Chapter X

Patty’s Place

The next evening found them treading resolutely the herring-bone walk

through the tiny garden. The April wind was filling the pine trees with

its roundelay, and the grove was alive with robins—great, plump, saucy

fellows, strutting along the paths. The girls rang rather timidly, and

were admitted by a grim and ancient handmaiden. The door opened

directly into a large living-room, where by a cheery little fire sat

two other ladies, both of whom were also grim and ancient. Except that

one looked to be about seventy and the other fifty, there seemed little

difference between them. Each had amazingly big, light-blue eyes behind

steel-rimmed spectacles; each wore a cap and a gray shawl; each was

knitting without haste and without rest; each rocked placidly and

looked at the girls without speaking; and just behind each sat a large

white china dog, with round green spots all over it, a green nose and

green ears. Those dogs captured Anne’s fancy on the spot; they seemed

like the twin guardian deities of Patty’s Place.

For a few minutes nobody spoke. The girls were too nervous to find

words, and neither the ancient ladies nor the china dogs seemed

conversationally inclined. Anne glanced about the room. What a dear

place it was! Another door opened out of it directly into the pine

grove and the robins came boldly up on the very step. The floor was

spotted with round, braided mats, such as Marilla made at Green Gables,

but which were considered out of date everywhere else, even in Avonlea.

And yet here they were on Spofford Avenue! A big, polished

grandfather’s clock ticked loudly and solemnly in a corner. There were

delightful little cupboards over the mantelpiece, behind whose glass

doors gleamed quaint bits of china. The walls were hung with old prints

and silhouettes. In one corner the stairs went up, and at the first low

turn was a long window with an inviting seat. It was all just as Anne

had known it must be.

By this time the silence had grown too dreadful, and Priscilla nudged

Anne to intimate that she must speak.

“We—we—saw by your sign that this house is to let,” said Anne faintly,

addressing the older lady, who was evidently Miss Patty Spofford.

“Oh, yes,” said Miss Patty. “I intended to take that sign down today.”

“Then—then we are too late,” said Anne sorrowfully. “You’ve let it to

some one else?”

“No, but we have decided not to let it at all.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” exclaimed Anne impulsively. “I love this place so.

I did hope we could have got it.”

Then did Miss Patty lay down her knitting, take off her specs, rub

them, put them on again, and for the first time look at Anne as at a

human being. The other lady followed her example so perfectly that she

might as well have been a reflection in a mirror.

“You _love_ it,” said Miss Patty with emphasis. “Does that mean that

you really _love_ it? Or that you merely like the looks of it? The

girls nowadays indulge in such exaggerated statements that one never

can tell what they _do_ mean. It wasn’t so in my young days. _Then_ a

girl did not say she _loved_ turnips, in just the same tone as she

might have said she loved her mother or her Savior.”

Anne’s conscience bore her up.

“I really do love it,” she said gently. “I’ve loved it ever since I saw

it last fall. My two college chums and I want to keep house next year

instead of boarding, so we are looking for a little place to rent; and

when I saw that this house was to let I was so happy.”

“If you love it, you can have it,” said Miss Patty. “Maria and I

decided today that we would not let it after all, because we did not

like any of the people who have wanted it. We don’t _have_ to let it.

We can afford to go to Europe even if we don’t let it. It would help us

out, but not for gold will I let my home pass into the possession of

such people as have come here and looked at it. _You_ are different. I

believe you do love it and will be good to it. You can have it.”

“If—if we can afford to pay what you ask for it,” hesitated Anne.

Miss Patty named the amount required. Anne and Priscilla looked at each

other. Priscilla shook her head.

“I’m afraid we can’t afford quite so much,” said Anne, choking back her

disappointment. “You see, we are only college girls and we are poor.”

“What were you thinking you could afford?” demanded Miss Patty, ceasing

not to knit.

Anne named her amount. Miss Patty nodded gravely.

“That will do. As I told you, it is not strictly necessary that we

should let it at all. We are not rich, but we have enough to go to

Europe on. I have never been in Europe in my life, and never expected

or wanted to go. But my niece there, Maria Spofford, has taken a fancy

to go. Now, you know a young person like Maria can’t go globetrotting

alone.”

“No—I—I suppose not,” murmured Anne, seeing that Miss Patty was quite

solemnly in earnest.

“Of course not. So I have to go along to look after her. I expect to

enjoy it, too; I’m seventy years old, but I’m not tired of living yet.

I daresay I’d have gone to Europe before if the idea had occurred to

me. We shall be away for two years, perhaps three. We sail in June and

we shall send you the key, and leave all in order for you to take

possession when you choose. We shall pack away a few things we prize

especially, but all the rest will be left.”

“Will you leave the china dogs?” asked Anne timidly.

“Would you like me to?”

“Oh, indeed, yes. They are delightful.”

A pleased expression came into Miss Patty’s face.

“I think a great deal of those dogs,” she said proudly. “They are over

a hundred years old, and they have sat on either side of this fireplace

ever since my brother Aaron brought them from London fifty years ago.

Spofford Avenue was called after my brother Aaron.”

“A fine man he was,” said Miss Maria, speaking for the first time. “Ah,

you don’t see the like of him nowadays.”

“He was a good uncle to you, Maria,” said Miss Patty, with evident

emotion. “You do well to remember him.”

“I shall always remember him,” said Miss Maria solemnly. “I can see

him, this minute, standing there before that fire, with his hands under

his coat-tails, beaming on us.”

Miss Maria took out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes; but Miss Patty

came resolutely back from the regions of sentiment to those of

business.

“I shall leave the dogs where they are, if you will promise to be very

careful of them,” she said. “Their names are Gog and Magog. Gog looks

to the right and Magog to the left. And there’s just one thing more.

You don’t object, I hope, to this house being called Patty’s Place?”

“No, indeed. We think that is one of the nicest things about it.”

“You have sense, I see,” said Miss Patty in a tone of great

satisfaction. “Would you believe it? All the people who came here to

rent the house wanted to know if they couldn’t take the name off the

gate during their occupation of it. I told them roundly that the name

went with the house. This has been Patty’s Place ever since my brother

Aaron left it to me in his will, and Patty’s Place it shall remain

until I die and Maria dies. After that happens the next possessor can

call it any fool name he likes,” concluded Miss Patty, much as she

might have said, “After that—the deluge.” “And now, wouldn’t you like

to go over the house and see it all before we consider the bargain

made?”

Further exploration still further delighted the girls. Besides the big

living-room, there was a kitchen and a small bedroom downstairs.

Upstairs were three rooms, one large and two small. Anne took an

especial fancy to one of the small ones, looking out into the big

pines, and hoped it would be hers. It was papered in pale blue and had

a little, old-timey toilet table with sconces for candles. There was a

diamond-paned window with a seat under the blue muslin frills that

would be a satisfying spot for studying or dreaming.

“It’s all so delicious that I know we are going to wake up and find it

a fleeting vision of the night,” said Priscilla as they went away.

“Miss Patty and Miss Maria are hardly such stuff as dreams are made

of,” laughed Anne. “Can you fancy them ‘globe-trotting’—especially in

those shawls and caps?”

“I suppose they’ll take them off when they really begin to trot,” said

Priscilla, “but I know they’ll take their knitting with them

everywhere. They simply couldn’t be parted from it. They will walk

about Westminster Abbey and knit, I feel sure. Meanwhile, Anne, we

shall be living in Patty’s Place—and on Spofford Avenue. I feel like a

millionairess even now.”

“I feel like one of the morning stars that sang for joy,” said Anne.

Phil Gordon crept into Thirty-eight, St. John’s, that night and flung

herself on Anne’s bed.

“Girls, dear, I’m tired to death. I feel like the man without a

country—or was it without a shadow? I forget which. Anyway, I’ve been

packing up.”

“And I suppose you are worn out because you couldn’t decide which

things to pack first, or where to put them,” laughed Priscilla.

“E-zackly. And when I had got everything jammed in somehow, and my

landlady and her maid had both sat on it while I locked it, I

discovered I had packed a whole lot of things I wanted for Convocation

at the very bottom. I had to unlock the old thing and poke and dive

into it for an hour before I fished out what I wanted. I would get hold

of something that felt like what I was looking for, and I’d yank it up,

and it would be something else. No, Anne, I did _not_ swear.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“Well, you looked it. But I admit my thoughts verged on the profane.

And I have such a cold in the head—I can do nothing but sniffle, sigh

and sneeze. Isn’t that alliterative agony for you? Queen Anne, do say

something to cheer me up.”

“Remember that next Thursday night, you’ll be back in the land of Alec

and Alonzo,” suggested Anne.

Phil shook her head dolefully.

“More alliteration. No, I don’t want Alec and Alonzo when I have a cold

in the head. But what has happened you two? Now that I look at you

closely you seem all lighted up with an internal iridescence. Why,

you’re actually _shining!_ What’s up?”

“We are going to live in Patty’s Place next winter,” said Anne

triumphantly. “Live, mark you, not board! We’ve rented it, and Stella

Maynard is coming, and her aunt is going to keep house for us.”

Phil bounced up, wiped her nose, and fell on her knees before Anne.

“Girls—girls—let me come, too. Oh, I’ll be so good. If there’s no room

for me I’ll sleep in the little doghouse in the orchard—I’ve seen it.

Only let me come.”

“Get up, you goose.”

“I won’t stir off my marrow bones till you tell me I can live with you

next winter.”

Anne and Priscilla looked at each other. Then Anne said slowly, “Phil

dear, we’d love to have you. But we may as well speak plainly. I’m

poor—Pris is poor—Stella Maynard is poor—our housekeeping will have to

be very simple and our table plain. You’d have to live as we would.

Now, you are rich and your boardinghouse fare attests the fact.”

“Oh, what do I care for that?” demanded Phil tragically. “Better a

dinner of herbs where your chums are than a stalled ox in a lonely

boardinghouse. Don’t think I’m _all_ stomach, girls. I’ll be willing to

live on bread and water—with just a _leetle_ jam—if you’ll let me

come.”

“And then,” continued Anne, “there will be a good deal of work to be

done. Stella’s aunt can’t do it all. We all expect to have our chores

to do. Now, you—”

“Toil not, neither do I spin,” finished Philippa. “But I’ll learn to do

things. You’ll only have to show me once. I _can_ make my own bed to

begin with. And remember that, though I can’t cook, I _can_ keep my

temper. That’s something. And I _never_ growl about the weather. That’s

more. Oh, please, please! I never wanted anything so much in my

life—and this floor is awfully hard.”

“There’s just one more thing,” said Priscilla resolutely. “You, Phil,

as all Redmond knows, entertain callers almost every evening. Now, at

Patty’s Place we can’t do that. We have decided that we shall be at

home to our friends on Friday evenings only. If you come with us you’ll

have to abide by that rule.”

“Well, you don’t think I’ll mind that, do you? Why, I’m glad of it. I

knew I should have had some such rule myself, but I hadn’t enough

decision to make it or stick to it. When I can shuffle off the

responsibility on you it will be a real relief. If you won’t let me

cast in my lot with you I’ll die of the disappointment and then I’ll

come back and haunt you. I’ll camp on the very doorstep of Patty’s

Place and you won’t be able to go out or come in without falling over

my spook.”

Again Anne and Priscilla exchanged eloquent looks.

“Well,” said Anne, “of course we can’t promise to take you until we’ve

consulted with Stella; but I don’t think she’ll object, and, as far as

we are concerned, you may come and glad welcome.”

“If you get tired of our simple life you can leave us, and no questions

asked,” added Priscilla.

Phil sprang up, hugged them both jubilantly, and went on her way

rejoicing.

“I hope things will go right,” said Priscilla soberly.

“We must _make_ them go right,” avowed Anne. “I think Phil will fit

into our ’appy little ’ome very well.”

“Oh, Phil’s a dear to rattle round with and be chums. And, of course,

the more there are of us the easier it will be on our slim purses. But

how will she be to live with? You have to summer and winter with any

one before you know if she’s _livable_ or not.”

“Oh, well, we’ll all be put to the test, as far as that goes. And we

must quit us like sensible folk, living and let live. Phil isn’t

selfish, though she’s a little thoughtless, and I believe we will all

get on beautifully in Patty’s Place.”