The Complete Novels of Lucy Maud Montgomery - 20 Titles in One Volume: Including Anne of Green Gables Series, Emily Starr Trilogy, The Blue Castle, The Story Girl & Pat of Silver Bush Series. Lucy Maud Montgomery
Rebecca Dew, panic-stricken.
“Where else would a Pringle come to?” asked Aunt Kate.
“Of course … of course … but it sticks,” said Rebecca tragically. “It does stick … you know it does. And it hasn’t been opened since we housecleaned last spring. This is the last straw.”
The front door did stick … but Rebecca Dew wrenched it open with desperate violence and showed the Maplehurst ladies into the parlor.
“Thank heaven, we’ve had a fire in it today,” she thought, “and all I hope is That Cat hasn’t haired up the sofa. If Sarah Pringle got cat hairs on her dress in our parlor …”
Rebecca Dew dared not imagine the consequences. She called Anne from the tower room, Miss Sarah having asked if Miss Shirley were in, and then betook herself to the kitchen, half mad with curiosity as to what on earth was bringing the old Pringle girls to see Miss Shirley.
“If there’s any more persecution in the wind …” said Rebecca Dew darkly.
Anne herself descended with considerable trepidation. Had they come to return the diary with icy scorn?
It was little, wrinkled, inflexible Miss Sarah who rose and spoke without preamble when Anne entered the room.
“We have come to capitulate,” she said bitterly. “We can do nothing else … of course you knew that when you found that scandalous entry about poor Uncle Myrom. It wasn’t true … it couldn’t be true. Uncle Myrom was just taking a rise out of Andy Bryce … Andy was so credulous. But everybody outside of our family will be glad to believe it. You knew it would make us all a laughing stock … and worse. Oh, you are very clever. We admit that. Jen will apologize and behave herself in future … I, Sarah Pringle, assure you of that. If you will only promise not to tell Mrs. Stanton … not to tell any one … we will do anything … anything.”
Miss Sarah wrung her fine lace handkerchief in her little blue-veined hands. She was literally trembling.
Anne stared in amazement … and horror. The poor old darlings! They thought she had been threatening them!
“Oh, you’ve misunderstood me dreadfully,” she exclaimed, taking Miss Sarah’s poor, piteous hands. “I … I never dreamed you would think I was trying to … oh, it was just because I thought you would like to have all those interesting details about your splendid father. I never dreamed of showing or telling that other little item to any one. I didn’t think it was of the least importance. And I never will.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Miss Sarah freed her hands gently, put her handkerchief to her eyes and sat down, with a faint blush on her fine wrinkled face.
“We … we have misunderstood you, my dear. And we’ve … we’ve been abominable to you. Will you forgive us?”
Half an hour later … a half hour which nearly was the death of Rebecca Dew … the Misses Pringle went away. It had been a half hour of friendly chat and discussion about the non-combustible items of Andy’s diary. At the front door Miss Sarah … who had not had the least trouble with her hearing during the interview … turned back for a moment and took a bit of paper, covered with very fine, sharp writing, from her reticule.
“I had almost forgotten … we promised Mrs. MacLean our recipe for pound cake some time ago. Perhaps you won’t mind handing it to her? And tell her the sweating process is very important … quite indispensable, indeed. Ellen, your bonnet is slightly over one ear. You had better adjust it before we leave. We … we were somewhat agitated while dressing.”
Anne told the widows and Rebecca Dew that she had given Andy Bryce’s old diary to the ladies of Maplehurst and that they had come to thank her for it. With this explanation they had to be contented, although Rebecca Dew always felt that there was more behind it than that … much more. Gratitude for an old faded, tobacco-stained diary would never have brought Sarah Pringle to the front door of Windy Poplars. Miss Shirley was deep … very deep!
“I’m going to open that front door once a day after this,” vowed Rebecca. “Just to keep it in practice. I all but went over flat when it did give way. Well, we’ve got the recipe for the pound cake anyway. Thirty-six eggs! If you’d dispose of That Cat and let me keep hens we might be able to afford it once a year.”
Whereupon Rebecca Dew marched to the kitchen and got square with fate by giving That Cat milk when she knew he wanted liver.
The Shirley-Pringle feud was over. Nobody outside of the Pringles ever knew why, but Summerside people understood that Miss Shirley, single-handed, had, in some mysterious way, routed the whole clan, who ate out of her hand from then on. Jen came back to school the next day and apologized meekly to Anne before the whole room. She was a model pupil thereafter and every Pringle student followed her lead. As for the adult Pringles, their antagonism vanished like mist before the sun. There were no more complaints regarding “discipline” or home work. No more of the fine, subtle snubs characteristic of the ilk. They fairly fell over one another trying to be nice to Anne. No dance or skating party was complete without her. For, although the fatal diary had been committed to the flames by Miss Sarah herself, memory was memory and Miss Shirley had a tale to tell if she chose to tell it. It would never do to have that nosey Mrs. Stanton know that Captain Myrom Pringle had been a cannibal!
Chapter VIII
(Extract from letter to Gilbert)
“I am in my tower and Rebecca Dew is caroling Could I but climb? in the kitchen. Which reminds me that the minister’s wife has asked me to sing in the choir! Of course the Pringles have told her to do it. I may do it on the Sundays I don’t spend at Green Gables. The Pringles have held out the right hand of fellowship with a vengeance … accepted me lock, stock and barrel. What a clan!
“I’ve been to three Pringle parties. I set nothing down in malice but I think all the Pringle girls are imitating my style of hairdressing. Well, ‘imitation is the sincerest flattery.’ And, Gilbert, I’m really liking them … as I always knew I would if they would give me a chance. I’m even beginning to suspect that sooner or later I’ll find myself liking Jen. She can be charming when she wants to be and it is very evident she wants to be.
“Last night I bearded the lion in his den … in other words, I went boldly up the front steps of The Evergreens to the square porch with the four whitewashed iron urns in its corners, and rang the bell. When Miss Monkman came to the door I asked her if she would lend little Elizabeth to me for a walk. I expected a refusal, but after the Woman had gone in and conferred with Mrs. Campbell, she came back and said dourly that Elizabeth could go but, please, I wasn’t to keep her out late. I wonder if even Mrs. Campbell has got her orders from Miss Sarah.
“Elizabeth came dancing down the dark stairway, looking like a pixy in a red coat and little green cap, and almost speechless for joy.
“‘I feel all squirmy and excited, Miss Shirley,’ she whispered as soon as we got away. ‘I’m Betty … I’m always Betty when I feel like that.’
“We went as far down the Road that Leads to the End of the World as we dared and then back. Tonight the harbor, lying dark under a crimson sunset, seemed full of implications of ‘fairylands forlorn’ and mysterious isles in uncharted seas. I thrilled to it and so did the mite I held by the hand.
“‘If we ran hard, Miss Shirley, could we get into the sunset?’ she wanted to know. I remembered Paul and his fancies about the ‘sunset land.’
“‘We must wait for Tomorrow before we can do that,’ I said. ‘Look, Elizabeth, at that golden island of cloud just over the harbor mouth. Let’s pretend that’s your island of Happiness.’
“‘There is an island down