By Grace of Julius Caesar

is a historical novel by Lucy Maud Montgomery that intertwines themes of love, ambition, and the complexities of human relationships. Set against the backdrop of both ancient Rome and the tumultuous politics of the time, the story follows the lives of characters navigating societal expectations and personal desires. Through rich descriptions and emotional depth, Montgomery explores the influence of fate and the indomitable spirit of her characters, showcasing her signature storytelling style that combines realism with a touch of the poetic. The novel highlights the timeless struggle for individual identity amid the grand narratives of history.

• Short story

								
Melissa sent word on Monday evening that she thought we had better go
round with the subscription list for cushioning the church pews on
Tuesday. I sent back word that I thought we had better go on Thursday.
I had no particular objection to Tuesday, but Melissa is rather fond
of settling things without consulting anyone else, and I don't believe
in always letting her have her own way. Melissa is my cousin and we
have always been good friends, and I am really very fond of her; but
there's no sense in lying down and letting yourself be walked over. We
finally compromised on Wednesday.

I always have a feeling of dread when I hear of any new church-project
for which money will be needed, because I know perfectly well that
Melissa and I will be sent round to collect for it. People say we seem
to be able to get more than anybody else; and they appear to think
that because Melissa is an unencumbered old maid, and I am an
unencumbered widow, we can spare the time without any inconvenience to
ourselves. Well, we have been canvassing for building funds, and
socials, and suppers for years, but it is needed now; at least, I have
had enough of it, and I should think Melissa has, too.

We started out bright and early on Wednesday morning, for Jersey Cove
is a big place and we knew we should need the whole day. We had to
walk because neither of us owned a horse, and anyway it's more
nuisance getting out to open and shut gates than it is worth while. It
was a lovely day then, though promising to be hot, and our hearts
were as light as could be expected, considering the disagreeable
expedition we were on.

I was waiting at my gate for Melissa when she came, and she looked me
over with wonder and disapproval. I could see she thought I was a fool
to dress up in my second best flowered muslin and my very best hat
with the pale pink roses in it to walk about in the heat and dust; but
I wasn't. All my experience in canvassing goes to show that the better
dressed and better looking you are the more money you'll get--that is,
when it's the men you have to tackle, as in this case. If it had been
the women, however, I would have put on the oldest and ugliest things,
consistent with decency, I had. This was what Melissa had done, as it
was, and she did look fearfully prim and dowdy, except for her front
hair, which was as soft and fluffy and elaborate as usual. I never
could understand how Melissa always got it arranged so beautifully.

Nothing particular happened the first part of the day. Some few
growled and wouldn't subscribe anything, but on the whole we did
pretty well. If it had been a missionary subscription we should have
fared worse; but when it was something touching their own comfort,
like cushioning the pews, they came down handsomely. We reached Daniel
Wilson's by noon, and had to have dinner there. We didn't eat much,
although we were hungry enough--Mary Wilson's cooking is a by-word in
Jersey Cove. No wonder Daniel is dyspeptic; but dyspeptic or not, he
gave us a big subscription for our cushions and told us we looked
younger than ever. Daniel is always very complimentary, and they say
Mary is jealous.

When we left the Wilson's Melissa said, with an air of a woman nerving
herself to a disagreeable duty:

"I suppose we might as well go to Isaac Appleby's now and get it
over."

I agreed with her. I had been dreading that call all day. It isn't a
very pleasant thing to go to a man you have recently refused to marry
and ask him for money; and Melissa and I were both in that
predicament.

Isaac was a well-to-do old bachelor who had never had any notion of
getting married until his sister died in the winter. And then, as soon
as the spring planting was over, he began to look round for a wife. He
came to me first and I said "No" good and hard. I liked Isaac well
enough; but I was snug and comfortable, and didn't feel like pulling
up my roots and moving into another lot; besides, Isaac's courting
seemed to me a shade too business-like. I can't get along without a
little romance; it's my nature.

Isaac was disappointed and said so, but intimated that it wasn't
crushing and that the next best would do very well. The next best was
Melissa, and he proposed to her after the decent interval of a
fortnight. Melissa also refused him. I admit I was surprised at this,
for I knew Melissa was rather anxious to marry; but she has always
been down on Isaac Appleby, from principle, because of a family feud
on her mother's side; besides, an old beau of hers, a widower at
Kingsbridge, was just beginning to take notice again, and I suspected
Melissa had hopes concerning him. Finally, I imagine Melissa did not
fancy being second choice.

Whatever her reasons were, she refused poor Isaac, and that finished
his matrimonial prospects as far as Jersey Cove was concerned, for
there wasn't another eligible woman in it--that is, for a man of
Isaac's age. I was the only widow, and the other old maids besides
Melissa were all hopelessly old-maiden.

This was all three months ago, and Isaac had been keeping house for
himself ever since. Nobody knew much about how he got along, for the
Appleby house is half a mile from anywhere, down near the shore at the
end of a long lane--the lonesomest place, as I did not fail to
remember when I was considering Isaac's offer.

"I heard Jarvis Aldrich say Isaac had got a dog lately," said Melissa,
when we finally came in sight of the house--a handsome new one, by the
way, put up only ten years ago. "Jarvis said it was an imported
breed. I do hope it isn't cross."

I have a mortal horror of dogs, and I followed Melissa into the big
farmyard with fear and trembling. We were halfway across the yard when
Melissa shrieked:

"Anne, there's the dog!"

There was the dog; and the trouble was that he didn't stay there, but
came right down the slope at a steady, business-like trot. He was a
bull-dog and big enough to bite a body clean in two, and he was the
ugliest thing in dogs I had ever seen.

Melissa and I both lost our heads. We screamed, dropped our parasols,
and ran instinctively to the only refuge that was in sight--a ladder
leaning against the old Appleby house. I am forty-five and something
more than plump, so that climbing ladders is not my favorite form of
exercise. But I went up that one with the agility and grace of
sixteen. Melissa followed me, and we found ourselves on the
roof--fortunately it was a flat one--panting and gasping, but safe,
unless that diabolical dog could climb a ladder.

I crept cautiously to the edge and peered over. The beast was sitting
on his haunches at the foot of the ladder, and it was quite evident he
was not short on time. The gleam in his eye seemed to say:

"I've got you two unprincipled subscription hunters beautifully treed
and it's treed you're going to stay. That is what I call satisfying."

I reported the state of the case to Melissa.

"What shall we do?" I asked.

"Do?" said Melissa, snappishly. "Why, stay here till Isaac Appleby

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