Anne of Avonlea

by L. M. Montgomery

  XII

  A Jonah Day

  It really began the night before with a restless, wakeful vigil ofgrumbling toothache. When Anne arose in the dull, bitter winter morningshe felt that life was flat, stale, and unprofitable.

  She went to school in no angelic mood. Her cheek was swollen and herface ached. The schoolroom was cold and smoky, for the fire refused toburn and the children were huddled about it in shivering groups. Annesent them to their seats with a sharper tone than she had ever usedbefore. Anthony Pye strutted to his with his usual impertinent swaggerand she saw him whisper something to his seat-mate and then glance ather with a grin.

  Never, so it seemed to Anne, had there been so many squeaky pencils asthere were that morning; and when Barbara Shaw came up to the desk witha sum she tripped over the coal scuttle with disastrous results.The coal rolled to every part of the room, her slate was broken intofragments, and when she picked herself up, her face, stained with coaldust, sent the boys into roars of laughter.

  Anne turned from the second reader class which she was hearing.

  "Really, Barbara," she said icily, "if you cannot move without fallingover something you'd better remain in your seat. It is positivelydisgraceful for a girl of your age to be so awkward."

  Poor Barbara stumbled back to her desk, her tears combining with thecoal dust to produce an effect truly grotesque. Never before had herbeloved, sympathetic teacher spoken to her in such a tone or fashion,and Barbara was heartbroken. Anne herself felt a prick of conscience butit only served to increase her mental irritation, and the second readerclass remember that lesson yet, as well as the unmerciful inflictionof arithmetic that followed. Just as Anne was snapping the sums out St.Clair Donnell arrived breathlessly.

  "You are half an hour late, St. Clair," Anne reminded him frigidly. "Whyis this?"

  "Please, miss, I had to help ma make a pudding for dinner 'cause we'reexpecting company and Clarice Almira's sick," was St. Clair's answer,given in a perfectly respectful voice but nevertheless provocative ofgreat mirth among his mates.

  "Take your seat and work out the six problems on page eighty-four ofyour arithmetic for punishment," said Anne. St. Clair looked ratheramazed at her tone but he went meekly to his desk and took out hisslate. Then he stealthily passed a small parcel to Joe Sloane across theaisle. Anne caught him in the act and jumped to a fatal conclusion aboutthat parcel.

  Old Mrs. Hiram Sloane had lately taken to making and selling "nut cakes"by way of adding to her scanty income. The cakes were specially temptingto small boys and for several weeks Anne had had not a little trouble inregard to them. On their way to school the boys would invest their sparecash at Mrs. Hiram's, bring the cakes along with them to school, and, ifpossible, eat them and treat their mates during school hours. Anne hadwarned them that if they brought any more cakes to school they would beconfiscated; and yet here was St. Clair Donnell coolly passing a parcelof them, wrapped up in the blue and white striped paper Mrs. Hiram used,under her very eyes.

  "Joseph," said Anne quietly, "bring that parcel here."

  Joe, startled and abashed, obeyed. He was a fat urchin who alwaysblushed and stuttered when he was frightened. Never did anybody lookmore guilty than poor Joe at that moment.

  "Throw it into the fire," said Anne.

  Joe looked very blank.

  "P . . . p . . . p . . . lease, m . . . m . . . miss," he began.

  "Do as I tell you, Joseph, without any words about it."

  "B . . . b . . . but m . . . m . . . miss . . . th . . . th . . .they're . . ." gasped Joe in desperation.

  "Joseph, are you going to obey me or are you NOT?" said Anne.

  A bolder and more self-possessed lad than Joe Sloane would have beenoverawed by her tone and the dangerous flash of her eyes. This was a newAnne whom none of her pupils had ever seen before. Joe, with an agonizedglance at St. Clair, went to the stove, opened the big, square frontdoor, and threw the blue and white parcel in, before St. Clair, whohad sprung to his feet, could utter a word. Then he dodged back just intime.

  For a few moments the terrified occupants of Avonlea school did not knowwhether it was an earthquake or a volcanic explosion that had occurred.The innocent looking parcel which Anne had rashly supposed to containMrs. Hiram's nut cakes really held an assortment of firecrackersand pinwheels for which Warren Sloane had sent to town by St.Clair Donnell's father the day before, intending to have a birthdaycelebration that evening. The crackers went off in a thunderclap ofnoise and the pinwheels bursting out of the door spun madly around theroom, hissing and spluttering. Anne dropped into her chair white withdismay and all the girls climbed shrieking upon their desks. Joe Sloanestood as one transfixed in the midst of the commotion and St. Clair,helpless with laughter, rocked to and fro in the aisle. Prillie Rogersonfainted and Annetta Bell went into hysterics.

  It seemed a long time, although it was really only a few minutes, beforethe last pinwheel subsided. Anne, recovering herself, sprang to opendoors and windows and let out the gas and smoke which filled the room.Then she helped the girls carry the unconscious Prillie into the porch,where Barbara Shaw, in an agony of desire to be useful, poured a pailfulof half frozen water over Prillie's face and shoulders before anyonecould stop her.

  It was a full hour before quiet was restored . . . but it was a quietthat might be felt. Everybody realized that even the explosion had notcleared the teacher's mental atmosphere. Nobody, except Anthony Pye,dared whisper a word. Ned Clay accidentally squeaked his pencil whileworking a sum, caught Anne's eye and wished the floor would open andswallow him up. The geography class were whisked through a continentwith a speed that made them dizzy. The grammar class were parsedand analyzed within an inch of their lives. Chester Sloane, spelling"odoriferous" with two f's, was made to feel that he could never livedown the disgrace of it, either in this world or that which is to come.

  Anne knew that she had made herself ridiculous and that the incidentwould be laughed over that night at a score of tea-tables, but theknowledge only angered her further. In a calmer mood she could havecarried off the situation with a laugh but now that was impossible; soshe ignored it in icy disdain.

  When Anne returned to the school after dinner all the children wereas usual in their seats and every face was bent studiously over a deskexcept Anthony Pye's. He peered across his book at Anne, his black eyessparkling with curiosity and mockery. Anne twitched open the drawerof her desk in search of chalk and under her very hand a lively mousesprang out of the drawer, scampered over the desk, and leaped to thefloor.

  Anne screamed and sprang back, as if it had been a snake, and AnthonyPye laughed aloud.

  Then a silence fell . . . a very creepy, uncomfortable silence. AnnettaBell was of two minds whether to go into hysterics again or not,especially as she didn't know just where the mouse had gone. But shedecided not to. Who could take any comfort out of hysterics with ateacher so white-faced and so blazing-eyed standing before one?

  "Who put that mouse in my desk?" said Anne. Her voice was quite low butit made a shiver go up and down Paul Irving's spine. Joe Sloane caughther eye, felt responsible from the crown of his head to the sole of hisfeet, but stuttered out wildly,

  "N . . . n . . . not m . . . m . . . me t . . . t . . . teacher, n . . .n . . . not m . . . m . . . me."

  Anne paid no attention to the wretched Joseph. She looked at AnthonyPye, and Anthony Pye looked back unabashed and unashamed.

  "Anthony, was it you?"

  "Yes, it was," said Anthony insolently.

  Anne took her pointer from her desk. It was a long, heavy hardwoodpointer.

  "Come here, Anthony."

  It was far from being the most severe punishment Anthony Pye had everundergone. Anne, even the stormy-souled Anne she was at that moment,could not have punished any child cruelly. But the pointer nipped keenlyand finally Anthony's bravado failed him; he winced and the tears cameto his eyes.

  Anne, conscience-stricken, dropped the pointer and told Anthony to goto his seat. She sat d
own at her desk feeling ashamed, repentant, andbitterly mortified. Her quick anger was gone and she would have givenmuch to have been able to seek relief in tears. So all her boasts hadcome to this . . . she had actually whipped one of her pupils. How Janewould triumph! And how Mr. Harrison would chuckle! But worse thanthis, bitterest thought of all, she had lost her last chance of winningAnthony Pye. Never would he like her now.

  Anne, by what somebody has called "a Herculaneum effort," kept back hertears until she got home that night. Then she shut herself in the eastgable room and wept all her shame and remorse and disappointment intoher pillows . . . wept so long that Marilla grew alarmed, invaded theroom, and insisted on knowing what the trouble was.

  "The trouble is, I've got things the matter with my conscience," sobbedAnne. "Oh, this has been such a Jonah day, Marilla. I'm so ashamed ofmyself. I lost my temper and whipped Anthony Pye."

  "I'm glad to hear it," said Marilla with decision. "It's what you shouldhave done long ago."

  "Oh, no, no, Marilla. And I don't see how I can ever look those childrenin the face again. I feel that I have humiliated myself to the verydust. You don't know how cross and hateful and horrid I was. I can'tforget the expression in Paul Irving's eyes . . . he looked so surprisedand disappointed. Oh, Marilla, I HAVE tried so hard to be patient and towin Anthony's liking . . . and now it has all gone for nothing."

  Marilla passed her hard work-worn hand over the girl's glossy, tumbledhair with a wonderful tenderness. When Anne's sobs grew quieter shesaid, very gently for her,

  "You take things too much to heart, Anne. We all make mistakes . . . butpeople forget them. And Jonah days come to everybody. As for AnthonyPye, why need you care if he does dislike you? He is the only one."

  "I can't help it. I want everybody to love me and it hurts me so whenanybody doesn't. And Anthony never will now. Oh, I just made an idiot ofmyself today, Marilla. I'll tell you the whole story."

  Marilla listened to the whole story, and if she smiled at certain partsof it Anne never knew. When the tale was ended she said briskly,

  "Well, never mind. This day's done and there's a new one comingtomorrow, with no mistakes in it yet, as you used to say yourself. Justcome downstairs and have your supper. You'll see if a good cup of teaand those plum puffs I made today won't hearten you up."

  "Plum puffs won't minister to a mind diseased," said Annedisconsolately; but Marilla thought it a good sign that she hadrecovered sufficiently to adapt a quotation.

  The cheerful supper table, with the twins' bright faces, and Marilla'smatchless plum puffs . . . of which Davy ate four . . . did "hearten herup" considerably after all. She had a good sleep that night andawakened in the morning to find herself and the world transformed. Ithad snowed softly and thickly all through the hours of darkness and thebeautiful whiteness, glittering in the frosty sunshine, looked like amantle of charity cast over all the mistakes and humiliations of thepast.

  "Every morn is a fresh beginning, Every morn is the world made new,"

  sang Anne, as she dressed.

  Owing to the snow she had to go around by the road to school and shethought it was certainly an impish coincidence that Anthony Pye shouldcome ploughing along just as she left the Green Gables lane. She feltas guilty as if their positions were reversed; but to her unspeakableastonishment Anthony not only lifted his cap . . . which he had never donebefore . . . but said easily,

  "Kind of bad walking, ain't it? Can I take those books for you,teacher?"

  Anne surrendered her books and wondered if she could possibly be awake.Anthony walked on in silence to the school, but when Anne took her booksshe smiled down at him . . . not the stereotyped "kind" smile she had sopersistently assumed for his benefit but a sudden outflashing of goodcomradeship. Anthony smiled . . . no, if the truth must be told, AnthonyGRINNED back. A grin is not generally supposed to be a respectful thing;yet Anne suddenly felt that if she had not yet won Anthony's liking shehad, somehow or other, won his respect.

  Mrs. Rachel Lynde came up the next Saturday and confirmed this.

  "Well, Anne, I guess you've won over Anthony Pye, that's what. He sayshe believes you are some good after all, even if you are a girl. Saysthat whipping you gave him was 'just as good as a man's.'"

  "I never expected to win him by whipping him, though," said Anne,a little mournfully, feeling that her ideals had played her falsesomewhere. "It doesn't seem right. I'm sure my theory of kindness can'tbe wrong."

  "No, but the Pyes are an exception to every known rule, that's what,"declared Mrs. Rachel with conviction.

  Mr. Harrison said, "Thought you'd come to it," when he heard it, andJane rubbed it in rather unmercifully.