letting the tea boil. Charlotta the Fourth is a very good girl but she WILL let the tea boil.”
Miss Lavendar tripped off to the kitchen on hospitable thoughts intent and the girls found their way up to the spare room, an apartment as white as its door, lighted by the ivy-hung dormer window and looking, as Anne said, like the place where happy dreams grew.
“This is quite an adventure, isn’t it?” said Diana. “And isn’t Miss Lavendar sweet, if she IS a little odd? She doesn’t look a bit like an old maid.”
“She looks just as music sounds, I think,” answered Anne.
When they went down Miss Lavendar was carrying in the teapot, and behind her, looking vastly pleased, was Charlotta the Fourth, with a plate of hot biscuits.
“Now, you must tell me your names,” said Miss Lavendar. “I’m so glad you are young girls. I love young girls. It’s so easy to pretend I’m a girl myself when I’m with them. I do hate” … with a little grimace … “to believe I’m old. Now, who are you … just for convenience’ sake? Diana Barry? And Anne Shirley? May I pretend that I’ve known you for a hundred years and call you Anne and Diana right away?”
“You, may” the girls said both together.
“Then just let’s sit comfily down and eat everything,” said Miss Lavendar happily. “Charlotta, you sit at the foot and help with the chicken. It is so fortunate that I made the sponge cake and doughnuts. Of course, it was foolish to do it for imaginary guests … I know Charlotta the Fourth thought so, didn’t you, Charlotta? But you see how well it has turned out. Of course they wouldn’t have been wasted, for Charlotta the Fourth and I could have eaten them through time. But sponge cake is not a thing that improves with time.”
That was a merry and memorable meal; and when it was over they all went out to the garden, lying in the glamor of sunset.
“I do think you have the loveliest place here,” said Diana, looking round her admiringly.
“Why do you call it Echo Lodge?” asked Anne.
“Charlotta,” said Miss Lavendar, “go into the house and bring out the little tin horn that is hanging over the clock shelf.”
Charlotta the Fourth skipped off and returned with the horn.
“Blow it, Charlotta,” commanded Miss Lavendar.
Charlotta accordingly blew, a rather raucous, strident blast. There was moment’s stillness … and then from the woods over the river came a multitude of fairy echoes, sweet, elusive, silvery, as if all the “horns of elfland” were blowing against the sunset. Anne and Diana exclaimed in delight.
“Now laugh, Charlotta … laugh loudly.”
Charlotta, who would probably have obeyed if Miss Lavendar had told her to stand on her head, climbed upon the stone bench and laughed loud and heartily. Back came the echoes, as if a host of pixy people were mimicking her laughter in the purple woodlands and along the fir-fringed points.
“People always admire my echoes very much,” said Miss Lavendar, as if the echoes were her personal property. “I love them myself. They are very good company … with a little pretending. On calm evenings Charlotta the Fourth and I often sit out here and amuse ourselves with them. Charlotta, take back the horn and hang it carefully in its place.”
“Why do you call her Charlotta the Fourth?” asked Diana, who was bursting with curiosity on this point.
“Just to keep her from getting mixed up with other Charlottas in my thoughts,” said Miss Lavendar seriously. “They all look so much alike there’s no telling them apart. Her name isn’t really Charlotta at all. It is … let me see … what is it? I THINK it’s Leonora … yes, it IS Leonora. You see, it is this way. When mother died ten years ago I couldn’t stay here alone … and I couldn’t afford to pay the wages of a grownup girl. So I got little Charlotta Bowman to come and stay with me for board and clothes. Her name really was Charlotta … she was Charlotta the First. She was just thirteen. She stayed with me till she was sixteen and then she went away to Boston, because she could do better there. Her sister came to stay with me then. Her name was Julietta … Mrs. Bowman had a weakness for fancy names I think … but she looked so like Charlotta that I kept calling her that all the time …and she didn’t mind. So I just gave up trying to remember her right name. She was Charlotta the Second, and when she went away Evelina came and she was Charlotta the Third. Now I have Charlotta the Fourth; but when she is sixteen … she’s fourteen now … she will want to go to Boston too, and what I shall do then I really do not know. Charlotta the Fourth is the last of the Bowman girls, and the best. The other Charlottas always let me see that they thought it silly of me to pretend things but Charlotta the Fourth never does, no matter what she may really think. I don’t care what people think about me if they don’t let me see it.”
“Well,” said Diana looking regretfully at the setting sun. “I suppose we must go if we want to get to Mr. Kimball’s before dark. We’ve had a lovely time, Miss Lewis.”
“Won’t you come again to see me?” pleaded Miss Lavendar.
Tall Anne put her arm about the little lady.
“Indeed we shall,” she promised. “Now that we have discovered you we’ll wear out our welcome coming to see you. Yes, we must go … ‘we must tear ourselves away,’ as Paul Irving says every time he comes to Green Gables.”
“Paul Irving?” There was a subtle change in Miss Lavendar’s voice. “Who is he? I didn’t think there was anybody of that name in Avonlea.”
Anne felt vexed at her own heedlessness. She had forgotten about Miss Lavendar’s old romance when Paul’s name slipped out.
“He is a little pupil of mine,” she explained slowly. “He came from Boston last year to live with his grandmother, Mrs. Irving of the shore road.”
“Is he Stephen Irving’s son?” Miss Lavendar asked, bending over her namesake border so that her face was hidden.
“Yes.”
“I’m going to give you girls a bunch of lavendar apiece,” said Miss Lavendar brightly, as if she had not heard the answer to her question. “It’s very sweet, don’t you think? Mother always loved it. She planted these borders long ago. Father named me Lavendar because he was so fond of it. The very first time he saw mother was when he visited her home in East Grafton with her brother. He fell in love with her at first sight; and they put him in the spare room bed to sleep and the sheets were scented with lavendar and he lay awake all night and thought of her. He always loved the scent of lavendar after that … and that was why he gave me the name. Don’t forget to come back soon, girls dear. We’ll be looking for you, Charlotta the Fourth and I.”
She opened the gate under the firs for them to pass through. She looked suddenly old and tired; the glow and radiance had faded from her face; her parting smile was as sweet with ineradicable youth as ever, but when the girls looked back from the first curve in the lane they saw her sitting on the old stone bench under the silver poplar in the middle of the garden with her head leaning wearily on her hand.
“She does look lonely,” said Diana softly. “We must come often to see her.”
“I think her parents gave her the only right and fitting name that could possibly be given her,” said Anne. “If they had been so blind as to name her Elizabeth or Nellie or Muriel she must have been called Lavendar just the same, I think. It’s so suggestive of sweetness and old-fashioned graces and ‘silk attire.’ Now, my name just smacks of bread and butter, patchwork and chores.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Diana. “Anne seems to me real stately and like a queen. But I’d like Kerrenhappuch if it happened to be your name. I think people make their names nice or ugly just by what they are themselves. I can’t bear Josie or Gertie for names now but before I knew the Pye girls I thought them real pretty.”
“That’s