Miss Harris had heard Matthew Cuthbert called odd.
She now concluded that he was entirely crazy.
“We only keep hayseed in the spring,” she explained loftily.
“We’ve none on hand just now.”
“Oh, certainly—certainly—just as you say,” stammered unhappy Matthew, seizing the rake and making for the door.
At the threshold he recollected that he had not paid for it and he turned miserably back.
While Miss Harris was counting out his change he rallied his powers for a final desperate attempt.
“Well now—if it isn’t too much trouble—I might as well—that is—I’d like to look at—at—some sugar.”
“White or brown?” queried Miss Harris patiently.
“Oh—well now—brown,” said Matthew feebly.
“There’s a barrel of it over there,” said Miss Harris, shaking her bangles at it.
“It’s the only kind we have.”
“I’ll—I’ll take twenty pounds of it,” said Matthew, with beads of perspiration standing on his forehead.
Matthew had driven halfway home before he was his own man again.
It had been a gruesome experience, but it served him right, he thought, for committing the heresy of going to a strange store.
When he reached home he hid the rake in the tool house, but the sugar he carried in to Marilla.
“Brown sugar!” exclaimed Marilla.
“Whatever possessed you to get so much?
You know I never use it except for the hired man’s porridge or black fruit cake.
Jerry’s gone and I’ve made my cake long ago.
It’s not good sugar, either—it’s coarse and dark—William Blair doesn’t usually keep sugar like that.”
“I—I thought it might come in handy sometime,” said Matthew, making good his escape.
When Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was required to cope with the situation.
Marilla was out of the question.
Matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once.
Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would Matthew have dared to ask advice.
To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly, and that good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man’s hands.
“Pick out a dress for you to give Anne?
To be sure I will.
I’m going to Carmody tomorrow and I’ll attend to it.
Have you something particular in mind?
No?
Well, I’ll just go by my own judgment then.
I believe a nice rich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has some new gloria in that’s real pretty.
Perhaps you’d like me to make it up for her, too, seeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would probably get wind of it before the time and spoil the surprise?
Well, I’ll do it.
No, it isn’t a mite of trouble.
I like sewing.
I’ll make it to fit my niece, Jenny Gillis, for she and Anne are as like as two peas as far as figure goes.”
“Well now, I’m much obliged,” said Matthew, “and—and—I dunno—but I’d like—I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what they used to be.
If it wouldn’t be asking too much I—I’d like them made in the new way.”
“Puffs?
Of course.
You needn’t worry a speck more about it, Matthew.
I’ll make it up in the very latest fashion,” said Mrs. Lynde.
To herself she added when Matthew had gone: “It’ll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something decent for once.
The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous, that’s what, and I’ve ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times.
I’ve held my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn’t want advice and she thinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for all she’s an old maid.
But that’s always the way.
Folks that has brought up children know that there’s no hard and fast method in the world that’ll suit every child.