listen to him? When he came to the line,
"THERE'S ANOTHER, not A SISTER,
he looked right down at you."
"Diana," said Anne with
dignity, "you are my bosom friend, but I
cannot allow even you to speak to me of that person. Are you ready
for bed? Let's run a race and see who'll get to the bed first."
The
suggestion appealed to Diana. The two little white-clad figures
flew down the long room, through the spare-room door, and bounded on
the bed at the same moment. And then--something--moved beneath them,
there was a gasp and a cry--and somebody said in muffled accents:
"Merciful goodness!"
Anne and Diana were never able to tell just how they got off that
bed and out of the room. They only knew that after one frantic
rush they found themselves tiptoeing shiveringly
upstairs.
"Oh, who was it--WHAT was it?" whispered Anne, her teeth
chattering with cold and fright.
"It was Aunt Josephine," said Diana, gasping with
laughter. "Oh,
Anne, it was Aunt Josephine, however she came to be there. Oh,
and I know she will be
furious. It's dreadful--it's really
dreadful--but did you ever know anything so funny, Anne?"
"Who is your Aunt Josephine?"
"She's father's aunt and she lives in Charlottetown. She's
awfully old--seventy anyhow--and I don't believe she was EVER a
little girl. We were expecting her out for a visit, but not so
soon. She's
awfully prim and proper and she'll scold dreadfully
about this, I know. Well, we'll have to sleep with Minnie
May--and you can't think how she kicks."
Miss Josephine Barry did not appear at the early breakfast the
next morning. Mrs. Barry smiled kindly at the two little girls.
"Did you have a good time last night? I tried to stay awake
until you came home, for I wanted to tell you Aunt Josephine had
come and that you would have to go
upstairs after all, but I was
so tired I fell asleep. I hope you didn't
disturb your aunt,
Diana."
Diana preserved a
discreet silence, but she and Anne exchanged
furtive smiles of
guiltyamusement across the table. Anne
hurried home after breakfast and so remained in blissful
ignorance of the
disturbance which
presently resulted in the
Barry household until the late afternoon, when she went down to
Mrs. Lynde's on an
errand for Marilla.
"So you and Diana nearly
frightened poor old Miss Barry to death
last night?" said Mrs. Lynde
severely, but with a
twinkle in her
eye. "Mrs. Barry was here a few minutes ago on her way to
Carmody. She's feeling real worried over it. Old Miss Barry was
in a terrible
temper when she got up this morning--and Josephine
Barry's
temper is no joke, I can tell you that. She wouldn't
speak to Diana at all."
"It wasn't Diana's fault," said Anne contritely. "It was mine.
I suggested racing to see who would get into bed first."
"I knew it!" said Mrs. Lynde, with the
exultation of a correct
guesser. "I knew that idea came out of your head. Well, it's
made a nice lot of trouble, that's what. Old Miss Barry came out
to stay for a month, but she declares she won't stay another day
and is going right back to town tomorrow, Sunday and all as it
is. She'd have gone today if they could have taken her. She had
promised to pay for a quarter's music lessons for Diana, but now
she is determined to do nothing at all for such a tomboy. Oh, I
guess they had a
lively time of it there this morning. The
Barrys must feel cut up. Old Miss Barry is rich and they'd like
to keep on the good side of her. Of course, Mrs. Barry didn't
say just that to me, but I'm a pretty good judge of human nature,
that's what."
"I'm such an
unlucky girl," mourned Anne. "I'm always getting
into scrapes myself and getting my best friends--people I'd shed
my heart's blood for--into them too. Can you tell me why it is
so, Mrs. Lynde?"
"It's because you're too
heedless and
impulsive, child, that's
what. You never stop to think--whatever comes into your head to
say or do you say or do it without a moment's reflection."
"Oh, but that's the best of it," protested Anne. "Something just
flashes into your mind, so exciting, and you must out with it.
If you stop to think it over you spoil it all. Haven't you never
felt that yourself, Mrs. Lynde?"
No, Mrs. Lynde had not. She shook her head sagely.
"You must learn to think a little, Anne, that's what. The
proverb you need to go by is `Look before you leap'--especially
into spare-room beds."
Mrs. Lynde laughed
comfortably over her mild joke, but Anne
remained
pensive. She saw nothing to laugh at in the situation,
which to her eyes appeared very serious. When she left Mrs.
Lynde's she took her way across the crusted fields to Orchard
Slope. Diana met her at the kitchen door.
"Your Aunt Josephine was very cross about it, wasn't she?"
whispered Anne.
"Yes," answered Diana, stifling a
giggle with an apprehensive
glance over her shoulder at the closed sitting-room door. "She
was fairly dancing with rage, Anne. Oh, how she scolded. She
said I was the worst-behaved girl she ever saw and that my
parents ought to be
ashamed of the way they had brought me up.
She says she won't stay and I'm sure I don't care. But Father
and Mother do."
"Why didn't you tell them it was my fault?" demanded Anne.
"It's likely I'd do such a thing, isn't it?" said Diana with just
scorn. "I'm no telltale, Anne Shirley, and anyhow I was just as
much to blame as you."
"Well, I'm going in to tell her myself," said Anne
resolutely.
Diana stared.
"Anne Shirley, you'd never! why--she'll eat you alive!"
"Don't
frighten me any more than I am
frightened," implored Anne.
"I'd rather walk up to a cannon's mouth. But I've got to do it,
Diana. It was my fault and I've got to
confess. I've had
practice in
confessing, fortunately."
"Well, she's in the room," said Diana. "You can go in if you
want to. I wouldn't dare. And I don't believe you'll do a bit
of good."
With this
encouragement Anne bearded the lion in its den--that is
to say, walked
resolutely up to the sitting-room door and knocked
faintly. A sharp "Come in" followed.
Miss Josephine Barry, thin, prim, and rigid, was knitting
fiercely by the fire, her wrath quite unappeased and her eyes
snapping through her gold-rimmed glasses. She wheeled around in
her chair, expecting to see Diana, and
beheld a white-faced girl
whose great eyes were brimmed up with a
mixture of desperate
courage and shrinking terror.
"Who are you?" demanded Miss Josephine Barry, without ceremony.
"I'm Anne of Green Gables," said the small
visitor tremulously,
clasping her hands with her
characteristicgesture, "and I've
come to
confess, if you please."
"Confess what?"
"That it was all my fault about jumping into bed on you last
night. I suggested it. Diana would never have thought of such a
thing, I am sure. Diana is a very ladylike girl, Miss Barry. So
you must see how
unjust it is to blame her."
"Oh, I must, hey? I rather think Diana did her share of the
jumping at least. Such carryings on in a
respectable house!"
"But we were only in fun," persisted Anne. "I think you ought to
forgive us, Miss Barry, now that we've apologized. And anyhow,
please
forgive Diana and let her have her music lessons. Diana's
heart is set on her music lessons, Miss Barry, and I know too
well what it is to set your heart on a thing and not get it. If
you must be cross with anyone, be cross with me. I've been so
used in my early days to having people cross at me that I can
endure it much better than Diana can."
Much of the snap had gone out of the old lady's eyes by this time
and was replaced by a
twinkle of amused interest. But she still
said
severely:
"I don't think it is any excuse for you that you were only in
fun. Little girls never indulged in that kind of fun when I was
young. You don't know what it is to be awakened out of a sound
sleep, after a long and
arduous journey, by two great girls
coming
bounce down on you."
"I don't KNOW, but I can IMAGINE," said Anne
eagerly. "I'm sure
it must have been very
disturbing. But then, there is our side
of it too. Have you any
imagination, Miss Barry? If you have,
just put yourself in our place. We didn't know there was anybody
in that bed and you nearly scared us to death. It was simply
awful the way we felt. And then we couldn't sleep in the spare
room after being promised. I suppose you are used to
sleeping in
spare rooms. But just imagine what you would feel like if you
were a little
orphan girl who had never had such an honor."
All the snap had gone by this time. Miss Barry actually
laughed--a sound which caused Diana,
waiting in speechless
anxiety in the kitchen outside, to give a great gasp of relief.
"I'm afraid my
imagination is a little rusty--it's so long since
I used it," she said. "I dare say your claim to
sympathy is just
as strong as mine. It all depends on the way we look at it. Sit
down here and tell me about yourself."
"I am very sorry I can't," said Anne
firmly. "I would like to,
because you seem like an interesting lady, and you might even be
a
kindred spirit although you don't look very much like it. But
it is my duty to go home to Miss Marilla Cuthbert. Miss Marilla
Cuthbert is a very kind lady who has taken me to bring up
properly. She is doing her best, but it is very discouraging
work. You must not blame her because I jumped on the bed. But
before I go I do wish you would tell me if you will
forgive Diana
and stay just as long as you meant to in Avonlea."
"I think perhaps I will if you will come over and talk to me
occasionally," said Miss Barry.
That evening Miss Barry gave Diana a silver bangle
bracelet and
told the
senior members of the household that she had unpacked
her valise.
"I've made up my mind to stay simply for the sake of getting
better acquainted with that Anne-girl," she said
frankly. "She
amuses me, and at my time of life an
amusing person is a rarity."
Marilla's only
comment when she heard the story was, "I told you
so." This was for Matthew's benefit.
Miss Barry stayed her month out and over. She was a more
agreeable guest than usual, for Anne kept her in good humor.
They became firm friends.
When Miss Barry went away she said:
"Remember, you Anne-girl, when you come to town you're to visit
me and I'll put you in my very sparest spare-room bed to sleep."
"Miss Barry was a
kindred spirit, after all," Anne confided to
Marilla. "You wouldn't think so to look at her, but she is. You
don't find it right out at first, as in Matthew's case, but after
a while you come to see it. Kindred spirits are not so
scarce as
I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of
them in the world."
CHAPTER XX
A Good Imagination Gone Wrong
Spring had come once more to Green Gables--the beautiful
capricious,
reluctant Canadian spring, lingering along through
April and May in a
succession of sweet, fresh,
chilly days, with
pink sunsets and miracles of resurrection and growth. The maples
in Lover's Lane were red budded and little curly ferns pushed up
around the Dryad's Bubble. Away up in the barrens, behind Mr.
Silas Sloane's place, the Mayflowers blossomed out, pink and
white stars of
sweetness under their brown leaves. All the
school girls and boys had one golden afternoon
gathering them,
coming home in the clear, echoing
twilight with arms and baskets
full of
flowery spoil.