Chapter 1

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_Title:_ The Deferment of Hester
_Date of first publication:_ 1907
_Author:_ L. M. (Lucy Maud) Montgomery (1874-1942)
_Date first posted:_ Mar. 26, 2017
_Date last updated:_ Mar. 26, 2017
Faded Page eBook #20170342

This ebook was produced by: Alex White & the online Distributed
Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

The Deferment of Hester
L. M. Montgomery
First published _The Blue Book Magazine_, July 1907.

[Illustration]

I knew it was Hester as soon as I stepped off the train. It is not often
that a stranger answers to our preconception of her, especially when
said preconception has no better foundation than the shifting-sand of
two very brief business letters; but Hester did.

A tall woman, but not over tall; stoutish, yet with a certain restraint
of outline suggestive of a thrifty soul who was not going to be over
lavish even in the matter of avoirdupois; dressed in a palpable
second-best, with a hat chosen less for vain adornment than for
qualities that would wear well; a knot of soft, crimpy brown hair with a
thread or two of gray in it, and a sunny face with full-blown red cheeks
and brisk brown eyes. I liked her.

When I had been prospecting about for some place in which to spend my
vacation, a young woman whom I had met at a slum-mission
committee-conference told me she had boarded the preceding summer at
Hester Sweet’s, Wayside, Valley Road, and could conscientiously
recommend it. I made a note of the recommendation, not so much because
of her conscience as because I took a fancy to the name of Hester Sweet.
So I wrote to the latter, using the young-woman-of-the-slum-committee’s
name as a sort of reference. This was a false move because, as I
discovered later on, Hester did not like the young woman aforesaid; but
luckily she liked my handwriting and, moreover, had had a sister Sally
who had died young. For which excellent reasons Hester agreed to take me
in for the months of July and August.

“I suppose you’re Miss Jordan,” said Hester briskly. “I’m real glad to
see you. My, you don’t look a mite like I expected. I made sure you’d be
fair—my sister Sally was fair—and you’re real dark complected. Well,
well, we’re all as we’re made, to be sure.”

Before we had driven a mile Hester had implored me not to call her Miss
Sweet, and I had bargained with her to call me Sally. We were chums from
that moment.

* * * * *

Valley Road was four miles from the station, and Wayside was the name of
Hester’s place. I gurgled with satisfaction when we reached it. The
house was small and white and low eaved, set down in a most delightfully
picturesque little hollow that dropped away from the road. Between road
and house was an apple orchard and flower garden all mixed up together.
Poplars, stiff, prim Lombardies, stood about it, and the front-door walk
was bordered with clam shells. There was honeysuckle over the parlor
windows and ivy over the front door and moss on the roof. It was the
sort of house I had seen in happy dreams, but I had never hoped for such
good luck as spending the summer in one.

When Hester showed me up to my room I was ready to cry for joy. The
ceiling was low and sloping, and the floor sagged, and there was such an
odd cornery window with small panes curtained by a white muslin frill;
the ivy made it so dim I could hardly see my way about, and there was
always a little swish sounding through it from the poplars outside. I
thought it all delicious and said so. Hester loved me for it, just as
she had hated the slum-mission-committee young woman because the latter
had said so much shade was unhygienic and objected to sleeping on a
feather bed. Now, I glory in feather beds, and the more feathery and
unhygienic they are the more I glory.

Hester’s cooking, too, deserved to be ranked among the fine arts. She
concocted such rich, lovely, plummy things. She told me it was such a
comfort to see me eat; she had been so afraid that I would be like the
slum-mission young woman who wouldn’t eat anything but fruit and hot
water for breakfast, and tried to make Hester cook on scientific
principles. Just as if anyone could make doughnuts on scientific
principles! Hester’s doughnuts were the very apotheosis of doughnuts and
she didn’t even go by a recipe. It is such a delight in these
enlightened days to stumble on one of those genuine, old-fashioned
cooks, who don’t care a bit if they ruin your digestion so long as they
can give you feasts of fat things.

Wayside was quiet and dreamy. There was nothing to do and I did it
thoroughly. Nevertheless, I did not object to mild dissipation, and when
Hester asked me to accompany her to the Thursday night prayer-meeting I
agreed with alacrity.

* * * * *

Hester blossomed out like the rose to attend that prayer-meeting. I was
amazed. She wore a pale blue lawn dress with a design of pansies in it
and more ruffles than I should ever have suspected economical Hester to
be guilty of; also a white straw hat with pink roses and ostrich
feathers on it. I thought she put them on because prayer-meeting was the
only social function Valley Road had, but later on I discovered another
motive.

Valley Road prayer-meetings were essentially feminine. The men seldom
went—not because they were irreligious but because they regarded the
prayer-meeting as a woman’s affair. There were thirty-two women present,
two half-grown boys, and one solitary man besides the minister. Hester
and I sat up in the front seat. She enjoyed herself hugely, leading the
singing and answering the Bible-class-lesson questions before any of the
other women could get their mouths in shape to do so. But I found it a
little dull and betook myself to studying the aforesaid solitary man who
sat facing us in a corner and looking dismally out of place.