Get there they did, however,
in due season. Mrs. Spencer lived
in a big yellow house at White
Sands Cove, and she came to the
door with surprise and welcome
mingled on
her benevolent face.
"Dear, dear," she exclaimed, "you're
the last folks I was looking
for today, but I'm real glad
to see you. You'll put your horse
in? And how are you, Anne?"
"I'm as well as can be expected,
thank you," said Anne smilelessly.
A blight seemed to have descended
on her.
"I suppose we'll stay a little
while to rest the mare," said
Marilla, "but I promised Matthew
I'd be home early. The fact is,
Mrs. Spencer, there's been a
queer mistake somewhere, and
I've come over to see where it
is. We send word, Matthew and
I, for you 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 word
down by his daughter Nancy and
she said you wanted a girl--didn't
she Flora Jane?" appealing to
her daughter who had come out
to the steps.
"She certainly did, Miss Cuthbert," corroborated
Flora Jane earnestly.
I'm dreadful
sorry," said Mrs.
Spencer. "It's too bad; but it
certainly wasn't my fault, you
see, Miss Cuthbert. I did the
best I could and I thought I
was following your instructions.
Nancy is a terrible flighty thing.
I've often had to scold her well
for her heedlessness."
"It was our own fault," said
Marilla resignedly. "We should
have come to you ourselves and
not left an important message
to be passed along by word of
mouth in that fashion. Anyhow,
the mistake has been made and
the only thing to do is to set
it right. 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. Peter Blewett
was up here yesterday, and she
was saying to me how much she
wished she'd sent by me for a
little girl to help her. Mrs.
Peter has a large family, you
know, and she finds it hard to
get help. Anne will be the very
girl for you. I call it positively
providential."
Marilla did not look as if
she thought Providence had much
to do with the matter. Here was
an unexpectedly good chance to
get this unwelcome orphan off
her hands, and she did not even
feel grateful for it.
She knew Mrs.
Peter Blewett only by sight
as a small, shrewish-faced
woman without an ounce of superfluous
flesh on her bones. But she had
heard of her. "A terrible worker
and driver," Mrs. Peter was said
to be; and discharged servant
girls told fearsome tales of
her temper and stinginess, and
her family of pert, quarrelsome
children. Marilla felt a qualm
of conscience at the thought
of handing Anne over to her tender
mercies.
"Well, I'll go in and we'll
talk the matter over," she said.
"And if there isn't Mrs. Peter
coming up the lane this blessed
minute!" exclaimed Mrs. Spencer,
bustling her guests through the
hall into the parlor, where a
deadly chill struck on them as
if the air had been strained
so long through dark green, closely
drawn blinds that it had lost
every particle of warmth it had
ever possessed. "That is real
lucky, for we can settle the
matter right away. 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. We were just saying
how fortunate it was you happened
along. Let me introduce you two
ladies. Mrs. Blewett, Miss Cuthbert.
Please excuse me for just a moment.
I forgot to tell Flora Jane to
take the buns out of the oven."
Mrs. Spencer whisked away,
after pulling up the blinds.
Anne sitting mutely on the ottoman,
with her hands clasped tightly
in her lap, stared at Mrs Blewett
as one fascinated. Was she to
be given into the keeping of
this sharp-faced, sharp-eyed
woman? She felt a lump coming
up in her throat and her eyes
smarted painfully. She was beginning
to be afraid she couldn't keep
the tears back when Mrs. Spencer
returned, flushed and beaming,
quite capable of taking any and
every difficulty, physical, mental
or spiritual, into consideration
and settling it out of hand.
"It seems there's been a mistake
about this little girl, Mrs.
Blewett," she said. "I was under
the impression that Mr. and Miss
Cuthbert wanted a little girl
to adopt. I was certainly told
so. But it seems it was a boy
they wanted. So if you're still
of the same mind you were yesterday,
I think she'll be just the thing
for you."
Mrs. Blewett darted her eyes
over Anne from head to foot.
"How old are you and what's
your name?" she demanded.
"Anne Shirley," faltered the
shrinking child, not daring to
make any stipulations regarding
the spelling thereof, "and I'm
eleven years old."
"Humph! You
don't look as if there was
much to you. But you're
wiry. I don't know but the wiry
ones are the best after all.
Well, if I take you you'll have
to be a good girl, you know--good
and smart and respectful. I'll
expect you to earn your keep,
and no mistake about that. Yes,
I suppose I might as well take
her off your hands, Miss Cuthbert.
The baby's awful fractious, and
I'm clean worn out attending
to him. If you like I can take
her right home 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 caught in the trap
from which it had escaped. Marilla
felt an uncomfortable conviction
that, if she denied the appeal
of that look, it would haunt
her to her dying day. More- over,
she did not fancy Mrs. Blewett.
To hand a sensitive, "highstrung" child
over to such a woman! No, she
could not take the responsibility
of doing that!
"Well, I don't know," she said
slowly. "I didn't say that Matthew
and I had absolutely decided
that we wouldn't keep her. In
fact I may say that Matthew is
disposed to keep her. I just
came over to find out how the
mistake had occurred. I think
I'd better take her home again
and talk it over with Matthew.
I feel that I oughtn't to decide
on anything without consulting
him. If we make up our mind not
to keep her we'll bring or send
her over to you tomorrow night.
If we don't you may know that
she is going to stay with us.
Will that suit you, Mrs. Blewett?"
"I suppose it'll have to," said
Mrs. Blewett ungraciously.
During Marilla's speech a sunrise
had been dawning on Anne's face.
First the look of despair faded
out; then came a faint flush
of hope; here eyes grew deep
and bright as morning stars.
The child was quite transfigured;
and, a moment later, when Mrs.
Spencer and Mrs. Blewett went
out in quest of a recipe the
latter had come to borrow she
sprang up and flew across the
room to Marilla.
"Oh, Miss Cuthbert, did you
really say that perhaps you would
let me stay at Green Gables?" she
said, in a breathless whisper,
as if speaking aloud might shatter
the glorious possibility. "Did
you really say it? Or did I only
imagine that you did?"
"I think you'd better learn
to control that imagination of
yours, Anne, if you can't distinguish
between what is real and what
isn't," said Marilla crossly. "Yes,
you did hear me say just that
and no more. It isn't decided
yet and perhaps we will conclude
to let Mrs. Blewett take you
after all. She certainly needs
you much more than I do."
"I'd rather go back to the
asylum than go to live with her," said
Anne passionately. "She looks
exactly like a--like a gimlet."
Marilla smothered a smile under
the conviction that Anne must
be reproved for such a speech.
"A little girl like you should
be ashamed of talking so about
a lady and a stranger," she said
severely. "Go back and sit down
quietly and hold your tongue
and behave as a good girl should."
"I'll try to do and be anything
you want me, if you'll only keep
me," said Anne, returning meekly
to her ottoman.
When they arrived back at Green
Gables that evening Matthew met
them in the lane. Marilla from
afar had noted him prowling along
it and guessed his motive. She
was prepared for the relief she
read in his face when he saw
that she had at least brought
back Anne back with her. But
she said nothing, to him, relative
to the affair, until they were
both out in the yard behind the
barn milking the cows. Then she
briefly told him Anne's history
and the result of the interview
with Mrs. Spencer.
"I wouldn't give a dog I liked
to that Blewett woman," said
Matthew with unusual vim."
"I don't fancy her style myself," admitted
Marilla, "but it's that or keeping
her ourselves, Matthew. And since
you seem to want her, I suppose
I'm willing--or have to be. I've
been thinking over the idea until
I've got kind of used to it.
It seems a sort of duty. I've
never brought up a child, especially
a girl, and I dare say I'll make
a terrible mess of it. But I'll
do my best. So far as I'm concerned,
Matthew, she may stay."
Matthew's shy face was a glow
of delight.
"Well now, I reckoned you'd
come to see it in that light,
Marilla," he said. "She's such
an interesting little thing."
"It'd be more to the point
if you could say she was a useful
little thing," retorted Marilla, "but
I'll make it my business to see
she's trained to be that. And
mind, Matthew, you're not to
go interfering with my methods.
Perhaps an old maid doesn't know
much about bringing up a child,
but I guess she knows more than
an old bachelor. So you just
leave me to manage her. When
I fail it'll be time enough to
put your oar in."
"There, there, Marilla, you
can have your own way," said
Matthew reassuringly. "Only be
as good and kind to her as you
can without spoiling her. I kind
of think she's one of the sort
you can do anything with if you
only get her to love you."
Marilla sniffed, to express
her contempt for Matthew's opinions
concerning anything feminine,
and walked off to the dairy with
the pails.
"I won't tell her tonight that
she can stay," she reflected,
as she strained the milk into
the creamers. "She'd be so excited
that she wouldn't sleep a wink.
Marilla Cuthbert, you're fairly
in for it. Did you ever suppose
you'd see the day when you'd
be adopting an orphan girl? It's
surprising enough; but not so
surprising as that Matthew should
be at the bottom of it, him that
always seemed to have such a
mortal dread of little girls.
Anyhow, we've decided on the
experiment and goodness only
knows what will come of it."
|