ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - Complete Collection: ALL 14 Books in One Volume (Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Avonlea, Anne of the Island, Rainbow Valley, The Story Girl, Chronicles of Avonlea and more). Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Gilbert do well in his examinations?” persisted Marilla.
“Excellently well. He led his class. But where are the twins and Mrs. Lynde?”
“Rachel and Dora are over at Mr. Harrison’s. Davy is down at Boulters’. I think I hear him coming now.”
Davy burst in, saw Anne, stopped, and then hurled himself upon her with a joyful yell.
“Oh, Anne, ain’t I glad to see you! Say, Anne, I’ve grown two inches since last fall. Mrs. Lynde measured me with her tape today, and say, Anne, see my front tooth. It’s gone. Mrs. Lynde tied one end of a string to it and the other end to the door, and then shut the door. I sold it to Milty for two cents. Milty’s collecting teeth.”
“What in the world does he want teeth for?” asked Marilla.
“To make a necklace for playing Indian Chief,” explained Davy, climbing upon Anne’s lap. “He’s got fifteen already, and everybody’s else’s promised, so there’s no use in the rest of us starting to collect, too. I tell you the Boulters are great business people.”
“Were you a good boy at Mrs. Boulter’s?” asked Marilla severely.
“Yes; but say, Marilla, I’m tired of being good.”
“You’d get tired of being bad much sooner, Davy-boy,” said Anne.
“Well, it’d be fun while it lasted, wouldn’t it?” persisted Davy. “I could be sorry for it afterwards, couldn’t I?”
“Being sorry wouldn’t do away with the consequences of being bad, Davy. Don’t you remember the Sunday last summer when you ran away from Sunday School? You told me then that being bad wasn’t worth while. What were you and Milty doing today?”
“Oh, we fished and chased the cat, and hunted for eggs, and yelled at the echo. There’s a great echo in the bush behind the Boulter barn. Say, what is echo, Anne; I want to know.”
“Echo is a beautiful nymph, Davy, living far away in the woods, and laughing at the world from among the hills.”
“What does she look like?”
“Her hair and eyes are dark, but her neck and arms are white as snow. No mortal can ever see how fair she is. She is fleeter than a deer, and that mocking voice of hers is all we can know of her. You can hear her calling at night; you can hear her laughing under the stars. But you can never see her. She flies afar if you follow her, and laughs at you always just over the next hill.”
“Is that true, Anne? Or is it a whopper?” demanded Davy staring.
“Davy,” said Anne despairingly, “haven’t you sense enough to distinguish between a fairytale and a falsehood?”
“Then what is it that sasses back from the Boulter bush? I want to know,” insisted Davy.
“When you are a little older, Davy, I’ll explain it all to you.”
The mention of age evidently gave a new turn to Davy’s thoughts for after a few moments of reflection, he whispered solemnly:
“Anne, I’m going to be married.”
“When?” asked Anne with equal solemnity.
“Oh, not until I’m grownup, of course.”
“Well, that’s a relief, Davy. Who is the lady?”
“Stella Fletcher; she’s in my class at school. And say, Anne, she’s the prettiest girl you ever saw. If I die before I grow up you’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you?”
“Davy Keith, do stop talking such nonsense,” said Marilla severely.
“‘Tisn’t nonsense,” protested Davy in an injured tone. “She’s my promised wife, and if I was to die she’d be my promised widow, wouldn’t she? And she hasn’t got a soul to look after her except her old grandmother.”
“Come and have your supper, Anne,” said Marilla, “and don’t encourage that child in his absurd talk.”
Chapter XXIII.
Paul Cannot Find the Rock People
Life was very pleasant in Avonlea that summer, although Anne, amid all her vacation joys, was haunted by a sense of “something gone which should be there.” She would not admit, even in her inmost reflections, that this was caused by Gilbert’s absence. But when she had to walk home alone from prayer meetings and A.V.I.S. powwows, while Diana and Fred, and many other gay couples, loitered along the dusky, starlit country roads, there was a queer, lonely ache in her heart which she could not explain away. Gilbert did not even write to her, as she thought he might have done. She knew he wrote to Diana occasionally, but she would not inquire about him; and Diana, supposing that Anne heard from him, volunteered no information. Gilbert’s mother, who was a gay, frank, lighthearted lady, but not overburdened with tact, had a very embarrassing habit of asking Anne, always in a painfully distinct voice and always in the presence of a crowd, if she had heard from Gilbert lately. Poor Anne could only blush horribly and murmur, “not very lately,” which was taken by all, Mrs. Blythe included, to be merely a maidenly evasion.
Apart from this, Anne enjoyed her summer. Priscilla came for a merry visit in June; and, when she had gone, Mr. and Mrs. Irving, Paul and Charlotta the Fourth came “home” for July and August.
Echo Lodge was the scene of gaieties once more, and the echoes over the river were kept busy mimicking the laughter that rang in the old garden behind the spruces.
“Miss Lavendar” had not changed, except to grow even sweeter and prettier. Paul adored her, and the companionship between them was beautiful to see.
“But I don’t call her ‘mother’ just by itself,” he explained to Anne. “You see, THAT name belongs just to my own little mother, and I can’t give it to any one else. You know, teacher. But I call her ‘Mother Lavendar’ and I love her next best to father. I — I even love her a LITTLE better than you, teacher.”
“Which is just as it ought to be,” answered Anne.
Paul was thirteen now and very tall for his years. His face and eyes were as beautiful as ever, and his fancy was still like a prism, separating everything that fell upon it into rainbows. He and Anne had delightful rambles to wood and field and shore. Never were there two more thoroughly “kindred spirits.”
Charlotta the Fourth had blossomed out into young ladyhood. She wore her hair now in an enormous pompador and had discarded the blue ribbon bows of auld lang syne, but her face was as freckled, her nose as snubbed, and her mouth and smiles as wide as ever.
“You don’t think I talk with a Yankee accent, do you, Miss Shirley, ma’am?” she demanded anxiously.
“I don’t notice it, Charlotta.”
“I’m real glad of that. They said I did at home, but I thought likely they just wanted to aggravate me. I don’t want no Yankee accent. Not that I’ve a word to say against the Yankees, Miss Shirley, ma’am. They’re real civilized. But give me old P.E. Island every time.”
Paul spent his first fortnight with his grandmother Irving in Avonlea. Anne was there to meet him when he came, and found him wild with eagerness to get to the shore — Nora and the Golden Lady and the Twin Sailors would be there. He could hardly wait to eat his supper. Could he not see Nora’s elfin face peering around the point, watching for him wistfully? But it was a very sober Paul who came back from the shore in the twilight.
“Didn’t you find your Rock People?” asked Anne.
Paul shook his chestnut curls sorrowfully.
“The Twin Sailors and the Golden Lady