Anne of Green Gables

CHAPTER VII. Anne Says Her Prayers

|WHEN Marilla took Anne up to bed that night she said stiffly:

”Now, Anne, I noticed last night that you threw your clothes all aboutthe floor when you took them off. That is a very untidy habit, and Ican't allow it at all. As soon as you take off any article of clothingfold it neatly and place it on the chair. I haven't any use at all forlittle girls who aren't neat.”

”I was so harrowed up in my mind last night that I didn't think about myclothes at all,” said Anne. ”I'll fold them nicely tonight. They alwaysmade us do that at the asylum. Half the time, though, I'd forget, I'd bein such a hurry to get into bed nice and quiet and imagine things.”

”You'll have to remember a little better if you stay here,” admonishedMarilla. ”There, that looks something like. Say your prayers now and getinto bed.”

”I never say any prayers,” announced Anne.

Marilla looked horrified astonishment.

”Why, Anne, what do you mean? Were you never taught to say your prayers?God always wants little girls to say their prayers. Don't you know whoGod is, Anne?”

”'God is a spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable, in His being,wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth,'” responded Annepromptly and glibly.

Marilla looked rather relieved.

”So you do know something then, thank goodness! You're not quite aheathen. Where did you learn that?”

”Oh, at the asylum Sunday-school. They made us learn the wholecatechism. I liked it pretty well. There's something splendid about someof the words. 'Infinite, eternal and unchangeable.' Isn't that grand? Ithas such a roll to it--just like a big organ playing. You couldn't quitecall it poetry, I suppose, but it sounds a lot like it, doesn't it?”

”We're not talking about poetry, Anne--we are talking about saying yourprayers. Don't you know it's a terrible wicked thing not to say yourprayers every night? I'm afraid you are a very bad little girl.”

”You'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair,” saidAnne reproachfully. ”People who haven't red hair don't know what troubleis. Mrs. Thomas told me that God made my hair red _on purpose_, and I'venever cared about Him since. And anyhow I'd always be too tired at nightto bother saying prayers. People who have to look after twins can't beexpected to say their prayers. Now, do you honestly think they can?”

Marilla decided that Anne's religious training must be begun at once.Plainly there was no time to be lost.

”You must say your prayers while you are under my roof, Anne.”

”Why, of course, if you want me to,” assented Anne cheerfully. ”I'd doanything to oblige you. But you'll have to tell me what to say for thisonce. After I get into bed I'll imagine out a real nice prayer to sayalways. I believe that it will be quite interesting, now that I come tothink of it.”

”You must kneel down,” said Marilla in embarrassment.

Anne knelt at Marilla's knee and looked up gravely.

”Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I'lltell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field all aloneor into the deep, deep, woods, and I'd look up into thesky--up--up--up--into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was noend to its blueness. And then I'd just _feel_ a prayer. Well, I'm ready.What am I to say?”

Marilla felt more embarrassed than ever. She had intended to teach Annethe childish classic, ”Now I lay me down to sleep.” But she had, asI have told you, the glimmerings of a sense of humor--which is simplyanother name for a sense of fitness of things; and it suddenly occurredto her that that simple little prayer, sacred to white-robed childhoodlisping at motherly knees, was entirely unsuited to this freckled witchof a girl who knew and cared nothing about God's love, since she hadnever had it translated to her through the medium of human love.

”You're old enough to pray for yourself, Anne,” she said finally. ”Justthank God for your blessings and ask Him humbly for the things youwant.”

”Well, I'll do my best,” promised Anne, burying her face in Marilla'slap. ”Gracious heavenly Father--that's the way the ministers say it inchurch, so I suppose it's all right in private prayer, isn't it?” sheinterjected, lifting her head for a moment.

”Gracious heavenly Father, I thank Thee for the White Way of Delight and the Lake of Shining Waters and Bonny and the Snow Queen. I'm really extremely grateful for them. And that's all the blessings I can think of just now to thank Thee for. As for the things I want, they're so numerous that it would take a great deal of time to name them all so I will only mention the two most important. Please let me stay at Green Gables; and please let me be good-looking when I grow up. I remain, ”Yours respectfully, Anne Shirley.

”There, did I do all right?” she asked eagerly, getting up. ”I couldhave made it much more flowery if I'd had a little more time to think itover.”

Poor Marilla was only preserved from complete collapse by rememberingthat it was not irreverence, but simply spiritual ignorance on the partof Anne that was responsible for this extraordinary petition. She tuckedthe child up in bed, mentally vowing that she should be taught a prayerthe very next day, and was leaving the room with the light when Annecalled her back.

”I've just thought of it now. I should have said, 'Amen' in placeof 'yours respectfully,' shouldn't I?--the way the ministers do. I'dforgotten it, but I felt a prayer should be finished off in some way, soI put in the other. Do you suppose it will make any difference?”

”I--I don't suppose it will,” said Marilla. ”Go to sleep now like a goodchild. Good night.”

”I can only say good night tonight with a clear conscience,” said Anne,cuddling luxuriously down among her pillows.

Marilla retreated to the kitchen, set the candle firmly on the table,and glared at Matthew.

”Matthew Cuthbert, it's about time somebody adopted that child andtaught her something. She's next door to a perfect heathen. Will youbelieve that she never said a prayer in her life till tonight? I'll sendher to the manse tomorrow and borrow the Peep of the Day series, that'swhat I'll do. And she shall go to Sunday-school just as soon as I canget some suitable clothes made for her. I foresee that I shall havemy hands full. Well, well, we can't get through this world without ourshare of trouble. I've had a pretty easy life of it so far, but my timehas come at last and I suppose I'll just have to make the best of it.”