Anne of Green Gables
Wednesday morning came. Anne got up at sunrise because she was too
excited to sleep. She had caught a severe cold in the head by reason of her
dabbling in the spring on the preceding evening, but nothing short of absolute
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pneumonia could have quenched her interest in culinary matters that morning.
After breakfast she proceeded to make her cake. When she finally shut the oven
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door upon it, she drew a long breath.
“I’m sure I haven’t forgotten anything this time, Marilla. But do you think
it will rise? Just suppose perhaps the baking powder isn’t good? I used it out of
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the new can. And Mrs. Lynde says you can never be sure of getting good baking
powder nowadays, when everything is so adulterated. Mrs. Lynde says the
government ought to take the matter up, but she says we’ll never see the day
when a Tory government will do it. Marilla, what if that cake doesn’t rise?”
“We’ll have plenty without it,” was Marilla’s unimpassioned way of
looking at the subject.
The cake did rise, however, and came out of the oven as light and feathery
as golden foam. Anne, flushed with delight, clapped it together with layers of
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ruby jelly and, in her imagination, saw Mrs. Allan eating it and possibly asking for
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another piece!
“You’ll be using the best tea set, of course, Marilla,” she said. “Can I fix up
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the table with ferns and wild roses?”
“I think that’s all nonsense,” sniffed Marilla. “In my opinion, it's the
eatables that matter and not flummery decorations.”
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“Mrs. Barry had her table decorated,” said Anne, who was not entirely
guiltless of the wisdom of the serpent, “and the minister paid her an elegant
compliment. He said it was a feast for the eye as well as the palate.”
“Well, do as you like,” said Marilla, who was quite determined not to be
surpassed by Mrs. Barry or anybody else. “Only mind you leave enough room for
the dishes and the food.”
Anne laid herself out to decorate in a manner and after a fashion that
should leave Mrs. Barry’s nowhere. Having an abundance of roses and ferns and
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a very artistic taste of her own, she made that tea table such a thing of beauty,
that as the minister and his wife sat down to it, they exclaimed in chorus of its
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loveliness.
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“It’s Anne’s doings,” said Marilla, grimly just; and Anne felt that Mrs.
Allan’s approving smile was almost too much happiness for this world.
Matthew was there, having been invited into the party, only goodness and
Anne knew how. He had been in such a state of shyness and nervousness that
Marilla had given him up in despair, but Anne took him in hand so successfully
that he now sat at the table in his best clothes and white collar and talked to the
minister not uninterestingly. He never said a word to Mrs. Allan, but that
perhaps was not to be expected.
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