Anne of Windy Poplars - L. M. Montgomery [60]
‘If it comes out good I’ll send you one by mail,’ he promised. ‘How shall I address it?’
‘Teddy Armstrong, care of Mr James Armstrong, Glencove Road,’ said the Little Fellow. ‘Oh, won’t it be fun to have something coming to me mineself through the post-office! I tell you I’ll feel awful proud. I won’t say a word to Dad about it, so that it’ll be a splendid surprise for him.’
‘Well, look out for your parcel in two or three weeks,’ said Lewis, as they bade him good-bye. But Anne suddenly stooped and kissed the little sunburned face. There was something about it that tugged at her heart. He was so sweet – so gallant – so motherless!
They looked back at him at the curve in the lane, and saw him standing on the dike, with his dog, waving his hand to them.
Of course, Rebecca Dew knew all about the Armstrongs.
‘James Armstrong has never got over his wife’s death five years ago,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t so bad before that; agreeable enough, though a bit of a hermit. Kind of built that way. He was just wrapped up in his bit of a wife – she was twenty years younger than he was. Her death was an awful shock to him, I’ve heard. Just seemed to change his nature completely. He got sour and cranky. Wouldn’t even get a housekeeper. Looked after his house and child himself. He kept bachelor’s hall for years before he was married, so he ain’t a bad hand at it.’
‘But it’s no life for the child,’ said Aunt Chatty. ‘His father never takes him to church or anywhere he’d see people.’
‘He worships the boy, I’ve heard,’ said Aunt Kate.
‘ “Thou shalt have none other gods before me,”’ quoted Rebecca Dew suddenly.
3
It was almost three weeks before Lewis found time to develop his pictures. He brought them up to Windy Willows the first Sunday night he came to supper. Both the house and the Little Fellow came out splendidly. The Little Fellow smiled up from the picture ‘as real as life’, said Rebecca Dew.
‘Why, he looks like you, Lewis!’ exclaimed Anne.
‘He does that,’ agreed Rebecca Dew, squinting at it judicially. ‘The minute I saw it his face reminded me of somebody, but I couldn’t think who.’
‘Why, the eyes… the forehead… the whole expression, are yours, Lewis!’ said Anne.
‘It’s hard to believe I was ever such a good-looking little chap,’ shrugged Lewis. ‘I’ve got a picture of myself somewhere taken when I was about seven. I must hunt it out and compare it. You’d laugh to see it, Miss Shirley. I’m the most sober-eyed kid with long curls and a lace collar, looking as stiff as a ramrod. I suppose I had my head clamped in one of those three-clawed contraptions they used to use. If this picture really resembles me it must be only a coincidence. The Little Fellow can’t be any relation of mine. I haven’t any relative on the Island – now.’
‘Where were you born?’ asked Aunt Kate.
‘N.B. Father and Mother died when I was ten, and I came over here to live with a cousin of mother’s – I called her Aunt Ida. She died too, you know, three years ago.’
‘Jim Armstrong came from New Brunswick,’ said Rebecca Dew. ‘He ain’t a real Islander; wouldn’t be such a crank if he was. We have our peculiarities, but we’re civilized.’
‘I’m not sure that I want to discover a relation in the amiable Mr Armstrong,’ grinned Lewis, attacking Aunt Chatty’s cinnamon toast. ‘However, I think when I get the photograph finished and mounted I’ll take it out to Glencove Road myself, and investigate a little. He may be a distant cousin or something. I really know nothing about my mother’s people, if she had any living. I’ve always been under the impression that she hadn’t. Father hadn’t, I know.’
‘If you take the picture out in person won’t the Little Fellow be a bit disappointed over losing his thrill of getting something through the post-office?’ said Anne.
‘I’ll make it up to him. I’ll send him something else by mail.’
The next Saturday afternoon Lewis came driving along Spook