl out of an orphan asylum,” she said to herself, “but I guess she

didn’t make much of a mistake after all. If I’d a child like Anne in the

house all the time I’d be a better and happier woman.”

Anne and Diana found the drive home as pleasant as the drive

in--pleasanter, indeed, since there was the delightful consciousness of

home waiting at the end of it. It was sunset when they passed through

White Sands and turned into the shore road. Beyond, the Avonlea hills

came out darkly against the saffron sky. Behind them the moon was rising

out of the sea that grew all radiant and transfigured in her light.

Every little cove along the curving road was a marvel of dancing

ripples. The waves broke with a soft swish on the rocks below them, and

the tang of the sea was in the strong, fresh air.

“Oh, but it’s good to be alive and to be going home,” breathed Anne.

When she crossed the log bridge over the brook the kitchen light of

Green Gables winked her a friendly welcome back, and through the open

door shone the hearth fire, sending out its warm red glow athwart the

chilly autumn night. Anne ran blithely up the hill and into the kitchen,

where a hot supper was waiting on the table.

“So you’ve got back?” said Marilla, folding up her knitting.

“Yes, and oh, it’s so good to be back,” said Anne joyously. “I could

kiss everything, even to the clock. Marilla, a broiled chicken! You

don’t mean to say you cooked that for me!”

“Yes, I did,” said Marilla. “I thought you’d be hungry after such

a drive and need something real appetizing. Hurry and take off your

things, and we’ll have supper as soon as Matthew comes in. I’m glad

you’ve got back, I must say. It’s been fearful lonesome here without

you, and I never put in four longer days.”

After supper Anne sat before the fire between Matthew and Marilla, and

gave them a full account of her visit.

“I’ve had a splendid time,” she concluded happily, “and I feel that it

marks an epoch in my life. But the best of it all was the coming home.”