Anne of Avonlea Read online

  II

  Selling in Haste and Repenting at Leisure

  Anne drove over to Carmody on a shopping expedition the next afternoonand took Diana Barry with her. Diana was, of course, a pledged member ofthe Improvement Society, and the two girls talked about little else allthe way to Carmody and back.

  "The very first thing we ought to do when we get started is to have thathall painted," said Diana, as they drove past the Avonlea hall, a rathershabby building set down in a wooded hollow, with spruce trees hoodingit about on all sides. "It's a disgraceful looking place and we mustattend to it even before we try to get Mr. Levi Boulder to pull hishouse down. Father says we'll never succeed in DOING that. Levi Boulteris too mean to spend the time it would take."

  "Perhaps he'll let the boys take it down if they promise to haulthe boards and split them up for him for kindling wood," said Annehopefully. "We must do our best and be content to go slowly at first.We can't expect to improve everything all at once. We'll have to educatepublic sentiment first, of course."

  Diana wasn't exactly sure what educating public sentiment meant; but itsounded fine and she felt rather proud that she was going to belong to asociety with such an aim in view.

  "I thought of something last night that we could do, Anne. You knowthat three-cornered piece of ground where the roads from Carmody andNewbridge and White Sands meet? It's all grown over with young spruce;but wouldn't it be nice to have them all cleared out, and just leave thetwo or three birch trees that are on it?"

  "Splendid," agreed Anne gaily. "And have a rustic seat put under thebirches. And when spring comes we'll have a flower-bed made in themiddle of it and plant geraniums."

  "Yes; only we'll have to devise some way of getting old Mrs. HiramSloane to keep her cow off the road, or she'll eat our geraniumsup," laughed Diana. "I begin to see what you mean by educating publicsentiment, Anne. There's the old Boulter house now. Did you ever seesuch a rookery? And perched right close to the road too. An old housewith its windows gone always makes me think of something dead with itseyes picked out."

  "I think an old, deserted house is such a sad sight," said Annedreamily. "It always seems to me to be thinking about its past andmourning for its old-time joys. Marilla says that a large family wasraised in that old house long ago, and that it was a real pretty place,with a lovely garden and roses climbing all over it. It was full oflittle children and laughter and songs; and now it is empty, and nothingever wanders through it but the wind. How lonely and sorrowful it mustfeel! Perhaps they all come back on moonlit nights . . . the ghosts of thelittle children of long ago and the roses and the songs . . . and for alittle while the old house can dream it is young and joyous again."

  Diana shook her head.

  "I never imagine things like that about places now, Anne. Don't youremember how cross mother and Marilla were when we imagined ghosts intothe Haunted Wood? To this day I can't go through that bush comfortablyafter dark; and if I began imagining such things about the old Boulterhouse I'd be frightened to pass it too. Besides, those children aren'tdead. They're all grown up and doing well . . . and one of them is abutcher. And flowers and songs couldn't have ghosts anyhow."

  Anne smothered a little sigh. She loved Diana dearly and they had alwaysbeen good comrades. But she had long ago learned that when she wanderedinto the realm of fancy she must go alone. The way to it was by anenchanted path where not even her dearest might follow her.

  A thunder-shower came up while the girls were at Carmody; it didnot last long, however, and the drive home, through lanes where theraindrops sparkled on the boughs and little leafy valleys where thedrenched ferns gave out spicy odors, was delightful. But just as theyturned into the Cuthbert lane Anne saw something that spoiled the beautyof the landscape for her.

  Before them on the right extended Mr. Harrison's broad, gray-green fieldof late oats, wet and luxuriant; and there, standing squarely in themiddle of it, up to her sleek sides in the lush growth, and blinking atthem calmly over the intervening tassels, was a Jersey cow!

  Anne dropped the reins and stood up with a tightening of the lips thatboded no good to the predatory quadruped. Not a word said she, but sheclimbed nimbly down over the wheels, and whisked across the fence beforeDiana understood what had happened.

  "Anne, come back," shrieked the latter, as soon as she found her voice."You'll ruin your dress in that wet grain . . . ruin it. She doesn't hearme! Well, she'll never get that cow out by herself. I must go and helpher, of course."

  Anne was charging through the grain like a mad thing. Diana hoppedbriskly down, tied the horse securely to a post, turned the skirt of herpretty gingham dress over her shoulders, mounted the fence, and startedin pursuit of her frantic friend. She could run faster than Anne, whowas hampered by her clinging and drenched skirt, and soon overtook her.Behind them they left a trail that would break Mr. Harrison's heart whenhe should see it.

  "Anne, for mercy's sake, stop," panted poor Diana. "I'm right out ofbreath and you are wet to the skin."

  "I must . . . get . . . that cow . . . out . . . before . . . Mr.Harrison . . . sees her," gasped Anne. "I don't . . . care . . . if I'm. . . drowned . . . if we . . . can . . . only . . . do that."

  But the Jersey cow appeared to see no good reason for being hustled outof her luscious browsing ground. No sooner had the two breathless girlsgot near her than she turned and bolted squarely for the opposite cornerof the field.

  "Head her off," screamed Anne. "Run, Diana, run."

  Diana did run. Anne tried to, and the wicked Jersey went around thefield as if she were possessed. Privately, Diana thought she was. It wasfully ten minutes before they headed her off and drove her through thecorner gap into the Cuthbert lane.

  There is no denying that Anne was in anything but an angelic temperat that precise moment. Nor did it soothe her in the least to behold abuggy halted just outside the lane, wherein sat Mr. Shearer of Carmodyand his son, both of whom wore a broad smile.

  "I guess you'd better have sold me that cow when I wanted to buy herlast week, Anne," chuckled Mr. Shearer.

  "I'll sell her to you now, if you want her," said her flushed anddisheveled owner. "You may have her this very minute."

  "Done. I'll give you twenty for her as I offered before, and Jim herecan drive her right over to Carmody. She'll go to town with the rest ofthe shipment this evening. Mr. Reed of Brighton wants a Jersey cow."

  Five minutes later Jim Shearer and the Jersey cow were marching up theroad, and impulsive Anne was driving along the Green Gables lane withher twenty dollars.

  "What will Marilla say?" asked Diana.

  "Oh, she won't care. Dolly was my own cow and it isn't likely she'dbring more than twenty dollars at the auction. But oh dear, if Mr.Harrison sees that grain he will know she has been in again, and aftermy giving him my word of honor that I'd never let it happen! Well, ithas taught me a lesson not to give my word of honor about cows. A cowthat could jump over or break through our milk-pen fence couldn't betrusted anywhere."

  Marilla had gone down to Mrs. Lynde's, and when she returned knew allabout Dolly's sale and transfer, for Mrs. Lynde had seen most of thetransaction from her window and guessed the rest.

  "I suppose it's just as well she's gone, though you DO do things in adreadful headlong fashion, Anne. I don't see how she got out of the pen,though. She must have broken some of the boards off."

  "I didn't think of looking," said Anne, "but I'll go and see now. Martinhas never come back yet. Perhaps some more of his aunts have died. Ithink it's something like Mr. Peter Sloane and the octogenarians. Theother evening Mrs. Sloane was reading a newspaper and she said to Mr.Sloane, 'I see here that another octogenarian has just died. What is anoctogenarian, Peter?' And Mr. Sloane said he didn't know, but they mustbe very sickly creatures, for you never heard tell of them but they weredying. That's the way with Martin's aunts."

  "Martin's just like all the rest of those French," said Marilla indisgust. "You can't depend on them for a day." Marilla was looking
overAnne's Carmody purchases when she heard a shrill shriek in the barnyard.A minute later Anne dashed into the kitchen, wringing her hands.

  "Anne Shirley, what's the matter now?"

  "Oh, Marilla, whatever shall I do? This is terrible. And it's all myfault. Oh, will I EVER learn to stop and reflect a little before doingreckless things? Mrs. Lynde always told me I would do something dreadfulsome day, and now I've done it!"

  "Anne, you are the most exasperating girl! WHAT is it you've done?"

  "Sold Mr. Harrison's Jersey cow . . . the one he bought from Mr. Bell. . . to Mr. Shearer! Dolly is out in the milking pen this very minute."

  "Anne Shirley, are you dreaming?"

  "I only wish I were. There's no dream about it, though it's very like anightmare. And Mr. Harrison's cow is in Charlottetown by this time. Oh,Marilla, I thought I'd finished getting into scrapes, and here I am inthe very worst one I ever was in in my life. What can I do?"

  "Do? There's nothing to do, child, except go and see Mr. Harrison aboutit. We can offer him our Jersey in exchange if he doesn't want to takethe money. She is just as good as his."

  "I'm sure he'll be awfully cross and disagreeable about it, though,"moaned Anne.

  "I daresay he will. He seems to be an irritable sort of a man. I'll goand explain to him if you like."

  "No, indeed, I'm not as mean as that," exclaimed Anne. "This is all myfault and I'm certainly not going to let you take my punishment. I'll gomyself and I'll go at once. The sooner it's over the better, for it willbe terribly humiliating."

  Poor Anne got her hat and her twenty dollars and was passing out whenshe happened to glance through the open pantry door. On the tablereposed a nut cake which she had baked that morning . . . a particularlytoothsome concoction iced with pink icing and adorned with walnuts. Annehad intended it for Friday evening, when the youth of Avonlea were tomeet at Green Gables to organize the Improvement Society. But what werethey compared to the justly offended Mr. Harrison? Anne thought thatcake ought to soften the heart of any man, especially one who had to dohis own cooking, and she promptly popped it into a box. She would takeit to Mr. Harrison as a peace offering.

  "That is, if he gives me a chance to say anything at all," she thoughtruefully, as she climbed the lane fence and started on a short cutacross the fields, golden in the light of the dreamy August evening. "Iknow now just how people feel who are being led to execution."