“Changes ain’t totally pleasant but they’re excellent things,” said Mr. Harrison philosophically4. “Two years is about long enough for things to stay exactly the same. If they stayed put any longer they might grow mossy.”
Mr. Harrison was smoking on his veranda5. His wife had self-sacrificingly told that he might smoke in the house if he took care to sit by an open window. Mr. Harrison rewarded this concession6 by going outdoors altogether to smoke in fine weather, and so mutual7 goodwill8 reigned9.
Anne had come over to ask Mrs. Harrison for some of her yellow dahlias. She and Diana were going through to Echo Lodge10 that evening to help Miss Lavendar and Charlotta the Fourth with their final preparations for the morrow’s bridal. Miss Lavendar herself never had dahlias; she did not like them and they would not have suited the fine retirement11 of her old-fashioned garden. But flowers of any kind were rather scarce in Avonlea and the neighboring districts that summer, thanks to Uncle Abe’s storm; and Anne and Diana thought that a certain old cream-colored stone jug12, usually kept sacred to doughnuts, brimmed over with yellow dahlias, would be just the thing to set in a dim angle of the stone house stairs, against the dark background of red hall paper.
“I s’pose you’ll be starting off for college in a fortnight’s time?” continued Mr. Harrison. “Well, we’re going to miss you an awful lot, Emily and me. To be sure, Mrs. Lynde’ll be over there in your place. There ain’t nobody but a substitute can be found for them.”
The irony13 of Mr. Harrison’s tone is quite untransferable to paper. In spite of his wife’s intimacy14 with Mrs. Lynde, the best that could be said of the relationship between her and Mr. Harrison even under the new regime, was that they preserved an armed neutrality.
“Yes, I’m going,” said Anne. “I’m very glad with my head . . . and very sorry with my heart.”
“I may try for one or two of them,” confessed Anne, “but I don’t care so much for things like that as I did two years ago. What I want to get out of my college course is some knowledge of the best way of living life and doing the most and best with it. I want to learn to understand and help other people and myself.”
Mr. Harrison nodded.
“That’s the idea exactly. That’s what college ought to be for, instead of for turning out a lot of B.A.‘s, so chock full of book-learning and vanity that there ain’t room for anything else. You’re all right. College won’t be able to do you much harm, I reckon.”
Diana and Anne drove over to Echo Lodge after tea, taking with them all the flowery spoil that several predatory expeditions in their own and their neighbors’ gardens had yielded. They found the stone house agog16 with excitement. Charlotta the Fourth was flying around with such vim17 and briskness18 that her blue bows seemed really to possess the power of being everywhere at once. Like the helmet of Navarre, Charlotta’s blue bows waved ever in the thickest of the fray19.
“Praise be to goodness you’ve come,” she said devoutly20, “for there’s heaps of things to do . . . and the frosting on that cake WON’T harden . . . and there’s all the silver to be rubbed up yet . . . and the horsehair trunk to be packed . . . and the roosters for the chicken salad are running out there beyant the henhouse yet, crowing, Miss Shirley, ma’am. And Miss Lavendar ain’t to be trusted to do a thing. I was thankful when Mr. Irving came a few minutes ago and took her off for a walk in the woods. Courting’s all right in its place, Miss Shirley, ma’am, but if you try to mix it up with cooking and scouring21 everything’s spoiled. That’s MY opinion, Miss Shirley, ma’am.”
Anne and Diana worked so heartily22 that by ten o’clock even Charlotta the Fourth was satisfied. She braided her hair in innumerable plaits and took her weary little bones off to bed.
“But I’m sure I shan’t sleep a blessed wink23, Miss Shirley, ma’am, for fear that something’ll go wrong at the last minute . . . the cream won’t whip . . . or Mr. Irving’ll have a stroke and not be able to come.”
“He isn’t in the habit of having strokes, is he?” asked Diana, the dimpled corners of her mouth twitching24. To Diana, Charlotta the Fourth was, if not exactly a thing of beauty, certainly a joy forever.
“They’re not things that go by habit,” said Charlotta the Fourth with dignity. “They just HAPPEN . . . and there you are. ANYBODY can have a stroke. You don’t have to learn how. Mr. Irving looks a lot like an uncle of mine that had one once just as he was sitting down to dinner one day. But maybe everything’ll go all right. In this world you’ve just got to hope for the best and prepare for the worst and take whatever God sends.”
“The only thing I’m worried about is that it won’t be fine tomorrow,” said Diana. “Uncle Abe predicted rain for the middle of the week, and ever since the big storm I can’t help believing there’s a good deal in what Uncle Abe says.”
Anne, who knew better than Diana just how much Uncle Abe had to do with the storm, was not much disturbed by this. She slept the sleep of the just and weary, and was roused at an unearthly hour by Charlotta the Fourth.
“Oh, Miss Shirley, ma’am, it’s awful to call you so early,” came wailing25 through the keyhole, “but there’s so much to do yet . . . and oh, Miss Shirley, ma’am, I’m skeered it’s going to rain and I wish you’d get up and tell me you think it ain’t.” Anne flew to the window, hoping against hope that Charlotta the Fourth was saying this merely by way of rousing her effectually. But alas26, the morning did look unpropitious. Below the window Miss Lavendar’s garden, which should have been a glory of pale virgin27 sunshine, lay dim and windless; and the sky over the firs was dark with moody28 clouds.
“Isn’t it too mean!” said Diana.
“We must hope for the best,” said Anne determinedly29. “If it only doesn’t actually rain, a cool, pearly gray day like this would really be nicer than hot sunshine.”
“But it will rain,” mourned Charlotta, creeping into the room, a figure of fun, with her many braids wound about her head, the ends, tied up with white thread, sticking out in all directions. “It’ll hold off till the last minute and then pour cats and dogs. And all the folks will get sopping30 . . . and track mud all over the house . . . and they won’t be able to be married under the honeysuckle . . . and it’s awful unlucky for no sun to shine on a bride, say what you will, Miss Shirley, ma’am. I knew things were going too well to last.”
Charlotta the Fourth seemed certainly to have borrowed a leaf out of Miss Eliza Andrews’ book.
It did not rain, though it kept on looking as if it meant to. By noon the rooms were decorated, the table beautifully laid; and upstairs was waiting a bride, “adorned31 for her husband.”
“You do look sweet,” said Anne rapturously.
“Lovely,” echoed Diana.
“Everything’s ready, Miss Shirley, ma’am, and nothing dreadful has happened YET,” was Charlotta’s cheerful statement as she betook herself to her little back room to dress. Out came all the braids; the resultant rampant32 crinkliness was plaited into two tails and tied, not with two bows alone, but with four, of brand-new ribbon, brightly blue. The two upper bows rather gave the impression of overgrown wings sprouting33 from Charlotta’s neck, somewhat after the fashion of Raphael’s cherubs34. But Charlotta the Fourth thought them very beautiful, and after she had rustled35 into a white dress, so stiffly starched36 that it could stand alone, she surveyed herself in her glass with great satisfaction . . . a satisfaction which lasted until she went out in the hall and caught a glimpse through the spare room door of a tall girl in some softly clinging gown, pinning white, star-like flowers on the smooth ripples37 of her ruddy hair.
“Oh, I’ll NEVER be able to look like Miss Shirley,” thought poor Charlotta despairingly. “You just have to be born so, I guess . . . don’t seem’s if any amount of practice could give you that AIR.”
By one o’clock the guests had come, including Mr. and Mrs. Allan, for Mr. Allan was to perform the ceremony in the absence of the Grafton minister on his vacation. There was no formality about the marriage. Miss Lavendar came down the stairs to meet her bridegroom at the foot, and as he took her hand she lifted her big brown eyes to his with a look that made Charlotta the Fourth, who intercepted38 it, feel queerer than ever. They went out to the honeysuckle arbor39, where Mr. Allan was awaiting them. The guests grouped themselves as they pleased. Anne and Diana stood by the old stone bench, with Charlotta the Fourth between them, desperately40 clutching their hands in her cold, tremulous little paws.
Mr. Allan opened his blue book and the ceremony proceeded. Just as Miss Lavendar and Stephen Irving were pronounced man and wife a very beautiful and symbolic41 thing happened. The sun suddenly burst through the gray and poured a flood of radiance on the happy bride. Instantly the garden was alive with dancing shadows and flickering42 lights.
“What a lovely omen,” thought Anne, as she ran to kiss the bride. Then the three girls left the rest of the guests laughing around the bridal pair while they flew into the house to see that all was in readiness for the feast.
“Thanks be to goodness, it’s over, Miss Shirley, ma’am,” breathed Charlotta the Fourth, “and they’re married safe and sound, no matter what happens now. The bags of rice are in the pantry, ma’am, and the old shoes are behind the door, and the cream for whipping is on the sullar steps.”
At half past two Mr. and Mrs. Irving left, and everybody went to Bright River to see them off on the afternoon train. As Miss Lavendar . . . I beg her pardon, Mrs. Irving . . . stepped from the door of her old home Gilbert and the girls threw the rice and Charlotta the Fourth hurled43 an old shoe with such excellent aim that she struck Mr. Allan squarely on the head. But it was reserved for Paul to give the prettiest send-off. He popped out of the porch ringing furiously a huge old brass44 dinner bell which had adorned the dining room mantel. Paul’s only motive45 was to make a joyful46 noise; but as the clangor died away, from point and curve and hill across the river came the chime of “fairy wedding bells,” ringing clearly, sweetly, faintly and more faint, as if Miss Lavendar’s beloved echoes were bidding her greeting and farewell. And so, amid this benediction47 of sweet sounds, Miss Lavendar drove away from the old life of dreams and make-believes to a fuller life of realities in the busy world beyond.
Two hours later Anne and Charlotta the Fourth came down the lane again. Gilbert had gone to West Grafton on an errand and Diana had to keep an engagement at home. Anne and Charlotta had come back to put things in order and lock up the little stone house. The garden was a pool of late golden sunshine, with butterflies hovering48 and bees booming; but the little house had already that indefinable air of desolation which always follows a festivity.
“Oh dear me, don’t it look lonesome?” sniffed49 Charlotta the Fourth, who had been crying all the way home from the station. “A wedding ain’t much cheerfuller than a funeral after all, when it’s all over, Miss Shirley, ma’am.”
A busy evening followed. The decorations had to be removed, the dishes washed, the uneaten delicacies50 packed into a basket for the delectation of Charlotta the Fourth’s young brothers at home. Anne would not rest until everything was in apple-pie order; after Charlotta had gone home with her plunder51 Anne went over the still rooms, feeling like one who trod alone some banquet hall deserted52, and closed the blinds. Then she locked the door and sat down under the silver poplar to wait for Gilbert, feeling very tired but still unweariedly thinking “long, long thoughts.”
“What are you thinking of, Anne?” asked Gilbert, coming down the walk. He had left his horse and buggy out at the road.
“Of Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving,” answered Anne dreamily. “Isn’t it beautiful to think how everything has turned out . . . how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?”
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily53 down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been NO separation or misunderstanding . . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?”
For a moment Anne’s heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered54 under Gilbert’s gaze and a rosy55 flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight56 riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft57 of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.
Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily58 down it the evening before. The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.
Gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne’s remembered blush. Four years of earnest, happy work . . . and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won.
Behind them in the garden the little stone house brooded among the shadows. It was lonely but not forsaken59. It had not yet done with dreams and laughter and the joy of life; there were to be future summers for the little stone house; meanwhile, it could wait. And over the river in purple durance the echoes bided60 their time.
The End
The End
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1
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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12
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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13
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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15
scooping
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| n.捞球v.抢先报道( scoop的现在分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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agog
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| adj.兴奋的，有强烈兴趣的； adv.渴望地 | |
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17
vim
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| n.精力，活力 | |
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briskness
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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fray
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| v.争吵；打斗；磨损，磨破；n.吵架；打斗 | |
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20
devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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21
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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24
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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25
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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26
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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28
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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30
sopping
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| adj. 浑身湿透的 动词sop的现在分词形式 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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32
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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33
sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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34
cherubs
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| 小天使，胖娃娃( cherub的名词复数 ) | |
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35
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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40
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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41
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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42
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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43
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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44
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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45
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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46
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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48
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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49
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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50
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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51
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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52
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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53
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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54
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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55
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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56
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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57
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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58
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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59
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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60
bided
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| v.等待，停留( bide的过去式 )；居住；等待；面临 | |
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