Anne of Windy Willows by Lucy Maud Montgomery Page A

burning desire to get square with her brutal father. Anne’s speech gave her a weird inspiration, and Pringle, a volcano of suppressed impishness, blinked his white eyelashes for a dazed moment and then promptly followed her lead. Never, as long as they might live, would Anne, Esme, or Mrs Cyrus forget the dreadful quarter of an hour that followed.
    ‘Such an affliction for poor Papa,’ said Trix, addressing Dr Carter across the table. ‘And him only sixty-eight.’
    Two little white dents appeared at the corners of Cyrus Taylor’s nostrils when he heard his age advanced six years, but he remained silent.
    ‘It’s such a treat to have a decent meal,’ said Pringle, clearly and distinctly. ‘What would you think, Dr Carter, of a man who makes his family live on fruit and eggs – nothing but fruit and eggs – just for a fad?’
    ‘Does your father –’ began Dr Carter, bewildered.
    ‘What would you think of a husband who bit his wife when she put up curtains he didn’t like – deliberately bit her?’ demanded Trix.
    ‘Till the blood came,’ added Pringle solemnly.
    ‘Do you mean to say your father –’
    ‘What would you think of a man who would cut up a silk dress of his wife’s just because the way it was made didn’t suit him?’ said Trix.
    ‘What would you think,’ said Pringle, ‘of a man who refuses to let his wife have a dog?’
    ‘When she would so love to have one,’ sighed Trix.
    ‘What would you think of a man,’ continued Pringle, who was beginning to enjoy himself hugely, ‘who would give his wife a pair of goloshes for a Christmas present – nothing but a pair of goloshes?’
    ‘Goloshes don’t exactly warm the heart,’ admitted Dr Carter. His eyes met Anne’s, and he smiled. Anne reflected that she had never seen him smile before. It changed his face wonderfully for the better. What
was
Trix saying? Who would have thought she could be such a demon?
    ‘Have you ever wondered, Dr Carter, how awful it must be to live with a man who thinks nothing –
nothing
– of picking up the, roast if it isn’t perfectly done and hurling it at the maid?’
    Dr Carter glanced apprehensively at Cyrus Taylor as if he feared that Cyrus might throw the skeletons of the chickens at somebody. Then he seemed to remember comfortingly that his host was deaf.
    ‘What would you think of a man who believed the earth was flat?’ asked Pringle.
    Anne thought Cyrus
would
speak then. A tremor seemed to pass over his rubicund face, but no words came. Still, she was sure that his moustaches were a little less defiant.
    ‘What would you think of a man who let his aunt – his only aunt – go to the poorhouse?’ asked Trix.
    ‘And pastured his cow in the graveyard,’ said Pringle. ‘Summerside hasn’t got over that sight yet.’
    ‘What would you think of a man who would write down in his diary every day what he had for dinner?’ asked Trix.
    ‘The great Pepys did that,’ said Dr Carter, with another smile. His voice sounded as if he would like to laugh. Perhaps after all he was not pompous, thought Anne, only young and shy and over-serious. But she was feeling positively aghast. She had never meant things to go as far as this. She was finding out that it is much easier to start things than to finish them. Trix and Pringle were being diabolically clever. They had not said that their father did a single one of these things. Anne could fancy Pringle saying, his round eyes rounder still with pretended innocence, ‘I asked those questions of Dr Carter just for
information
.’
    ‘What would you think,’ kept on Trix, ‘of a man who opens and reads his wife’s letters?’
    ‘What would you think of a man who would go to a funeral – his father’s funeral – in overalls?’ asked Pringle.
    What
would
they think of next? Mrs Cyrus was crying openly, and Esme was quite calm with despair. Nothing mattered any more. Esme turned and looked squarely at Dr Carter, whom she had lost for ever. For once