The Collected Works of Lucy Maud Montgomery: 20 Novels & 170+ Short Stories, Poems, Autobiography and Letters (Including Complete Anne Shirley Series, Chronicles of Avonlea & Emily Starr Trilogy). Lucy Maud Montgomery
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always burglaries, you know … and your house is lonely, off here by itself. You really do need protection.”
“Oh, well, have it your own way. I’d ruther do anything than argue with people, ‘specially when I’ve such a queer throbbing in the back of my neck. I s’pose it means I’m going to have a stroke.”
“You need your nap. When you’ve had it you’ll feel better. I’ll tuck you up and lower your chair. Would you like to go out on the porch for your nap?”
“Sleeping in public! That’d be worse than eating. You do have the queerest ideas. You just fix me up right here in the sitting-room and draw the blinds down and shut the door to keep the flies out. I daresay you’d like a quiet spell yourself … your tongue’s been going pretty steady.”
Mrs. Gibson had a good long nap, but woke up in a bad humor. She would not let Anne wheel her out to the porch again.
“Want me to ketch my death in the night air, I s’pose,” she grumbled, although it was only five o’clock. Nothing suited her. The drink Anne brought her was too cold … the next one wasn’t cold enough … of course anything would do for her. Where was the dog? Misbehaving, no doubt. Her back ached … her knees ached … her head ached … her breastbone ached. Nobody sympathized with her … nobody knew what she went through. Her chair was too high … her chair was too low… . She wanted a shawl for her shoulders and an afghan for her knees and a cushion for her feet. And would Miss Shirley see where that awful draught was coming from? She could do with a cup of tea, but she didn’t want to be a trouble to any one and she would soon be at rest in her grave. Maybe they might appreciate her when she was gone.
“Be the day short or be the day long, at last it weareth to evening song.” There were moments when Anne thought it never would, but it did. Sunset came and Mrs. Gibson began to wonder why Pauline wasn’t coming. Twilight came … still no Pauline. Night and moonshine and no Pauline.
“I knew it,” said Mrs. Gibson cryptically.
“You know she can’t come till Mr. Gregor comes and he’s generally the last dog hung,” soothed Anne. “Won’t you let me put you to bed, Mrs. Gibson? You’re tired … I know it’s a bit of a strain having a stranger round instead of some one you’re accustomed to.”
The little puckery lines about Mrs. Gibson’s mouth deepened obstinately.
“I’m not going to bed till that girl comes home. But if you’re so anxious to be gone, go. I can stay alone … or die alone.”
At half past nine Mrs. Gibson decided that Jim Gregor was not coming home till Monday.
“Nobody could ever depend on Jim Gregor to stay in the same mind twenty-four hours. And he thinks it’s wrong to travel on Sunday even to come home. He’s on your school board, ain’t he? What do you really think of him and his opinions on eddication?”
Anne went wicked. After all, she had endured a good deal at Mrs. Gibson’s hands that day.
“I think he’s a psychological anachronism,” she answered gravely.
Mrs. Gibson did not bat an eyelash.
“I agree with you,” she said. But she pretended to go to sleep after that.
Chapter XIV
It was ten o’clock when Pauline came at last … a flushed, starry-eyed Pauline, looking ten years younger, in spite of the resumed taffeta and the old hat, and carrying a beautiful bouquet which she hurriedly presented to the grim lady in the wheel-chair.
“The bride sent you her bouquet, Ma. Isn’t it lovely? Twenty-five white roses.”
“Cat’s hindfoot! I don’t s’pose any one thought of sending me a crumb of wedding-cake. People nowadays don’t seem to have any family feeling. Ah, well, I’ve seen the day …”
“But they did. I’ve a great big piece here in my bag. And everybody asked about you and sent you their love, Ma.”
“Did you have a nice time?” asked Anne.
Pauline sat down on a hard chair because she knew her mother would resent it if she sat on a soft one.
“Very nice,” she said cautiously. “We had a lovely wedding-dinner and Mr. Freeman, the Gull Cove minister, married Louisa and Maurice over again… .”
“I call that sacrilegious… .”
“And then the photographer took all our pictures. The flowers were simply wonderful. The parlor was a bower …”
“Like a funeral I s’pose …”
“And, oh, Ma. Mary Luckley was there from the west … Mrs. Flemming, you know. You remember what friends she and I always were. We used to call each other Polly and Molly… .”
“Very silly names …”
“And it was so nice to see her again and have a long talk over old times. Her sister Em was there, too, with such a delicious baby.”
“You talk as if it was something to eat,” grunted Mrs. Gibson. “Babies are common enough.”
“Oh, no, babies are never common,” said Anne, bringing a bowl of water for Mrs. Gibson’s roses. “Every one is a miracle.”
“Well, I had ten and I never saw much that was miraculous about any of them. Pauline, do sit still if you kin. You fidget me. I notice you ain’t asking how I got along. But I s’pose I couldn’t expect it.”
“I can tell how you got along without asking, Ma … you look so bright and cheerful.” Pauline was still so uplifted by the day that she could be a little arch even with her mother. “I’m sure you and Miss Shirley had a nice time together.”
“We got on well enough. I just let her have her own way. I admit it’s the first time in years I’ve heard some interesting conversation. I ain’t so near the grave as some people would like to make out. Thank heaven I’ve never got deaf or childish. Well, I s’pose the next thing you’ll be off to the moon. And I s’pose they didn’t care for my sarsaparilla wine by any chance?”
“Oh, they did. They thought it delicious.”
“You’ve taken your own time telling me that. Did you bring back the bottle … or would it be too much to expect you’d remember that?”
“The … the bottle got broke,” faltered Pauline. “Some one knocked it over in the pantry. But Louisa gave me another just exactly the same, Ma, so you needn’t worry.”
“I’ve had that bottle ever since I started housekeeping. Louisa’s can’t be exactly the same. They don’t make such bottles nowadays. I wish you’d bring me another shawl. I’m sneezing … I expect I’ve got a terrible cold. You can’t either of you seem to remember not to let the night air git at me. Likely it’ll bring my neuritis back.”
An old neighbor up the street dropped in at this Juncture and Pauline snatched at the chance to go a little way with Anne.
“Good night, Miss Shirley,” said Mrs. Gibson quite graciously. “I’m much obliged to you. If there was more people like you in this town, it would be the better for it.” She grinned toothlessly and pulled Anne down to her. “I don’t care what people say … I think you’re real nicelooking,” she whispered.
Pauline and Anne walked along the street, through the cool, green night, and Pauline let herself go, as she had not dared do before her mother.
“Oh, Miss Shirley, it was heavenly. How can I ever repay you? I’ve never spent such a wonderful day … I’ll live on it for years. It was such fun