Anne of Avonlea. L. M. Montgomery

the Spencers’ Mrs. Isabella Spencer made them miserable by saying something ill-natured about everyone in Avonlea. Mr. Thomas Boulter refused to give anything because the hall, when it had been built, twenty years before, hadn’t been built on the site he recommended. Mrs. Esther Bell, who was the picture of health, took half an hour to detail all her aches and pains, and sadly put down fifty cents because she wouldn’t be there that time next year to do it … no, she would be in her grave.

      Their worst reception, however, was at Simon Fletcher’s. When they drove into the yard they saw two faces peering at them through the porch window. But although they rapped and waited patiently and persistently nobody came to the door. Two decidedly ruffled and indignant girls drove away from Simon Fletcher’s. Even Anne admitted that she was beginning to feel discouraged. But the tide turned after that. Several Sloane homesteads came next, where they got liberal subscriptions, and from that to the end they fared well, with only an occasional snub. Their last place of call was at Robert Dickson’s by the pond bridge. They stayed to tea here, although they were nearly home, rather than risk offending Mrs. Dickson, who had the reputation of being a very “touchy” woman.

      While they were there old Mrs. James White called in.

      “I’ve just been down to Lorenzo’s,” she announced. “He’s the proudest man in Avonlea this minute. What do you think? There’s a brand new boy there … and after seven girls that’s quite an event, I can tell you.” Anne pricked up her ears, and when they drove away she said.

      “I’m going straight to Lorenzo White’s.”

      “But he lives on the White Sands road and it’s quite a distance out of our way,” protested Diana. “Gilbert and Fred will canvass him.”

      “They are not going around until next Saturday and it will be too late by then,” said Anne firmly. “The novelty will be worn off. Lorenzo White is dreadfully mean but he will subscribe to ANYTHING just now. We mustn’t let such a golden opportunity slip, Diana.” The result justified Anne’s foresight. Mr. White met them in the yard, beaming like the sun upon an Easter day. When Anne asked for a subscription he agreed enthusiastically.

      “Certain, certain. Just put me down for a dollar more than the highest subscription you’ve got.”

      “That will be five dollars … Mr. Daniel Blair put down four,” said Anne, half afraid. But Lorenzo did not flinch.

      “Five it is … and here’s the money on the spot. Now, I want you to come into the house. There’s something in there worth seeing … something very few people have seen as yet. Just come in and pass YOUR opinion.”

      “What will we say if the baby isn’t pretty?” whispered Diana in trepidation as they followed the excited Lorenzo into the house.

      “Oh, there will certainly be something else nice to say about it,” said Anne easily. “There always is about a baby.”

      The baby WAS pretty, however, and Mr. White felt that he got his five dollars’ worth of the girls’ honest delight over the plump little newcomer. But that was the first, last, and only time that Lorenzo White ever subscribed to anything.

      Anne, tired as she was, made one more effort for the public weal that night, slipping over the fields to interview Mr. Harrison, who was as usual smoking his pipe on the veranda with Ginger beside him. Strickly speaking he was on the Carmody road; but Jane and Gertie, who were not acquainted with him save by doubtful report, had nervously begged Anne to canvass him.

      Mr. Harrison, however, flatly refused to subscribe a cent, and all Anne’s wiles were in vain.

      “But I thought you approved of our society, Mr. Harrison,” she mourned.

      “So I do … so I do … but my approval doesn’t go as deep as my pocket, Anne.”

      “A few more experiences such as I have had today would make me as much of a pessimist as Miss Eliza Andrews,” Anne told her reflection in the east gable mirror at bedtime.