Mr. Allan says so. I read one of my stories to him and Mrs. Allan
and they both agreed that the moral was excellent. Only they laughed
in the wrong places. I like it better when people cry. Jane and Ruby
almost always cry when I come to the
pathetic parts. Diana wrote her
Aunt Josephine about our club and her Aunt Josephine wrote back that
we were to send her some of our stories. So we copied out four of
our very best and sent them. Miss Josephine Barry wrote back that
she had never read anything so
amusing in her life. That kind of
puzzled us because the stories were all very
pathetic and almost
everybody died. But I'm glad Miss Barry liked them. It shows our
club is doing some good in the world. Mrs. Allan says that ought
to be our object in everything. I do really try to make it my
object but I forget so often when I'm having fun. I hope I shall
be a little like Mrs. Allan when I grow up. Do you think there is
any
prospect of it, Marilla?"
"I shouldn't say there was a great deal" was Marilla's
encouraging answer. "I'm sure Mrs. Allan was never such a
silly, forgetful little girl as you are."
"No; but she wasn't always so good as she is now either," said
Anne
seriously. "She told me so herself--that is, she said she
was a
dreadfulmischief when she was a girl and was always
getting into scrapes. I felt so encouraged when I heard that.
Is it very
wicked of me, Marilla, to feel encouraged when I hear
that other people have been bad and
mischievous? Mrs. Lynde says
it is. Mrs. Lynde says she always feels shocked when she hears
of anyone ever having been
naughty, no matter how small they were.
Mrs. Lynde says she once heard a
ministerconfess that when he was
a boy he stole a
strawberry tart out of his aunt's
pantry and she
never had any respect for that
minister again. Now, I wouldn't
have felt that way. I'd have thought that it was real noble of him
to
confess it, and I'd have thought what an encouraging thing it
would be for small boys nowadays who do
naughty things and are
sorry for them to know that perhaps they may grow up to be
ministers
in spite of it. That's how I'd feel, Marilla."
"The way I feel at present, Anne," said Marilla, "is that it's
high time you had those dishes washed. You've taken half an hour
longer than you should with all your chattering. Learn to work
first and talk afterwards."
CHAPTER XXVII
Vanity and Vexation of Spirit
Marilla, walking home one late April evening from an Aid meeting,
realized that the winter was over and gone with the
thrill of
delight that spring never fails to bring to the oldest and
saddest as well as to the youngest and merriest. Marilla was not
given to subjective
analysis of her thoughts and feelings. She
probably imagined that she was thinking about the Aids and their
missionary box and the new
carpet for the vestry room, but under
these reflections was a
harmoniousconsciousness of red fields
smoking into pale-purply mists in the declining sun, of long,
sharp-pointed fir shadows falling over the
meadow beyond the
brook, of still, crimson-budded maples around a mirrorlike wood
pool, of a wakening in the world and a stir of
hidden pulses
under the gray sod. The spring was
abroad in the land and
Marilla's sober,
middle-aged step was lighter and swifter because
of its deep, primal gladness.
Her eyes dwelt
affectionately on Green Gables, peering through
its
network of trees and reflecting the
sunlight back from its
windows in several little coruscations of glory. Marilla, as she
picked her steps along the damp lane, thought that it was really
a
satisfaction to know that she was going home to a briskly
snapping wood fire and a table
nicely spread for tea, instead of
to the cold comfort of old Aid meeting evenings before Anne had
come to Green Gables.
Consequently, when Marilla entered her kitchen and found the fire
black out, with no sign of Anne
anywhere, she felt justly
disappointed and irritated. She had told Anne to be sure and
have tea ready at five o'clock, but now she must hurry to take
off her second-best dress and prepare the meal herself against
Matthew's return from plowing.
"I'll settle Miss Anne when she comes home," said Marilla grimly,
as she shaved up kindlings with a
carving knife and with more vim
than was
strictly necessary. Matthew had come in and was
waiting