yourself, Nora. That smoke-blue chiffon and that picture hat bring out the gloss of your hair and the blue of your eyes.”
“There’s nobody to care how I look,” said Nora bitterly. “Well, watch me grin, Anne. I mustn’t be the death’s head at the feast, I suppose. I have to play the wedding-march after all … Vera’s got a terrible headache. I feel more like playing the Dead March, as Aunt Mouser foreboded.”
Aunt Mouser, who had wandered round all the morning, getting in everybody’s way, in a none too clean old kimono and a wilted “boudoir cap,” now appeared resplendent in maroon grosgrain and told Sally one of her sleeves didn’t fit and she hoped nobody’s petticoat would show below her dress as had happened at Annie Crewson’s wedding. Mrs. Nelson came in and cried because Sally looked so lovely in her wedding-dress.
“Now, now, don’t be sentimental, Jane,” soothed Aunt Mouser. “You’ve still got one daughter left … and likely to have her by all accounts. Tears ain’t lucky at weddings. Well, all I hope is nobody’ll drop dead like old Uncle Cromwell at Roberta Pringle’s wedding, right in the middle of the ceremony. The bride spent two weeks in bed from shock.”
With this inspiring send-off the bridal party went downstairs, to the strains of Nora’s wedding-march somewhat stormily played, and Sally and Gordon were married without anybody dropping dead or forgetting the ring. It was a pretty wedding group and even Aunt Mouser gave up worrying about the universe for a few moments. “After all,” she told Sally hopefully later on, “even if you ain’t very happy married, it’s likely you’d be more unhappy not.” Nora alone continued to glower from the piano stool, but she went up to Sally and gave her a fierce hug, wedding-veil and all.
“So that’s finished,” said Nora drearily, when the dinner was over and the bridal party and most of the guests had gone. She glanced around at the room which looked as forlorn and disheveled as rooms always do in the aftermath … a faded, trampled corsage lying on the floor … chairs awry … a torn piece of lace … two dropped handkerchiefs … crumbs the children had scattered … a dark stain on the ceiling where the water from a jug Aunt Mouser had overturned in a guestroom had seeped through.
“I must clear up this mess,” went on Nora savagely. “There’s a lot of young fry waiting for the boat train and some staying over Sunday. They’re going to wind up with a bonfire on the shore and a moonlit rock dance. You can imagine how much I feel like moonlight dancing. I want to go to bed and cry.”
“A house after a wedding is over does seem a rather forsaken place,” said Anne. “But I’ll help you clear up and then we’ll have a cup of tea.”
“Anne Shirley, do you think a cup of tea is a panacea for everything? It’s you who ought to be the old maid, not me. Never mind. I don’t want to be horrid, but I suppose it’s my native disposition. I hate the thought of this shore dance more than the wedding. Jim always used to be at our shore dances. Anne, I’ve made up my mind to go and train for a nurse. I know I’ll hate it … and heaven help my future patients … but I’m not going to hang around Summerside and be teased about being on the shelf any longer. Well, let’s tackle this pile of greasy plates and look as if we liked it.”
“I do like it … I’ve always liked washing dishes. It’s fun to make dirty things clean and shining again.”
“Oh, you ought to be in a museum,” snapped Nora.
By moonrise everything was ready for the shore dance. The boys had a huge bonfire of driftwood ablaze on the point, and the waters of the harbor were creaming and shimmering in the moonlight. Anne was expecting to enjoy herself hugely, but a glimpse of Nora’s face, as the latter went down the steps carrying a basket of sandwiches, gave her pause.
“She’s so unhappy. If there was anything I could do!”
An idea popped into Anne’s head. She had always been a prey to impulse. Darting into the kitchen, she snatched up a little hand-lamp alight there, sped up the back stairs and up another flight to the attic. She set the light in the dormer-window that looked out across the harbor. The trees hid it from the dancers.
“He may see it and come. I suppose Nora will be furious with me, but that won’t matter if he only comes. And now to wrap up a bit of wedding-cake for Rebecca Dew.”
Jim Wilcox did not come. Anne gave up looking for him after a while and forgot him in the merriment of the evening. Nora had disappeared and Aunt Mouser had for a wonder gone to bed. It was eleven o’clock when the revelry ceased and the tired moonlighters yawned their way upstairs. Anne was so sleepy, she never thought of the light in the attic. But at two o’clock Aunt Mouser crept into the room and flashed a candle in the girls’ faces.
“Goodness, what’s the matter?” gasped Dot Fraser, sitting up in bed.
“S-s-s-sh,” warned Aunt Mouser, her eyes nearly popping out of her head, “I think there’s some one in the house … I know there is. What is that noise?”
“Sounds like a cat mewing or a dog barking,” giggled Dot.
“Nothing of the sort,” said Aunt Mouser severely. “I know there’s a dog barking in the barn, but that is not what wakened me. It was a bump … a loud, distinct bump.”
“‘From ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night, good Lord, deliver us,’” murmured Anne.
“Miss Shirley, this ain’t any laughing-matter. There’s burglars in this house. I’m going to call Samuel.”
Aunt Mouser disappeared and the girls looked at each other.
“Do you suppose … all the wedding-presents are down in the library …” said Anne.
“I’m going to get up, anyhow,” said Mamie. “Anne, did you ever see anything like Aunt Mouser’s face when she held the candle low and the shadows fell upward … and all those wisps of hair hanging about it? Talk of the Witch of Endor!”
Four girls in kimonos slipped out into the hall. Aunt Mouser was coming along it, followed by Dr. Nelson in dressing-gown and slippers. Mrs. Nelson, who couldn’t find her kimono, was sticking a terrified face out of her door.
“Oh, Samuel … don’t take any risks … if it’s burglars they may shoot… .”
“Nonsense! I don’t believe there’s anything,” said the Doctor.
“I tell you I heard a bump,” quavered Aunt Mouser.
A couple of boys joined the party. They crept cautiously down the stairs with the Doctor at the head and Aunt Mouser, candle in one hand and poker in the other, bringing up the rear.
There were undoubtedly noises in the library. The Doctor opened the door and walked in.
Barnabas, who had contrived to be overlooked in the library when Saul had been taken to the barn, was sitting on the back of the chesterfield, blinking amused eyes. Nora and a young man were standing in the middle of the room, which was dimly lighted by another flickering candle. The young man had his arms around Nora and was holding a large white handkerchief to her face.
“He’s chloroforming her!” shrieked Aunt Mouser, letting the poker fall with a tremendous crash.
The young man turned, dropped the
