Anne of Ingleside - L. M. Montgomery [30]
‘Look at that white evening star over the lombardy in the corner,’ said Anne. ‘Whenever I see anything like that I am minded to be just glad I am alive.’
‘You do say such funny things, Annie. Stars are quite common in P. E. Island,’ said Aunt Mary Maria.
(Stars, indeed! As if no one ever saw a star before. Didn’t Annie know of the terrible waste that was going on in the kitchen every day? Didn’t she know of the reckless way Susan Baker threw eggs about and used lard where dripping would do quite as well? Or didn’t she care? Poor Gilbert! No wonder he had to keep his nose to the grindstone!)
November went out in greys and browns: but by morning the snow had woven its old white spell and all the children shouted with delight as they rushed down to breakfast.
‘Oh, Mummy, it will soon be Christmas now and Santa Claus will be coming.’
‘You surely don’t believe in Santa Claus still?’ said Aunt Mary Maria.
Anne shot a glance of alarm at Gilbert, who said gravely:
‘We want the children to possess their heritage of fairyland as long as they can, Auntie.’
Luckily Jem had paid no attention to Aunt Mary Maria. He and Walter were too eager to get out into the new wonderful world to which winter had brought its own loveliness. Anne always hated to see the beauty of the untrodden snow marred by footprints; but that could not be helped, and there was still beauty and to spare at eventide when the west was aflame over all the whitened hollows in the violet hills and Anne was sitting in the living-room before a fire of rock maple. Firelight, she thought, was always so lovely. It did such tricksy, unexpected things. Parts of the room flashed into being and then out again. Pictures came and went. Shadows lurked and sprang. Outside, through the big unshaded window, the whole scene was elvishly reflected on the lawn with Aunt Mary Maria apparently sitting stark upright… Aunt Mary Maria never allowed herself to ‘loll’… under the Scotch pine.
Gilbert was ‘lolling’ on the couch, trying to forget that he had lost a patient from pneumonia that day. Small Rilla was trying to eat her pink fists in her basket: even the Shrimp, with his white paws curled in under his breast, was daring to purr on the hearthrug, much to Aunt Mary Maria’s disapproval.
‘Speaking of cats,’ said Aunt Mary Maria pathetically… though nobody had been speaking of them… ‘do all the cats in the Glen visit us at night? How anyone could have slept through the caterwauling last night I really am at a loss to understand. Of course, my room being at the back I suppose I get the full benefit of the free concert.’
Before anyone had time to reply Susan entered, saying she had seen Mrs Marshall Elliott in Carter Flagg’s store and she was coming up when she had finished her shopping. Susan did not add that Mrs Elliott had said anxiously, ‘What is the matter with Mrs Blythe, Susan? I thought last Sunday in church she looked so tired and worried. I never saw her look like that before.’
‘I can tell you what is the matter with Mrs Blythe,’ Susan had answered grimly. ‘She has got a bad attack of Aunt Mary Maria. And the doctor cannot seem to see it, even though he does worship the ground she walks on.’
‘Isn’t that like a man?’ said Mrs Elliott.
‘I am glad,’ said Anne, springing up to light a lamp. ‘I haven’t seen Miss Cornelia for so long. Now we’ll catch up with the news.’
‘Won’t we!’ said Gilbert drily.
‘That woman is an evil-minded gossip,’ said Aunt Mary Maria severely.
For the first time in her life perhaps Susan bristled up in defence of Miss Cornelia.
‘That she is not, Miss Blythe, and Susan Baker will never stand by and hear her so miscalled. Evil-minded, indeed! Did you ever hear, Miss Blythe, of the pot calling the kettle black?’
‘Susan… Susan,’ said Anne imploringly.
‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Doctor dear. I admit I have forgotten my place. But there are some things not to be