Anne of Windy Willows by L. Montgomery

Author:L. Montgomery
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141944197
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2009-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

3

It was almost three weeks before Lewis found time to develop his pictures. He brought them up to Windy Willows the first Sunday night he came to supper. Both the house and the Little Fellow came out splendidly. The Little Fellow smiled up from the picture ‘as real as life’, said Rebecca Dew.

‘Why, he looks like you, Lewis!’ exclaimed Anne.

‘He does that,’ agreed Rebecca Dew, squinting at it judicially. ‘The minute I saw it his face reminded me of somebody, but I couldn’t think who.’

‘Why, the eyes… the forehead… the whole expression, are yours, Lewis!’ said Anne.

‘It’s hard to believe I was ever such a good-looking little chap,’ shrugged Lewis. ‘I’ve got a picture of myself somewhere taken when I was about seven. I must hunt it out and compare it. You’d laugh to see it, Miss Shirley. I’m the most sober-eyed kid with long curls and a lace collar, looking as stiff as a ramrod. I suppose I had my head clamped in one of those three-clawed contraptions they used to use. If this picture really resembles me it must be only a coincidence. The Little Fellow can’t be any relation of mine. I haven’t any relative on the Island – now.’

‘Where were you born?’ asked Aunt Kate.

‘N.B. Father and Mother died when I was ten, and I came over here to live with a cousin of mother’s – I called her Aunt Ida. She died too, you know, three years ago.’

‘Jim Armstrong came from New Brunswick,’ said Rebecca Dew. ‘He ain’t a real Islander; wouldn’t be such a crank if he was. We have our peculiarities, but we’re civilized.’

‘I’m not sure that I want to discover a relation in the amiable Mr Armstrong,’ grinned Lewis, attacking Aunt Chatty’s cinnamon toast. ‘However, I think when I get the photograph finished and mounted I’ll take it out to Glencove Road myself, and investigate a little. He may be a distant cousin or something. I really know nothing about my mother’s people, if she had any living. I’ve always been under the impression that she hadn’t. Father hadn’t, I know.’

‘If you take the picture out in person won’t the Little Fellow be a bit disappointed over losing his thrill of getting something through the post-office?’ said Anne.

‘I’ll make it up to him. I’ll send him something else by mail.’

The next Saturday afternoon Lewis came driving along Spook’s Lane in an antiquated buggy behind a still more antiquated mare.

‘I’m going out to Glencove to take little Teddy Armstrong his picture, Miss Shirley. If my dashing turn-out doesn’t give you heart-failure I’d like to have you come too. I don’t think any of the wheels will fall off.’

‘Where on earth did you pick up that relic, Lewis?’ demanded Rebecca Dew.

‘Don’t poke fun at my gallant steed, Miss Dew. Have some respect for age. Mr Bender lent me both mare and buggy on condition I’d do an errand for him along the Dawlish road. I hadn’t time to walk out to Glencove today and back.

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