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Title: Rilla of Ingleside

Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery

Posting Date: May 19, 2009 [EBook #3796]

Release Date: February, 2003

First Posted: September 12, 2001

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILLA OF INGLESIDE ***

Produced by Sheila Perkins. HTML version by Al Haines

Rilla of Ingleside

Lucy Maud Montgomery

CONTENTS

I GLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERS

II DEW OF MORNING

III MOONLIT MIRTH

IV THE PIPER PIPES

V "THE SOUND OF A GOING"

VI SUSAN, RILLA, AND DOG MONDAY MAKE A RESOLUTION

VII A WAR-BABY AND A SOUP TUREEN

VIII RILLA DECIDES

IX DOC HAS A MISADVENTURE

X THE TROUBLES OF RILLA

XI DARK AND BRIGHT

XII IN THE DAYS OF LANGEMARCK

XIII A SLICE OF HUMBLE PIE

XIV THE VALLEY OF DECISION

XV UNTIL THE DAY BREAK

XVI REALISM AND ROMANCE

XVII THE WEEKS WEAR BY

XVIII A WAR-WEDDING

XIX "THEY SHALL NOT PASS"

XX NORMAN DOUGLAS SPEAKS OUT IN MEETING

XXI "LOVE AFFAIRS ARE HORRIBLE"

XXII LITTLE DOG MONDAY KNOWS

XXIII "AND SO, GOODNIGHT"

XXIV MARY IS JUST IN TIME

XXV SHIRLEY GOES

XXVI SUSAN HAS A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE

XXVII WAITING

XXVIII BLACK SUNDAY

XXIX "WOUNDED AND MISSING"

XXX THE TURNING OF THE TIDE

XXXI MRS. MATILDA PITTMAN

XXXII WORD FROM JEM

XXXIII VICTORY!

XXXIV MR. HYDE GOES TO HIS OWN PLACE AND SUSAN TAKES A

HONEYMOON

XXXV "RILLA-MY-RILLA!"

CHAPTER I

GLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERS

It was a warm, golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon. In the big living-room at Ingleside Susan

Baker sat down with a certain grim satisfaction hovering about her like an aura; it was four

o'clock and Susan, who had been working incessantly since six that morning, felt that she had

fairly earned an hour of repose and gossip. Susan just then was perfectly happy; everything

had gone almost uncannily well in the kitchen that day. Dr. Jekyll had not been Mr. Hyde and

so had not grated on her nerves; from where she sat she could see the pride of her heart—the

bed of peonies of her own planting and culture, blooming as no other peony plot in Glen St.

Mary ever did or could bloom, with peonies crimson, peonies silvery pink, peonies white as

drifts of winter snow.

Susan had on a new black silk blouse, quite as elaborate as anything Mrs. Marshall Elliott

ever wore, and a white starched apron, trimmed with complicated crocheted lace fully five

inches wide, not to mention insertion to match. Therefore Susan had all the comfortable

consciousness of a well-dressed woman as she opened her copy of the Daily Enterprise and

prepared to read the Glen "Notes" which, as Miss Cornelia had just informed her, filled half a

column of it and mentioned almost everybody at Ingleside. There was a big, black headline on

the front page of the Enterprise, stating that some Archduke Ferdinand or other had been

assassinated at a place bearing the weird name of Sarajevo, but Susan tarried not over

uninteresting, immaterial stuff like that; she was in quest of something really vital. Oh, here it

was—"Jottings from Glen St. Mary." Susan settled down keenly, reading each one over aloud

to extract all possible gratification from it.

Mrs. Blythe and her visitor, Miss Cornelia—alias Mrs. Marshall Elliott—were chatting

together near the open door that led to the veranda, through which a cool, delicious breeze

was blowing, bringing whiffs of phantom perfume from the garden, and charming gay echoes

from the vine-hung corner where Rilla and Miss Oliver and Walter were laughing and talking.

Wherever Rilla Blythe was, there was laughter.

There was another occupant of the living-room, curled up on a couch, who must not be

overlooked, since he was a creature of marked individuality, and, moreover, had the

distinction of being the only living thing whom Susan really hated.

All cats are mysterious but Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde—"Doc" for short—was trebly so. He

was a cat of double personality—or else, as Susan vowed, he was possessed by the devil. To

begin with, there had been something uncanny about the very dawn of his existence. Four

years previously Rilla Blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten, white as snow, with a

saucy black tip to its tail, which she called Jack Frost. Susan disliked Jack Frost, though she

could not or would not give any valid reason therefor.

"Take my word for it, Mrs. Dr. dear," she was wont to say ominously, "that cat will come to

no good."

"But why do you think so?" Mrs. Blythe would ask.

"I do not think—I know," was all the answer Susan would vouchsafe.

With the rest of the Ingleside folk Jack Frost was a favourite; he was so very clean and well

groomed, and never allowed a spot or stain to be seen on his beautiful white suit; he had

endearing ways of purring and snuggling; he was scrupulously honest.

And then a domestic tragedy took place at Ingleside. Jack Frost had kittens!

It would be vain to try to picture Susan's triumph. Had she not always insisted that that cat

would turn out to be a delusion and a snare? Now they could see for themselves!

Rilla kept one of the kittens, a very pretty one, with peculiarly sleek glossy fur of a dark

yellow crossed by orange stripes, and large, satiny, golden ears. She called it Goldie and the

name seemed appropriate enough to the little frolicsome creature which, during its kittenhood,

gave no indication of the sinister nature it really possessed. Susan, of course, warned the

family that no good could be expected from any offspring of that diabolical Jack Frost; but

Susan's Cassandra-like croakings were unheeded.

The Blythes had been so accustomed to regard Jack Frost as a member of the male sex that

they could not get out of the habit. So they continually used the masculine pronoun, although

the result was ludicrous. Visitors used to be quite electrified when Rilla referred casually to

"Jack and his kitten," or told Goldie sternly, "Go to your mother and get him to wash your

fur."

"It is not decent, Mrs. Dr. dear," poor Susan would say bitterly. She herself compromised by

always referring to Jack as "it" or "the white beast," and one heart at least did not ache when

"it" was accidentally poisoned the following winter.

In a year's time "Goldie" became so manifestly an inadequate name for the orange kitten that

Walter, who was just then reading Stevenson's story, changed it to Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde.

In his Dr. Jekyll mood the cat was a drowsy, affectionate, domestic, cushion-loving puss, who

liked petting and gloried in being nursed and patted. Especially did he love to lie on his back

and have his sleek, cream-coloured throat stroked gently while he purred in somnolent

satisfaction. He was a notable purrer; never had there been an Ingleside cat who purred so

constantly and so ecstatically.

"The only thing I envy a cat is its purr," remarked Dr. Blythe once, listening to Doc's resonant

melody. "It is the most contented sound in the world."

Doc was very handsome; his every movement was grace; his poses magnificent. When he

folded his long, dusky-ringed tail about his feet and sat him down on the veranda to gaze

steadily into space for long intervals the Blythes felt that an Egyptian sphinx could not have

made a more fitting Deity of the Portal.

When the Mr. Hyde mood came upon him—which it invariably did before rain, or wind—he

was a wild thing with changed eyes. The transformation always came suddenly. He would

spring fiercely from a reverie with a savage snarl and bite at any restraining or caressing hand.

His fur seemed to grow darker and his eyes gleamed with a diabolical light. There was really

an unearthly beauty about him. If the change happened in the twilight all the Ingleside folk

felt a certain terror of him. At such times he was a fearsome beast and only Rilla defended

him, asserting that he was "such a nice prowly cat." Certainly he prowled.

Dr. Jekyll loved new milk; Mr. Hyde would not touch milk and growled over his meat. Dr.

Jekyll came down the stairs so silently that no one could hear him. Mr. Hyde made his tread

as heavy as a man's. Several evenings, when Susan was alone in the house, he "scared her

stiff," as she declared, by doing this. He would sit in the middle of the kitchen floor, with his

terrible eyes fixed unwinkingly upon hers for an hour at a time. This played havoc with her

nerves, but poor Susan really held him in too much awe to try to drive him out. Once she had

dared to throw a stick at him and he had promptly made a savage leap towards her. Susan

rushed out of doors and never attempted to meddle with Mr. Hyde again—though she visited

his misdeeds upon the innocent Dr. Jekyll, chasing him ignominiously out of her domain

whenever he dared to poke his nose in and denying him certain savoury tidbits for which he

yearned.

"'The many friends of Miss Faith Meredith, Gerald Meredith and James Blythe,'" read Susan,

rolling the names like sweet morsels under her tongue, "'were very much pleased to welcome

them home a few weeks ago from Redmond College. James Blythe, who was graduated in

Arts in 1913, had just completed his first year in medicine.'"

"Faith Meredith has really got to be the most handsomest creature I ever saw," commented

Miss Cornelia above her filet crochet. "It's amazing how those children came on after

Rosemary West went to the manse. People have almost forgotten what imps of mischief they

were once. Anne, dearie, will you ever forget the way they used to carry on? It's really

surprising how well Rosemary got on with them. She's more like a chum than a step-mother.

They all love her and Una adores her. As for that little Bruce, Una just makes a perfect slave

of herself to him. Of course, he is a darling. But did you ever see any child look as much like

an aunt as he looks like his Aunt Ellen? He's just as dark and just as emphatic. I can't see a

feature of Rosemary in him. Norman Douglas always vows at the top of his voice that the

stork meant Bruce for him and Ellen and took him to the manse by mistake."

"Bruce adores Jem," said Mrs Blythe. "When he comes over here he follows Jem about

silently like a faithful little dog, looking up at him from under his black brows. He would do

anything for Jem, I verily believe."

"Are Jem and Faith going to make a match of it?"

Mrs. Blythe smiled. It was well known that Miss Cornelia, who had been such a virulent man-

hater at one time, had actually taken to match-making in her declining years.

"They are only good friends yet, Miss Cornelia."

"Very good friends, believe me," said Miss Cornelia emphatically. "I hear all about the doings

of the young fry."

"I have no doubt that Mary Vance sees that you do, Mrs. Marshall Elliott," said Susan

significantly, "but I think it is a shame to talk about children making matches."

"Children! Jem is twenty-one and Faith is nineteen," retorted Miss Cornelia. "You must not

forget, Susan, that we old folks are not the only grown-up people in the world."

Outraged Susan, who detested any reference to her age—not from vanity but from a haunting

dread that people might come to think her too old to work—returned to her "Notes."

"'Carl Meredith and Shirley Blythe came home last Friday evening from Queen's Academy.

We understand that Carl will be in charge of the school at Harbour Head next year and we are

sure he will be a popular and successful teacher.'"

"He will teach the children all there is to know about bugs, anyhow," said Miss Cornelia. "He

is through with Queen's now and Mr. Meredith and Rosemary wanted him to go right on to

Redmond in the fall, but Carl has a very independent streak in him and means to earn part of

his own way through college. He'll be all the better for it."

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