Part 10 (2/2)
”Get up, you goose.”
”I won't stir off my marrow bones till you tell me I can live with you next winter.”
Anne and Priscilla looked at each other. Then Anne said slowly, ”Phil dear, we'd love to have you. But we may as well speak plainly. I'm poor--Pris is poor--Stella Maynard is poor--our housekeeping will have to be very simple and our table plain. You'd have to live as we would.
Now, you are rich and your boardinghouse fare attests the fact.”
”Oh, what do I care for that?” demanded Phil tragically. ”Better a dinner of herbs where your chums are than a stalled ox in a lonely boardinghouse. Don't think I'm ALL stomach, girls. I'll be willing to live on bread and water--with just a LEETLE jam--if you'll let me come.”
”And then,” continued Anne, ”there will be a good deal of work to be done. Stella's aunt can't do it all. We all expect to have our ch.o.r.es to do. Now, you--”
”Toil not, neither do I spin,” finished Philippa. ”But I'll learn to do things. You'll only have to show me once. I CAN make my own bed to begin with. And remember that, though I can't cook, I CAN keep my temper.
That's something. And I NEVER growl about the weather. That's more. Oh, please, please! I never wanted anything so much in my life--and this floor is awfully hard.”
”There's just one more thing,” said Priscilla resolutely. ”You, Phil, as all Redmond knows, entertain callers almost every evening. Now, at Patty's Place we can't do that. We have decided that we shall be at home to our friends on Friday evenings only. If you come with us you'll have to abide by that rule.”
”Well, you don't think I'll mind that, do you? Why, I'm glad of it.
I knew I should have had some such rule myself, but I hadn't enough decision to make it or stick to it. When I can shuffle off the responsibility on you it will be a real relief. If you won't let me cast in my lot with you I'll die of the disappointment and then I'll come back and haunt you. I'll camp on the very doorstep of Patty's Place and you won't be able to go out or come in without falling over my spook.”
Again Anne and Priscilla exchanged eloquent looks.
”Well,” said Anne, ”of course we can't promise to take you until we've consulted with Stella; but I don't think she'll object, and, as far as we are concerned, you may come and glad welcome.”
”If you get tired of our simple life you can leave us, and no questions asked,” added Priscilla.
Phil sprang up, hugged them both jubilantly, and went on her way rejoicing.
”I hope things will go right,” said Priscilla soberly.
”We must MAKE them go right,” avowed Anne. ”I think Phil will fit into our 'appy little 'ome very well.”
”Oh, Phil's a dear to rattle round with and be chums. And, of course, the more there are of us the easier it will be on our slim purses. But how will she be to live with? You have to summer and winter with any one before you know if she's LIVABLE or not.”
”Oh, well, we'll all be put to the test, as far as that goes. And we must quit us like sensible folk, living and let live. Phil isn't selfish, though she's a little thoughtless, and I believe we will all get on beautifully in Patty's Place.”
Chapter XI
The Round of Life
Anne was back in Avonlea with the l.u.s.ter of the Thorburn Scholars.h.i.+p on her brow. People told her she hadn't changed much, in a tone which hinted they were surprised and a little disappointed she hadn't. Avonlea had not changed, either. At least, so it seemed at first. But as Anne sat in the Green Gables pew, on the first Sunday after her return, and looked over the congregation, she saw several little changes which, all coming home to her at once, made her realize that time did not quite stand still, even in Avonlea. A new minister was in the pulpit. In the pews more than one familiar face was missing forever. Old ”Uncle Abe,”
his prophesying over and done with, Mrs. Peter Sloane, who had sighed, it was to be hoped, for the last time, Timothy Cotton, who, as Mrs.
Rachel Lynde said ”had actually managed to die at last after practicing at it for twenty years,” and old Josiah Sloane, whom n.o.body knew in his coffin because he had his whiskers neatly trimmed, were all sleeping in the little graveyard behind the church. And Billy Andrews was married to Nettie Blewett! They ”appeared out” that Sunday. When Billy, beaming with pride and happiness, showed his be-plumed and be-silked bride into the Harmon Andrews' pew, Anne dropped her lids to hide her dancing eyes.
She recalled the stormy winter night of the Christmas holidays when Jane had proposed for Billy. He certainly had not broken his heart over his rejection. Anne wondered if Jane had also proposed to Nettie for him, or if he had mustered enough s.p.u.n.k to ask the fateful question himself. All the Andrews family seemed to share in his pride and pleasure, from Mrs. Harmon in the pew to Jane in the choir. Jane had resigned from the Avonlea school and intended to go West in the fall.
”Can't get a beau in Avonlea, that's what,” said Mrs. Rachel Lynde scornfully. ”SAYS she thinks she'll have better health out West. I never heard her health was poor before.”
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