CHAPTER III. Marilla Cuthbert is Surprised
MARILLA came briskly forward as Matthew opened the door. But when her 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 short in amazement.
βMatthew Cuthbert, whoβs that?β she ejaculated. βWhere is the boy?β
βThere wasnβt any boy,β said Matthew wretchedly. βThere was onlyΒ her.β
He nodded at the child, remembering that he had never even asked her name.
βNo boy! But thereΒ mustΒ have been a boy,β insisted Marilla. βWe sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring a boy.β
βWell, she didnβt. She broughtΒ her. I asked the station-master. And I had to bring her home. She couldnβt be left there, no matter where the mistake had come in.β
βWell, this is a pretty piece of business!β ejaculated Marilla.
During this dialogue the child had remained silent, her eyes roving from one to the other, all the animation fading out of her face. Suddenly she seemed to grasp the full meaning of what had been said. Dropping her precious carpet-bag she sprang forward a step and clasped her hands.
βYou donβt want me!β she cried. βYou donβt want me because Iβm not a boy! I might have expected it. Nobody ever did want me. I might have known it was all too beautiful to last. I might have known nobody really did want me. Oh, what shall I do? Iβm going to burst into tears!β
Burst into tears she did. Sitting down on a chair by the table, flinging her arms out upon it, and burying her face in them, she proceeded to cry stormily. Marilla and Matthew looked at each other deprecatingly across the stove. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Finally Marilla stepped lamely into the breach.
βWell, well, thereβs no need to cry so about it.β
βYes, thereΒ isΒ need!β The child raised her head quickly, revealing a tear-stained face and trembling lips. βYouΒ would cry, too, if you were an orphan and had come to a place you thought was going to be home and found that they didnβt want you because you werenβt a boy. Oh, this is the mostΒ tragicalΒ thing that ever happened to me!β
Something like a reluctant smile, rather rusty from long disuse, mellowed Marillaβs grim expression.
βWell, donβt cry any more. Weβre not going to turn you out-of-doors to-night. Youβll have to stay here until we investigate this affair. Whatβs your name?β
The child hesitated for a moment.
βWill you please call me Cordelia?β she said eagerly.
βCallΒ you Cordelia? Is that your name?β
βNo-o-o, itβs not exactly my name, but I would love to be called Cordelia. Itβs such a perfectly elegant name.β
βI donβt know what on earth you mean. If Cordelia isnβt your name, what is?β
βAnne Shirley,β reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, βbut, oh, please do call me Cordelia. It canβt matter much to you what you call me if Iβm only going to be here a little while, can it? And Anne is such an unromantic name.β
βUnromantic fiddlesticks!β said the unsympathetic Marilla. βAnne is a real good plain sensible name. Youβve no need to be ashamed of it.β
βOh, Iβm not ashamed of it,β explained Anne, βonly I like Cordelia better. Iβve always imagined that my name was Cordeliaβat least, I always have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it was Geraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anne please call me Anne spelled with an E.β
βWhat difference does it make how itβs spelled?β asked Marilla with another rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.
βOh, it makesΒ suchΒ a difference. ItΒ looksΒ so much nicer. When you hear a name pronounced canβt you always see it in your mind, just as if it was printed out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks so much more distinguished. If youβll only call me Anne spelled with an E I shall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia.β
βVery well, then, Anne spelled with an E, can you tell us how this mistake came to be made? We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring us a boy. Were there no boys at the asylum?β
βOh, yes, there was an abundance of them. But Mrs. Spencer saidΒ distinctlyΒ that you wanted a girl about eleven years old. And the matron said she thought I would do. You donβt know how delighted I was. I couldnβt sleep all last night for joy. Oh,β she added reproachfully, turning to Matthew, βwhy didnβt you tell me at the station that you didnβt want me and leave me there? If I hadnβt seen the White Way of Delight and the Lake of Shining Waters it wouldnβt be so hard.β
βWhat on earth does she mean?β demanded Marilla, staring at Matthew.
βSheβsheβs just referring to some conversation we had on the road,β said Matthew hastily. βIβm going out to put the mare in, Marilla. Have tea ready when I come back.β
βDid Mrs. Spencer bring anybody over besides you?β continued Marilla when Matthew had gone out.
βShe brought Lily Jones for herself. Lily is only five years old and she is very beautiful and had nut-brown hair. If I was very beautiful and had nut-brown hair would you keep me?β
βNo. We want a boy to help Matthew on the farm. A girl would be of no use to us. Take off your hat. Iβll lay it and your bag on the hall table.β
Anne took off her hat meekly. Matthew came back presently and they sat down to supper. But Anne could not eat. In vain she nibbled at the bread and butter and pecked at the crab-apple preserve out of the little scalloped glass dish by her plate. She did not really make any headway at all.
βYouβre not eating anything,β said Marilla sharply, eying her as if it were a serious shortcoming. Anne sighed.
βI canβt. Iβm in the depths of despair. Can you eat when you are in the depths of despair?β
βIβve never been in the depths of despair, so I canβt say,β responded Marilla.
βWerenβt you? Well, did you ever try toΒ imagineΒ you were in the depths of despair?β
βNo, I didnβt.β
βThen I donβt think you can understand what itβs like. Itβs a very uncomfortable feeling indeed. When you try to eat a lump comes right up in your throat and you canβt swallow anything, not even if it was a chocolate caramel. I had one chocolate caramel once two years ago and it was simply delicious. Iβve often dreamed since then that I had a lot of chocolate caramels, but I always wake up just when Iβm going to eat them. I do hope you wonβt be offended because I canβt eat. Everything is extremely nice, but still I cannot eat.β
βI guess sheβs tired,β said Matthew, who hadnβt spoken since his return from the barn. βBest put her to bed, Marilla.β
Marilla had been wondering where Anne should be put to bed. She had prepared a couch in the kitchen chamber for the desired and expected boy. But, although it was neat and clean, it did not seem quite the thing to put a girl there somehow. But the spare room was out of the question for such a stray waif, so there remained only the east gable room. Marilla lighted a candle and told Anne to follow her, which Anne spiritlessly did, taking her hat and carpet-bag from the hall table as she passed. The hall was fearsomely clean; the little gable chamber in which she presently found herself seemed still cleaner.
Marilla set the candle on a three-legged, three-cornered table and turned down the bedclothes.
βI suppose you have a nightgown?β she questioned.
Anne nodded.
βYes, I have two. The matron of the asylum made them for me. Theyβre fearfully skimpy. There is never enough to go around in an asylum, so things are always skimpyβat least in a poor asylum like ours. I hate skimpy night-dresses. But one can dream just as well in them as in lovely trailing ones, with frills around the neck, thatβs one consolation.β
βWell, undress as quick as you can and go to bed. Iβll come back in a few minutes for the candle. I darenβt trust you to put it out yourself. Youβd likely set the place on fire.β
When Marilla had gone Anne looked around her wistfully. The whitewashed walls were so painfully bare and staring that she thought they must ache over their own bareness. The floor was bare, too, except for a round braided mat in the middle such as Anne had never seen before. In one corner was the bed, a high, old-fashioned one, with four dark, low-turned posts. In the other corner was the aforesaid three-corner table adorned with a fat, red velvet pin-cushion hard enough to turn the point of the most adventurous pin. Above it hung a little six-by-eight mirror. Midway between table and bed was the window, with an icy white muslin frill over it, and opposite it was the wash-stand. The whole apartment was of a rigidity not to be described in words, but which sent a shiver to the very marrow of Anneβs bones. With a sob she hastily discarded her garments, put on the skimpy nightgown and sprang into bed where she burrowed face downward into the pillow and pulled the clothes over her head. When Marilla came up for the light various skimpy articles of raiment scattered most untidily over the floor and a certain tempestuous appearance of the bed were the only indications of any presence save her own.
She deliberately picked up Anneβs clothes, placed them neatly on a prim yellow chair, and then, taking up the candle, went over to the bed.
βGood night,β she said, a little awkwardly, but not unkindly.
Anneβs white face and big eyes appeared over the bedclothes with a startling suddenness.
βHow can you call it aΒ goodΒ night when you know it must be the very worst night Iβve ever had?β she said reproachfully.
Then she dived down into invisibility again.
Marilla went slowly down to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the supper dishes. Matthew was smokingβa sure sign of perturbation of mind. He seldom smoked, for Marilla set her face against it as a filthy habit; but at certain times and seasons he felt driven to it and them Marilla winked at the practice, realizing that a mere man must have some vent for his emotions.
βWell, this is a pretty kettle of fish,β she said wrathfully. βThis is what comes of sending word instead of going ourselves. Richard Spencerβs folks have twisted that message somehow. One of us will have to drive over and see Mrs. Spencer tomorrow, thatβs certain. This girl will have to be sent back to the asylum.β
βYes, I suppose so,β said Matthew reluctantly.
βYouΒ supposeΒ so! Donβt you know it?β
βWell now, sheβs a real nice little thing, Marilla. Itβs kind of a pity to send her back when sheβs so set on staying here.β
βMatthew Cuthbert, you donβt mean to say you think we ought to keep her!β
Marillaβs astonishment could not have been greater if Matthew had expressed a predilection for standing on his head.
βWell, now, no, I suppose notβnot exactly,β stammered Matthew, uncomfortably driven into a corner for his precise meaning. βI supposeβwe could hardly be expected to keep her.β
βI should say not. What good would she be to us?β
βWe might be some good to her,β said Matthew suddenly and unexpectedly.
βMatthew Cuthbert, I believe that child has bewitched you! I can see as plain as plain that you want to keep her.β
βWell now, sheβs a real interesting little thing,β persisted Matthew. βYou should have heard her talk coming from the station.β
βOh, she can talk fast enough. I saw that at once. Itβs nothing in her favour, either. I donβt like children who have so much to say. I donβt want an orphan girl and if I did she isnβt the style Iβd pick out. Thereβs something I donβt understand about her. No, sheβs got to be despatched straight-way back to where she came from.β
βI could hire a French boy to help me,β said Matthew, βand sheβd be company for you.β
βIβm not suffering for company,β said Marilla shortly. βAnd Iβm not going to keep her.β
βWell now, itβs just as you say, of course, Marilla,β said Matthew rising and putting his pipe away. βIβm going to bed.β
To bed went Matthew. And to bed, when she had put her dishes away, went Marilla, frowning most resolutely. And up-stairs, in the east gable, a lonely, heart-hungry, friendless child cried herself to sleep.
Discussion Questions:
- – Chapter 3 was all about surprises. Marilla was surprisedΒ to see a girl orphan with Matthew, Matthew was surprised he had taken a likingΒ to Anne, and Anne was surprisedΒ Green Gables might not be her home after-all. Think about a good surprise in your life and a difficult surprise. What made them different and how did you react to them?
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