“Gilbert Blythe is going to teach, too.
He has to.
His father can’t afford to send him to college next year, after all, so he means to earn his own way through.
I expect he’ll get the school here if Miss Ames decides to leave.”
Anne felt a queer little sensation of dismayed surprise.
She had not known this; she had expected that Gilbert would be going to Redmond also.
What would she do without their inspiring rivalry?
Would not work, even at a coeducational college with a real degree in prospect, be rather flat without her friend the enemy?
The next morning at breakfast it suddenly struck Anne that Matthew was not looking well. Surely he was much grayer than he had been a year before.
“Marilla,” she said hesitatingly when he had gone out, “is Matthew quite well?”
“No, he isn’t,” said Marilla in a troubled tone.
“He’s had some real bad spells with his heart this spring and he won’t spare himself a mite.
I’ve been real worried about him, but he’s some better this while back and we’ve got a good hired man, so I’m hoping he’ll kind of rest and pick up.
Maybe he will now you’re home.
You always cheer him up.”
Anne leaned across the table and took Marilla’s face in her hands.
“You are not looking as well yourself as I’d like to see you, Marilla.
You look tired.
I’m afraid you’ve been working too hard.
You must take a rest, now that I’m home.
I’m just going to take this one day off to visit all the dear old spots and hunt up my old dreams, and then it will be your turn to be lazy while I do the work.”
Marilla smiled affectionately at her girl.
“It’s not the work—it’s my head.
I’ve got a pain so often now—behind my eyes.
Doctor Spencer’s been fussing with glasses, but they don’t do me any good.
There is a distinguished oculist coming to the Island the last of June and the doctor says I must see him.
I guess I’ll have to.
I can’t read or sew with any comfort now. Well, Anne, you’ve done real well at Queen’s I must say.
To take First Class License in one year and win the Avery scholarship—well, well, Mrs. Lynde says pride goes before a fall and she doesn’t believe in the higher education of women at all; she says it unfits them for woman’s true sphere.
I don’t believe a word of it.
Speaking of Rachel reminds me—did you hear anything about the Abbey Bank lately, Anne?”
“I heard it was shaky,” answered Anne.
“Why?”
“That is what Rachel said.
She was up here one day last week and said there was some talk about it.
Matthew felt real worried.
All we have saved is in that bank—every penny.
I wanted Matthew to put it in the Savings Bank in the first place, but old Mr. Abbey was a great friend of father’s and he’d always banked with him.
Matthew said any bank with him at the head of it was good enough for anybody.”
“I think he has only been its nominal head for many years,” said Anne.
“He is a very old man; his nephews are really at the head of the institution.”
“Well, when Rachel told us that, I wanted Matthew to draw our money right out and he said he’d think of it.
But Mr. Russell told him yesterday that the bank was all right.”
Anne had her good day in the companionship of the outdoor world. She never forgot that day; it was so bright and golden and fair, so free from shadow and so lavish of blossom.
Anne spent some of its rich hours in the orchard; she went to the Dryad’s Bubble and Willowmere and Violet Vale; she called at the manse and had a satisfying talk with Mrs. Allan; and finally in the evening she went with Matthew for the cows, through Lovers’ Lane to the back pasture.
The woods were all gloried through with sunset and the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hill gaps in the west.
Matthew walked slowly with bent head; Anne, tall and erect, suited her springing step to his.
“You’ve been working too hard today, Matthew,” she said reproachfully.
“Why won’t you take things easier?”
“Well now, I can’t seem to,” said Matthew, as he opened the yard gate to let the cows through.