The Annes

Excerpt: 'The thin child on the floor was completely engrossed in her occupation, but she never gave fractional attention to anything. She rested on one elbow, her weight on her hip, one long, slender leg crooked under her, the other extended at length over the green carpet, the foot that ended it dropping in and out of its flat-soled pump as it see-sawed from heel to toe. Suddenly the child sat up, raised her elfin face, pushed back her cropped dark hair from her dark, bright eyes with the back of a slender hand somewhat grimy on its knuckles. “Mother, I know my vocation!” she announced. Her pretty mother, as fair and placid as little Anne was dark and dynamic, bore this announcement calmly. “You must have your hair bobbed again, Anne,” she said. “What made you think of vocations, dear? At seven there is time enough for that; few vocations are decided quite so early.” “Yes, but I think it is nice to get it off your mind,” Anne said. “I’ve been thinking about it for years, ever since Joan used to talk about it, when she used to think maybe she ought to be a sister. And then Antony came along, and she married him as quick! I’d hate to wiggle around like that! So I’ve wondered a whole lot what my vocation was, and now I know.” Anne paused for the question which her mother dutifully put to her: “Do you, dear? What is it?” “Putting things on their legs. This beetle needs it. He gets on his back and kicks and kicks! It would melt a heart of stone. I turn him over and he feels ever so much cheerfuller! He doesn’t stay right side up; he tips over again, but I think maybe it’s partly the carpet. Anyway, I’m right here to set him going again. Prob’ly if he was a bird he’d sing to me, but poor black beetles haven’t any voice. Crickets chirp, though; do you s’pose black beetles chirp when they are enjoying themselves together?” Anne had dropped down again on her elbow, but she sat up again as a hope for black beetles awakened in her. “I think not, Anne; I think they cannot voice their joy,” said Mrs. Berkley, gravely. Anne sighed and lay out at full length on the floor. “I s’pose not. But maybe they go singing in their hearts—— Why, Mother, that’s a hymn, isn’t it, mother? Is that a sin? I didn’t mean it; honest to goodness, I never meant that hymn! Is it a sin, Mother?” Once more Anne was excitedly erect. “You have been told many times, Anne, that you cannot do wrong unless you mean to, sin is choosing to do wrong when you know what is right,” said this conscientious mother. “How did your beetle happen to be in this room, Anne?” “I brought him in, Mother,” answered the child. “I turned him over out of doors, but I wanted to sit down and watch him flop. I s’pose I do upset him a little weeny bit sometimes! It’s a great temptation, but then I’m right here to set him going again, and that’s my vocation.” “It’s really a beautiful vocation, Anne,” said her mother. “To put someone on his feet and help him to walk, only I wouldn’t confine it altogether to black beetles.”'