Book: Rainbow Valley

L >> Lucy Maud Montgomery >> Rainbow Valley




Also, he began to realize that he himself was somewhat sore and
battered up. His lip was cut and swollen and one eye felt very
strange. In Rainbow Valley he encountered Mr. Meredith, who was
coming home from an afternoon call on the Miss Wests. That
reverend gentleman looked gravely at him.

"It seems to me that you have been fighting, Walter?"

"Yes, sir," said Walter, expecting a scolding.

"What was it about?"

"Dan Reese said my mother wrote lies and that that Faith was a
pig-girl," answered Walter bluntly.

"Oh--h! Then you were certainly justified, Walter."

"Do you think it's right to fight, sir?" asked Walter curiously.

"Not always--and not often--but sometimes--yes, sometimes," said
John Meredith. "When womenkind are insulted for instance--as in
your case. My motto, Walter, is, don't fight till you're sure
you ought to, and THEN put every ounce of you into it. In spite
of sundry discolorations I infer that you came off best."

"Yes. I made him take it all back."

"Very good--very good, indeed. I didn't think you were such a
fighter, Walter."

"I never fought before--and I didn't want to right up to the
last--and then," said Walter, determined to make a clean breast
of it, "I liked it while I was at it."

The Rev. John's eyes twinkled.

"You were--a little frightened--at first?"

"I was a whole lot frightened," said honest Walter. "But I'm not
going to be frightened any more, sir. Being frightened of things
is worse than the things themselves. I'm going to ask father to
take me over to Lowbridge to-morrow to get my tooth out."

"Right again. 'Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears.' Do
you know who wrote that, Walter? It was Shakespeare. Was there
any feeling or emotion or experience of the human heart that that
wonderful man did not know? When you go home tell your mother I
am proud of you."

Walter did not tell her that, however; but he told her all the
rest, and she sympathized with him and told him she was glad he
had stood up for her and Faith, and she anointed his sore spots
and rubbed cologne on his aching head.

"Are all mothers as nice as you?" asked Walter, hugging her.
"You're WORTH standing up for."

Miss Cornelia and Susan were in the living room when Anne came
downstairs, and listened to the story with much enjoyment. Susan
in particular was highly gratified.

"I am real glad to hear he has had a good fight, Mrs. Dr. dear.
Perhaps it may knock that poetry nonsense out of him. And I
never, no, never could bear that little viper of a Dan Reese.
Will you not sit nearer to the fire, Mrs. Marshall Elliott?
These November evenings are very chilly."

"Thank you, Susan, I'm not cold. I called at the manse before I
came here and got quite warm--though I had to go to the kitchen
to do it, for there was no fire anywhere else. The kitchen
looked as if it had been stirred up with a stick, believe ME.
Mr. Meredith wasn't home. I couldn't find out where he was, but
I have an idea that he was up at the Wests'. Do you know, Anne
dearie, they say he has been going there frequently all the fall
and people are beginning to think he is going to see Rosemary."

"He would get a very charming wife if he married Rosemary," said
Anne, piling driftwood on the fire. "She is one of the most
delightful girls I've ever known--truly one of the race of
Joseph."

"Ye--s--only she is an Episcopalian," said Miss Cornelia
doubtfully. "Of course, that is better than if she was a
Methodist--but I do think Mr. Meredith could find a good enough
wife in his own denomination. However, very likely there is
nothing in it. It's only a month ago that I said to him, 'You
ought to marry again, Mr. Meredith.' He looked as shocked as if
I had suggested something improper. 'My wife is in her grave,
Mrs. Elliott,' he said, in that gentle, saintly way of his. 'I
suppose so,' I said, 'or I wouldn't be advising you to marry
again.' Then he looked more shocked than ever. So I doubt if
there is much in this Rosemary story. If a single minister calls
twice at a house where there is a single woman all the gossips
have it he is courting her."

"It seems to me--if I may presume to say so--that Mr. Meredith is
too shy to go courting a second wife," said Susan solemnly.

"He ISN'T shy, believe ME," retorted Miss Cornelia.
"Absent-minded,--yes--but shy, no. And for all he is so
abstracted and dreamy he has a very good opinion of himself,
man-like, and when he is really awake he wouldn't think it much
of a chore to ask any woman to have him. No, the trouble is,
he's deluding himself into believing that his heart is buried,
while all the time it's beating away inside of him just like
anybody else's. He may have a notion of Rosemary West and he may
not. If he has, we must make the best of it. She is a sweet
girl and a fine housekeeper, and would make a good mother for
those poor, neglected children. And," concluded Miss Cornelia
resignedly, "my own grandmother was an Episcopalian."



CHAPTER XVIII. MARY BRINGS EVIL TIDINGS

Mary Vance, whom Mrs. Elliott had sent up to the manse on an
errand, came tripping down Rainbow Valley on her way to Ingleside
where she was to spend the afternoon with Nan and Di as a
Saturday treat. Nan and Di had been picking spruce gum with
Faith and Una in the manse woods and the four of them were now
sitting on a fallen pine by the brook, all, it must be admitted,
chewing rather vigorously. The Ingleside twins were not allowed
to chew spruce gum anywhere but in the seclusion of Rainbow
Valley, but Faith and Una were unrestricted by such rules of
etiquette and cheerfully chewed it everywhere, at home and
abroad, to the very proper horror of the Glen. Faith had been
chewing it in church one day; but Jerry had realized the enormity
of THAT, and had given her such an older-brotherly scolding that
she never did it again.

"I was so hungry I just felt as if I had to chew something," she
protested. "You know well enough what breakfast was like, Jerry
Meredith. I COULDN'T eat scorched porridge and my stomach just
felt so queer and empty. The gum helped a lot--and I didn't chew
VERY hard. I didn't make any noise and I never cracked the gum
once."

"You mustn't chew gum in church, anyhow," insisted Jerry. "Don't
let me catch you at it again."

"You chewed yourself in prayer-meeting last week," cried Faith.

"THAT'S different," said Jerry loftily. "Prayer-meeting isn't on
Sunday. Besides, I sat away at the back in a dark seat and
nobody saw me. You were sitting right up front where every one
saw you. And I took the gum out of my mouth for the last hymn
and stuck it on the back of the pew right up in front where every
one saw you. And I took the gum out of my mouth for the last
hymn and stuck it on the back of the pew in front of me. Then I
came away and forgot it. I went back to get it next morning, but
it was gone. I suppose Rod Warren swiped it. And it was a dandy
chew."

Mary Vance walked down the Valley with her head held high. She
had on a new blue velvet cap with a scarlet rosette in it, a coat
of navy blue cloth and a little squirrel-fur muff. She was very
conscious of her new clothes and very well pleased with herself.
Her hair was elaborately crimped, her face was quite plump, her
cheeks rosy, her white eyes shining. She did not look much like
the forlorn and ragged waif the Merediths had found in the old
Taylor barn. Una tried not to feel envious. Here was Mary with
a new velvet cap, but she and Faith had to wear their shabby old
gray tams again this winter. Nobody ever thought of getting them
new ones and they were afraid to ask their father for them for
fear that he might be short of money and then he would feel
badly. Mary had told them once that ministers were always short
of money, and found it "awful hard" to make ends meet. Since
then Faith and Una would have gone in rags rather than ask their
father for anything if they could help it. They did not worry a
great deal over their shabbiness; but it was rather trying to see
Mary Vance coming out in such style and putting on such airs
about it, too. The new squirrel muff was really the last straw.
Neither Faith nor Una had ever had a muff, counting themselves
lucky if they could compass mittens without holes in them. Aunt
Martha could not see to darn holes and though Una tried to, she
made sad cobbling. Somehow, they could not make their greeting
of Mary very cordial. But Mary did not mind or notice that; she
was not overly sensitive. She vaulted lightly to a seat on the
pine tree, and laid the offending muff on a bough. Una saw that
it was lined with shirred red satin and had red tassels. She
looked down at her own rather purple, chapped, little hands and
wondered if she would ever, EVER be able to put them into a muff
like that.

"Give us a chew," said Mary companionably. Nan, Di and Faith all
produced an amber-hued knot or two from their pockets and passed
them to Mary. Una sat very still. She had four lovely big knots
in the pocket of her tight, thread-bare little jacket, but she
wasn't going to give one of them to Mary Vance--not one Let Mary
pick her own gum! People with squirrel muffs needn't expect to
get everything in the world.

"Great day, isn't it?" said Mary, swinging her legs, the better,
perhaps, to display new boots with very smart cloth tops. Una
tucked HER feet under her. There was a hole in the toe of one of
her boots and both laces were much knotted. But they were the
best she had. Oh, this Mary Vance! Why hadn't they left her in
the old barn?

Una never felt badly because the Ingleside twins were better
dressed than she and Faith were. THEY wore their pretty clothes
with careless grace and never seemed to think about them at all.
Somehow, they did not make other people feel shabby. But when
Mary Vance was dressed up she seemed fairly to exude clothes--to
walk in an atmosphere of clothes--to make everybody else feel and
think clothes. Una, as she sat there in the honey-tinted
sunshine of the gracious December afternoon, was acutely and
miserably conscious of everything she had on--the faded tam,
which was yet her best, the skimpy jacket she had worn for three
winters, the holes in her skirt and her boots, the shivering
insufficiency of her poor little undergarments. Of course, Mary
was going out for a visit and she was not. But even if she had
been she had nothing better to put on and in this lay the sting.

"Say, this is great gum. Listen to me cracking it. There ain't
any gum spruces down at Four Winds," said Mary. "Sometimes I
just hanker after a chew. Mrs. Elliott won't let me chew gum if
she sees me. She says it ain't lady-like. This lady-business
puzzles me. I can't get on to all its kinks. Say, Una, what's
the matter with you? Cat got your tongue?"

"No," said Una, who could not drag her fascinated eyes from that
squirrel muff. Mary leaned past her, picked it up and thrust it
into Una's hands.

"Stick your paws in that for a while," she ordered. "They look
sorter pinched. Ain't that a dandy muff? Mrs. Elliott give it
to me last week for a birthday present. I'm to get the collar at
Christmas. I heard her telling Mr. Elliott that."

"Mrs. Elliott is very good to you," said Faith.

"You bet she is. And I'M good to her, too," retorted Mary. "I
work like a nigger to make it easy for her and have everything
just as she likes it. We was made for each other. 'Tisn't every
one could get along with her as well as I do. She's pizen neat,
but so am I, and so we agree fine."

"I told you she would never whip you."

"So you did. She's never tried to lay a finger on me and I ain't
never told a lie to her--not one, true's you live. She combs me
down with her tongue sometimes though, but that just slips off ME
like water off a duck's back. Say, Una, why didn't you hang on
to the muff?"

Una had put it back on the bough.

"My hands aren't cold, thank you," she said stiffly.

"Well, if you're satisfied, _I_ am. Say, old Kitty Alec has come
back to church as meek as Moses and nobody knows why. But
everybody is saying it was Faith brought Norman Douglas out. His
housekeeper says you went there and gave him an awful
tongue-lashing. Did you?"

"I went and asked him to come to church," said Faith
uncomfortably.

"Fancy your spunk!" said Mary admiringly. "_I_ wouldn't have
dared do that and I'm not so slow. Mrs. Wilson says the two of
you jawed something scandalous, but you come off best and then he
just turned round and like to eat you up. Say, is your father
going to preach here to-morrow?"

"No. He's going to exchange with Mr. Perry from Charlottetown.
Father went to town this morning and Mr. Perry is coming out
to-night."

"I THOUGHT there was something in the wind, though old Martha
wouldn't give me any satisfaction. But I felt sure she wouldn't
have been killing that rooster for nothing."

"What rooster? What do you mean?" cried Faith, turning pale.

"_I_ don't know what rooster. I didn't see it. When she took
the butter Mrs. Elliott sent up she said she'd been out to the
barn killing a rooster for dinner tomorrow."

Faith sprang down from the pine.

"It's Adam--we have no other rooster--she has killed Adam."

"Now, don't fly off the handle. Martha said the butcher at the
Glen had no meat this week and she had to have something and the
hens were all laying and too poor."

"If she has killed Adam--" Faith began to run up the hill.

Mary shrugged her shoulders.

"She'll go crazy now. She was so fond of that Adam. He ought to
have been in the pot long ago--he'll be as tough as sole leather.
But _I_ wouldn't like to be in Martha's shoes. Faith's just
white with rage; Una, you'd better go after her and try to
peacify her."

Mary had gone a few steps with the Blythe girls when Una suddenly
turned and ran after her.

"Here's some gum for you, Mary," she said, with a little
repentant catch in her voice, thrusting all her four knots into
Mary's hands, "and I'm glad you have such a pretty muff."

"Why, thanks," said Mary, rather taken by surprise. To the
Blythe girls, after Una had gone, she said, "Ain't she a queer
little mite? But I've always said she had a good heart."



CHAPTER XIX. POOR ADAM!

When Una got home Faith was lying face downwards on her bed,
utterly refusing to be comforted. Aunt Martha had killed Adam.
He was reposing on a platter in the pantry that very minute,
trussed and dressed, encircled by his liver and heart and
gizzard. Aunt Martha heeded Faith's passion of grief and anger
not a whit.

"We had to have something for the strange minister's dinner," she
said. "You're too big a girl to make such a fuss over an old
rooster. You knew he'd have to be killed sometime."

"I'll tell father when he comes home what you've done," sobbed
Faith.

"Don't you go bothering your poor father. He has troubles
enough. And I'M housekeeper here."

"Adam was MINE--Mrs. Johnson gave him to me. You had no business
to touch him," stormed Faith.

"Don't you get sassy now. The rooster's killed and there's an
end of it. I ain't going to set no strange minister down to a
dinner of cold b'iled mutton. I was brought up to know better
than that, if I have come down in the world."

Faith would not go down to supper that night and she would not go
to church the next morning. But at dinner time she went to the
table, her eyes swollen with crying, her face sullen.

The Rev. James Perry was a sleek, rubicund man, with a bristling
white moustache, bushy white eyebrows, and a shining bald head.
He was certainly not handsome and he was a very tiresome, pompous
sort of person. But if he had looked like the Archangel Michael
and talked with the tongues of men and angels Faith would still
have utterly detested him. He carved Adam up dexterously,
showing off his plump white hands and very handsome diamond ring.
Also, he made jovial remarks all through the performance. Jerry
and Carl giggled, and even Una smiled wanly, because she thought
politeness demanded it. But Faith only scowled darkly. The Rev.
James thought her manners shockingly bad. Once, when he was
delivering himself of an unctuous remark to Jerry, Faith broke in
rudely with a flat contradiction. The Rev. James drew his bushy
eyebrows together at her.

"Little girls should not interrupt," he said, "and they should
not contradict people who know far more than they do."

This put Faith in a worse temper than ever. To be called "little
girl" as if she were no bigger than chubby Rilla Blythe over at
Ingleside! It was insufferable. And how that abominable Mr.
Perry did eat! He even picked poor Adam's bones. Neither Faith
nor Una would touch a mouthful, and looked upon the boys as
little better than cannibals. Faith felt that if that awful
repast did not soon come to an end she would wind it up by
throwing something at Mr. Perry's gleaming head. Fortunately,
Mr. Perry found Aunt Martha's leathery apple pie too much even
for his powers of mastication and the meal came to an end, after
a long grace in which Mr. Perry offered up devout thanks for the
food which a kind and beneficent Providence had provided for
sustenance and temperate pleasure.

"God hadn't a single thing to do with providing Adam for you,"
muttered Faith rebelliously under her breath.

The boys gladly made their escape to outdoors, Una went to help
Aunt Martha with the dishes--though that rather grumpy old dame
never welcomed her timid assistance--and Faith betook herself to
the study where a cheerful wood fire was burning in the grate.
She thought she would thereby escape from the hated Mr. Perry,
who had announced his intention of taking a nap in his room
during the afternoon. But scarcely had Faith settled herself in
a corner, with a book, when he walked in and, standing before the
fire, proceeded to survey the disorderly study with an air of
disapproval.

"You father's books seem to be in somewhat deplorable confusion,
my little girl," he said severely.

Faith darkled in her corner and said not a word. She would NOT
talk to this--this creature.

"You should try to put them in order," Mr. Perry went on, playing
with his handsome watch chain and smiling patronizingly on Faith.
"You are quite old enough to attend to such duties. MY little
daughter at home is only ten and she is already an excellent
little housekeeper and the greatest help and comfort to her
mother. She is a very sweet child. I wish you had the privilege
of her acquaintance. She could help you in many ways. Of
course, you have not had the inestimable privilege of a good
mother's care and training. A sad lack--a very sad lack. I have
spoken more than once to your father in this connection and
pointed out his duty to him faithfully, but so far with no
effect. I trust he may awaken to a realization of his
responsibility before it is too late. In the meantime, it is
your duty and privilege to endeavour to take your sainted
mother's place. You might exercise a great influence over your
brothers and your little sister--you might be a true mother to
them. I fear that you do not think of these things as you
should. My dear child, allow me to open your eyes in regard to
them."

Mr. Perry's oily, complacent voice trickled on. He was in his
element. Nothing suited him better than to lay down the law,
patronize and exhort. He had no idea of stopping, and he did not
stop. He stood before the fire, his feet planted firmly on the
rug, and poured out a flood of pompous platitudes. Faith heard
not a word. She was really not listening to him at all. But she
was watching his long black coat-tails with impish delight
growing in her brown eyes. Mr. Perry was standing VERY near the
fire. His coat-tails began to scorch--his coat-tails began to
smoke. He still prosed on, wrapped up in his own eloquence. The
coat-tails smoked worse. A tiny spark flew up from the burning
wood and alighted in the middle of one. It clung and caught and
spread into a smouldering flame. Faith could restrain herself no
longer and broke into a stifled giggle.

Mr. Perry stopped short, angered over this impertinence.
Suddenly he became conscious that a reek of burning cloth filled
the room. He whirled round and saw nothing. Then he clapped his
hands to his coat-tails and brought them around in front of him.
There was already quite a hole in one of them--and this was his
new suit. Faith shook with helpless laughter over his pose and
expression.

"Did you see my coat-tails burning?" he demanded angrily.

"Yes, sir," said Faith demurely.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, glaring at her.

"You said it wasn't good manners to interrupt, sir," said Faith,
more demurely still.

"If--if I was your father, I would give you a spanking that you
would remember all your life, Miss," said a very angry reverend
gentleman, as he stalked out of the study. The coat of Mr.
Meredith's second best suit would not fit Mr. Perry, so he had to
go to the evening service with his singed coat-tail. But he did
not walk up the aisle with his usual consciousness of the honour
he was conferring on the building. He never would agree to an
exchange of pulpits with Mr. Meredith again, and he was barely
civil to the latter when they met for a few minutes at the
station the next morning. But Faith felt a certain gloomy
satisfaction. Adam was partially avenged.



CHAPTER XX. FAITH MAKES A FRIEND

Next day in school was a hard one for Faith. Mary Vance had told
the tale of Adam, and all the scholars, except the Blythes,
thought it quite a joke. The girls told Faith, between giggles,
that it was too bad, and the boys wrote sardonic notes of
condolence to her. Poor Faith went home from school feeling her
very soul raw and smarting within her.

"I'm going over to Ingleside to have a talk with Mrs. Blythe,"
she sobbed. "SHE won't laugh at me, as everybody else does.
I've just GOT to talk to somebody who understands how bad I
feel."

She ran down through Rainbow Valley. Enchantment had been at
work the night before. A light snow had fallen and the powdered
firs were dreaming of a spring to come and a joy to be. The long
hill beyond was richly purple with leafless beeches. The rosy
light of sunset lay over the world like a pink kiss. Of all the
airy, fairy places, full of weird, elfin grace, Rainbow Valley
that winter evening was the most beautiful. But all its
dreamlike loveliness was lost on poor, sore-hearted little Faith.

By the brook she came suddenly upon Rosemary West, who was
sitting on the old pine tree. She was on her way home from
Ingleside, where she had been giving the girls their music
lesson. She had been lingering in Rainbow Valley quite a little
time, looking across its white beauty and roaming some by-ways of
dream. Judging from the expression of her face, her thoughts
were pleasant ones. Perhaps the faint, occasional tinkle from
the bells on the Tree Lovers brought the little lurking smile to
her lips. Or perhaps it was occasioned by the consciousness that
John Meredith seldom failed to spend Monday evening in the gray
house on the white wind-swept hill.

Into Rosemary's dreams burst Faith Meredith full of rebellious
bitterness. Faith stopped abruptly when she saw Miss West. She
did not know her very well--just well enough to speak to when
they met. And she did not want to see any one just then--except
Mrs. Blythe. She knew her eyes and nose were red and swollen and
she hated to have a stranger know she had been crying.

"Good evening, Miss West," she said uncomfortably.

"What is the matter, Faith?" asked Rosemary gently.

"Nothing," said Faith rather shortly.

"Oh!" Rosemary smiled. "You mean nothing that you can tell to
outsiders, don't you?"

Faith looked at Miss West with sudden interest. Here was a
person who understood things. And how pretty she was! How
golden her hair was under her plumy hat! How pink her cheeks
were over her velvet coat! How blue and companionable her eyes
were! Faith felt that Miss West could be a lovely friend--if
only she were a friend instead of a stranger!

"I--I'm going up to tell Mrs. Blythe," said Faith. "She always
understands--she never laughs at us. I always talk things over
with her. It helps."

"Dear girlie, I'm sorry to have to tell you that Mrs. Blythe
isn't home," said Miss West, sympathetically. "She went to
Avonlea to-day and isn't coming back till the last of the week."

Faith's lip quivered.

"Then I might as well go home again," she said miserably.

"I suppose so--unless you think you could bring yourself to talk
it over with me instead," said Miss Rosemary gently. "It IS such
a help to talk things over. _I_ know. I don't suppose I can be
as good at understanding as Mrs. Blythe--but I promise you that I
won't laugh."

"You wouldn't laugh outside," hesitated Faith. "But you
might--inside."

"No, I wouldn't laugh inside, either. Why should I? Something
has hurt you--it never amuses me to see anybody hurt, no matter
what hurts them. If you feel that you'd like to tell me what has
hurt you I'll be glad to listen. But if you think you'd rather
not--that's all right, too, dear."

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