"Mrs. Lynde says that," protested Davy. "One night last week Marilla said `Will Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix EVER get married" and Mrs. Lynde said, `God knows' -- just like that.""Well, it wasn't right for her to say it," said Anne, promptly deciding upon which horn of this dilemma to empale herself.
"It isn't right for anybody to take that name in vain or speak it lightly, Davy. Don't ever do it again.""Not if I say it slow and solemn, like the minister?" queried Davy gravely.
"No, not even then."
"Well, I won't. Ludovic Speed and Theodora Dix live in Middle Grafton and Mrs. Rachel says he has been courting her for a hundred years. Won't they soon be too old to get married, Anne?
I hope Gilbert won't court YOU that long. When are you going to be married, Anne? Mrs. Lynde says it's a sure thing.""Mrs. Lynde is a --" began Anne hotly; then stopped. "Awful old gossip," completed Davy calmly. "That's what every one calls her.
But is it a sure thing, Anne? I want to know.""You're a very silly little boy, Davy," said Anne, stalking haughtily out of the room. The kitchen was deserted and she sat down by the window in the fast falling wintry twilight. The sun had set and the wind had died down. A pale chilly moon looked out behind a bank of purple clouds in the west. The sky faded out, but the strip of yellow along the western horizon grew brighter and fiercer, as if all the stray gleams of light were concentrating in one spot; the distant hills, rimmed with priest-like firs, stood out in dark distinctness against it.
Anne looked across the still, white fields, cold and lifeless in the harsh light of that grim sunset, and sighed. She was very lonely; and she was sad at heart; for she was wondering if she would be able to return to Redmond next year. It did not seem likely. The only scholarship possible in the Sophomore year was a very small affair. She would not take Marilla's money;and there seemed little prospect of being able to earn enough in the summer vacation.
"I suppose I'll just have to drop out next year," she thought drearily, "and teach a district school again until I earn enough to finish my course. And by that time all my old class will have graduated and Patty's Place will be out of the question. But there!
I'm not going to be a coward. I'm thankful I can earn my way through if necessary.""Here's Mr. Harrison wading up the lane," announced Davy, running out.
"I hope he's brought the mail. It's three days since we got it.
I want to see what them pesky Grits are doing. I'm a Conservative, Anne.
And I tell you, you have to keep your eye on them Grits."Mr. Harrison had brought the mail, and merry letters from Stella and Priscilla and Phil soon dissipated Anne's blues. Aunt Jamesina, too, had written, saying that she was keeping the hearth-fire alight, and that the cats were all well, and the house plants doing fine.
"The weather has been real cold," she wrote, "so I let the cats sleep in the house -- Rusty and Joseph on the sofa in the living-room, and the Sarah-cat on the foot of my bed. It's real company to hear her purring when I wake up in the night and think of my poor daughter in the foreign field. If it was anywhere but in India I wouldn't worry, but they say the snakes out there are terrible. It takes all the Sarah-cats's purring to drive away the thought of those snakes.
I have enough faith for everything but the snakes. I can't think why Providence ever made them. Sometimes I don't think He did.
I'm inclined to believe the Old Harry had a hand in making THEM."Anne had left a thin, typewritten communication till the last, thinking it unimportant. When she had read it she sat very still, with tears in her eyes.
"What is the matter, Anne?" asked Marilla.
"Miss Josephine Barry is dead," said Anne, in a low tone.
"So she has gone at last," said Marilla. "Well, she has been sick for over a year, and the Barrys have been expecting to hear of her death any time. It is well she is at rest for she has suffered dreadfully, Anne. She was always kind to you.""She has been kind to the last, Marilla. This letter is from her lawyer.
She has left me a thousand dollars in her will.""Gracious, ain't that an awful lot of money," exclaimed Davy.
"She's the woman you and Diana lit on when you jumped into the spare room bed, ain't she? Diana told me that story.
Is that why she left you so much?"
"Hush, Davy," said Anne gently. She slipped away to the porch gable with a full heart, leaving Marilla and Mrs. Lynde to talk over the news to their hearts' content.
"Do you s'pose Anne will ever get married now?" speculated Davy anxiously. "When Dorcas Sloane got married last summer she said if she'd had enough money to live on she'd never have been bothered with a man, but even a widower with eight children was better'n living with a sister-in-law.""Davy Keith, do hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel severely.
"The way you talk is scandalous for a small boy, that's what."
