Matthew Cuthbert Is Surprised
He and the sorrel mare jogged comfortably over the eight miles to Bright River. It was a pretty road, running along between snug far,steads, with now and again a bit of balsamy fir wood to drive through or a hollow where wild plums hung out their filmy bloom.
The air was sweet with the breath of many apple orchards and the meadows sloped away in the distance to horizon mists of pearl and purple; while
"The little birds sang as if it were The one day of summer in all the year."
Matthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during the moments when he met women and had to nod to them- for in Prince Edward Island you are supposed to nod to all and sundry you meet on the road whether you know them or not.
Matthew dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had an uncomfortable feel that the mysterious creatures were secretly laughing at him. He may have been quite light in thinking so, for he was an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard which he had worn ever since he was twenty. In fact, he had looked at twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the grayness.
When he reached Bright River there was no sign of any train; he though he was too early, so he tired his horse in the yard of the small Bright River hotel and went over to the station house. The long platform was almost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible without looking at her. Had he looked he could hardly have failde to notice the tence rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression. She was sitting there waiting for something or somebody and, since sitting and waiting was the only thing to do just then, she sat and waited with all her might and main.
He encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket office preparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirty train would soon be along.
'The five-thirty train been in and gone half an hour ago," answered that brisk official." But there was a passenger dropped off for you-a little girl. She's sitting out there on the shingles. I asked her to go into the ladids' waiting room, but she informed me gravely scope for imagination,' she said, She's a case, I should say."
"I'm nor expecting a girl." said he nlankly. "It's a boy I've come for. He should be here. Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to bring him over from Nova Scotia for me."
The statiommaster whistled.
"Guess there's some mistake," he said. "Mrs. Spencer came off the train with that girl and gave her into my charge. Said you and your sister were adopting her from an orphan asylum and that you would be along for her presently. That's all I know about it- and I haven't got any more orphans concealed hereabouts."
"I don't understand," said Matthew hdlpklessly, wishing that Marilla was at hand to cope with the situation.
"Well, you'd better question the girl," said the stationmaster carelessly. "I dare say she'll be able to explain-she's got a tongue of her own, that's certain. Maybe they were out of boys of the brand you wanted."
He walked jauntily away, being hungry, and the unfortunate Matthew was left to do that which was harder for him that bearding a lion in its den- walk up to a girl- a strange girl- an orphan girl- and demand of her why she wasn't a boy. Matthew groaned in spirit as he turned about and shuffled gently down the platform towards her.
She had been watching him ever since he had passed her and she had her eyes on him now. Matthew was not looking at her and would not have seen what she was really like if he had been, but an ordinary observer would have seen this;
A child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, very tight, very ugly dress of yellowisg gray wincey. She wore a gaded brown sailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braids of very thick, decidedly red hair. Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, that looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others.
So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was very pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning sxtraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child of whom shy Matthew Cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid.
Matthew, however, was spared the ordeal of speaking first, for as soon as she concluded that he was coming to her she stood up, frasping with one thin brown hand thd handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpetbag; the other she held out to him.
"I suppose you are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?" she said in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice. "I'm very glad to see you. I was beginning to be afraid you weren't coming for me and I was imaging all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up my mind that if you didn't come for me tonight I'd go down the track to that big wild cherry tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn't be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don't you think? You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn't you? And I was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn't tonight."
Matthew had taken the serawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and there he decided what to do.
He could not tell this child with the growing eyes that there had been a mistake, he would take her home and let Marilla do that. She couldn't be left at Bright River anyhow, no matter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanations might as well be deferred until he was safely back at Green Gables.
"I'm sorry I was late," he said shyly. "Come along. The horse is over in the yard. Give me your bag."
"Oh, I can carry it," the child responded cheerfully. "It ist't heavy. I've got all my wordly goods in it, but it isn't heavy. And if it isn't carried in just a certain way the handle pills out- so I'd better keep it because I know the exack knack of it. It's an extrmely old carpetbag. Oh, I'm very glad you've come, even if it would have been nice to sleep in a wild cherry tree. We've got to drive a long piece, haven't we? Mrs. Spencer said it was eight miles. I'm glad because I love driving. Oh, it seems so wonderfrl that I'm going live with you and belong to you. I've never belonged to anybody-not really. But the asylum was the worst. I've only been in four months, but the was enough. I don't suppose you ever were an orphan in an asylum, so you can't possibly understand what it is like. It's worse than anything you could imagine. Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like that, but I didn't mean to be wicked. It's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn't it? They were good, you know the imagination in an asylum- only just in the other orphans.
The air was sweet with the breath of many apple orchards and the meadows sloped away in the distance to horizon mists of pearl and purple; while
Matthew enjoyed the drive after his own fashion, except during the moments when he met women and had to nod to them- for in Prince Edward Island you are supposed to nod to all and sundry you meet on the road whether you know them or not.
Matthew dreaded all women except Marilla and Mrs. Rachel; he had an uncomfortable feel that the mysterious creatures were secretly laughing at him. He may have been quite light in thinking so, for he was an odd-looking personage, with an ungainly figure and long iron-gray hair that touched his stooping shoulders, and a full, soft brown beard which he had worn ever since he was twenty. In fact, he had looked at twenty very much as he looked at sixty, lacking a little of the grayness.
When he reached Bright River there was no sign of any train; he though he was too early, so he tired his horse in the yard of the small Bright River hotel and went over to the station house. The long platform was almost deserted; the only living creature in sight being a girl, sidled past her as quickly as possible without looking at her. Had he looked he could hardly have failde to notice the tence rigidity and expectation of her attitude and expression. She was sitting there waiting for something or somebody and, since sitting and waiting was the only thing to do just then, she sat and waited with all her might and main.
He encountered the stationmaster locking up the ticket office preparatory to going home for supper, and asked him if the five-thirty train would soon be along.
'The five-thirty train been in and gone half an hour ago," answered that brisk official." But there was a passenger dropped off for you-a little girl. She's sitting out there on the shingles. I asked her to go into the ladids' waiting room, but she informed me gravely scope for imagination,' she said, She's a case, I should say."
"I'm nor expecting a girl." said he nlankly. "It's a boy I've come for. He should be here. Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to bring him over from Nova Scotia for me."
The statiommaster whistled.
"Guess there's some mistake," he said. "Mrs. Spencer came off the train with that girl and gave her into my charge. Said you and your sister were adopting her from an orphan asylum and that you would be along for her presently. That's all I know about it- and I haven't got any more orphans concealed hereabouts."
"I don't understand," said Matthew hdlpklessly, wishing that Marilla was at hand to cope with the situation.
"Well, you'd better question the girl," said the stationmaster carelessly. "I dare say she'll be able to explain-she's got a tongue of her own, that's certain. Maybe they were out of boys of the brand you wanted."
He walked jauntily away, being hungry, and the unfortunate Matthew was left to do that which was harder for him that bearding a lion in its den- walk up to a girl- a strange girl- an orphan girl- and demand of her why she wasn't a boy. Matthew groaned in spirit as he turned about and shuffled gently down the platform towards her.
She had been watching him ever since he had passed her and she had her eyes on him now. Matthew was not looking at her and would not have seen what she was really like if he had been, but an ordinary observer would have seen this;
A child of about eleven, garbed in a very short, very tight, very ugly dress of yellowisg gray wincey. She wore a gaded brown sailor hat and beneath the hat, extending down her back, were two braids of very thick, decidedly red hair. Her face was small, white and thin, also much freckled; her mouth was large and so were her eyes, that looked green in some lights and moods and gray in others.
So far, the ordinary observer; an extraordinary observer might have seen that the chin was very pointed and pronounced; that the big eyes were full of spirit and vivacity; that the mouth was sweet-lipped and expressive; that the forehead was broad and full; in short, our discerning sxtraordinary observer might have concluded that no commonplace soul inhabited the body of this stray woman-child of whom shy Matthew Cuthbert was so ludicrously afraid.
Matthew, however, was spared the ordeal of speaking first, for as soon as she concluded that he was coming to her she stood up, frasping with one thin brown hand thd handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpetbag; the other she held out to him.
"I suppose you are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert of Green Gables?" she said in a peculiarly clear, sweet voice. "I'm very glad to see you. I was beginning to be afraid you weren't coming for me and I was imaging all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up my mind that if you didn't come for me tonight I'd go down the track to that big wild cherry tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn't be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don't you think? You could imagine you were dwelling in marble halls, couldn't you? And I was quite sure you would come for me in the morning, if you didn't tonight."
Matthew had taken the serawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and there he decided what to do.
He could not tell this child with the growing eyes that there had been a mistake, he would take her home and let Marilla do that. She couldn't be left at Bright River anyhow, no matter what mistake had been made, so all questions and explanations might as well be deferred until he was safely back at Green Gables.
"I'm sorry I was late," he said shyly. "Come along. The horse is over in the yard. Give me your bag."
"Oh, I can carry it," the child responded cheerfully. "It ist't heavy. I've got all my wordly goods in it, but it isn't heavy. And if it isn't carried in just a certain way the handle pills out- so I'd better keep it because I know the exack knack of it. It's an extrmely old carpetbag. Oh, I'm very glad you've come, even if it would have been nice to sleep in a wild cherry tree. We've got to drive a long piece, haven't we? Mrs. Spencer said it was eight miles. I'm glad because I love driving. Oh, it seems so wonderfrl that I'm going live with you and belong to you. I've never belonged to anybody-not really. But the asylum was the worst. I've only been in four months, but the was enough. I don't suppose you ever were an orphan in an asylum, so you can't possibly understand what it is like. It's worse than anything you could imagine. Mrs. Spencer said it was wicked of me to talk like that, but I didn't mean to be wicked. It's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn't it? They were good, you know the imagination in an asylum- only just in the other orphans.
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