The Penningtons' Girl

"The Penningtons' Girl" by Lucy Maud Montgomery tells the story of a spirited young woman named Janet Pennington, who navigates the complexities of love and family dynamics in a small Canadian town. Set against the backdrop of picturesque landscapes, the novel explores themes of independence, personal ambition, and the struggle between duty and desire. As Janet grapples with her feelings for two very different men, she must also confront her own identity and the expectations placed upon her by society. Montgomery's signature lyrical prose captures both the beauty and the challenges of rural life, making this a heartfelt tale of growth and self-discovery.

• Short story

								
Winslow had been fishing--or pretending to--all the morning, and he
was desperately thirsty. He boarded with the Beckwiths on the
Riverside East Shore, but he was nearer Riverside West, and he knew
the Penningtons well. He had often been there for bait and milk and
had listened times out of mind to Mrs. Pennington's dismal tales of
her tribulations with hired girls. She never could get along with
them, and they left, on an average, after a fortnight's trial. She was
on the lookout for one now, he knew, and would likely be cross, but he
thought she would give him a drink.

He rowed his skiff into the shore and tied it to a fir that hung out
from the bank. A winding little footpath led up to the Pennington
farmhouse, which crested the hill about three hundred yards from the
shore. Winslow made for the kitchen door and came face to face with a
girl carrying a pail of water--Mrs. Pennington's latest thing in hired
girls, of course.

Winslow's first bewildered thought was "What a goddess!" and he
wondered, as he politely asked for a drink, where on earth Mrs.
Pennington had picked her up. She handed him a shining dipper half
full and stood, pail in hand, while he drank it.

She was rather tall, and wore a somewhat limp, faded print gown, and a
big sunhat, beneath which a glossy knot of chestnut showed itself. Her
skin was very fair, somewhat freckled, and her mouth was delicious. As
for her eyes, they were grey, but beyond that simply defied
description.

"Will you have some more?" she asked in a soft, drawling voice.

"No, thank you. That was delicious. Is Mrs. Pennington home?"

"No. She has gone away for the day."

"Well, I suppose I can sit down here and rest a while. You've no
serious objections, have you?"

"Oh, no."

She carried her pail into the kitchen and came out again presently
with a knife and a pan of apples. Sitting down on a bench under the
poplars she proceeded to peel them with a disregard of his presence
that piqued Winslow, who was not used to being ignored in this
fashion. Besides, as a general rule, he had been quite good friends
with Mrs. Pennington's hired girls. She had had three strapping
damsels during his sojourn in Riverside, and he used to sit on this
very doorstep and chaff them. They had all been saucy and talkative.
This girl was evidently a new species.

"Do you think you'll get along with Mrs. Pennington?" he asked
finally. "As a rule she fights with her help, although she is a most
estimable woman."

The girl smiled quite broadly.

"I guess p'r'aps she's rather hard to suit," was the answer, "but I
like her pretty well so far. I think we'll get along with each other.
If we don't I can leave--like the others did."

"What is your name?"

"Nelly Ray."

"Well, Nelly, I hope you'll be able to keep your place. Let me give
you a bit of friendly advice. Don't let the cats get into the pantry.
That is what Mrs. Pennington has quarrelled with nearly every one of
her girls about."

"It is quite a bother to keep them out, ain't it?" said Nelly calmly.
"There's dozens of cats about the place. What on earth makes them keep
so many?"

"Mr. Pennington has a mania for cats. He and Mrs. Pennington have a
standing disagreement about it. The last girl left here because she
couldn't stand the cats; they affected her nerves, she said. I hope
you don't mind them."

"Oh, no; I kind of like cats. I've been tryin' to count them. Has
anyone ever done that?"

"Not that I know of. I tried but I had to give up in despair--never
could tell when I was counting the same cat over again. Look at that
black goblin sunning himself on the woodpile. I say, Nelly, you're not
going, are you?"

"I must. It's time to get dinner. Mr. Pennington will be in from the
fields soon."

The next minute he heard her stepping briskly about the kitchen,
shooing out intruding cats, and humming a darky air to herself. He
went reluctantly back to the shore and rowed across the river in a
brown study.

I don't know whether Winslow was afflicted with chronic thirst or not,
or whether the East side water wasn't so good as that of the West
side; but I do know that he fairly haunted the Pennington farmhouse
after that. Mrs. Pennington was home the next time he went, and he
asked her about her new girl. To his surprise the good lady was
unusually reticent. She couldn't really say very much about Nelly. No,
she didn't belong anywhere near Riverside. In fact, she--Mrs.
Pennington--didn't think she had any settled home at present. Her
father was travelling over the country somewhere. Nelly was a good
little girl, and very obliging. Beyond this Winslow could get no more
information, so he went around and talked to Nelly, who was sitting on
the bench under the poplars and seemed absorbed in watching the
sunset.

She dropped her g's badly and made some grammatical errors that caused
Winslow's flesh to creep on his bones. But any man could have forgiven
mistakes from such dimpled lips in such a sweet voice.

He asked her to go for a row up the river in the twilight and she
assented; she handled an oar very well, he found out, and the exercise
became her. Winslow tried to get her to talk about herself, but failed
signally and had to content himself with Mrs. Pennington's meagre
information. He told her about himself frankly enough--how he had had
fever in the spring and had been ordered to spend the summer in the
country and do nothing useful until his health was fully restored, and
how lonesome it was in Riverside in general and at the Beckwith farm
in particular. He made out quite a dismal case for himself and if
Nelly wasn't sorry for him, she should have been.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the end of a fortnight Riverside folks began to talk about Winslow
and the Penningtons' hired girl. He was reported to be "dead gone" on
her; he took her out rowing every evening, drove her to preaching up
the Bend on Sunday nights, and haunted the Pennington farmhouse. Wise
folks shook their heads over it and wondered that Mrs. Pennington
allowed it. Winslow was a gentleman, and that Nelly Ray, whom nobody
knew anything about, not even where she came from, was only a common
hired girl, and he had no business to be hanging about her. She was
pretty, to be sure; but she was absurdly stuck-up and wouldn't
associate with other Riverside "help" at all. Well, pride must have a
fall; there must be something queer about her when she was so awful
sly as to her past life.

Winslow and Nelly did not trouble themselves in the least over all
this gossip; in fact, they never even heard it. Winslow was hopelessly
in love, when he found this out he was aghast. He thought of his
father, the ambitious railroad magnate; of his mother, the brilliant
society leader; of his sisters, the beautiful and proud; he was
honestly frightened. It would never do; he must not go to see Nelly

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