When Marilla's eyes fell on the odd little figure in the stiff, ugly dress, with the long braids of red hair and the eager, luminous eyes, she stopped.
"Matthew Cuthbert, who's that?” she ejaculated. "Where is the boy?”
"There wasn't any boy,” said Matthew wretchedly. "There was only her.”
He nodded at the child.
"No boy! Where is he?” insisted Marilla. "We asked Mrs. Spencer to bring a boy.”
"Well, she didn't. She brought her. I asked the station-master. And I brought her home. She was alone there.”
"Well, well, well!” ejaculated Marilla.
During this dialogue the child remained silent. Her eyes roved from one to the other. Suddenly
she grasped the full meaning of Marilla's words. The girl dropped her precious carpet-bag and clasped her hands.
"You don't want me!” she cried. "You don't want me because I'm not a boy! I expected it. Nobody ever did want me! Oh, what shall I do? I'll burst into tears!”
She did it. She sat down on a chair by the table, and continued to cry stormily. Marilla and Matthew looked at each other. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Finally Marilla said,
"Well, well, there's no need to cry so about it.”
"Yes, there is need!” The child raised her head quickly. She revealed her trembling lips. "You will cry, too, if you are an orphan and come to a place where nobody wants to see you because you aren't a boy!”
Something like a reluctant smile mellowed Marilla's grim expression.
"Well, don't cry anymore. We won't turn you out-of-doors[8] tonight. You'll stay here until we investigate this affair. What's your name?”
The child hesitated for a moment.
"Will you please call me Cordelia?” she said eagerly.
"Call you Cordelia? Is that your name?”
"No, it's not exactly my name, but I like it. Cordelia – it's such a perfectly elegant name.”
"I don't know what you mean. If Cordelia isn't your name, what is?”
"Anne Shirley,” said the girl, "but, oh, please call me Cordelia. Anne is such an unromantic name.”
"Unromantic fiddlesticks!” said the unsympathetic Marilla. "Anne is a real good plain sensible name. No need to be ashamed of it.”
"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it,” explained Anne, "only I like Cordelia better. I've always imagined that my name was Cordelia. When I was young I imagined it was Geraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anne please call me Anne spelled with an E. It looks nicer. A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks more distinguished.”
"Very well, then, Anne spelled with an E, can you explain us this mistake? We asked Mrs. Spencer to bring us a boy. Were there no boys at the asylum?”
"Oh, yes, there were many boys at the asylum. But Mrs. Spencer said distinctly that you wanted a girl about eleven years old. And the matron says she thinks I will do[9]… You don't know how delighted I was! I didn't sleep all last night for joy. Oh,” she added reproachfully to Matthew, "why didn't you tell me at the station that you didn't want me and leave me there?”
"I'll go out to put the mare in, Marilla,” said Matthew hastily. "Have tea ready when I come back.”
"Did Mrs. Spencer bring anybody over besides you?” continued Marilla.
"She brought Lily Jones for herself. Lily is only five years old and she is very beautiful.”
"We want a boy to help Matthew on the farm. A girl is useless to us. Take off your hat. I'll lay it and your bag on the hall table.”
Anne took off her hat meekly. Matthew came back presently and they sat down to supper. But Anne did not eat. In vain she nibbled at the bread and butter.
"You do not eat anything,” said Marilla sharply.
Anne sighed.
"I can't. I'm in the depths of despair. Have you ever been in the depths of despair?”
"In the depths of despair? Never,” responded Marilla.
"Weren't you? Well, did you ever try to imagine you were in the depths of despair?”
"No, I didn't.”
"Then I don't think you can understand what it's like. It's a very uncomfortable feeling indeed. When you try to eat but you can't swallow anything, not even a chocolate caramel. I had one chocolate caramel once two years ago and it was delicious. Everything is extremely nice, but still I cannot eat.”
"I guess she's tired,” said Matthew. "Put her to bed, Marilla.”
Marilla prepared a couch in the kitchen chamber for the boy. But for the girl? Marilla lighted a candle and told Anne to follow her. Anne took her hat and carpet-bag from the hall table. They entered the little gable chamber.
"I suppose you have a nightgown?” Marilla questioned.
Anne nodded.
"Yes, I have two. The matron of the asylum made them for me. They're fearfully skimpy. I hate skimpy night-dresses. But one can dream in them, that's one consolation.”
"Well, undress quickly and go to bed. I'll come back in a few minutes for the candle.”
Anne looked around her wistfully. The whitewashed walls were painfully bare. The floor was bare, too, except for a round braided mat in the middle. In one corner was the high, old-fashioned bed. In the other corner was the aforesaid three-corner table. Above it hung a little mirror. Between table and bed there was the window. With a sob Anne hastily discarded her garments, put on the skimpy nightgown and sprang into bed. She burrowed face downward into the pillow and pulled the blanket over her head.
Marilla came again and deliberately picked up Anne's clothes, placed them neatly on a prim yellow chair, then took up the candle and went over to the bed.
"Good night,” she said, a little awkwardly, but not unkindly.
Anne's white face and big eyes appeared over the bedclothes.
"How can you call it a good night when you know it must be the worst night in my life?” she said reproachfully.
Marilla went slowly down to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the dishes. Matthew was silent.
"Well,” Marilla said wrathfully, "one of us will drive over and see Mrs. Spencer tomorrow. This girl will go back to the asylum.”
"Yes, I suppose so,” said Matthew reluctantly.
"You suppose so! Don't you know it? Matthew Cuthbert, I believe that child bewitched you! I can see that you want to keep her.”
"Well now, she's interesting,” persisted Matthew.
"Oh, she can talk fast enough. And I don't like children who have so much to say. I don't want an orphan girl, that's all. There's something I don't understand about her. No, she will go back to where she came from.”
"Of course, Marilla,” said Matthew.
Anne awoke and sat up in bed. She stared confusedly at the window. Her eyes glistened with delight. Oh, wasn't it beautiful? Wasn't it a lovely place? She wanted to stay here!
A huge cherry-tree grew outside. On both sides of the house was a big orchard, one of apple-trees and one of cherry-trees. In the garden below were lilac-trees purple with flowers. This place was lovely!
She noticed a hand on her shoulder.
"It's time to dress,” Marilla said curtly. "Get dressed[10] and come downstairs.” said Marilla. "Breakfast is ready. Wash your face and comb your hair.”
Anne was downstairs in ten minutes' time.
"I'm very hungry this morning,” she announced. "The world doesn't seem such a wilderness as it did last night. I'm so glad it's a sunshiny morning. But I like rainy mornings, too. All sorts of mornings are interesting, don't you think?”
"Hold your tongue,” said Marilla. "You talk too much for a little girl.”
Anne held her tongue obediently. She ate mechanically. Her big eyes were fixed on the sky outside the window. This made Marilla more nervous than ever.
After the meal, Anne offered to wash the dishes.
"Take plenty of hot water,” said Marilla. "and be sure you dry them well. I'll drive over to White Sands in the afternoon and see Mrs. Spencer. You'll come with me.”
Anne washed the dishes deftly enough.
"What is the name of that geranium on the window-sill, please?”
"That's the apple-scented geranium.”
"Oh, I mean just a name you gave it yourself. Didn't you give it a name? May I call it Bonny while I'm here?”
"Why do you name it?”
"Oh, I like that – when things have names. Even if they are only geraniums. I shall call the geranium Bonny. I named that cherry-tree outside my bedroom window this morning. I called it Snow Queen because it was so white.”
"She is interesting, indeed, as Matthew says,” muttered Marilla. Then she turned to her brother. "I suppose I can have the mare and buggy this afternoon, Matthew?” said Marilla.
Matthew nodded. Marilla said grimly:
"I'll drive over to White Sands. I'll take Anne with me and Mrs. Spencer will probably make arrangements to send her back to Nova Scotia at once.”
"Do you know,” said Anne confidentially, "I want to enjoy this drive. You can nearly always enjoy things if you want. I won't think about the asylum. I'll think about the drive. We will go across the Lake of Shining Waters today, won't we?”
"We won't go over Barry's pond, if that's what you mean by your Lake of Shining Waters. We will go by the shore road[11].”
"Shore road sounds nice,” said Anne dreamily.
"Tell me what you know about yourself.”
"Oh, what I know about myself isn't really interesting,” said Anne eagerly. "I was eleven last March. And I was born in Bolingbroke, Nova Scotia. My father's name was Walter Shirley, and he was a teacher. My mother's name was Bertha Shirley. My mother was a teacher in the High school. They went to live in a little yellow house in Bolingbroke. My mother died of fever[12] when I was just three months old. And my father died four days afterwards from fever too. Nobody wanted me even then. It is my fate. But Mrs. Thomas took me, though she was poor and had a drunken husband. I lived with them until I was eight years old. I helped look after the children – there were four of them. Then Mr. Thomas fell under a train, and his mother offered to take Mrs. Thomas and the children, but she didn't want me. Then Mrs. Hammond took me. I lived with her in a little house among the stumps. It was a very lonesome place. Mrs. Hammond had eight children. She had twins three times. I lived with Mrs. Hammond for over two years, and then Mr. Hammond died. Mrs. Hammond divided her children among her relatives and went to the States. I went to the asylum at Hopeton, because nobody wanted to take me. I was there four months until Mrs. Spencer came.”
"Did you ever go to school?” demanded Marilla.
"Not much. I went a little the last year I stayed with Mrs. Thomas. And of course I went while I was at the asylum. I can read pretty well and I know many pieces of poetry by heart[13].”
"Were those women – Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Hammond – good to you?” asked Marilla.
"Oh,” faltered Anne. "They wanted to be. But it's hard to have a drunken husband, you see and many children, don't you think?”
"Poor child!” thought Marilla. It was a pity to send her back.
Mrs. Spencer lived in a big yellow house at White Sands Cove, and she came to the door with surprise.
"Dear, dear![15]” she exclaimed, "I'm glad to see you. How are you, Anne?”
"I'm well, thank you,” said Anne smilelessly.
"I suppose we'll stay a little,” said Marilla, "but I promised Matthew to be home early. The fact is, Mrs. Spencer, there is a queer mistake somewhere. We asked you, Matthew and I, to bring us a boy from the asylum. We told your brother Robert to tell you we wanted a boy ten or eleven years old.”
"Marilla Cuthbert, you don't say so!” said Mrs. Spencer in distress. "Why, Robert sent his daughter Nancy and she said you wanted a girl – didn't she, Flora Jane?” asked she her daughter.
"She certainly did, Miss Cuthbert,” Flora Jane nodded earnestly.
"I'm dreadful sorry,” said Mrs. Spencer. "It's too bad; but it certainly wasn't my fault, you see, Miss Cuthbert. I thought I followed your instructions. Nancy is terrible.”
"It was our own fault,” said Marilla resignedly. "Why didn't we come to you ourselves? Anyhow, can we send the child back to the asylum? I suppose they'll take her back, won't they?”
"I suppose so,” said Mrs. Spencer thoughtfully, "but I don't think it will be necessary to send her back. Mrs. Blewett was here yesterday. She wants a little girl to help her. Mrs. Peter has a large family, you know.”
Mrs. Blewett was a small, shrewish-faced woman without an ounce of superfluous flesh on her bones. She was terrible. Servant girls told fearsome tales of her temper and stinginess, and her family of pert, quarrelsome children.
"And there is Mrs. Blewett this blessed minute!” exclaimed Mrs. Spencer. "That is real lucky! Take the armchair, Miss Cuthbert. Anne, you sit here on the ottoman and don't wiggle. Let me take your hats. Flora Jane, go out and put the kettle on. Good afternoon, Mrs. Blewett. Let me introduce you two ladies. Mrs. Blewett, Miss Cuthbert.”
Anne sat mutely on the ottoman. She stared at Mrs. Blewett. Will she go with this sharp-faced, sharp-eyed woman? Anne was on the brink of tears[16].
"There is a mistake about this little girl, Mrs. Blewett,” said Mrs. Spencer. "I was under the impression that Mr. and Miss Cuthbert wanted to adopt a little girl. But it seems it was a boy they wanted. So do you want to take the little girl, as you told me yesterday?”
Mrs. Blewett looked at Anne.
"How old are you and what's your name?” she demanded.
"Anne Shirley,” faltered the child, "and I'm eleven years old.”
"Humph! You don't look eleven. But you're wiry. The wiry girls are the best workers after all. Well, if I take you, you must be a good girl, you know – good and smart and respectful. No mistake about that. Miss Cuthbert, if you like I can take her right now.”
Marilla looked at Anne and softened at sight of the child's pale face with its look of mute misery – the misery of a helpless little creature who finds itself once more in the trap. Moreover, Marilla did not like Mrs. Blewett.
"Well, I don't know,” Marilla said slowly. "I haven't yet talked to Matthew. I just came over to learn about the mistake. I think I'll take her home again and talk it over with him. If we decide not to keep her, we'll bring or send her over to you tomorrow night. If we don't, you may know that she will stay with us. Will that suit you, Mrs. Blewett?”
"I suppose, yes,” said Mrs. Blewett ungraciously.
During Marilla's speech a sunrise dawned on Anne's face. First the look of despair faded out; then came a faint flush of hope. A moment later, when Mrs. Spencer and Mrs. Blewett went out she sprang up and flew across the room to Marilla.
"Oh, Miss Cuthbert, do you really say that perhaps you will let me stay at Green Gables?” she said, in a breathless whisper. "Did you really say it? Or did I only imagine that you did?”
"I think you must control that imagination of yours, Anne,” said Marilla crossly. "Yes, I said that and no more. But perhaps we will conclude to let Mrs. Blewett take you after all. She certainly needs you much more than I do.”
"I'll rather go back to the asylum than go to live with her,” said Anne passionately. "She looks exactly like a gimlet!”
"Go back and sit down quietly and hold your tongue,” Marilla said severely.
"I'll do that, if you only keep me!” said Anne.
When they arrived back at Green Gables that evening Matthew met them in the lane. Anne went upstairs. Marilla told Matthew everything.
"I won't give a dog to that Blewett,” said Matthew with unusual energy.
"I don't like her myself,” admitted Marilla, "but what about this girl? I never brought up a child, especially a girl but I'll do my best. So, Matthew, she may stay.”
Matthew's shy face smiled.
"Marilla,” he said, "she's such an interesting person.”
"Is she a useful person though?” asked Marilla. "Matthew, perhaps an old maid doesn't know much about children, but I guess she knows more than an old bachelor. So you just leave me to manage her.”
"Well,” said Marilla to Anne, "Matthew and I will keep you – that is, if you try to be a good little girl and show yourself grateful. Why do you cry, child?”
"I don't know why,” said Anne in a tone of bewilderment. "I'm glad! Oh, it's something more than glad. I'm so happy! I'll try to be very good!”
"Sit down on that chair and try to calm yourself,” said Marilla disapprovingly. "Yes, you can stay here. You must go to school, when it opens again in September.”
"What will I call you?” asked Anne. "Shall I always say Miss Cuthbert? Can I call you Aunt Marilla?”
"No; you'll call me just plain Marilla. Not Miss Cuthbert, it will make me nervous.”
"It sounds awfully disrespectful to just say Marilla,” protested Anne. "Can't I call you Aunt Marilla?”
"No. I'm not your aunt,” said Marilla grimly. "Now go into the sitting room, Anne and bring me the illustrated card that's on the mantelpiece. The Lord's Prayer[17] is on it and you'll learn it by heart.”
Anne promptly departed for the sitting-room across the hall. When she returned, she set the card up against the jug.
"I like this,” she announced. "It's beautiful. I heard it before. The superintendent of the asylum Sunday school said it. But I didn't like it then. He had such a cracked voice and he prayed it so mournfully. 'Hallowed be Thy name[18].' That is just like music. Oh, I'm so glad, Miss Marilla.”
"Well, learn it and hold your tongue,” said Marilla shortly.
Anne studied diligently for some moments.
"Marilla,” she demanded presently, "do you think that I shall ever have a friend in Avonlea?”
"Diana Barry lives over at Orchard Slope and she's about your age. She's a very nice little girl, and perhaps she will be a playmate for you when she comes home. But Mrs. Barry is a very particular woman[19]. She won't let Diana play with any little girl who isn't nice and good.”
"What is Diana like? Her hair isn't red, is it? Oh, I hope not. It's bad enough to have red hair myself.”
"Diana is a very pretty little girl. She has black eyes and hair and rosy cheeks. And she is good and smart.”
"Oh, I'm so glad she's pretty! Oh, look, here's a big bee on an apple blossom! Just think what a lovely place to live – in an apple blossom! I want to be a bee and live among the flowers.”
"Yesterday you wanted to be a sea gull,” sniffed Marilla. "I told you to learn that prayer and not talk. But it seems impossible for you to stop if you have listeners. So go up to your room and learn it.”
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