Anne of the Island

by L. M. Montgomery

  Chapter XVI

  Adjusted Relationships

  "It's the homiest spot I ever saw--it's homier than home," avowedPhilippa Gordon, looking about her with delighted eyes. They were allassembled at twilight in the big living-room at Patty's Place--Anne andPriscilla, Phil and Stella, Aunt Jamesina, Rusty, Joseph, the Sarah-Cat,and Gog and Magog. The firelight shadows were dancing over the walls;the cats were purring; and a huge bowl of hothouse chrysanthemums,sent to Phil by one of the victims, shone through the golden gloom likecreamy moons.

  It was three weeks since they had considered themselves settled, andalready all believed the experiment would be a success. The firstfortnight after their return had been a pleasantly exciting one; theyhad been busy setting up their household goods, organizing their littleestablishment, and adjusting different opinions.

  Anne was not over-sorry to leave Avonlea when the time came to returnto college. The last few days of her vacation had not been pleasant.Her prize story had been published in the Island papers; and Mr. WilliamBlair had, upon the counter of his store, a huge pile of pink, green andyellow pamphlets, containing it, one of which he gave to every customer.He sent a complimentary bundle to Anne, who promptly dropped them all inthe kitchen stove. Her humiliation was the consequence of her own idealsonly, for Avonlea folks thought it quite splendid that she should havewon the prize. Her many friends regarded her with honest admiration; herfew foes with scornful envy. Josie Pye said she believed Anne Shirleyhad just copied the story; she was sure she remembered reading it ina paper years before. The Sloanes, who had found out or guessed thatCharlie had been "turned down," said they didn't think it was much to beproud of; almost any one could have done it, if she tried. Aunt Atossatold Anne she was very sorry to hear she had taken to writing novels;nobody born and bred in Avonlea would do it; that was what came ofadopting orphans from goodness knew where, with goodness knew whatkind of parents. Even Mrs. Rachel Lynde was darkly dubious about thepropriety of writing fiction, though she was almost reconciled to it bythat twenty-five dollar check.

  "It is perfectly amazing, the price they pay for such lies, that'swhat," she said, half-proudly, half-severely.

  All things considered, it was a relief when going-away time came. Andit was very jolly to be back at Redmond, a wise, experienced Soph withhosts of friends to greet on the merry opening day. Pris and Stella andGilbert were there, Charlie Sloane, looking more important than ever aSophomore looked before, Phil, with the Alec-and-Alonzo question stillunsettled, and Moody Spurgeon MacPherson. Moody Spurgeon had beenteaching school ever since leaving Queen's, but his mother had concludedit was high time he gave it up and turned his attention to learninghow to be a minister. Poor Moody Spurgeon fell on hard luck at the verybeginning of his college career. Half a dozen ruthless Sophs, who wereamong his fellow-boarders, swooped down upon him one night and shavedhalf of his head. In this guise the luckless Moody Spurgeon had to goabout until his hair grew again. He told Anne bitterly that there weretimes when he had his doubts as to whether he was really called to be aminister.

  Aunt Jamesina did not come until the girls had Patty's Place ready forher. Miss Patty had sent the key to Anne, with a letter in which shesaid Gog and Magog were packed in a box under the spare-room bed, butmight be taken out when wanted; in a postscript she added that she hopedthe girls would be careful about putting up pictures. The living roomhad been newly papered five years before and she and Miss Maria didnot want any more holes made in that new paper than was absolutelynecessary. For the rest she trusted everything to Anne.

  How those girls enjoyed putting their nest in order! As Phil said, itwas almost as good as getting married. You had the fun of homemakingwithout the bother of a husband. All brought something with them toadorn or make comfortable the little house. Pris and Phil and Stella hadknick-knacks and pictures galore, which latter they proceeded to hangaccording to taste, in reckless disregard of Miss Patty's new paper.

  "We'll putty the holes up when we leave, dear--she'll never know," theysaid to protesting Anne.

  Diana had given Anne a pine needle cushion and Miss Ada had given bothher and Priscilla a fearfully and wonderfully embroidered one. Marillahad sent a big box of preserves, and darkly hinted at a hamper forThanksgiving, and Mrs. Lynde gave Anne a patchwork quilt and loaned herfive more.

  "You take them," she said authoritatively. "They might as well be in useas packed away in that trunk in the garret for moths to gnaw."

  No moths would ever have ventured near those quilts, for they reeked ofmothballs to such an extent that they had to be hung in the orchard ofPatty's Place a full fortnight before they could be endured indoors.Verily, aristocratic Spofford Avenue had rarely beheld such a display.The gruff old millionaire who lived "next door" came over and wanted tobuy the gorgeous red and yellow "tulip-pattern" one which Mrs. Rachelhad given Anne. He said his mother used to make quilts like that, and byJove, he wanted one to remind him of her. Anne would not sell it, muchto his disappointment, but she wrote all about it to Mrs. Lynde. Thathighly-gratified lady sent word back that she had one just like it tospare, so the tobacco king got his quilt after all, and insisted onhaving it spread on his bed, to the disgust of his fashionable wife.

  Mrs. Lynde's quilts served a very useful purpose that winter. Patty'sPlace for all its many virtues, had its faults also. It was really arather cold house; and when the frosty nights came the girls were veryglad to snuggle down under Mrs. Lynde's quilts, and hoped that the loanof them might be accounted unto her for righteousness. Anne had the blueroom she had coveted at sight. Priscilla and Stella had the large one.Phil was blissfully content with the little one over the kitchen; andAunt Jamesina was to have the downstairs one off the living-room. Rustyat first slept on the doorstep.

  Anne, walking home from Redmond a few days after her return, becameaware that the people that she met surveyed her with a covert, indulgentsmile. Anne wondered uneasily what was the matter with her. Was her hatcrooked? Was her belt loose? Craning her head to investigate, Anne, forthe first time, saw Rusty.

  Trotting along behind her, close to her heels, was quite the mostforlorn specimen of the cat tribe she had ever beheld. The animal waswell past kitten-hood, lank, thin, disreputable looking. Pieces of bothears were lacking, one eye was temporarily out of repair, and one jowlludicrously swollen. As for color, if a once black cat had been well andthoroughly singed the result would have resembled the hue of this waif'sthin, draggled, unsightly fur.

  Anne "shooed," but the cat would not "shoo." As long as she stood he satback on his haunches and gazed at her reproachfully out of his one goodeye; when she resumed her walk he followed. Anne resigned herself to hiscompany until she reached the gate of Patty's Place, which she coldlyshut in his face, fondly supposing she had seen the last of him.But when, fifteen minutes later, Phil opened the door, there sat therusty-brown cat on the step. More, he promptly darted in and sprang uponAnne's lap with a half-pleading, half-triumphant "miaow."

  "Anne," said Stella severely, "do you own that animal?"

  "No, I do NOT," protested disgusted Anne. "The creature followed me homefrom somewhere. I couldn't get rid of him. Ugh, get down. I like decentcats reasonably well; but I don't like beasties of your complexion."

  Pussy, however, refused to get down. He coolly curled up in Anne's lapand began to purr.

  "He has evidently adopted you," laughed Priscilla.

  "I won't BE adopted," said Anne stubbornly.

  "The poor creature is starving," said Phil pityingly. "Why, his bonesare almost coming through his skin."

  "Well, I'll give him a square meal and then he must return to whence hecame," said Anne resolutely.

  The cat was fed and put out. In the morning he was still on thedoorstep. On the doorstep he continued to sit, bolting in whenever thedoor was opened. No coolness of welcome had the least effect on him;of nobody save Anne did he take the least notice. Out of compassion thegirls fed him; but when a week had passed they decided that somethingmust be done. The
cat's appearance had improved. His eye and cheek hadresumed their normal appearance; he was not quite so thin; and he hadbeen seen washing his face.

  "But for all that we can't keep him," said Stella. "Aunt Jimsie iscoming next week and she will bring the Sarah-cat with her. We can'tkeep two cats; and if we did this Rusty Coat would fight all the timewith the Sarah-cat. He's a fighter by nature. He had a pitched battlelast evening with the tobacco-king's cat and routed him, horse, foot andartillery."

  "We must get rid of him," agreed Anne, looking darkly at the subjectof their discussion, who was purring on the hearth rug with an air oflamb-like meekness. "But the question is--how? How can four unprotectedfemales get rid of a cat who won't be got rid of?"

  "We must chloroform him," said Phil briskly. "That is the most humaneway."

  "Who of us knows anything about chloroforming a cat?" demanded Annegloomily.

  "I do, honey. It's one of my few--sadly few--useful accomplishments.I've disposed of several at home. You take the cat in the morning andgive him a good breakfast. Then you take an old burlap bag--there's onein the back porch--put the cat on it and turn over him a wooden box.Then take a two-ounce bottle of chloroform, uncork it, and slip it underthe edge of the box. Put a heavy weight on top of the box and leave ittill evening. The cat will be dead, curled up peacefully as if he wereasleep. No pain--no struggle."

  "It sounds easy," said Anne dubiously.

  "It IS easy. Just leave it to me. I'll see to it," said Philreassuringly.

  Accordingly the chloroform was procured, and the next morning Rusty waslured to his doom. He ate his breakfast, licked his chops, and climbedinto Anne's lap. Anne's heart misgave her. This poor creature lovedher--trusted her. How could she be a party to this destruction?

  "Here, take him," she said hastily to Phil. "I feel like a murderess."

  "He won't suffer, you know," comforted Phil, but Anne had fled.

  The fatal deed was done in the back porch. Nobody went near it that day.But at dusk Phil declared that Rusty must be buried.

  "Pris and Stella must dig his grave in the orchard," declared Phil, "andAnne must come with me to lift the box off. That's the part I alwayshate."

  The two conspirators tip-toed reluctantly to the back porch. Philgingerly lifted the stone she had put on the box. Suddenly, faint butdistinct, sounded an unmistakable mew under the box.

  "He--he isn't dead," gasped Anne, sitting blankly down on the kitchendoorstep.

  "He must be," said Phil incredulously.

  Another tiny mew proved that he wasn't. The two girls stared at eachother.

  "What will we do?" questioned Anne.

  "Why in the world don't you come?" demanded Stella, appearing in thedoorway. "We've got the grave ready. 'What silent still and silentall?'" she quoted teasingly.

  "'Oh, no, the voices of the dead Sound like the distant torrent'sfall,'" promptly counter-quoted Anne, pointing solemnly to the box.

  A burst of laughter broke the tension.

  "We must leave him here till morning," said Phil, replacing the stone."He hasn't mewed for five minutes. Perhaps the mews we heard were hisdying groan. Or perhaps we merely imagined them, under the strain of ourguilty consciences."

  But, when the box was lifted in the morning, Rusty bounded at one gayleap to Anne's shoulder where he began to lick her face affectionately.Never was there a cat more decidedly alive.

  "Here's a knot hole in the box," groaned Phil. "I never saw it. That'swhy he didn't die. Now, we've got to do it all over again."

  "No, we haven't," declared Anne suddenly. "Rusty isn't going to bekilled again. He's my cat--and you've just got to make the best of it."

  "Oh, well, if you'll settle with Aunt Jimsie and the Sarah-cat," saidStella, with the air of one washing her hands of the whole affair.

  From that time Rusty was one of the family. He slept o'nights on thescrubbing cushion in the back porch and lived on the fat of the land.By the time Aunt Jamesina came he was plump and glossy and tolerablyrespectable. But, like Kipling's cat, he "walked by himself." His pawwas against every cat, and every cat's paw against him. One by one hevanquished the aristocratic felines of Spofford Avenue. As for humanbeings, he loved Anne and Anne alone. Nobody else even dared strokehim. An angry spit and something that sounded much like very improperlanguage greeted any one who did.

  "The airs that cat puts on are perfectly intolerable," declared Stella.

  "Him was a nice old pussens, him was," vowed Anne, cuddling her petdefiantly.

  "Well, I don't know how he and the Sarah-cat will ever make out tolive together," said Stella pesimistically. "Cat-fights in the orchardo'nights are bad enough. But cat-fights here in the livingroom areunthinkable." In due time Aunt Jamesina arrived. Anne and Priscilla andPhil had awaited her advent rather dubiously; but when Aunt Jamesina wasenthroned in the rocking chair before the open fire they figurativelybowed down and worshipped her.

  Aunt Jamesina was a tiny old woman with a little, softly-triangularface, and large, soft blue eyes that were alight with unquenchableyouth, and as full of hopes as a girl's. She had pink cheeks andsnow-white hair which she wore in quaint little puffs over her ears.

  "It's a very old-fashioned way," she said, knitting industriouslyat something as dainty and pink as a sunset cloud. "But _I_ amold-fashioned. My clothes are, and it stands to reason my opinions are,too. I don't say they're any the better of that, mind you. In fact, Idaresay they're a good deal the worse. But they've worn nice andeasy. New shoes are smarter than old ones, but the old ones are morecomfortable. I'm old enough to indulge myself in the matter of shoes andopinions. I mean to take it real easy here. I know you expect me to lookafter you and keep you proper, but I'm not going to do it. You're oldenough to know how to behave if you're ever going to be. So, as far as Iam concerned," concluded Aunt Jamesina, with a twinkle in her youngeyes, "you can all go to destruction in your own way."

  "Oh, will somebody separate those cats?" pleaded Stella, shudderingly.

  Aunt Jamesina had brought with her not only the Sarah-cat but Joseph.Joseph, she explained, had belonged to a dear friend of hers who hadgone to live in Vancouver.

  "She couldn't take Joseph with her so she begged me to take him. Ireally couldn't refuse. He's a beautiful cat--that is, his dispositionis beautiful. She called him Joseph because his coat is of many colors."

  It certainly was. Joseph, as the disgusted Stella said, looked like awalking rag-bag. It was impossible to say what his ground color was. Hislegs were white with black spots on them. His back was gray with a hugepatch of yellow on one side and a black patch on the other. His tail wasyellow with a gray tip. One ear was black and one yellow. A black patchover one eye gave him a fearfully rakish look. In reality he was meekand inoffensive, of a sociable disposition. In one respect, if in noother, Joseph was like a lily of the field. He toiled not neither didhe spin or catch mice. Yet Solomon in all his glory slept not on softercushions, or feasted more fully on fat things.

  Joseph and the Sarah-cat arrived by express in separate boxes. Afterthey had been released and fed, Joseph selected the cushion and cornerwhich appealed to him, and the Sarah-cat gravely sat herself downbefore the fire and proceeded to wash her face. She was a large, sleek,gray-and-white cat, with an enormous dignity which was not at allimpaired by any consciousness of her plebian origin. She had been givento Aunt Jamesina by her washerwoman.

  "Her name was Sarah, so my husband always called puss the Sarah-cat,"explained Aunt Jamesina. "She is eight years old, and a remarkablemouser. Don't worry, Stella. The Sarah-cat NEVER fights and Josephrarely."

  "They'll have to fight here in self-defense," said Stella.

  At this juncture Rusty arrived on the scene. He bounded joyously halfway across the room before he saw the intruders. Then he stopped short;his tail expanded until it was as big as three tails. The fur on hisback rose up in a defiant arch; Rusty lowered his head, uttered afearful shriek of hatred and defiance, and launched himself at theSarah-cat.

  The
stately animal had stopped washing her face and was looking at himcuriously. She met his onslaught with one contemptuous sweep of hercapable paw. Rusty went rolling helplessly over on the rug; he pickedhimself up dazedly. What sort of a cat was this who had boxed his ears?He looked dubiously at the Sarah-cat. Would he or would he not? TheSarah-cat deliberately turned her back on him and resumed her toiletoperations. Rusty decided that he would not. He never did. From thattime on the Sarah-cat ruled the roost. Rusty never again interfered withher.

  But Joseph rashly sat up and yawned. Rusty, burning to avenge hisdisgrace, swooped down upon him. Joseph, pacific by nature, could fightupon occasion and fight well. The result was a series of drawn battles.Every day Rusty and Joseph fought at sight. Anne took Rusty's part anddetested Joseph. Stella was in despair. But Aunt Jamesina only laughed.

  "Let them fight it out," she said tolerantly. "They'll make friends aftera bit. Joseph needs some exercise--he was getting too fat. And Rusty hasto learn he isn't the only cat in the world."

  Eventually Joseph and Rusty accepted the situation and from swornenemies became sworn friends. They slept on the same cushion with theirpaws about each other, and gravely washed each other's faces.

  "We've all got used to each other," said Phil. "And I've learned how towash dishes and sweep a floor."

  "But you needn't try to make us believe you can chloroform a cat,"laughed Anne.

  "It was all the fault of the knothole," protested Phil.

  "It was a good thing the knothole was there," said Aunt Jamesina ratherseverely. "Kittens HAVE to be drowned, I admit, or the world would beoverrun. But no decent, grown-up cat should be done to death--unless hesucks eggs."

  "You wouldn't have thought Rusty very decent if you'd seen him when hecame here," said Stella. "He positively looked like the Old Nick."

  "I don't believe Old Nick can be so very, ugly" said Aunt Jamesinareflectively. "He wouldn't do so much harm if he was. _I_ always thinkof him as a rather handsome gentleman."