“It is perfectly amazing, the price they pay for such lies, that’s what,” she said,
half-proudly, half-severely.
All things considered, it was a relief when going-away time came. And it was
very jolly to be back at Redmond, a wise, experienced Soph with hosts of friends
to greet on the merry opening day. Pris and Stella and Gilbert were there, Charlie
Sloane, looking more important than ever a Sophomore looked before, Phil, with
the Alec-and-Alonzo question still unsettled, and Moody Spurgeon MacPherson.
Moody Spurgeon had been teaching school ever since leaving Queen’s, but his
mother had concluded it was high time he gave it up and turned his attention to
learning how to be a minister. Poor Moody Spurgeon fell on hard luck at the
very beginning of his college career. Half a dozen ruthless Sophs, who were
among his fellow-boarders, swooped down upon him one night and shaved half
of his head. In this guise the luckless Moody Spurgeon had to go about until his
hair grew again. He told Anne bitterly that there were times when he had his
doubts as to whether he was really called to be a minister.
Aunt Jamesina did not come until the girls had Patty’s Place ready for her.
Miss Patty had sent the key to Anne, with a letter in which she said Gog and
Magog were packed in a box under the spare-room bed, but might be taken out
when wanted; in a postscript she added that she hoped the girls would be careful
about putting up pictures. The living room had been newly papered five years
before and she and Miss Maria did not want any more holes made in that new
paper than was absolutely necessary. For the rest she trusted everything to Anne.
How those girls enjoyed putting their nest in order! As Phil said, it was almost
as good as getting married. You had the fun of homemaking without the bother
of a husband. All brought something with them to adorn or make comfortable
the little house. Pris and Phil and Stella had knick-knacks and pictures galore,
which latter they proceeded to hang according to taste, in reckless disregard of
Miss Patty’s new paper.
“We’ll putty the holes up when we leave, dear—she’ll never know,” they said
to protesting Anne.
Diana had given Anne a pine needle cushion and Miss Ada had given both her
and Priscilla a fearfully and wonderfully embroidered one. Marilla had sent a big
box of preserves, and darkly hinted at a hamper for Thanksgiving, and Mrs.
Lynde gave Anne a patchwork quilt and loaned her five more.
“You take them,” she said authoritatively. “They might as well be in use as
packed away in that trunk in the garret for moths to gnaw.”
No moths would ever have ventured near those quilts, for they reeked of