It’s past eight.”
“There’s just one more thing, Marilla,” said Anne, with the air of producing the last shot in her locker.
“Mrs. Barry told Diana that we might sleep in the spare-room bed.
Think of the honor of your little Anne being put in the spare-room bed.”
“It’s an honor you’ll have to get along without.
Go to bed, Anne, and don’t let me hear another word out of you.”
When Anne, with tears rolling over her cheeks, had gone sorrowfully upstairs, Matthew, who had been apparently sound asleep on the lounge during the whole dialogue, opened his eyes and said decidedly:
“Well now, Marilla, I think you ought to let Anne go.”
“I don’t then,” retorted Marilla.
“Who’s bringing this child up, Matthew, you or me?”
“Well now, you,” admitted Matthew.
“Don’t interfere then.”
“Well now, I ain’t interfering.
It ain’t interfering to have your own opinion.
And my opinion is that you ought to let Anne go.”
“You’d think I ought to let Anne go to the moon if she took the notion, I’ve no doubt” was Marilla’s amiable rejoinder.
“I might have let her spend the night with Diana, if that was all.
But I don’t approve of this concert plan.
She’d go there and catch cold like as not, and have her head filled up with nonsense and excitement. It would unsettle her for a week.
I understand that child’s disposition and what’s good for it better than you, Matthew.”
“I think you ought to let Anne go,” repeated Matthew firmly.
Argument was not his strong point, but holding fast to his opinion certainly was.
Marilla gave a gasp of helplessness and took refuge in silence.
The next morning, when Anne was washing the breakfast dishes in the pantry, Matthew paused on his way out to the barn to say to Marilla again:
“I think you ought to let Anne go, Marilla.”
For a moment Marilla looked things not lawful to be uttered.
Then she yielded to the inevitable and said tartly:
“Very well, she can go, since nothing else ‘ll please you.”
Anne flew out of the pantry, dripping dishcloth in hand.
“Oh, Marilla, Marilla, say those blessed words again.”
“I guess once is enough to say them.
This is Matthew’s doings and I wash my hands of it.
If you catch pneumonia sleeping in a strange bed or coming out of that hot hall in the middle of the night, don’t blame me, blame Matthew.
Anne Shirley, you’re dripping greasy water all over the floor.
I never saw such a careless child.”
“Oh, I know I’m a great trial to you, Marilla,” said Anne repentantly.
“I make so many mistakes.
But then just think of all the mistakes I don’t make, although I might.
I’ll get some sand and scrub up the spots before I go to school.
Oh, Marilla, my heart was just set on going to that concert.
I never was to a concert in my life, and when the other girls talk about them in school I feel so out of it.
You didn’t know just how I felt about it, but you see Matthew did.
Matthew understands me, and it’s so nice to be understood, Marilla.”
Anne was too excited to do herself justice as to lessons that morning in school.
Gilbert Blythe spelled her down in class and left her clear out of sight in mental arithmetic.
Anne’s consequent humiliation was less than it might have been, however, in view of the concert and the spare-room bed.
She and Diana talked so constantly about it all day that with a stricter teacher than Mr. Phillips dire disgrace must inevitably have been their portion.
Anne felt that she could not have borne it if she had not been going to the concert, for nothing else was discussed that day in school.
The Avonlea Debating Club, which met fortnightly all winter, had had several smaller free entertainments; but this was to be a big affair, admission ten cents, in aid of the library.
The Avonlea young people had been practicing for weeks, and all the scholars were especially interested in it by reason of older brothers and sisters who were going to take part.