Book: Rainbow Valley

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This book has been put on-line as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK
Initiative at the Celebration of Women Writers through the
combined work of Bernard J. Farber, Carmen Baxter, Dona Rucci,
Elizabeth Morton, Rebekah Neely, Joe Johnson, Joan Chovan, Judith
Fetterolf, Mary Nuzzo, Sally Drake, Sally Starks, Steve Callis,
Virginia Mohlere-Dellinger and Mary Mark Ockerbloom.

http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/

Reformatted by Ben Crowder
http://www.blankslate.net/lang/etexts.php

RAINBOW VALLEY

By L. M. MONTGOMERY

Author of "Anne of Green Gables," "Anne of the Island," "Anne's
House of Dreams," "The Story Girl," "The Watchman," etc.

"The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
--LONGFELLOW

TO THE MEMORY OF

GOLDWIN LAPP, ROBERT BROOKES
AND MORLEY SHIER

WHO MADE THE SUPREME SACRIFICE
THAT THE HAPPY VALLEYS OF THEIR HOME LAND
MIGHT BE KEPT SACRED FROM
THE RAVAGE OF THE INVADER

CONTENTS

I. Home Again
II. Sheer Gossip
III. The Ingleside Children
IV. The Manse Children
V. The Advent of Mary Vanse
VI. Mary Stays at the Manse
VII. A Fishy Episode
VIII. Miss Cornelia Intervenes
IX. Una Intervenes
X. The Manse Girls Clean House
XI. A Dreadful Discovery
XII. An Explanation and a Dare
XIII. The House on the Hill
XIV. Mrs. Alec Davis Makes a Call
XV. More Gossip
XVI. Tit for Tat
XVII. A Double Victory
XVIII. Mary Brings Evil Tidings
XIX. Poor Adam!
XX. Faith Makes a Friend
XXI. The Impossible Word
XXII. St. George Knows All About It
XXIII. The Good-Conduct Club
XXIV. A Charitable Impulse
XXV. Another Scandal and Another "Explanation"
XXVI. Miss Cornelia Gets a New Point of View
XXVII. A Sacred Concert
XXVIII. A Fast Day
XXIX. A Weird Tale
XXX. The Ghost on the Dyke
XXXI. Carl Does Penance
XXXII. Two Stubborn People
XXXIII. Carl Is--not--whipped
XXXIV. Una Visits the Hill
XXXV. "Let the Piper Come"

RAINBOW VALLEY

CHAPTER I. HOME AGAIN

It was a clear, apple-green evening in May, and Four Winds
Harbour was mirroring back the clouds of the golden west between
its softly dark shores. The sea moaned eerily on the sand-bar,
sorrowful even in spring, but a sly, jovial wind came piping down
the red harbour road along which Miss Cornelia's comfortable,
matronly figure was making its way towards the village of Glen
St. Mary. Miss Cornelia was rightfully Mrs. Marshall Elliott, and
had been Mrs. Marshall Elliott for thirteen years, but even yet
more people referred to her as Miss Cornelia than as Mrs.
Elliott. The old name was dear to her old friends, only one of
them contemptuously dropped it. Susan Baker, the gray and grim
and faithful handmaiden of the Blythe family at Ingleside, never
lost an opportunity of calling her "Mrs. Marshall Elliott," with
the most killing and pointed emphasis, as if to say "You wanted
to be Mrs. and Mrs. you shall be with a vengeance as far as I am
concerned."

Miss Cornelia was going up to Ingleside to see Dr. and Mrs.
Blythe, who were just home from Europe. They had been away for
three months, having left in February to attend a famous medical
congress in London; and certain things, which Miss Cornelia was
anxious to discuss, had taken place in the Glen during their
absence. For one thing, there was a new family in the manse.
And such a family! Miss Cornelia shook her head over them several
times as she walked briskly along.

Susan Baker and the Anne Shirley of other days saw her coming, as
they sat on the big veranda at Ingleside, enjoying the charm of
the cat's light, the sweetness of sleepy robins whistling among
the twilit maples, and the dance of a gusty group of daffodils
blowing against the old, mellow, red brick wall of the lawn.

Anne was sitting on the steps, her hands clasped over her knee,
looking, in the kind dusk, as girlish as a mother of many has any
right to be; and the beautiful gray-green eyes, gazing down the
harbour road, were as full of unquenchable sparkle and dream as
ever. Behind her, in the hammock, Rilla Blythe was curled up, a
fat, roly-poly little creature of six years, the youngest of the
Ingleside children. She had curly red hair and hazel eyes that
were now buttoned up after the funny, wrinkled fashion in which
Rilla always went to sleep.

Shirley, "the little brown boy," as he was known in the family
"Who's Who," was asleep in Susan's arms. He was brown-haired,
brown-eyed and brown-skinned, with very rosy cheeks, and he was
Susan's especial love. After his birth Anne had been very ill
for a long time, and Susan "mothered" the baby with a passionate
tenderness which none of the other children, dear as they were to
her, had ever called out. Dr. Blythe had said that but for her
he would never have lived.

"I gave him life just as much as you did, Mrs. Dr. dear," Susan
was wont to say. "He is just as much my baby as he is yours."
And, indeed, it was always to Susan that Shirley ran, to be
kissed for bumps, and rocked to sleep, and protected from
well-deserved spankings. Susan had conscientiously spanked all
the other Blythe children when she thought they needed it for
their souls' good, but she would not spank Shirley nor allow his
mother to do it. Once, Dr. Blythe had spanked him and Susan had
been stormily indignant.

"That man would spank an angel, Mrs. Dr. dear, that he would,"
she had declared bitterly; and she would not make the poor doctor
a pie for weeks.

She had taken Shirley with her to her brother's home during his
parents' absence, while all the other children had gone to
Avonlea, and she had three blessed months of him all to herself.
Nevertheless, Susan was very glad to find herself back at
Ingleside, with all her darlings around her again. Ingleside was
her world and in it she reigned supreme. Even Anne seldom
questioned her decisions, much to the disgust of Mrs. Rachel
Lynde of Green Gables, who gloomily told Anne, whenever she
visited Four Winds, that she was letting Susan get to be entirely
too much of a boss and would live to rue it.

"Here is Cornelia Bryant coming up the harbour road, Mrs. Dr.
dear," said Susan. "She will be coming up to unload three
months' gossip on us."

"I hope so," said Anne, hugging her knees. "I'm starving for
Glen St. Mary gossip, Susan. I hope Miss Cornelia can tell me
everything that has happened while we've been away--EVERYTHING--
who has got born, or married, or drunk; who has died, or gone
away, or come, or fought, or lost a cow, or found a beau. It's
so delightful to be home again with all the dear Glen folks, and
I want to know all about them. Why, I remember wondering, as I
walked through Westminster Abbey which of her two especial beaux
Millicent Drew would finally marry. Do you know, Susan, I have a
dreadful suspicion that I love gossip."

"Well, of course, Mrs. Dr. dear," admitted Susan, "every proper
woman likes to hear the news. I am rather interested in
Millicent Drew's case myself. I never had a beau, much less two,
and I do not mind now, for being an old maid does not hurt when
you get used to it. Millicent's hair always looks to me as if
she had swept it up with a broom. But the men do not seem to
mind that."

"They see only her pretty, piquant, mocking, little face, Susan."

"That may very well be, Mrs. Dr. dear. The Good Book says that
favour is deceitful and beauty is vain, but I should not have
minded finding that out for myself, if it had been so ordained.
I have no doubt we will all be beautiful when we are angels, but
what good will it do us then? Speaking of gossip, however, they
do say that poor Mrs. Harrison Miller over harbour tried to hang
herself last week."

"Oh, Susan!"

"Calm yourself, Mrs. Dr. dear. She did not succeed. But I
really do not blame her for trying, for her husband is a terrible
man. But she was very foolish to think of hanging herself and
leaving the way clear for him to marry some other woman. If I
had been in her shoes, Mrs. Dr. dear, I would have gone to work
to worry him so that he would try to hang himself instead of me.
Not that I hold with people hanging themselves under any
circumstances, Mrs. Dr. dear."

"What is the matter with Harrison Miller, anyway?" said Anne
impatiently. "He is always driving some one to extremes."

"Well, some people call it religion and some call it cussedness,
begging your pardon, Mrs. Dr. dear, for using such a word. It
seems they cannot make out which it is in Harrison's case. There
are days when he growls at everybody because he thinks he is
fore-ordained to eternal punishment. And then there are days
when he says he does not care and goes and gets drunk. My own
opinion is that he is not sound in his intellect, for none of
that branch of the Millers were. His grandfather went out of his
mind. He thought he was surrounded by big black spiders. They
crawled over him and floated in the air about him. I hope I
shall never go insane, Mrs. Dr. dear, and I do not think I will,
because it is not a habit of the Bakers. But, if an all-wise
Providence should decree it, I hope it will not take the form of
big black spiders, for I loathe the animals. As for Mrs. Miller,
I do not know whether she really deserves pity or not. There are
some who say she just married Harrison to spite Richard Taylor,
which seems to me a very peculiar reason for getting married.
But then, of course, _I_ am no judge of things matrimonial, Mrs.
Dr. dear. And there is Cornelia Bryant at the gate, so I will
put this blessed brown baby on his bed and get my knitting."

CHAPTER II. SHEER GOSSIP

"Where are the other children?" asked Miss Cornelia, when the
first greetings--cordial on her side, rapturous on Anne's, and
dignified on Susan's--were over.

"Shirley is in bed and Jem and Walter and the twins are down in
their beloved Rainbow Valley," said Anne. "They just came home
this afternoon, you know, and they could hardly wait until supper
was over before rushing down to the valley. They love it above
every spot on earth. Even the maple grove doesn't rival it in
their affections."

"I am afraid they love it too well," said Susan gloomily.
"Little Jem said once he would rather go to Rainbow Valley than
to heaven when he died, and that was not a proper remark."

"I suppose they had a great time in Avonlea?" said Miss Cornelia.

"Enormous. Marilla does spoil them terribly. Jem, in
particular, can do no wrong in her eyes."

"Miss Cuthbert must be an old lady now," said Miss Cornelia,
getting out her knitting, so that she could hold her own with
Susan. Miss Cornelia held that the woman whose hands were
employed always had the advantage over the woman whose hands were
not.

"Marilla is eighty-five," said Anne with a sigh. "Her hair is
snow-white. But, strange to say, her eyesight is better than it
was when she was sixty."

"Well, dearie, I'm real glad you're all back. I've been dreadful
lonesome. But we haven't been dull in the Glen, believe ME.
There hasn't been such an exciting spring in my time, as far as
church matters go. We've got settled with a minister at last,
Anne dearie."

"The Reverend John Knox Meredith, Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan,
resolved not to let Miss Cornelia tell all the news.

"Is he nice?" asked Anne interestedly.

Miss Cornelia sighed and Susan groaned.

"Yes, he's nice enough if that were all," said the former. "He
is VERY nice--and very learned--and very spiritual. But, oh Anne
dearie, he has no common sense!

"How was it you called him, then?"

"Well, there's no doubt he is by far the best preacher we ever
had in Glen St. Mary church," said Miss Cornelia, veering a tack
or two. "I suppose it is because he is so moony and
absent-minded that he never got a town call. His trial sermon
was simply wonderful, believe ME. Every one went mad about it--
and his looks."

"He is VERY comely, Mrs. Dr. dear, and when all is said and done,
I DO like to see a well-looking man in the pulpit," broke in
Susan, thinking it was time she asserted herself again.

"Besides," said Miss Cornelia, "we were anxious to get settled.
And Mr. Meredith was the first candidate we were all agreed on.
Somebody had some objection to all the others. There was some
talk of calling Mr. Folsom. He was a good preacher, too, but
somehow people didn't care for his appearance. He was too dark
and sleek."

"He looked exactly like a great black tomcat, that he did, Mrs.
Dr. dear," said Susan. "I never could abide such a man in the
pulpit every Sunday."

"Then Mr. Rogers came and he was like a chip in porridge--neither
harm nor good," resumed Miss Cornelia. "But if he had preached
like Peter and Paul it would have profited him nothing, for that
was the day old Caleb Ramsay's sheep strayed into church and gave
a loud 'ba-a-a' just as he announced his text. Everybody
laughed, and poor Rogers had no chance after that. Some thought
we ought to call Mr. Stewart, because he was so well educated.
He could read the New Testament in five languages."

"But I do not think he was any surer than other men of getting to
heaven because of that," interjected Susan.

"Most of us didn't like his delivery," said Miss Cornelia,
ignoring Susan. "He talked in grunts, so to speak. And Mr.
Arnett couldn't preach AT ALL. And he picked about the worst
candidating text there is in the Bible--'Curse ye Meroz.'"

"Whenever he got stuck for an idea, he would bang the Bible and
shout very bitterly, 'Curse ye Meroz.' Poor Meroz got thoroughly
cursed that day, whoever he was, Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan.

"The minister who is candidating can't be too careful what text
he chooses," said Miss Cornelia solemnly. "I believe Mr. Pierson
would have got the call if he had picked a different text. But
when he announced 'I will lift my eyes to the hills' HE was done
for. Every one grinned, for every one knew that those two Hill
girls from the Harbour Head have been setting their caps for
every single minister who came to the Glen for the last fifteen
years. And Mr. Newman had too large a family."

"He stayed with my brother-in-law, James Clow," said Susan. "'How
many children have you got?' I asked him. 'Nine boys and a
sister for each of them,' he said. 'Eighteen!' said I. 'Dear
me, what a family!' And then he laughed and laughed. But I do
not know why, Mrs. Dr. dear, and I am certain that eighteen
children would be too many for any manse."

"He had only ten children, Susan," explained Miss Cornelia, with
contemptuous patience. "And ten good children would not be much
worse for the manse and congregation than the four who are there
now. Though I wouldn't say, Anne dearie, that they are so bad,
either. I like them--everybody likes them. It's impossible to
help liking them. They would be real nice little souls if there
was anyone to look after their manners and teach them what is
right and proper. For instance, at school the teacher says they
are model children. But at home they simply run wild."

"What about Mrs. Meredith?" asked Anne.

"There's NO Mrs. Meredith. That is just the trouble. Mr.
Meredith is a widower. His wife died four years ago. If we had
known that I don't suppose we would have called him, for a
widower is even worse in a congregation than a single man. But
he was heard to speak of his children and we all supposed there
was a mother, too. And when they came there was nobody but old
Aunt Martha, as they call her. She's a cousin of Mr. Meredith's
mother, I believe, and he took her in to save her from the
poorhouse. She is seventy-five years old, half blind, and very
deaf and very cranky."

"And a very poor cook, Mrs. Dr. dear."

"The worst possible manager for a manse," said Miss Cornelia
bitterly. "Mr. Meredith won't get any other housekeeper because
he says it would hurt Aunt Martha's feelings. Anne dearie,
believe me, the state of that manse is something terrible.
Everything is thick with dust and nothing is ever in its place.
And we had painted and papered it all so nice before they came."

"There are four children, you say?" asked Anne, beginning to
mother them already in her heart.

"Yes. They run up just like the steps of a stair. Gerald's the
oldest. He's twelve and they call him Jerry. He's a clever boy.
Faith is eleven. She is a regular tomboy but pretty as a
picture, I must say."

"She looks like an angel but she is a holy terror for mischief,
Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan solemnly. "I was at the manse one
night last week and Mrs. James Millison was there, too. She had
brought them up a dozen eggs and a little pail of milk--a VERY
little pail, Mrs. Dr. dear. Faith took them and whisked down the
cellar with them. Near the bottom of the stairs she caught her
toe and fell the rest of the way, milk and eggs and all. You can
imagine the result, Mrs. Dr. dear. But that child came up
laughing. 'I don't know whether I'm myself or a custard pie,'
she said. And Mrs. James Millison was very angry. She said she
would never take another thing to the manse if it was to be
wasted and destroyed in that fashion."

"Maria Millison never hurt herself taking things to the manse,"
sniffed Miss Cornelia. "She just took them that night as an
excuse for curiosity. But poor Faith is always getting into
scrapes. She is so heedless and impulsive."

"Just like me. I'm going to like your Faith," said Anne
decidedly.

"She is full of spunk--and I do like spunk, Mrs. Dr. dear,"
admitted Susan.

"There's something taking about her," conceded Miss Cornelia.
"You never see her but she's laughing, and somehow it always
makes you want to laugh too. She can't even keep a straight face
in church. Una is ten--she's a sweet little thing--not pretty,
but sweet. And Thomas Carlyle is nine. They call him Carl, and
he has a regular mania for collecting toads and bugs and frogs
and bringing them into the house."

"I suppose he was responsible for the dead rat that was lying on
a chair in the parlour the afternoon Mrs. Grant called. It gave
her a turn," said Susan, "and I do not wonder, for manse parlours
are no places for dead rats. To be sure it may have been the cat
who left it, there. HE is as full of the old Nick as he can be
stuffed, Mrs. Dr. dear. A manse cat should at least LOOK
respectable, in my opinion, whatever he really is. But I never
saw such a rakish-looking beast. And he walks along the
ridgepole of the manse almost every evening at sunset, Mrs. Dr.
dear, and waves his tail, and that is not becoming."

"The worst of it is, they are NEVER decently dressed," sighed
Miss Cornelia. "And since the snow went they go to school
barefooted. Now, you know Anne dearie, that isn't the right
thing for manse children--especially when the Methodist
minister's little girl always wears such nice buttoned boots.
And I DO wish they wouldn't play in the old Methodist graveyard."

"It's very tempting, when it's right beside the manse," said
Anne. "I've always thought graveyards must be delightful places
to play in."

"Oh, no, you did not, Mrs. Dr. dear," said loyal Susan,
determined to protect Anne from herself. "You have too much good
sense and decorum."

"Why did they ever build that manse beside the graveyard in the
first place?" asked Anne. "Their lawn is so small there is no
place for them to play except in the graveyard."

"It WAS a mistake," admitted Miss Cornelia. "But they got the
lot cheap. And no other manse children ever thought of playing
there. Mr. Meredith shouldn't allow it. But he has always got
his nose buried in a book, when he is home. He reads and reads,
or walks about in his study in a day-dream. So far he hasn't
forgotten to be in church on Sundays, but twice he has forgotten
about the prayer-meeting and one of the elders had to go over to
the manse and remind him. And he forgot about Fanny Cooper's
wedding. They rang him up on the 'phone and then he rushed right
over, just as he was, carpet slippers and all. One wouldn't mind
if the Methodists didn't laugh so about it. But there's one
comfort--they can't criticize his sermons. He wakes up when he's
in the pulpit, believe ME. And the Methodist minister can't
preach at all--so they tell me. _I_ have never heard him, thank
goodness."

Miss Cornelia's scorn of men had abated somewhat since her
marriage, but her scorn of Methodists remained untinged of
charity. Susan smiled slyly.

"They do say, Mrs. Marshall Elliott, that the Methodists and
Presbyterians are talking of uniting," she said.

"Well, all I hope is that I'll be under the sod if that ever
comes to pass," retorted Miss Cornelia. "I shall never have
truck or trade with Methodists, and Mr. Meredith will find that
he'd better steer clear of them, too. He is entirely too
sociable with them, believe ME. Why, he went to the Jacob Drews'
silver-wedding supper and got into a nice scrape as a result."

"What was it?"

"Mrs. Drew asked him to carve the roast goose--for Jacob Drew
never did or could carve. Well, Mr. Meredith tackled it, and in
the process he knocked it clean off the platter into Mrs. Reese's
lap, who was sitting next him. And he just said dreamily. 'Mrs.
Reese, will you kindly return me that goose?' Mrs. Reese
'returned' it, as meek as Moses, but she must have been furious,
for she had on her new silk dress. The worst of it is, she was a
Methodist."

"But I think that is better than if she was a Presbyterian,"
interjected Susan. "If she had been a Presbyterian she would
mostly likely have left the church and we cannot afford to lose
our members. And Mrs. Reese is not liked in her own church,
because she gives herself such great airs, so that the Methodists
would be rather pleased that Mr. Meredith spoiled her dress."

"The point is, he made himself ridiculous, and _I_, for one, do
not like to see my minister made ridiculous in the eyes of the
Methodists," said Miss Cornelia stiffly. "If he had had a wife
it would not have happened."

"I do not see if he had a dozen wives how they could have
prevented Mrs. Drew from using up her tough old gander for the
wedding-feast," said Susan stubbornly.

"They say that was her husband's doing," said Miss Cornelia.
"Jacob Drew is a conceited, stingy, domineering creature."

"And they do say he and his wife detest each other--which does
not seem to me the proper way for married folks to get along.
But then, of course, I have had no experience along that line,"
said Susan, tossing her head. "And _I_ am not one to blame
everything on the men. Mrs. Drew is mean enough herself. They
say that the only thing she was ever known to give away was a
crock of butter made out of cream a rat had fell into. She
contributed it to a church social. Nobody found out about the rat
until afterwards."

"Fortunately, all the people the Merediths have offended so far
are Methodists," said Miss Cornelia. "That Jerry went to the
Methodist prayer-meeting one night about a fortnight ago and sat
beside old William Marsh who got up as usual and testified with
fearful groans. 'Do you feel any better now?" whispered Jerry
when William sat down. Poor Jerry meant to be sympathetic, but
Mr. Marsh thought he was impertinent and is furious at him. Of
course, Jerry had no business to be in a Methodist prayer-meeting
at all. But they go where they like."

"I hope they will not offend Mrs. Alec Davis of the Harbour
Head," said Susan. "She is a very touchy woman, I understand,
but she is very well off and pays the most of any one to the
salary. I have heard that she says the Merediths are the worst
brought up children she ever saw."

"Every word you say convinces me more and more that the Merediths
belong to the race that knows Joseph," said Mistress Anne
decidedly.

"When all is said and done, they DO," admitted Miss Cornelia.
"And that balances everything. Anyway, we've got them now and we
must just do the best we can by them and stick up for them to the
Methodists. Well, I suppose I must be getting down harbour.
Marshall will soon be home--he went over-harbour to-day--and
wanting his super, man-like. I'm sorry I haven't seen the other
children. And where's the doctor?"

"Up at the Harbour Head. We've only been home three days and in
that time he has spent three hours in his own bed and eaten two
meals in his own house."

"Well, everybody who has been sick for the last six weeks has
been waiting for him to come home--and I don't blame them. When
that over-harbour doctor married the undertaker's daughter at
Lowbridge people felt suspicious of him. It didn't look well.
You and the doctor must come down soon and tell us all about your
trip. I suppose you've had a splendid time."

"We had," agreed Anne. "It was the fulfilment of years of
dreams. The old world is very lovely and very wonderful. But we
have come back very well satisfied with our own land. Canada is
the finest country in the world, Miss Cornelia."

"Nobody ever doubted that," said Miss Cornelia, complacently.

"And old P.E.I. is the loveliest province in it and Four Winds
the loveliest spot in P.E.I.," laughed Anne, looking adoringly
out over the sunset splendour of glen and harbour and gulf. She
waved her hand at it. "I saw nothing more beautiful than that in
Europe, Miss Cornelia. Must you go? The children will be sorry
to have missed you."

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