Anne of Avonlea - L. M. Montgomery [46]
“I read somewhere once that souls were like flowers,” said Priscilla.
“Then your soul is a golden narcissus,” said Anne, “and Diana’s is like a red, red rose. Jane’s is an apple blossom, pink and wholesome and sweet.”
“And your own is a white violet, with purple streaks in its heart,” finished Priscilla.
Jane whispered to Diana that she really could not understand what they were talking about. Could she?
The girls went home by the light of a calm golden sunset, their baskets filled with narcissus blossoms from Hester’s garden, some of which Anne carried to the cemetery next day and laid upon Hester’s grave. Minstrel robins were whistling in the firs and the frogs were singing in the marshes. All the basins among the hills were brimmed with topaz and emerald light.
“Well, we have had a lovely time after all,” said Diana, as if she had hardly expected to have it when she set out.
“It has been a truly golden day,” said Priscilla.
“I’m really awfully fond of the woods myself,” said Jane.
Anne said nothing. She was looking afar into the western sky and thinking of little Hester Gray.
XIV
A Danger Averted
ANNE, WALKING HOME from the post office one Friday evening, was joined by Mrs. Lynde, who was as usual cumbered with all the cares of church and state.
“I’ve just been down to Timothy Cotton’s to see if I could get Alice Louise to help me for a few days,” she said. “I had her last week, for, though she’s too slow to stop quick, she’s better than nobody. But she’s sick and can’t come. Timothy’s sitting there, too, coughing and complaining. He’s been dying for ten years and he’ll go on dying for ten years more. That kind can’t even die and have done with it…they can’t stick to anything, even to being sick, long enough to finish it. They’re a terrible shiftless family and what is to become of them I don’t know, but perhaps Providence does.”
Mrs. Lynde sighed as if she rather doubted the extent of Providential knowledge on the subject.
“Marilla was in about her eyes again Tuesday, wasn’t she? What did the specialist think of them?” she continued.
“He was much pleased,” said Anne brightly. “He says there is a great improvement in them and he thinks the danger of her losing her sight completely is past. But he says she’ll never be able to read much or do any fine handwork again. How are your preparations for your bazaar coming on?”
The Ladies’ Aid Society was preparing for a fair and supper, and Mrs. Lynde was the head and front of the enterprise.
“Pretty well…and that reminds me. Mrs. Allan thinks it would be nice to fix up a booth like an old-time kitchen and serve a supper of baked beans, doughnuts, pie, and so on. We’re collecting old-fashioned fixings everywhere. Mrs. Simon Fletcher is going to lend us her mother’s braided rugs and Mrs. Levi Boulter some old chairs and Aunt Mary Shaw will lend us her cupboard with the glass doors. I suppose Marilla will let us have her brass candlesticks? And we want all the old dishes we can get. Mrs. Allan is specially set on having a real blue willowware platter if we can find one. But nobody seems to have one. Do you know where we could get one?”
“Miss Josephine Barry has one. I’ll write and ask her if she’ll lend it for the occasion,” said Anne.
“Well, I wish you would. I guess we’ll have the supper in about a fortnight’s time. Uncle Abe Andrews is prophesying rain and storms for about that time; and that’s a pretty sure sign we’ll have fine weather.”
The said “Uncle Abe,” it may be mentioned, was at least like other prophets in that he had small honor in his own country. He was, in fact, considered in the light of a standing joke, for few of his weather predictions were ever fulfilled. Mr. Elisha Wright, who labored under the impression that he was a local wit,