CHAPTER III. Marilla Cuthbert is Surprised
|MARILLA came briskly forward as Matthew opened the door. But when hereyes fell on the odd little figure in the stiff, ugly dress, with thelong braids of red hair and the eager, luminous eyes, she stopped shortin amazement.
"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, remembering that he had never even asked hername.
"No boy! But there _must_ have been a boy," insisted Marilla. "We sentword to Mrs. Spencer to bring a boy."
"Well, she didn't. She brought _her_. I asked the station-master. And Ihad to bring her home. She couldn't be left there, no matter where themistake had come in."
"Well, this is a pretty piece of business!" ejaculated Marilla.
During this dialogue the child had remained silent, her eyes roving fromone to the other, all the animation fading out of her face. Suddenlyshe seemed to grasp the full meaning of what had been said. Dropping herprecious carpet-bag she sprang forward a step and clasped her hands.
"You don't want me!" she cried. "You don't want me because I'm not aboy! I might have expected it. Nobody ever did want me. I might haveknown it was all too beautiful to last. I might have known nobody reallydid want me. Oh, what shall I do? I'm going to burst into tears!"
Burst into tears she did. Sitting down on a chair by the table, flingingher arms out upon it, and burying her face in them, she proceeded to crystormily. Marilla and Matthew looked at each other deprecatingly acrossthe stove. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Finally Marillastepped lamely into the breach.
"Well, well, there's no need to cry so about it."
"Yes, there _is_ need!" The child raised her head quickly, revealing atear-stained face and trembling lips. "_You_ would cry, too, if you werean orphan and had come to a place you thought was going to be home andfound that they didn't want you because you weren't a boy. Oh, this isthe most _tragical_ thing that ever happened to me!"
Something like a reluctant smile, rather rusty from long disuse,mellowed Marilla's grim expression.
"Well, don't cry any more. We're not going to turn you out-of-doorsto-night. You'll have to 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-o-o, it's not exactly my name, but I would love to be calledCordelia. It's such a perfectly elegant name."
"I don't know what on earth you mean. If Cordelia isn't your name, whatis?"
"Anne Shirley," reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, "but,oh, please do call me Cordelia. It can't matter much to you what youcall me if I'm only going to be here a little while, can it? And Anne issuch an unromantic name."
"Unromantic fiddlesticks!" said the unsympathetic Marilla. "Anne is areal good plain sensible name. You've no need to be ashamed of it."
"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it," explained Anne, "only I like Cordeliabetter. I've always imagined that my name was Cordelia--at least, Ialways have of late years. When I was young I used to imagine it wasGeraldine, but I like Cordelia better now. But if you call me Anneplease call me Anne spelled with an E."
"What difference does it make how it's spelled?" asked Marilla withanother rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.
"Oh, it makes _such_ a difference. It _looks_ so much nicer. When you heara name pronounced can't you always see it in your mind, just as if itwas printed out? I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks somuch more distinguished. If you'll only call me Anne spelled with an E Ishall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia."
"Very well, then, Anne spelled with an E, can you tell us how thismistake came to be made? We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring us a boy.Were there no boys at the asylum?"
"Oh, yes, there was an abundance of them. But Mrs. Spencer said_distinctly_ that you wanted a girl about eleven years old. And thematron said she thought I would do. You don't know how delighted I was.I couldn't sleep all last night for joy. Oh," she added reproachfully,turning to Matthew, "why didn't you tell me at the station that youdidn't want me and leave me there? If I hadn't seen the White Way ofDelight and the Lake of Shining Waters it wouldn't be so hard."
"What on earth does she mean?" demanded Marilla, staring at Matthew.
"She--she's just referring to some conversation we had on the road,"said Matthew hastily. "I'm going out to put the mare in, Marilla. Havetea ready when I come back."
"Did Mrs. Spencer bring anybody over besides you?" continued Marillawhen Matthew had gone out.
"She brought Lily Jones for herself. Lily is only five years old and sheis very beautiful and had nut-brown hair. If I was very beautiful andhad nut-brown hair would you keep me?"
"No. We want a boy to help Matthew on the farm. A girl would be ofno use to us. Take off your hat. I'll lay it and your bag on the halltable."
Anne took off her hat meekly. Matthew came back presently and they satdown to supper. But Anne could not eat. In vain she nibbled at thebread and butter and pecked at the crab-apple preserve out of the littlescalloped glass dish by her plate. She did not really make any headwayat all.
"You're not eating anything," said Marilla sharply, eying her as if itwere a serious shortcoming. Anne sighed.
"I can't. I'm in the depths of despair. Can you eat when you are in thedepths of despair?"
"I've never been in the depths of despair, so I can't say," respondedMarilla.
"Weren't you? Well, did you ever try to _imagine_ you were in the depthsof despair?"
"No, I didn't."
"Then I don't think you can understand what it's like. It's a veryuncomfortable feeling indeed. When you try to eat a lump comes rightup in your throat and you can't swallow anything, not even if it was achocolate caramel. I had one chocolate caramel once two years ago and itwas simply delicious. I've often dreamed since then that I had a lotof chocolate caramels, but I always wake up just when I'm going to eatthem. I do hope you won't be offended because I can't eat. Everything isextremely nice, but still I cannot eat."
"I guess she's tired," said Matthew, who hadn't spoken since his returnfrom the barn. "Best put her to bed, Marilla."
Marilla had been wondering where Anne should be put to bed. She hadprepared a couch in the kitchen chamber for the desired and expectedboy. But, although it was neat and clean, it did not seem quite thething to put a girl there somehow. But the spare room was out of thequestion for such a stray waif, so there remained only the east gableroom. Marilla lighted a candle and told Anne to follow her, which Annespiritlessly did, taking her hat and carpet-bag from the hall table asshe passed. The hall was fearsomely clean; the little gable chamber inwhich she presently found herself seemed still cleaner.
Marilla set the candle on a three-legged, three-cornered table andturned down the bedclothes.
"I suppose you have a nightgown?" she questioned.
Anne nodded.
"Yes, I have two. The matron of the asylum made them for me. They'refearfully skimpy. There is never enough to go around in an asylum, sothings are always skimpy--at least in a poor asylum like ours. I hateskimpy night-dresses. But one can dream just as well in them asin lovely trailing ones, with frills around the neck, that's oneconsolation."
"Well, undress as quick as you can and go to bed. I'll come back in afew minutes for the candle. I daren't trust you to put it out yourself.You'd likely set the place on fire."
When Marilla had gone Anne looked around her wistfully. The whitewashedwalls were so painfully bare and staring that she thought they must acheover their own bareness. The floor was bare, too, except for a roundbraided mat in the middle such as Anne had never seen before. Inone corner was the bed, a high, old-fashioned one, with four dark,low-turned posts. In the other corner was the aforesaid three-cornertable adorned wit
h a fat, red velvet pin-cushion hard enough to turn thepoint of the most adventurous pin. Above it hung a little six-by-eightmirror. Midway between table and bed was the window, with an icy whitemuslin frill over it, and opposite it was the wash-stand. The wholeapartment was of a rigidity not to be described in words, but whichsent a shiver to the very marrow of Anne's bones. With a sob she hastilydiscarded her garments, put on the skimpy nightgown and sprang into bedwhere she burrowed face downward into the pillow and pulled the clothesover her head. When Marilla came up for the light various skimpyarticles of raiment scattered most untidily over the floor and a certaintempestuous appearance of the bed were the only indications of anypresence save her own.
She deliberately picked up Anne's clothes, placed them neatly on a primyellow chair, and then, taking up the candle, 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 with astartling suddenness.
"How can you call it a _good_ night when you know it must be the veryworst night I've ever had?" she said reproachfully.
Then she dived down into invisibility again.
Marilla went slowly down to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the supperdishes. Matthew was smoking--a sure sign of perturbation of mind. Heseldom 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 Marillawinked at the practice, realizing that a mere man must have some ventfor his emotions.
"Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish," she said wrathfully. "This iswhat comes of sending word instead of going ourselves. Richard Spencer'sfolks have twisted that message somehow. One of us will have to driveover and see Mrs. Spencer tomorrow, that's certain. This girl will haveto be sent back to the asylum."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Matthew reluctantly.
"You _suppose_ so! Don't you know it?"
"Well now, she's a real nice little thing, Marilla. It's kind of a pityto send her back when she's so set on staying here."
"Matthew Cuthbert, you don't mean to say you think we ought to keepher!"
Marilla's astonishment could not have been greater if Matthew hadexpressed a predilection for standing on his head.
"Well, now, no, I suppose not--not exactly," stammered Matthew,uncomfortably driven into a corner for his precise meaning. "Isuppose--we could hardly be expected to keep her."
"I should say not. What good would she be to us?"
"We might be some good to her," said Matthew suddenly and unexpectedly.
"Matthew Cuthbert, I believe that child has bewitched you! I can see asplain as plain that you want to keep her."
"Well now, she's a real interesting little thing," persisted Matthew."You should have heard her talk coming from the station."
"Oh, she can talk fast enough. I saw that at once. It's nothing in herfavour, either. I don't like children who have so much to say. I don'twant an orphan girl and if I did she isn't the style I'd pick out.There's something I don't understand about her. No, she's got to bedespatched straight-way back to where she came from."
"I could hire a French boy to help me," said Matthew, "and she'd becompany for you."
"I'm not suffering for company," said Marilla shortly. "And I'm notgoing to keep her."
"Well now, it's just as you say, of course, Marilla," said Matthewrising and putting his pipe away. "I'm going to bed."
To bed went Matthew. And to bed, when she had put her dishes away, wentMarilla, frowning most resolutely. And up-stairs, in the east gable, alonely, heart-hungry, friendless child cried herself to sleep.