Rainbow Valley by Lucy Maud Montgomery (best ereader for pc TXT) đź“•
"There are four children, you say?" asked Anne, beginning tomother them already in her heart.
"Yes. They run up just like the steps of a stair. Gerald's theoldest. He's twelve and they call him Jerry. He's a clever boy.Faith is eleven. She is a regular tomboy but pretty as apicture, I must say."
"She looks like an angel but she is a holy terror for mischief,Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan solemnly. "I was at the manse onenight last week and Mrs. James Millison was there, too. She hadbrought them up a dozen eggs and a little pail of milk--a VERYlittle pail, Mrs. Dr. dear. Faith took them and whisked down thecellar with them. Near the bottom of the stairs she caught hertoe and fell the rest of the way, milk and eggs and all. You canimagine the re
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“This is the last of our bread,” said Faith, “and the ditto is done. If Aunt Martha doesn’t get better soon WHAT will we do?”
“We can buy some bread in the village and there’s the codfish Mary dried,” said Una. “But we don’t know how to cook it.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” laughed Faith. “You just boil it.”
Boil it they did; but as it did not occur to them to soak it beforehand it was too salty to eat. That night they were very hungry; but by the following day their troubles were over. Sunshine returned to the world; Carl was well and Aunt Martha’s misery left her as suddenly as it had come; the butcher called at the manse and chased famine away. To crown all, the Blythes returned home, and that evening they and the manse children and Mary Vance kept sunset tryst once more in Rainbow Valley, where the daisies were floating upon the grass like spirits of the dew and the bells on the Tree Lovers rang like fairy chimes in the scented twilight.
CHAPTER XI. A DREADFUL DISCOVERY
“Well, you kids have gone and done it now,” was Mary’s greeting, as she joined them in the Valley. Miss Cornelia was up at Ingleside, holding agonized conclave with Anne and Susan, and Mary hoped that the session might be a long one, for it was all of two weeks since she had been allowed to revel with her chums in the dear valley of rainbows.
“Done what?” demanded everybody but Walter, who was day-dreaming as usual.
“It’s you manse young ones, I mean,” said Mary. “It was just awful of you. I wouldn’t have done such a thing for the world, and I weren’t brought up in a manse—weren’t brought up ANYWHERE—just COME up.”
“What have WE done?” asked Faith blankly.
“Done! You’d BETTER ask! The talk is something terrible. I expect it’s ruined your father in this congregation. He’ll never be able to live it down, poor man! Everybody blames him for it, and that isn’t fair. But nothing IS fair in this world. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
“What HAVE we done?” asked Una again, despairingly. Faith said nothing, but her eyes flashed golden-brown scorn at Mary.
“Oh, don’t pretend innocence,” said Mary, witheringly. “Everybody knows what you have done.”
“I don’t,” interjected Jem Blythe indignantly. “Don’t let me catch you making Una cry, Mary Vance. What are you talking about?”
“I s’pose you don’t know, since you’re just back from up west,” said Mary, somewhat subdued. Jem could always manage her. “But everybody else knows, you’d better believe.”
“Knows what?”
“That Faith and Una stayed home from Sunday School last Sunday and CLEANED HOUSE.”
“We didn’t,” cried Faith and Una, in passionate denial.
Mary looked haughtily at them.
“I didn’t suppose you’d deny it, after the way you’ve combed ME down for lying,” she said. “What’s the good of saying you didn’t? Everybody knows you DID. Elder Clow and his wife saw you. Some people say it will break up the church, but I don’t go that far. You ARE nice ones.”
Nan Blythe stood up and put her arms around the dazed Faith and Una.
“They were nice enough to take you in and feed you and clothe you when you were starving in Mr. Taylor’s barn, Mary Vance,” she said. “You are VERY grateful, I must say.”
“I AM grateful,” retorted Mary. “You’d know it if you’d heard me standing up for Mr. Meredith through thick and thin. I’ve blistered my tongue talking for him this week. I’ve said again and again that he isn’t to blame if his young ones did clean house on Sunday. He was away—and they knew better.”
“But we didn’t,” protested Una. “It was MONDAY we cleaned house. Wasn’t it, Faith?”
“Of course it was,” said Faith, with flashing eyes. “We went to Sunday School in spite of the rain—and no one came—not even Elder Abraham, for all his talk about fair-weather Christians.”
“It was Saturday it rained,” said Mary. “Sunday was as fine as silk. I wasn’t at Sunday School because I had toothache, but every one else was and they saw all your stuff out on the lawn. And Elder Abraham and Mrs. Elder Abraham saw you shaking rugs in the graveyard.”
Una sat down among the daisies and began to cry.
“Look here,” said Jem resolutely, “this thing must be cleared up. SOMEBODY has made a mistake. Sunday WAS fine, Faith. How could you have thought Saturday was Sunday?”
“Prayer-meeting was Thursday night,” cried Faith, “and Adam flew into the soup-pot on Friday when Aunt Martha’s cat chased him, and spoiled our dinner; and Saturday there was a snake in the cellar and Carl caught it with a forked stick and carried it out, and Sunday it rained. So there!”
“Prayer-meeting was Wednesday night,” said Mary. “Elder Baxter was to lead and he couldn’t go Thursday night and it was changed to Wednesday. You were just a day out, Faith Meredith, and you DID work on Sunday.”
Suddenly Faith burst into a peal of laughter.
“I suppose we did. What a joke!”
“It isn’t much of a joke for your father,” said Mary sourly.
“It’ll be all right when people find out it was just a mistake,” said Faith carelessly. “We’ll explain.”
“You can explain till you’re black in the face,” said Mary, “but a lie like that’ll travel faster’n further than you ever will. I’VE seen more of the world than you and I know. Besides, there are plenty of folks won’t believe it was a mistake.”
“They will if I tell them,” said Faith.
“You can’t tell everybody,” said Mary. “No, I tell you you’ve disgraced your father.”
Una’s evening was spoiled by this dire reflection, but Faith refused to be made uncomfortable. Besides, she had a plan that would put everything right. So she put the past with its mistake behind her and gave herself over to enjoyment of the present. Jem went away to fish and Walter came out of his reverie and proceeded to describe the woods of heaven. Mary pricked up her ears and listened respectfully. Despite her awe of Walter she revelled in his “book talk.” It always gave her a delightful sensation. Walter had been reading his Coleridge that day, and he pictured a heaven where
Where blossomed many an incense bearing tree,
And there were forests ancient as the hills
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.”
“I didn’t know there was any woods in heaven,” said Mary, with a long breath. “I thought it was all streets—and streets—AND streets.”
“Of course there are woods,” said Nan. “Mother can’t live without trees and I can’t, so what would be the use of going to heaven if there weren’t any trees?”
“There are cities, too,” said the young dreamer, “splendid cities—coloured just like the sunset, with sapphire towers and rainbow domes. They are built of gold and diamonds—whole streets of diamonds, flashing like the sun. In the squares there are crystal fountains kissed by the light, and everywhere the asphodel blooms—the flower of heaven.”
“Fancy!” said Mary. “I saw the main street in Charlottetown once and I thought it was real grand, but I s’pose it’s nothing to heaven. Well, it all sounds gorgeous the way you tell it, but won’t it be kind of dull, too?”
“Oh, I guess we can have some fun when the angels’ backs are turned,” said Faith comfortably.
“Heaven is ALL fun,” declared Di.
“The Bible doesn’t say so,” cried Mary, who had read so much of the Bible on Sunday afternoons under Miss Cornelia’s eye that she now considered herself quite an authority on it.
“Mother says the Bible language is figurative,” said Nan.
“Does that mean that it isn’t true?” asked Mary hopefully.
“No—not exactly—but I think it means that heaven will be just like what you’d like it to be.”
“I’d like it to be just like Rainbow Valley,” said Mary, “with all you kids to gas and play with. THAT’S good enough for me. Anyhow, we can’t go to heaven till we’re dead and maybe not then, so what’s the use of worrying? Here’s Jem with a string of trout and it’s my turn to fry them.”
“We ought to know more about heaven than Walter does when we’re the minister’s family,” said Una, as they walked home that night.
“We KNOW just as much, but Walter can IMAGINE,” said Faith. “Mrs. Elliott says he gets it from his mother.”
“I do wish we hadn’t made that mistake about Sunday,” sighed Una.
“Don’t worry over that. I’ve thought of a great plan to explain so that everybody will know,” said Faith. “Just wait till to-morrow night.”
CHAPTER XII. AN EXPLANATION AND A DARE
The Rev. Dr. Cooper preached in Glen St. Mary the next evening and the Presbyterian Church was crowded with people from near and far. The Reverend Doctor was reputed to be a very eloquent speaker; and, bearing in mind the old dictum that a minister should take his best clothes to the city and his best sermons to the country, he delivered a very scholarly and impressive discourse. But when the folks went home that night it was not of Dr. Cooper’s sermon they talked. They had completely forgotten all about it.
Dr. Cooper had concluded with a fervent appeal, had wiped the perspiration from his massive brow, had said “Let us pray” as he was famed for saying it, and had duly prayed. There was a slight pause. In Glen St. Mary church the old fashion of taking the collection after the sermon instead of before still held—mainly because the Methodists had adopted the new fashion first, and Miss Cornelia and Elder Clow would not hear of following where Methodists had led. Charles Baxter and Thomas Douglas, whose duty it was to pass the plates, were on the point of rising to their feet. The organist had got out the music of her anthem and the choir had cleared its throat. Suddenly Faith Meredith rose in the manse pew, walked up to the pulpit platform, and faced the amazed audience.
Miss Cornelia half rose in her seat and then sat down again. Her pew was far back and it occurred to her that whatever Faith meant to do or say would be half done or said before she could reach her. There was no use making the exhibition worse than it had to be. With an anguished glance at Mrs. Dr. Blythe, and another at Deacon Warren of the Methodist Church, Miss Cornelia resigned herself to another scandal.
“If the child was only dressed decently itself,” she groaned in spirit.
Faith, having spilled ink on her good dress, had serenely put on an old one of faded pink print. A caticornered rent in the skirt had been darned with scarlet tracing cotton and the hem had been let down, showing a bright strip of unfaded pink around the skirt. But Faith was not thinking of her clothes at all. She was feeling suddenly nervous. What had seemed easy in imagination was rather hard in reality. Confronted by all those staring questioning eyes Faith’s courage almost failed her. The lights were so bright, the silence so awesome. She thought she could not speak after all. But she MUST—her father MUST be cleared of suspicion. Only—the words would NOT come.
Una’s little pearl-pure face gleamed up at her beseechingly from the manse pew. The Blythe children were lost in amazement. Back under the gallery Faith saw the sweet graciousness of Miss Rosemary West’s smile and the amusement of Miss Ellen’s. But none of these helped her. It was Bertie Shakespeare Drew who saved the situation. Bertie Shakespeare sat in the front seat of the gallery and he made a derisive face at Faith. Faith promptly made a dreadful one back at him, and, in her anger over being grimaced at by Bertie Shakespeare, forgot her stage fright. She found her voice and spoke out clearly and bravely.
“I want
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