Anne of the Island by L.
M.
Montgomery Read by Stephanie Poppins Chapter 36 The Gardener's Call Here's a letter with an Indian stamp for you,
Aunt Gymsy,
Said Phil.
Here are three for Stella and two for Pris,
And a glorious fat one for me from Jo.
Nobody noticed Anne's flush as she took the thin letter Phil tossed her carelessly,
But a few minutes later Phil looked up to see a transfigured Anne.
Honey,
What good thing has happened?
The used friend has accepted a little sketch I sent them a fortnight ago,
Said Anne,
Trying hard to speak as if she was accustomed to having sketches accepted every mail,
But not quite succeeding.
Anne,
Surely,
How glorious!
What was it?
When is it to be published?
Did they pay you for it?
Yes,
They've sent a cheque for ten dollars,
And the editor writes he'd like to see more of my work.
Dear man,
He shall!
It was an old sketch I found in my box.
I rewrote and sent it in,
But I never really thought it could be accepted because it had no plot,
Said Anne,
Recalling the bitter experience of Avril's atonement.
What are you going to do with that ten dollars,
Anne?
Let's all go up to town and get drunk,
Suggested Phil.
I am going to swander it in a wild soulless revel of some sort,
Declared Anne gaily.
At all offence,
It isn't tainted money like the cheque I got for that horrible,
Reliable baking powder story.
I spent it usefully for clothes and hated them every time I put them on.
Think of having a real-life author at Patty's place,
Said Priscilla.
It's a great responsibility,
Said Aunt Jamsina solemnly.
Indeed it is,
Grieved Pris with equal solemnity.
Authors are kittle cattle.
You never know when or how they'll break out.
Anne may make copy of us.
I meant that the ability to write for the press was a great responsibility,
Said Aunt Jamsina severely,
And I hope Anne realises that.
My daughter used to write stories before she went to the foreign field,
But now she's turned her attention to higher things.
She used to say her motto was,
Never write a line you would be ashamed to read at your own funeral.
You'd better take that for yours,
Anne,
If you're going to embark in literature.
Though to be sure,
Elizabeth always used to laugh when she said it.
She always laughed so much,
I don't know how she ever came to decide on being a missionary.
I'm thankful she did,
Though.
I prayed she might.
But I wish she hadn't.
Then Aunt Jamsina wondered why the giddy girls all laughed.
Anne's eyes shone all that day.
Literary ambitions sprouted and budded in her brain.
Their exhilaration accompanied her to Jenny Cooper's walking party,
And not even the sight of Gilbert and Christine walking just ahead of her and Roy could quite subdue the sparkle of her starry hopes.
Nevertheless,
She was not so rapt from things of earth as to be made unable to notice that Christine's walk was decidedly ungraceful.
But I suppose Gilbert only looks at her face.
So like a man,
Thought Anne scornfully.
Shall you be home Saturday afternoon?
Asked Roy.
Yes.
My mother and sisters are coming to call on you.
Said Roy quietly.
Something went over Anne which might be described as a thrill,
But it was hardly a pleasant one.
She had never met any of Roy's family and realised the significance of this statement.
I shall be glad to see them,
She said flatly,
And then wondered if she really would be glad.
She ought to be,
Of course.
But would it not be something of an ordeal?
Gossip had filtered to Anne regarding the light in which the gardeners viewed the infatuation of son and brother.
Roy must have brought pressure to bear in the matter of this call.
Anne knew she would be weighed in the balance.
From the fact they had consented to call,
She understood that,
Willingly or unwittingly,
They regarded her as a possible member of their clan.
I shall just be myself.
I shall not try to make a good impression,
She thought loftily.
But she was wondering what dress she would better wear Saturday afternoon,
And if the new style of high hairdressing would suit her better than the old.
And the walking party was rather spoiled.
By night,
She had decided she would wear her brown chiffon,
But would do her hair low.
Friday afternoon,
None of the girls had classes at Redmond.
Stella took the opportunity to write a paper,
And was sitting at the table in the corner of the living room with an untidy litter of notes and manuscript on the floor.
Stella always vowed she never could write anything unless she threw each sheet down as she completed it.
Anne,
In her flannel blouse and serged skirt,
With her hair rather blown,
From her windy walk home,
Was sitting squarely in the middle of the floor,
Teasing the Sarah cat with a wishbone.
Joseph and Rusty were both curled up in her lap.
A warm,
Plummy odour filled the whole house,
For Priscilla was cooking in the kitchen.
At this auspicious moment,
The knocker sounded.
No one paid any attention to it,
Save Phil,
Who sprang up and opened it,
Expecting a boy with the hat she'd brought that morning.
On the doorstep stood Mrs Gardner and her daughters.
Anne scrambled to her feet somehow,
Emptying two indignant cats out of her lap,
And mechanically shifted her wishbone from her right hand to her left.
Priscilla,
Who would have had to cross the room to reach the kitchen door,
Lost her head,
Wildly plunged the chocolate cake under a cushion on the inglenut sofa,
And dashed upstairs.
Stella began feverishly gathering up her manuscript.
Only Aunt Jamesina and Phil remained normal.
Thanks to them,
Everybody was soon sitting at ease,
Even Anne.
Priscilla came down,
Apronless and smudgeless.
Stella reduced her corner to decency.
And Phil saved the situation by a stream of ready small talk.
Mrs Gardner was tall and thin and handsome,
Exquisitely gowned,
Cordial with a cordiality that seemed a trifle forced.
Her daughter was a younger edition of her mother,
Lacking the cordiality.
She endeavoured to be nice,
But succeeded only in being haughty and patronising.
Then the cats began a game of chase and sprang madly into Mrs Gardner's silken lap.
Anne,
Choking back slightly,
Nervous laughter,
Apologised as best as she could.
You're fond of cats,
Said Mrs Gardner with a slight intonation of tolerant wonder.
Anne,
Despite her affection for Rusty,
Was not especially fond of cats,
But Mrs Gardner's tone annoyed her.
Inconsequently,
She remembered Mrs John Blythe was so fond of cats,
She kept as many as her husband would allow.
They are adorable animals,
Aren't they?
She said wickedly.
I have never liked cats,
Said Mrs Gardner remotely.
I love them,
Said Dorothy.
They're so nice and selfish.
Dogs are too good and unselfish.
They make me feel uncomfortable.
But cats are gloriously human.
You have two delightful old China dogs there.
May I look at them closely?
Roy's sister crossed the room towards the fireplace and thereby became the unconscious cause of the other accident.
Picking up Magog,
She sat down on the cushion under which was secreted Priscilla's chocolate cake.
Priscilla and Anne exchanged agonised glances,
But could do nothing.
The stately child continued to sit on the cushion and discuss China dogs until the time of departure.
Dorothy lingered behind a moment to squeeze Anne's hand and whisper impulsively,
I know you and I are going to be chums.
Roy's told me all about you.
I'm the only one of the family he tells things to,
Poor boy.
Nobody could confide in mama,
You know.
What glorious times you girls must have here.
Won't you let me come off and have a share in them?
Come as often as you'd like,
Anne responded heartily.
Thankful that one of Roy's sisters was likeable.
She would never like the other,
That much was certain.
Though Mrs Gardner might be one over.
Altogether she sighed with relief when the ordeal was over.
Of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are it might have been,
Quoted Priscilla tragically lifting the cushion.
This cake is now what you might call a flat failure and the cushion is likewise ruined.
Never tell me that Friday isn't unlucky.
People who send word they're coming on Saturday shouldn't come on Friday,
Sent Aunt Jamesina.
I fancy it was Roy's mistake,
Said Phil.
That boy isn't really responsible for what he says when he talks to Anne.
Where is Anne?
Anne had gone upstairs.
She felt oddly like crying,
But she made herself laugh instead.
The cats had been too awful,
But Dorothy was a dear.
