The Complete Short Stories of Lucy Maud Montgomery. Lucy Maud Montgomery

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ in a good, common puss that she did in that spoiled beauty. But a Persian cat with a recorded pedigree and a market value of one hundred dollars tickled Aunt Cynthia’s pride of possession to such an extent that she deluded herself into believing that the animal was really the apple of her eye.

      It had been presented to her when a kitten by a missionary nephew who had brought it all the way home from Persia; and for the next three years Aunt Cynthia’s household existed to wait on that cat, hand and foot. It was snow-white, with a bluish-gray spot on the tip of its tail; and it was blue-eyed and deaf and delicate. Aunt Cynthia was always worrying lest it should take cold and die. Ismay and I used to wish that it would — we were so tired of hearing about it and its whims. But we did not say so to Aunt Cynthia. She would probably never have spoken to us again and there was no wisdom in offending Aunt Cynthia. When you have an unencumbered aunt, with a fat bank account, it is just as well to keep on good terms with her, if you can. Besides, we really liked Aunt Cynthia very much — at times. Aunt Cynthia was one of those rather exasperating people who nag at and find fault with you until you think you are justified in hating them, and who then turn round and do something so really nice and kind for you that you feel as if you were compelled to love them dutifully instead.

      So we listened meekly when she discoursed on Fatima — the cat’s name was Fatima — and, if it was wicked of us to wish for the latter’s decease, we were well punished for it later on.

      One day, in November, Aunt Cynthia came sailing out to Spencervale. She really came in a phaeton, drawn by a fat gray pony, but somehow Aunt Cynthia always gave you the impression of a full rigged ship coming gallantly on before a favorable wind.

      That was a Jonah day for us all through. Everything had gone wrong. Ismay had spilled grease on her velvet coat, and the fit of the new blouse I was making was hopelessly askew, and the kitchen stove smoked and the bread was sour. Moreover, Huldah Jane Keyson, our tried and trusty old family nurse and cook and general “boss,” had what she called the “realagy” in her shoulder; and, though Huldah Jane is as good an old creature as ever lived, when she has the “realagy” other people who are in the house want to get out of it and, if they can’t, feel about as comfortable as St. Lawrence on his gridiron.

      And on top of this came Aunt Cynthia’s call and request.

      “Dear me,” said Aunt Cynthia, sniffing, “don’t I smell smoke?

       You girls must manage your range very badly. Mine never smokes.

       But it is no more than one might expect when two girls try to

       keep house without a man about the place.”

      “We get along very well without a man about the place,” I said loftily. Max hadn’t been in for four whole days and, though nobody wanted to see him particularly, I couldn’t help wondering why. “Men are nuisances.”

      “I dare say you would like to pretend you think so,” said Aunt Cynthia, aggravatingly. “But no woman ever does really think so, you know. I imagine that pretty Anne Shirley, who is visiting Ella Kimball, doesn’t. I saw her and Dr. Irving out walking this afternoon, looking very well satisfied with themselves. If you dilly-dally much longer, Sue, you will let Max slip through your fingers yet.”

      That was a tactful thing to say to ME, who had refused Max Irving so often that I had lost count. I was furious, and so I smiled most sweetly on my maddening aunt.

      “Dear Aunt, how amusing of you,” I said, smoothly. “You talk as if I wanted Max.”

      “So you do,” said Aunt Cynthia.

      “If so, why should I have refused him time and again?” I asked, smilingly. Right well Aunt Cynthia knew I had. Max always told her.

      “Goodness alone knows why,” said Aunt Cynthia, “but you may do it once too often and find yourself taken at your word. There is something very fascinating about this Anne Shirley.”

      “Indeed there is,” I assented. “She has the loveliest eyes I ever saw. She would be just the wife for Max, and I hope he will marry her.”

      “Humph,” said Aunt Cynthia. “Well, I won’t entice you into telling any more fibs. And I didn’t drive out here to-day in all this wind to talk sense into you concerning Max. I’m going to Halifax for two months and I want you to take charge of Fatima for me, while I am away.”

      “Fatima!” I exclaimed.

      “Yes. I don’t dare to trust her with the servants. Mind you always warm her milk before you give it to her, and don’t on any account let her run out of doors.”

      I looked at Ismay and Ismay looked at me. We knew we were in for it. To refuse would mortally offend Aunt Cynthia. Besides, if I betrayed any unwillingness, Aunt Cynthia would be sure to put it down to grumpiness over what she had said about Max, and rub it in for years. But I ventured to ask, “What if anything happens to her while you are away?”

      “It is to prevent that, I’m leaving her with you,” said Aunt Cynthia. “You simply must not let anything happen to her. It will do you good to have a little responsibility. And you will have a chance to find out what an adorable creature Fatima really is. Well, that is all settled. I’ll send Fatima out tomorrow.”

      “You can take care of that horrid Fatima beast yourself,” said Ismay, when the door closed behind Aunt Cynthia. “I won’t touch her with a yard-stick. You had no business to say we’d take her.”

      “Did I say we would take her?” I demanded, crossly. “Aunt Cynthia took our consent for granted. And you know, as well as I do, we couldn’t have refused. So what is the use of being grouchy?”

      “If anything happens to her Aunt Cynthia will hold us responsible,” said Ismay darkly.

      “Do you think Anne Shirley is really engaged to Gilbert Blythe?”

       I asked curiously.

      “I’ve heard that she was,” said Ismay, absently. “Does she eat anything but milk? Will it do to give her mice?”

      “Oh, I guess so. But do you think Max has really fallen in love with her?”

      “I dare say. What a relief it will be for you if he has.”

      “Oh, of course,” I said, frostily. “Anne Shirley or Anne Anybody Else, is perfectly welcome to Max if she wants him. I certainly do not. Ismay Meade, if that stove doesn’t stop smoking I shall fly into bits. This is a detestable day. I hate that creature!”

      “Oh, you shouldn’t talk like that, when you don’t even know her,” protested Ismay. “Every one says Anne Shirley is lovely—”

      “I was talking about Fatima,” I cried in a rage.

      “Oh!” said Ismay.

      Ismay is stupid at times. I thought the way she said “Oh” was inexcusably stupid.

      Fatima arrived the next day. Max brought her out in a covered basket, lined with padded crimson satin. Max likes cats and Aunt Cynthia. He explained how we were to treat Fatima and when Ismay had gone out of the room — Ismay always went out of the room when she knew I particularly wanted her to remain — he proposed to me again. Of course I said no, as usual, but I was rather pleased. Max had been proposing to me about every two СКАЧАТЬ