XXVIII
The Prince Comes Back to the Enchanted Palace
The last day of school came and went. A triumphant "semi-annualexamination" was held and Anne's pupils acquitted themselves splendidly.At the close they gave her an address and a writing desk. All the girlsand ladies present cried, and some of the boys had it cast up to themlater on that they cried too, although they always denied it.
Mrs. Harmon Andrews, Mrs. Peter Sloane, and Mrs. William Bell walkedhome together and talked things over.
"I do think it is such a pity Anne is leaving when the children seemso much attached to her," sighed Mrs. Peter Sloane, who had a habit ofsighing over everything and even finished off her jokes that way. "Tobe sure," she added hastily, "we all know we'll have a good teacher nextyear too."
"Jane will do her duty, I've no doubt," said Mrs. Andrews ratherstiffly. "I don't suppose she'll tell the children quite so many fairytales or spend so much time roaming about the woods with them. But shehas her name on the Inspector's Roll of Honor and the Newbridge peopleare in a terrible state over her leaving."
"I'm real glad Anne is going to college," said Mrs. Bell. "She hasalways wanted it and it will be a splendid thing for her."
"Well, I don't know." Mrs. Andrews was determined not to agree fullywith anybody that day. "I don't see that Anne needs any more education.She'll probably be marrying Gilbert Blythe, if his infatuation for herlasts till he gets through college, and what good will Latin and Greekdo her then? If they taught you at college how to manage a man theremight be some sense in her going."
Mrs. Harmon Andrews, so Avonlea gossip whispered, had never learnedhow to manage her "man," and as a result the Andrews household was notexactly a model of domestic happiness.
"I see that the Charlottetown call to Mr. Allan is up before thePresbytery," said Mrs. Bell. "That means we'll be losing him soon, Isuppose."
"They're not going before September," said Mrs. Sloane. "It will bea great loss to the community . . . though I always did think that Mrs.Allan dressed rather too gay for a minister's wife. But we are none ofus perfect. Did you notice how neat and snug Mr. Harrison looked today?I never saw such a changed man. He goes to church every Sunday and hassubscribed to the salary."
"Hasn't that Paul Irving grown to be a big boy?" said Mrs. Andrews. "Hewas such a mite for his age when he came here. I declare I hardly knewhim today. He's getting to look a lot like his father."
"He's a smart boy," said Mrs. Bell.
"He's smart enough, but" . . . Mrs. Andrews lowered her voice . . . "Ibelieve he tells queer stories. Gracie came home from school one daylast week with the greatest rigmarole he had told her about people wholived down at the shore . . . stories there couldn't be a word of truthin, you know. I told Gracie not to believe them, and she said Pauldidn't intend her to. But if he didn't what did he tell them to herfor?"
"Anne says Paul is a genius," said Mrs. Sloane.
"He may be. You never know what to expect of them Americans," said Mrs.Andrews. Mrs. Andrews' only acquaintance with the word "genius" wasderived from the colloquial fashion of calling any eccentric individual"a queer genius." She probably thought, with Mary Joe, that it meant aperson with something wrong in his upper story.
Back in the schoolroom Anne was sitting alone at her desk, as she hadsat on the first day of school two years before, her face leaning on herhand, her dewy eyes looking wistfully out of the window to the Lake ofShining Waters. Her heart was so wrung over the parting with her pupilsthat for a moment college had lost all its charm. She still felt theclasp of Annetta Bell's arms about her neck and heard the childishwail, "I'll NEVER love any teacher as much as you, Miss Shirley, never,never."
For two years she had worked earnestly and faithfully, making manymistakes and learning from them. She had had her reward. She had taughther scholars something, but she felt that they had taught her muchmore . . . lessons of tenderness, self-control, innocent wisdom, loreof childish hearts. Perhaps she had not succeeded in "inspiring" anywonderful ambitions in her pupils, but she had taught them, more by herown sweet personality than by all her careful precepts, that it was goodand necessary in the years that were before them to live their livesfinely and graciously, holding fast to truth and courtesy and kindness,keeping aloof from all that savored of falsehood and meanness andvulgarity. They were, perhaps, all unconscious of having learned suchlessons; but they would remember and practice them long after they hadforgotten the capital of Afghanistan and the dates of the Wars of theRoses.
"Another chapter in my life is closed," said Anne aloud, as she lockedher desk. She really felt very sad over it; but the romance in the ideaof that "closed chapter" did comfort her a little.
Anne spent a fortnight at Echo Lodge early in her vacation and everybodyconcerned had a good time.
She took Miss Lavendar on a shopping expedition to town and persuadedher to buy a new organdy dress; then came the excitement of cuttingand making it together, while the happy Charlotta the Fourth basted andswept up clippings. Miss Lavendar had complained that she could not feelmuch interest in anything, but the sparkle came back to her eyes overher pretty dress.
"What a foolish, frivolous person I must be," she sighed. "I'mwholesomely ashamed to think that a new dress . . . even it is aforget-me-not organdy . . . should exhilarate me so, when a goodconscience and an extra contribution to Foreign Missions couldn't doit."
Midway in her visit Anne went home to Green Gables for a day to mend thetwins' stockings and settle up Davy's accumulated store of questions. Inthe evening she went down to the shore road to see Paul Irving. As shepassed by the low, square window of the Irving sitting room she caughta glimpse of Paul on somebody's lap; but the next moment he came flyingthrough the hall.
"Oh, Miss Shirley," he cried excitedly, "you can't think what hashappened! Something so splendid. Father is here . . . just think of that!Father is here! Come right in. Father, this is my beautiful teacher. YOUknow, father."
Stephen Irving came forward to meet Anne with a smile. He was a tall,handsome man of middle age, with iron-gray hair, deep-set, dark blueeyes, and a strong, sad face, splendidly modeled about chin and brow.Just the face for a hero of romance, Anne thought with a thrill ofintense satisfaction. It was so disappointing to meet someone who oughtto be a hero and find him bald or stooped, or otherwise lacking inmanly beauty. Anne would have thought it dreadful if the object of MissLavendar's romance had not looked the part.
"So this is my little son's 'beautiful teacher,' of whom I have heardso much," said Mr. Irving with a hearty handshake. "Paul's letters havebeen so full of you, Miss Shirley, that I feel as if I were pretty wellacquainted with you already. I want to thank you for what you have donefor Paul. I think that your influence has been just what he needed.Mother is one of the best and dearest of women; but her robust,matter-of-fact Scotch common sense could not always understand atemperament like my laddie's. What was lacking in her you have supplied.Between you, I think Paul's training in these two past years has been asnearly ideal as a motherless boy's could be."
Everybody likes to be appreciated. Under Mr. Irving's praise Anne'sface "burst flower like into rosy bloom," and the busy, weary man of theworld, looking at her, thought he had never seen a fairer, sweeter slipof girlhood than this little "down east" schoolteacher with her red hairand wonderful eyes.
Paul sat between them blissfully happy.
"I never dreamed father was coming," he said radiantly. "Even Grandmadidn't know it. It was a great surprise. As a general thing . . ." Paulshook his brown curls gravely . . . "I don't like to be surprised. Youlose all the fun of expecting things when you're surprised. But in acase like this it is all right. Father came last night after I had goneto bed. And after Grandma and Mary Joe had stopped being surprised heand Grandma came upstairs to look at me, not meaning to wake me up tillmorning. But I woke right up and saw father. I tell you I just sprang athim."
"With a hug like a bear's," said Mr. Irving, putting his arms aroundPaul's shoulder
smilingly. "I hardly knew my boy, he had grown so bigand brown and sturdy."
"I don't know which was the most pleased to see father, Grandma or I,"continued Paul. "Grandma's been in kitchen all day making the thingsfather likes to eat. She wouldn't trust them to Mary Joe, she says.That's HER way of showing gladness. _I_ like best just to sit and talkto father. But I'm going to leave you for a little while now if you'llexcuse me. I must get the cows for Mary Joe. That is one of my dailyduties."
When Paul had scampered away to do his "daily duty" Mr. Irving talked toAnne of various matters. But Anne felt that he was thinking of somethingelse underneath all the time. Presently it came to the surface.
"In Paul's last letter he spoke of going with you to visit an old . . .friend of mine . . . Miss Lewis at the stone house in Grafton. Do you knowher well?"
"Yes, indeed, she is a very dear friend of mine," was Anne's demurereply, which gave no hint of the sudden thrill that tingled over herfrom head to foot at Mr. Irving's question. Anne "felt instinctively"that romance was peeping at her around a corner.
Mr. Irving rose and went to the window, looking out on a great, golden,billowing sea where a wild wind was harping. For a few moments there wassilence in the little dark-walled room. Then he turned and looked downinto Anne's sympathetic face with a smile, half-whimsical, half-tender.
"I wonder how much you know," he said.
"I know all about it," replied Anne promptly. "You see," she explainedhastily, "Miss Lavendar and I are very intimate. She wouldn't tellthings of such a sacred nature to everybody. We are kindred spirits."
"Yes, I believe you are. Well, I am going to ask a favor of you. I wouldlike to go and see Miss Lavendar if she will let me. Will you ask her ifI may come?"
Would she not? Oh, indeed she would! Yes, this was romance, the very,the real thing, with all the charm of rhyme and story and dream. It wasa little belated, perhaps, like a rose blooming in October which shouldhave bloomed in June; but none the less a rose, all sweetness andfragrance, with the gleam of gold in its heart. Never did Anne'sfeet bear her on a more willing errand than on that walk through thebeechwoods to Grafton the next morning. She found Miss Lavendar in thegarden. Anne was fearfully excited. Her hands grew cold and her voicetrembled.
"Miss Lavendar, I have something to tell you . . . something veryimportant. Can you guess what it is?"
Anne never supposed that Miss Lavendar could GUESS; but Miss Lavendar'sface grew very pale and Miss Lavendar said in a quiet, still voice,from which all the color and sparkle that Miss Lavendar's voice usuallysuggested had faded.
"Stephen Irving is home?"
"How did you know? Who told you?" cried Anne disappointedly, vexed thather great revelation had been anticipated.
"Nobody. I knew that must be it, just from the way you spoke."
"He wants to come and see you," said Anne. "May I send him word that hemay?"
"Yes, of course," fluttered Miss Lavendar. "There is no reason why heshouldn't. He is only coming as any old friend might."
Anne had her own opinion about that as she hastened into the house towrite a note at Miss Lavendar's desk.
"Oh, it's delightful to be living in a storybook," she thought gaily."It will come out all right of course . . . it must . . . and Paul willhave a mother after his own heart and everybody will be happy. But Mr.Irving will take Miss Lavendar away . . . and dear knows what willhappen to the little stone house . . . and so there are two sides to it,as there seems to be to everything in this world." The important notewas written and Anne herself carried it to the Grafton post office,where she waylaid the mail carrier and asked him to leave it at theAvonlea office.
"It's so very important," Anne assured him anxiously. The mail carrierwas a rather grumpy old personage who did not at all look the part of amessenger of Cupid; and Anne was none too certain that his memory was tobe trusted. But he said he would do his best to remember and she had tobe contented with that.
Charlotta the Fourth felt that some mystery pervaded the stone housethat afternoon . . . a mystery from which she was excluded. Miss Lavendarroamed about the garden in a distracted fashion. Anne, too, seemedpossessed by a demon of unrest, and walked to and fro and went up anddown. Charlotta the Fourth endured it till patience ceased to be avirtue; then she confronted Anne on the occasion of that romantic youngperson's third aimless peregrination through the kitchen.
"Please, Miss Shirley, ma'am," said Charlotta the Fourth, with anindignant toss of her very blue bows, "it's plain to be seen you andMiss Lavendar have got a secret and I think, begging your pardon if I'mtoo forward, Miss Shirley, ma'am, that it's real mean not to tell mewhen we've all been such chums."
"Oh, Charlotta dear, I'd have told you all about it if it were mysecret . . . but it's Miss Lavendar's, you see. However, I'll tell youthis much . . . and if nothing comes of it you must never breathe a wordabout it to a living soul. You see, Prince Charming is coming tonight.He came long ago, but in a foolish moment went away and wandered afarand forgot the secret of the magic pathway to the enchanted castle,where the princess was weeping her faithful heart out for him. Butat last he remembered it again and the princess is waiting still. . .because nobody but her own dear prince could carry her off."
"Oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am, what is that in prose?" gasped the mystifiedCharlotta.
Anne laughed.
"In prose, an old friend of Miss Lavendar's is coming to see hertonight."
"Do you mean an old beau of hers?" demanded the literal Charlotta.
"That is probably what I do mean . . . in prose," answered Anne gravely."It is Paul's father . . . Stephen Irving. And goodness knows what willcome of it, but let us hope for the best, Charlotta."
"I hope that he'll marry Miss Lavendar," was Charlotta's unequivocalresponse. "Some women's intended from the start to be old maids, and I'mafraid I'm one of them, Miss Shirley, ma'am, because I've awful littlepatience with the men. But Miss Lavendar never was. And I've been awfulworried, thinking what on earth she'd do when I got so big I'd HAVE togo to Boston. There ain't any more girls in our family and dearknows what she'd do if she got some stranger that might laugh at herpretendings and leave things lying round out of their place and notbe willing to be called Charlotta the Fifth. She might get someone whowouldn't be as unlucky as me in breaking dishes but she'd never getanyone who'd love her better."
And the faithful little handmaiden dashed to the oven door with a sniff.
They went through the form of having tea as usual that night at EchoLodge; but nobody really ate anything. After tea Miss Lavendar went toher room and put on her new forget-me-not organdy, while Anne did herhair for her. Both were dreadfully excited; but Miss Lavendar pretendedto be very calm and indifferent.
"I must really mend that rent in the curtain tomorrow," she saidanxiously, inspecting it as if it were the only thing of any importancejust then. "Those curtains have not worn as well as they should,considering the price I paid. Dear me, Charlotta has forgotten to dustthe stair railing AGAIN. I really MUST speak to her about it."
Anne was sitting on the porch steps when Stephen Irving came down thelane and across the garden.
"This is the one place where time stands still," he said, looking aroundhim with delighted eyes. "There is nothing changed about this house orgarden since I was here twenty-five years ago. It makes me feel youngagain."
"You know time always does stand still in an enchanted palace," saidAnne seriously. "It is only when the prince comes that things begin tohappen."
Mr. Irving smiled a little sadly into her uplifted face, all astar withits youth and promise.
"Sometimes the prince comes too late," he said. He did not ask Anneto translate her remark into prose. Like all kindred spirits he"understood."
"Oh, no, not if he is the real prince coming to the true princess," saidAnne, shaking her red head decidedly, as she opened the parlor door.When he had gone in she shut it tightly behind him and turned toconfront Charlotta the Fourth, who was in the hall, all "nods
and becksand wreathed smiles."
"Oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am," she breathed, "I peeked from the kitchenwindow . . . and he's awful handsome . . . and just the right age for MissLavendar. And oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am, do you think it would be muchharm to listen at the door?"
"It would be dreadful, Charlotta," said Anne firmly, "so just you comeaway with me out of the reach of temptation."
"I can't do anything, and it's awful to hang round just waiting," sighedCharlotta. "What if he don't propose after all, Miss Shirley, ma'am?You can never be sure of them men. My older sister, Charlotta theFirst, thought she was engaged to one once. But it turned out HE had adifferent opinion and she says she'll never trust one of them again. AndI heard of another case where a man thought he wanted one girl awful badwhen it was really her sister he wanted all the time. When a man don'tknow his own mind, Miss Shirley, ma'am, how's a poor woman going to besure of it?"
"We'll go to the kitchen and clean the silver spoons," said Anne."That's a task which won't require much thinking fortunately . . . for ICOULDN'T think tonight. And it will pass the time."
It passed an hour. Then, just as Anne laid down the last shining spoon,they heard the front door shut. Both sought comfort fearfully in eachother's eyes.
"Oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am," gasped Charlotta, "if he's going away thisearly there's nothing into it and never will be." They flew to thewindow. Mr. Irving had no intention of going away. He and Miss Lavendarwere strolling slowly down the middle path to the stone bench.
"Oh, Miss Shirley, ma'am, he's got his arm around her waist," whisperedCharlotta the Fourth delightedly. "He must have proposed to her or she'dnever allow it."
Anne caught Charlotta the Fourth by her own plump waist and danced heraround the kitchen until they were both out of breath.
"Oh, Charlotta," she cried gaily, "I'm neither a prophetess nor thedaughter of a prophetess but I'm going to make a prediction. There'llbe a wedding in this old stone house before the maple leaves are red. Doyou want that translated into prose, Charlotta?"
"No, I can understand that," said Charlotta. "A wedding ain't poetry.Why, Miss Shirley, ma'am, you're crying! What for?"
"Oh, because it's all so beautiful . . . and story bookish . . . andromantic . . . and sad," said Anne, winking the tears out of her eyes."It's all perfectly lovely . . . but there's a little sadness mixed up init too, somehow."
"Oh, of course there's a resk in marrying anybody," conceded Charlottathe Fourth, "but, when all's said and done, Miss Shirley, ma'am, there'smany a worse thing than a husband."
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