“Oh, thank you,” said Anne, as if Marilla had just conferred a tremendous favour, “I’ll make out the menu this very night.”
“You’d better not try to put on too much style,” warned Marilla, a little alarmed by the high-flown sound of “menu.” “You’ll likely come to grief if you do.”
“Oh, I’m not going to put on any ‘style,’ if you mean trying to do or have things we don’t usually have on festal occasions,” assured Anne. “That would be affectation, and, although I know I haven’t as much sense and steadiness as a girl of seventeen and a schoolteacher ought to have, I’m not so silly as that. But I want to have everything as nice and dainty as possible. Davy-boy, don’t leave those peapods on the back stairs … someone might slip on them. I’ll have a light soup to begin with … you know I can make lovely cream-of-onion soup … and then a couple of roast fowls. I’ll have the two white roosters. I have real affection for those roosters and they’ve been pets ever since the gray hen hatched out just the two of them … little balls of yellow down. But I know they would have to be sacrificed sometime, and surely there couldn’t be a worthier occasion than this. But oh, Marilla, I cannot kill them … not even for Mrs. Morgan’s sake. I’ll have to ask John Henry Carter to come over and do it for me.”
“I’ll do it,” volunteered Davy, “if Marilla’ll hold them by the legs, ’cause I guess it’d take both my hands to manage the axe. It’s awful jolly fun to see them hopping about after their heads are cut off.”
“Then I’ll have peas and beans and creamed potatoes and a lettuce salad, for vegetables,” resumed Anne, “and for dessert, lemon pie with whipped cream, and coffee and cheese and lady fingers. I’ll make the pies and lady fingers tomorrow and do up my white muslin dress. And I must tell Diana tonight, for she’ll want to do up hers. Mrs. Morgan’s heroines are nearly always dressed in white muslin, and Diana and I have always resolved that that was what we would wear if we ever met her. It will be such a delicate compliment, don’t you think? Davy, dear, you mustn’t poke peapods into the cracks of the floor. I must ask Mr. and Mrs. Allan and Miss Stacy to dinner, too, for they’re all very anxious to meet Mrs. Morgan. It’s so fortunate she’s coming while Miss Stacy is here. Davy dear, don’t sail the peapods in the water bucket … go out to the trough. Oh, I do hope it will be fine Thursday, and I think it will, for Uncle Abe said last night when he called at Mr. Harrison’s, that it was going to rain most of this week.”
“That’s a good sign,” agreed Marilla.
Anne ran across to Orchard Slope that evening to tell the news to Diana, who was also very much excited over it, and they discussed the matter in the hammock swung under the big willow in the Barry garden.
“Oh, Anne, mayn’t I help you cook the dinner?” implored Diana. “You know I can make splendid lettuce salad.”
“Indeed you, may” said Anne unselfishly. “And I shall want you to help me decorate too. I mean to have the parlour simply a bower of blossoms … and the dining table is to be adorned with wild roses. Oh, I do hope everything will go smoothly. Mrs. Morgan’s heroines never get into scrapes or are taken at a disadvantage, and they are always so self-possessed and such good housekeepers. They seem to be born good housekeepers. You remember that Gertrude in Edgewood Days kept house for her father when she was only eight years old. When I was eight years old I hardly knew how to do a thing except bring up children. Mrs. Morgan must be an authority on girls when she has written so much about them, and I do want her to have a good opinion of us. I’ve imagined it all out a dozen different ways … what she’ll look like, and what she’ll say, and what I’ll say. And I’m so anxious about my nose. There are seven freckles on it, as you can see. They came at the A.V.I.S. picnic, when I went around in the sun without my hat. I suppose it’s ungrateful of me to worry over them, when I should be thankful they’re not spread all over my face as they once were; but I do wish they hadn’t come … all Mrs. Morgan’s heroines have such perfect complexions. I can’t recall a freckled one among them.”
“Yours are not very noticeable,” comforted Diana. “Try a little lemon juice on them tonight.”
The next day Anne made her pies and lady fingers, did up her muslin dress, and swept and dusted every room in the house … a quite unnecessary proceeding, for Green Gables was, as usual, in the apple pie order dear to Marilla’s heart. But Anne felt that a fleck of dust would be a desecration in a house that was to be honoured by a visit from Charlotte E. Morgan. She even cleaned out the “catchall” closet under the stairs, although there was not the remotest possibility of Mrs. Morgan’s seeing its interior.
“But I want to feel that it is in perfect order, even if she isn’t to see it,” Anne told Marilla. “You know, in her book, Golden Keys, she makes her two heroines Alice and Louisa take for their motto that verse of Longfellow’s,
“ ‘In the elder days of art
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part,
For the gods see everywhere,’
and so they always kept their cellar stairs scrubbed and never forgot to sweep under the beds. I should have a guilty conscience if I thought this closet was in disorder when Mrs. Morgan was in the house. Ever since we read Golden Keys, last April, Diana and I have taken that
