Book: Rainbow Valley

L >> Lucy Maud Montgomery >> Rainbow Valley




In a few days the little weekly published in the Glen under the
name of _The Journal_ came out as usual, and the Glen had another
sensation. A letter signed "Faith Meredith" occupied a prominent
place on the front page and ran as follows:--

"TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

I want to explain to everybody how it was I came to go to church
without stockings on, so that everybody will know that father was
not to blame one bit for it, and the old gossips need not say he
is, because it is not true. I gave my only pair of black
stockings to Lida Marsh, because she hadn't any and her poor
little feet were awful cold and I was so sorry for her. No child
ought to have to go without shoes and stockings in a Christian
community before the snow is all gone, and I think the W. F. M.
S. ought to have given her stockings. Of course, I know they are
sending things to the little heathen children, and that is all
right and a kind thing to do. But the little heathen children
have lots more warm weather than we have, and I think the women
of our church ought to look after Lida and not leave it all to
me. When I gave her my stockings I forgot they were the only
black pair I had without holes, but I am glad I did give them to
her, because my conscience would have been uncomfortable if I
hadn't. When she had gone away, looking so proud and happy, the
poor little thing, I remembered that all I had to wear were the
horrid red and blue things Aunt Martha knit last winter for me
out of some yarn that Mrs. Joseph Burr of Upper Glen sent us. It
was dreadfully coarse yarn and all knots, and I never saw any of
Mrs. Burr's own children wearing things made of such yarn. But
Mary Vance says Mrs. Burr gives the minister stuff that she can't
use or eat herself, and thinks it ought to go as part of the
salary her husband signed to pay, but never does.

I just couldn't bear to wear those hateful stockings. They were
so ugly and rough and felt so scratchy. Everybody would have
made fun of me. I thought at first I'd pretend to be sick and
not go to church next day, but I decided I couldn't do that,
because it would be acting a lie, and father told us after mother
died that was something we must never, never do. It is just as
bad to act a lie as to tell one, though I know some people, right
here in the Glen, who act them, and never seem to feel a bit bad
about it. I will not mention any names, but I know who they are
and so does father.

Then I tried my best to catch cold and really be sick by standing
on the snowbank in the Methodist graveyard with my bare feet
until Jerry pulled me off. But it didn't hurt me a bit and so I
couldn't get out of going to church. So I just decided I would
put my boots on and go that way. I can't see why it was so wrong
and I was so careful to wash my legs just as clean as my face,
but, anyway, father wasn't to blame for it. He was in the study
thinking of his sermon and other heavenly things, and I kept out
of his way before I went to Sunday School. Father does not look
at people's legs in church, so of course he did not notice mine,
but all the gossips did and talked about it, and that is why I am
writing this letter to the _Journal_ to explain. I suppose I did
very wrong, since everybody says so, and I am sorry and I am
wearing those awful stockings to punish myself, although father
bought me two nice new black pairs as soon as Mr. Flagg's store
opened on Monday morning. But it was all my fault, and if people
blame father for it after they read this they are not Christians
and so I do not mind what they say.

There is another thing I want to explain about before I stop.
Mary Vance told me that Mr. Evan Boyd is blaming the Lew Baxters
for stealing potatoes out of his field last fall. They did not
touch his potatoes. They are very poor, but they are honest. It
was us did it--Jerry and Carl and I. Una was not with us at the
time. We never thought it was stealing. We just wanted a few
potatoes to cook over a fire in Rainbow Valley one evening to eat
with our fried trout. Mr. Boyd's field was the nearest, just
between the valley and the village, so we climbed over his fence
and pulled up some stalks. The potatoes were awful small,
because Mr. Boyd did not put enough fertilizer on them and we had
to pull up a lot of stalks before we got enough, and then they
were not much bigger than marbles. Walter and Di Blythe helped
us eat them, but they did not come along until we had them cooked
and did not know where we got them, so they were not to blame at
all, only us. We didn't mean any harm, but if it was stealing we
are very sorry and we will pay Mr. Boyd for them if he will wait
until we grow up. We never have any money now because we are not
big enough to earn any, and Aunt Martha says it takes every cent
of poor father's salary, even when it is paid up regularly--and
it isn't often--to run this house. But Mr. Boyd must not blame
the Lew Baxters any more, when they were quite innocent, and give
them a bad name.
Yours respectfully,
FAITH MEREDITH."



CHAPTER XXVI. MISS CORNELIA GETS A NEW POINT OF VIEW

"Susan, after I'm dead I'm going to come back to earth every time
when the daffodils blow in this garden," said Anne rapturously.
"Nobody may see me, but I'll be here. If anybody is in the
garden at the time--I THINK I'll come on an evening just like
this, but it MIGHT be just at dawn--a lovely, pale-pinky spring
dawn--they'll just see the daffodils nodding wildly as if an
extra gust of wind had blown past them, but it will be _I_."

"Indeed, Mrs. Dr. dear, you will not be thinking of flaunting
worldly things like daffies after you are dead," said Susan.
"And I do NOT believe in ghosts, seen or unseen."

"Oh, Susan, I shall not be a ghost! That has such a horrible
sound. I shall just be ME. And I shall run around in the
twilight, whether it is morn or eve, and see all the spots I
love. Do you remember how badly I felt when I left our little
House of Dreams, Susan? I thought I could never love Ingleside
so well. But I do. I love every inch of the ground and every
stick and stone on it."

"I am rather fond of the place myself," said Susan, who would
have died if she had been removed from it, "but we must not set
our affections too much on earthly things, Mrs. Dr. dear. There
are such things as fires and earthquakes. We should always be
prepared. The Tom MacAllisters over-harbour were burned out
three nights ago. Some say Tom MacAllister set the house on fire
himself to get the insurance. That may or may not be. But I
advise the doctor to have our chimneys seen to at once. An ounce
of prevention is worth a pound of cure. But I see Mrs. Marshall
Elliott coming in at the gate, looking as if she had been sent
for and couldn't go."

"Anne dearie, have you seen the _Journal_ to-day?"

Miss Cornelia's voice was trembling, partly from emotion, partly
from the fact that she had hurried up from the store too fast and
lost her breath.

Anne bent over the daffodils to hide a smile. She and Gilbert
had laughed heartily and heartlessly over the front page of the
_Journal_ that day, but she knew that to dear Miss Cornelia it
was almost a tragedy, and she must not wound her feelings by any
display of levity.

"Isn't it dreadful? What IS to be done?" asked Miss Cornelia
despairingly. Miss Cornelia had vowed that she was done with
worrying over the pranks of the manse children, but she went on
worrying just the same.

Anne led the way to the veranda, where Susan was knitting, with
Shirley and Rilla conning their primers on either side. Susan
was already on her second pair of stockings for Faith. Susan
never worried over poor humanity. She did what in her lay for
its betterment and serenely left the rest to the Higher Powers.

"Cornelia Elliott thinks she was born to run this world, Mrs. Dr.
dear," she had once said to Anne, "and so she is always in a stew
over something. I have never thought _I_ was, and so I go calmly
along. Not but what it has sometimes occurred to me that things
might be run a little better than they are. But it is not for us
poor worms to nourish such thoughts. They only make us
uncomfortable and do not get us anywhere."

"I don't see that anything can be done--now--" said Anne, pulling
out a nice, cushiony chair for Miss Cornelia. "But how in the
world did Mr. Vickers allow that letter to be printed? Surely he
should have known better."

"Why, he's away, Anne dearie--he's been away to New Brunswick for
a week. And that young scalawag of a Joe Vickers is editing the
_Journal_ in his absence. Of course, Mr. Vickers would never
have put it in, even if he is a Methodist, but Joe would just
think it a good joke. As you say, I don't suppose there is
anything to be done now, only live it down. But if I ever get
Joe Vickers cornered somewhere I'll give him a talking to he
won't forget in a hurry. I wanted Marshall to stop our
subscription to the _Journal_ instantly, but he only laughed and
said that to-day's issue was the only one that had had anything
readable in it for a year. Marshall never will take anything
seriously--just like a man. Fortunately, Evan Boyd is like that,
too. He takes it as a joke and is laughing all over the place
about it. And he's another Methodist! As for Mrs. Burr of Upper
Glen, of course she will be furious and they will leave the
church. Not that it will be a great loss from any point of view.
The Methodists are quite welcome to THEM."

"It serves Mrs. Burr right," said Susan, who had an old feud with
the lady in question and had been hugely tickled over the
reference to her in Faith's letter. "She will find that she will
not be able to cheat the Methodist parson out of HIS salary with
bad yarn."

"The worst of it is, there's not much hope of things getting any
better," said Miss Cornelia gloomily. "As long as Mr. Meredith
was going to see Rosemary West I did hope the manse would soon
have a proper mistress. But that is all off. I suppose she
wouldn't have him on account of the children--at least, everybody
seems to think so."

"I do not believe that he ever asked her," said Susan, who could
not conceive of any one refusing a minister.

"Well, nobody knows anything about THAT. But one thing is
certain, he doesn't go there any longer. And Rosemary didn't
look well all the spring. I hope her visit to Kingsport will do
her good. She's been gone for a month and will stay another
month, I understand. I can't remember when Rosemary was away
from home before. She and Ellen could never bear to be parted.
But I understand Ellen insisted on her going this time. And
meanwhile Ellen and Norman Douglas are warming up the old soup."

"Is that really so?" asked Anne, laughing. "I heard a rumour of
it, but I hardly believed it."

"Believe it! You may believe it all right, Anne, dearie. Nobody
is in ignorance of it. Norman Douglas never left anybody in
doubt as to his intentions in regard to anything. He always did
his courting before the public. He told Marshall that he hadn't
thought about Ellen for years, but the first time he went to
church last fall he saw her and fell in love with her all over
again. He said he'd clean forgot how handsome she was. He
hadn't seen her for twenty years, if you can believe it. Of
course he never went to church, and Ellen never went anywhere
else round here. Oh, we all know what Norman means, but what
Ellen means is a different matter. I shan't take it upon me to
predict whether it will be a match or not."

"He jilted her once--but it seems that does not count with some
people, Mrs. Dr. dear," Susan remarked rather acidly.

"He jilted her in a fit of temper and repented it all his life,"
said Miss Cornelia. "That is different from a cold-blooded
jilting. For my part, I never detested Norman as some folks do.
He could never over-crow ME. I DO wonder what started him coming
to church. I have never been able to believe Mrs. Wilsons's
story that Faith Meredith went there and bullied him into it.
I've always intended to ask Faith herself, but I've never
happened to think of it just when I saw her. What influence
could SHE have over Norman Douglas? He was in the store when I
left, bellowing with laughter over that scandalous letter. You
could have heard him at Four Winds Point. 'The greatest girl in
the world,' he was shouting. 'She's that full of spunk she's
bursting with it. And all the old grannies want to tame her,
darn them. But they'll never be able to do it--never! They
might as well try to drown a fish. Boyd, see that you put more
fertilizer on your potatoes next year. Ho, ho, ho!' And then he
laughed till the roof shook."

"Mr. Douglas pays well to the salary, at least," remarked Susan.

"Oh, Norman isn't mean in some ways. He'd give a thousand
without blinking a lash, and roar like a Bull of Bashan if he had
to pay five cents too much for anything. Besides, he likes Mr.
Meredith's sermons, and Norman Douglas was always willing to
shell out if he got his brains tickled up. There is no more
Christianity about him than there is about a black, naked heathen
in Africa and never will be. But he's clever and well read and
he judges sermons as he would lectures. Anyhow, it's well he
backs up Mr. Meredith and the children as he does, for they'll
need friends more than ever after this. I am tired of making
excuses for them, believe ME."

"Do you know, dear Miss Cornelia," said Anne seriously, "I think
we have all been making too many excuses. It is very foolish and
we ought to stop it. I am going to tell you what I'd LIKE to do.
I shan't do it, of course"--Anne had noted a glint of alarm in
Susan's eye--"it would be too unconventional, and we must be
conventional or die, after we reach what is supposed to be a
dignified age. But I'd LIKE to do it. I'd like to call a
meeting of the Ladies Aid and W.M.S. and the Girls Sewing
Society, and include in the audience all and any Methodists who
have been criticizing the Merediths--although I do think if we
Presbyterians stopped criticizing and excusing we would find that
other denominations would trouble themselves very little about
our manse folks. I would say to them, 'Dear Christian
friends'--with marked emphasis on 'Christian'--I have something
to say to you and I want to say it good and hard, that you may
take it home and repeat it to your families. You Methodists need
not pity us, and we Presbyterians need not pity ourselves. We
are not going to do it any more. And we are going to say, boldly
and truthfully, to all critics and sympathizers, 'We are PROUD of
our minister and his family. Mr. Meredith is the best preacher
Glen St. Mary church ever had. Moreover, he is a sincere,
earnest teacher of truth and Christian charity. He is a faithful
friend, a judicious pastor in all essentials, and a refined,
scholarly, well-bred man. His family are worthy of him. Gerald
Meredith is the cleverest pupil in the Glen school, and Mr.
Hazard says that he is destined to a brilliant career. He is a
manly, honourable, truthful little fellow. Faith Meredith is a
beauty, and as inspiring and original as she is beautiful. There
is nothing commonplace about her. All the other girls in the
Glen put together haven't the vim, and wit, and joyousness and
'spunk' she has. She has not an enemy in the world. Every one
who knows her loves her. Of how many, children or grown-ups, can
that be said? Una Meredith is sweetness personified. She will
make a most lovable woman. Carl Meredith, with his love for ants
and frogs and spiders, will some day be a naturalist whom all
Canada--nay, all the world, will delight to honour. Do you know
of any other family in the Glen, or out of it, of whom all these
things can be said? Away with shamefaced excuses and apologies.
We REJOICE in our minister and his splendid boys and girls!"

Anne stopped, partly because she was out of breath after her
vehement speech and partly because she could not trust herself to
speak further in view of Miss Cornelia's face. That good lady was
staring helplessly at Anne, apparently engulfed in billows of new
ideas. But she came up with a gasp and struck out for shore
gallantly.

"Anne Blythe, I wish you WOULD call that meeting and say just
that! You've made me ashamed of myself, for one, and far be it
from me to refuse to admit it. OF COURSE, that is how we should
have talked--especially to the Methodists. And it's every word
of it true--every word. We've just been shutting our eyes to the
big worth-while things and squinting them on the little things
that don't really matter a pin's worth. Oh, Anne dearie, I can
see a thing when it's hammered into my head. No more apologizing
for Cornelia Marshall! _I_ shall hold MY head up after this,
believe ME--though I MAY talk things over with you as usual just
to relieve my feelings if the Merediths do any more startling
stunts. Even that letter I felt so bad about--why, it's only a
good joke after all, as Norman says. Not many girls would have
been cute enough to think of writing it--and all punctuated so
nicely and not one word misspelled. Just let me hear any
Methodist say one word about it--though all the same I'll never
forgive Joe Vickers--believe ME! Where are the rest of your
small fry to-night?"

"Walter and the twins are in Rainbow Valley. Jem is studying in
the garret."

"They are all crazy about Rainbow Valley. Mary Vance thinks it's
the only place in the world. She'd be off up here every evening
if I'd let her. But I don't encourage her in gadding. Besides,
I miss the creature when she isn't around, Anne dearie. I never
thought I'd get so fond of her. Not but what I see her faults
and try to correct them. But she has never said one saucy word
to me since she came to my house and she is a GREAT help--for
when all is said and done, Anne dearie, I am not so young as I
once was, and there is no sense denying it. I was fifty-nine my
last birthday. I don't FEEL it, but there is no gainsaying the
Family Bible."



CHAPTER XXVII. A SACRED CONCERT

In spite of Miss Cornelia's new point of view she could not help
feeling a little disturbed over the next performance of the manse
children. In public she carried off the situation splendidly,
saying to all the gossips the substance of what Anne had said in
daffodil time, and saying it so pointedly and forcibly that her
hearers found themselves feeling rather foolish and began to
think that, after all, they were making too much of a childish
prank. But in private Miss Cornelia allowed herself the relief of
bemoaning it to Anne.

"Anne dearie, they had a CONCERT IN THE GRAVEYARD last Thursday
evening, while the Methodist prayer meeting was going on. There
they sat, on Hezekiah Pollock's tombstone, and sang for a solid
hour. Of course, I understand it was mostly hymns they sang, and
it wouldn't have been quite so bad if they'd done nothing else.
But I'm told they finished up with _Polly Wolly Doodle_ at full
length--and that just when Deacon Baxter was praying."

"I was there that night," said Susan," and, although I did not
say anything about it to you, Mrs. Dr. dear, I could not help
thinking that it was a great pity they picked that particular
evening. It was truly blood-curdling to hear them sitting there
in that abode of the dead, shouting that frivolous song at the
tops of their lungs."

"I don't know what YOU were doing in a Methodist prayer meeting,"
said Miss Cornelia acidly.

"I have never found that Methodism was catching," retorted Susan
stiffly. "And, as I was going to say when I was interrupted,
badly as I felt, I did NOT give in to the Methodists. When Mrs.
Deacon Baxter said, as we came out, 'What a disgraceful
exhibition!' _I_ said, looking her fairly in the eye, 'They are
all beautiful singers, and none of YOUR choir, Mrs. Baxter, ever
bother themselves coming out to your prayer meeting, it seems.
Their voices appear to be in tune only on Sundays!' She was
quite meek and I felt that I had snubbed her properly. But I
could have done it much more thoroughly, Mrs. Dr. dear, if only
they had left out _Polly Wolly Doodle_. It is truly terrible to
think of that being sung in a graveyard."

"Some of those dead folks sang _Polly Wolly Doodle_ when they
were living, Susan. Perhaps they like to hear it yet," suggested
Gilbert.

Miss Cornelia looked at him reproachfully and made up her mind
that, on some future occasion, she would hint to Anne that the
doctor should be admonished not to say such things. They might
injure his practice. People might get it into their heads that
he wasn't orthodox. To be sure, Marshall said even worse things
habitually, but then HE was not a public man.

"I understand that their father was in his study all the time,
with his windows open, but never noticed them at all. Of course,
he was lost in a book as usual. But I spoke to him about it
yesterday, when he called."

"How could you dare, Mrs. Marshall Elliott?" asked Susan
rebukingly.

"Dare! It's time somebody dared something. Why, they say he
knows nothing about that letter of Faith's to the JOURNAL because
nobody liked to mention it to him. He never looks at a JOURNAL
of course. But I thought he ought to know of this to prevent any
such performances in future. He said he would 'discuss it with
them.' But of course he'd never think of it again after he got
out of our gate. That man has no sense of humour, Anne, believe
ME. He preached last Sunday on 'How to Bring up Children.' A
beautiful sermon it was, too--and everybody in church thinking
'what a pity you can't practise what you preach.'"

Miss Cornelia did Mr. Meredith an injustice in thinking he would
soon forget what she had told him. He went home much disturbed
and when the children came from Rainbow Valley that night, at a
much later hour than they should have been prowling in it, he
called them into his study.

They went in, somewhat awed. It was such an unusual thing for
their father to do. What could he be going to say to them? They
racked their memories for any recent transgression of sufficient
importance, but could not recall any. Carl had spilled a
saucerful of jam on Mrs. Peter Flagg's silk dress two evenings
before, when, at Aunt Martha's invitation, she had stayed to
supper. But Mr. Meredith had not noticed it, and Mrs. Flagg, who
was a kindly soul, had made no fuss. Besides, Carl had been
punished by having to wear Una's dress all the rest of the
evening.

Una suddenly thought that perhaps her father meant to tell them
that he was going to marry Miss West. Her heart began to beat
violently and her legs trembled. Then she saw that Mr. Meredith
looked very stern and sorrowful. No, it could not be that.

"Children," said Mr. Meredith, "I have heard something that has
pained me very much. Is it true that you sat out in the
graveyard all last Thursday evening and sang ribald songs while a
prayer meeting was being held in the Methodist church?"

"Great Caesar, Dad, we forgot all about it being their prayer
meeting night," exclaimed Jerry in dismay.

"Then it is true--you did do this thing?"

"Why, Dad, I don't know what you mean by ribald songs. We sang
hymns--it was a sacred concert, you know. What harm was that? I
tell you we never thought about it's being Methodist prayer
meeting night. They used to have their meeting Tuesday nights
and since they've changed to Thursdays it's hard to remember."

"Did you sing nothing but hymns?"

"Why," said Jerry, turning red, "we DID sing _Polly Wolly Doodle_
at the last. Faith said, 'Let's have something cheerful to wind
up with.' But we didn't mean any harm, Father--truly we didn't."

"The concert was my idea, Father," said Faith, afraid that Mr.
Meredith might blame Jerry too much. "You know the Methodists
themselves had a sacred concert in their church three Sunday
nights ago. I thought it would be good fun to get one up in
imitation of it. Only they had prayers at theirs, and we left
that part out, because we heard that people thought it awful for
us to pray in a graveyard. YOU were sitting in here all the
time," she added, "and never said a word to us."

"I did not notice what you were doing. That is no excuse for me,
of course. I am more to blame than you--I realize that. But why
did you sing that foolish song at the end?"

"We didn't think," muttered Jerry, feeling that it was a very
lame excuse, seeing that he had lectured Faith so strongly in the
Good-Conduct Club sessions for her lack of thought. "We're
sorry, Father--truly, we are. Pitch into us hard--we deserve a
regular combing down."

But Mr. Meredith did no combing down or pitching into. He sat
down and gathered his small culprits close to him and talked a
little to them, tenderly and wisely. They were overcome with
remorse and shame, and felt that they could never be so silly and
thoughtless again.

"We've just got to punish ourselves good and hard for this,"
whispered Jerry as they crept upstairs. "We'll have a session of
the Club first thing tomorrow and decide how we'll do it. I
never saw father so cut up. But I wish to goodness the
Methodists would stick to one night for their prayer meeting and
not wander all over the week."

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