Further Chronicles of Avonlea

by L. M. Montgomery

  www.youngpeopleszone.cjb.net

  -Presents-

 

  FURTHER CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA

  as related by L.M. Montgomery

 

  Chapter I

  MAX always blesses the animal when it is referred to;

  and I don't deny that things have worked together for

  good after all. But when I think of the anguish of mind

  which Ismay and I underwent on account of that

  abominable cat, it is not a blessing that arises

  uppermost in my thoughts.

  I never was fond of cats, although I admit they are

  well enough in their place, and I can worry along

  comfortably with a nice, matronly old tabby who can

  take care of herself and be of some use in the world.

  As for Ismay, she hates cats and always did.

  But Aunt Cynthia, who adored them, never could bring

  herself to understand that any one could possibly

  dislike them. She firmly believed that Ismay and I

  really liked cats deep down in our hearts, but that,

  owing to some perverse twist in our moral natures, we

  would not own up to it, but willfully persisted in

  declaring we didn't.

  Of all cats I loathed that white Persian cat of Aunt

  Cynthia's. And, indeed, as we always suspected and

  finally proved, Aunt herself looked upon the creature

  with more pride than affection. She would have taken

  ten times the comfort in a good, common puss that she

  did in that spoiled beauty. But a Persian cat with a

  recorded pedigree and a market value of one hundred

  dollars tickled Aunt Cynthia's pride of possession to

  such an extent that she deluded herself into believing

  that the animal was really the apple of her eye.

  It had been presented to her when a kitten by a

  missionary nephew who had brought it all the way home

  from Persia; and for the next three years Aunt

  Cynthia's household existed to wait on that cat, hand

  and foot. It was snow-white, with a bluish-gray spot on

  the tip of its tail; and it was blue-eyed and deaf and

  delicate. Aunt Cynthia was always worrying lest it

  should take cold and die. Ismay and I used to wish that

  it would - we were so tired of hearing about it and its

  whims. But we did not say so to Aunt Cynthia. She would

  probably never have spoken to us again and there was no

  wisdom in offending Aunt Cynthia. When you have an

  unencumbered aunt, with a fat bank account, it is just

  as well to keep on good terms with her, if you can.

  Besides, we really liked Aunt Cynthia very much - at

  times. Aunt Cynthia was one of those rather

  exasperating people who nag at and find fault with you

  until you think you are justified in hating them, and

  who then turn round and do something so really nice and

  kind for you that you feel as if you were compelled to

  love them dutifully instead.

  So we listened meekly when she discoursed on Fatima -

  the cat's name was Fatima - and, if it was wicked of us

  to wish for the latter's decease, we were well punished

  for it later on.

  One day, in November, Aunt Cynthia came sailing out to

  Spencervale. She really came in a phaeton, drawn by a

  fat gray pony, but somehow Aunt Cynthia always gave you

  the impression of a full rigged ship coming gallantly

  on before a favorable wind.

  That was a Jonah day for us all through. Everything had

  gone wrong. Ismay had spilled grease on her velvet

  coat, and the fit of the new blouse I was making was

  hopelessly askew, and the kitchen stove smoked and the

  bread was sour. Moreover, Huldah Jane Keyson, our tried

  and trusty old family nurse and cook and general

  "boss," had what she called the "realagy" in her

  shoulder; and, though Huldah Jane is as good an old

  creature as ever lived, when she has the "realagy"

  other people who are in the house want to get out of it

  and, if they can't, feel about as comfortable as St.

  Lawrence on his gridiron.

  And on top of this came Aunt Cynthia's call and

  request.

  "Dear me," said Aunt Cynthia, sniffing, "don't I smell

  smoke? You girls must manage your range very badly.

  Mine never smokes. But it is no more than one might

  expect when two girls try to keep house without a man

  about the place."

  "We get along very well without a man about the place,"

  I said loftily. Max hadn't been in for four whole days

  and, though nobody wanted to see him particularly, I

  couldn't help wondering why. "Men are nuisances."

  "I dare say you would like to pretend you think so,"

  said Aunt Cynthia, aggravatingly. "But no woman ever

  does really think so, you know. I imagine that pretty

  Anne Shirley, who is visiting Ella Kimball, doesn't. I

  saw her and Dr. Irving out walking this afternoon,

  looking very well satisfied with themselves. If you

  dilly-dally much longer, Sue, you will let Max slip

  through your fingers yet."

  That was a tactful thing to say to me, who had refused

  Max Irving so often that I had lost count. I was

  furious, and so I smiled most sweetly on my maddening

  aunt.

  "Dear Aunt, how amusing of you," I said, smoothly. "You

  talk as if I wanted Max."

  "So you do," said Aunt Cynthia.

  "If so, why should I have refused him time and again?"

  I asked, smilingly. Right well Aunt Cynthia knew I had.

  Max always told her.

  "Goodness alone knows why," said Aunt Cynthia, "but you

  may do it once too often and find yourself taken at

  your word. There is something very fascinating about

  this Anne Shirley."

  "Indeed there is," I assented. "She has the loveliest

  eyes I ever saw. She would be just the wife for Max,

  and I hope he will marry her."

  "Humph," said Aunt Cynthia. "Well, I won't entice you

  into telling any more fibs. And I didn't drive out here

  to-day in all this wind to talk sense into you

  concerning Max. I'm going to Halifax for two months and

  I want you to take charge of Fatima for me, while I am

  away."

  "Fatima!" I exclaimed.

  "Yes. I don't dare to trust her with the servants. Mind

  you always warm her milk before you give it to her, and

  don't on any account let her run out of doors."

  I looked at Ismay and Ismay looked at me. We knew we

  were in for it. To refuse would mortally offend Aunt

  Cynthia. Besides, if I betrayed any unwillingness, Aunt

  Cynthia would be sure to put it down to grumpiness over

  what she had said about Max, and rub it in for years.

  But I ventured to ask, "What if anything happens to her <
br />
  while you are away?"

  "It is to prevent that, I'm leaving her with you," said

  Aunt Cynthia. "You simply must not let anything happen

  to her. It will do you good to have a little

  responsibility. And you will have a chance to find out

  what an adorable creature Fatima really is. Well, that

  is all settled. I'll send Fatima out to-morrow."

  "You can take care of that horrid Fatima beast

  yourself," said Ismay, when the door closed behind Aunt

  Cynthia. "I won't touch her with a yard-stick. You had

  no business to say we'd take her."

  "Did I say we would take her?" I demanded, crossly.

  "Aunt Cynthia took our consent for granted. And you

  know, as well as I do, we couldn't have refused. So

  what is the use of being grouchy?"

  "If anything happens to her Aunt Cynthia will hold us

  responsible," said Ismay darkly.

  "Do you think Anne Shirley is really engaged to Gilbert

  Blythe?" I asked curiously.

  "I've heard that she was," said Ismay, absently. "Does

  she eat anything but milk? Will it do to give her

  mice?"

  "Oh, I guess so. But do you think Max has really fallen

  in love with her?"

  "I dare say. What a relief it will be for you if he

  has."

  "Oh, of course," I said, frostily. "Anne Shirley or

  Anne Anybody Else, is perfectly welcome to Max if she

  wants him. I certainly do not. Ismay Meade, if that

  stove doesn't stop smoking I shall fly into bits. This

  is a detestable day. I hate that creature!"

  "Oh, you shouldn't talk like that, when you don't even

  know her," protested Ismay. "Every one says Anne

  Shirley is lovely - "

  "I was talking about Fatima," I cried in a rage.

  "Oh!" said Ismay.

  Ismay is stupid at times. I thought the way she said

  "Oh" was inexcusably stupid.

  Fatima arrived the next day. Max brought her out in a

  covered basket, lined with padded crimson satin. Max

  likes cats and Aunt Cynthia. He explained how we were

  to treat Fatima and when Ismay had gone out of the room

  - Ismay always went out of the room when she knew I

  particularly wanted her to remain - he proposed to me

  again. Of course I said no, as usual, but I was rather

  pleased. Max had been proposing to me about every two

  months for two years. Sometimes, as in this case, he

  went three months, and then I always wondered why. I

  concluded that he could not be really interested in

  Anne Shirley, and I was relieved. I didn't want to

  marry Max but it was pleasant and convenient to have

  him around, and we would miss him dreadfully if any

  other girl snapped him up. He was so useful and always

  willing to do anything for us - nail a shingle on the

  roof, drive us to town, put down carpets - in short, a

  very present help in all our troubles.

  So I just beamed on him when I said no. Max began

  counting on his fingers. When he got as far as eight he

  shook his head and began over again.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "I'm trying to count up how many times I have proposed

  to you," he said. "But I can't remember whether I asked

  you to marry me that day we dug up the garden or not.

  If I did it makes - "

  "No, you didn't," I interrupted.

  "Well, that makes it eleven," said Max reflectively.

  "Pretty near the limit, isn't it? My manly pride will

  not allow me to propose to the same girl more than

  twelve times. So the next time will be the last, Sue

  darling."

  "Oh," I said, a trifle flatly. I forgot to resent his

  calling me darling. I wondered if things wouldn't be

  rather dull when Max gave up proposing to me. It was

  the only excitement I had. But of course it would be

  best - and he couldn't go on at it forever, so, by the

  way of gracefully dismissing the subject, I asked him

  what Miss Shirley was like.

  "Very sweet girl," said Max. "You know I always admired

  those gray-eyed girls with that splendid Titian hair."

  I am dark, with brown eyes. Just then I detested Max. I

  got up and said I was going to get some milk for

  Fatima.

  I found Ismay in a rage in the kitchen. She had been up

  in the garret, and a mouse had run across her foot.

  Mice always get on Ismay's nerves.

  "We need a cat badly enough," she fumed, "but not a

  useless, pampered thing, like Fatima. That garret is

  literally swarming with mice. You'll not catch me going

  up there again."

  Fatima did not prove such a nuisance as we had feared.

  Huldah Jane liked her, and Ismay, in spite of her

  declaration that she would have nothing to do with her,

  looked after her comfort scrupulously. She even used to

  get up in the middle of the night and go out to see if

  Fatima was warm. Max came in every day and, being

  around, gave us good advice.

  Then one day, about three weeks after Aunt Cynthia's

  departure, Fatima disappeared - just simply disappeared

  as if she had been dissolved into thin air. We left her

  one afternoon, curled up asleep in her basket by the

  fire, under Huldah Jane's eye, while we went out to

  make a call. When we came home Fatima was gone.

  Huldah Jane wept and was as one whom the gods had made

  mad. She vowed that she had never let Fatima out of her

  sight the whole time, save once for three minutes when

  she ran up to the garret for some summer savory. When

  she came back the kitchen door had blown open and

  Fatima had vanished.

  Ismay and I were frantic. We ran about the garden and

  through the out-houses, and the woods behind the house,

  like wild creatures, calling Fatima, but in vain. Then

  Ismay sat down on the front doorsteps and cried.

  "She has got out and she'll catch her death of cold and

  Aunt Cynthia will never forgive us."

  "I'm going for Max," I declared. So I did, through the

  spruce woods and over the field as fast as my feet

  could carry me, thanking my stars that there was a Max

  to go to in such a predicament.

  Max came over and we had another search, but without

  result. Days passed, but we did not find Fatima. I

  would certainly have gone crazy had it not been for

  Max. He was worth his weight in gold during the awful

  week that followed. We did not dare advertise, lest

  Aunt Cynthia should see it; but we inquired far and

  wide for a white Persian cat with a blue spot on its

  tail, and offered a reward for it; but nobody had seen

  it, although people kept coming to the house, night and

  day, with every kind of a cat in baskets, wanting to

  know if it was the one we had lost.

  "We shall never see Fatima again," I said hopelessly to

  Max and Ismay one afternoon. I had just turned away an

  old woman with a big, yellow tommy which she insisted

  must be ours - "cause it kem t
o our place, mem, a-

  yowling fearful, mem, and it don't belong to nobody not

  down Grafton way, mem."

  "I'm afraid you won't," said Max. "She must have

  perished from exposure long ere this."

  "Aunt Cynthia will never forgive us," said Ismay,

  dismally. "I had a presentiment of trouble the moment

  that cat came to this house."

  We had never heard of this presentiment before, but

  Ismay is good at having presentiments - after things

  happen.

  "What shall we do?" I demanded, helplessly. "Max, can't

  you find some way out of this scrape for us?"

  "Advertise in the Charlottetown papers for a white

  Persian cat," suggested Max. "Some one may have one for

  sale. If so, you must buy it, and palm it off on your

  good Aunt as Fatima. She's very short-sighted, so it

  will be quite possible."

  "But Fatima has a blue spot on her tail," I said.

  "You must advertise for a cat with a blue spot on its

  tail," said Max.

  "It will cost a pretty penny," said Ismay dolefully.

  "Fatima was valued at one hundred dollars."

  "We must take the money we have been saving for our new

  furs," I said sorrowfully. "There is no other way out

  of it. It will cost us a good deal more if we lose Aunt

  Cynthia's favor. She is quite capable of believing that

  we have made away with Fatima deliberately and with

  malice aforethought."

  So we advertised. Max went to town and had the notice

  inserted in the most important daily. We asked any one

  who had a white Persian cat, with a blue spot on the

  tip of its tail, to dispose of, to communicate with M.

  I., care of the Enterprise.

  We really did not have much hope that anything would

  come of it, so we were surprised and delighted over the

  letter Max brought home from town four days later. It

  was a type-written screed from Halifax stating that the

  writer had for sale a white Persian cat answering to

  our description. The price was a hundred and ten

  dollars, and, if M. I. cared to go to Halifax and

  inspect the animal, it would be found at 110 Hollis

  Street, by inquiring for "Persian."

  "Temper your joy, my friends," said Ismay, gloomily.

  "The cat may not suit. The blue spot may be too big or

  too small or not in the right place. I consistently

  refuse to believe that any good thing can come out of

  this deplorable affair."

  Just at this moment there was a knock at the door and I

  hurried out. The postmaster's boy was there with a

  telegram. I tore it open, glanced at it, and dashed

  back into the room.

  "What is it now?" cried Ismay, beholding my face.

  I held out the telegram. It was from Aunt Cynthia. She

  had wired us to send Fatima to Halifax by express

  immediately.

  For the first time Max did not seem ready to rush into

  the breach with a suggestion. It was I who spoke first.

  "Max," I said, imploringly, "you'll see us through

  this, won't you? Neither Ismay nor I can rush off to

  Halifax at once. You must go to-morrow morning. Go

  right to 110 Hollis Street and ask for 'Persian.' If

  the cat looks enough like Fatima, buy it and take it to

  Aunt Cynthia. If it doesn't - but it must! You'll go,

  won't you?"

  "That depends," said Max.

  I stared at him. This was so unlike Max.

  "You are sending me on a nasty errand," he said,

  coolly. "How do I know that Aunt Cynthia will be

  deceived after all, even if she be short-sighted.

  Buying a cat in a joke is a huge risk. And if she

  should see through the scheme I shall be in a pretty

  mess."

  "Oh, Max," I said, on the verge of tears.

  "Of course," said Max, looking meditatively into the

  fire, "if I were really one of the family, or had any

  reasonable prospect of being so, I would not mind so

  much. It would be all in the day's work then. But as it

  is - "

  Ismay got up and went out of the room.

  "Oh, Max, please," I said.

  "Will you marry me, Sue?" demanded Max sternly. "If you

  will agree, I'll go to Halifax and beard the lion in

  his den unflinchingly. If necessary, I will take a