He nodded at the child, remembering that he had never even asked her
name.
No boy! But there _must_ have been a boy, insisted Marilla. We sent
word to Mrs. Spencer to bring a boy.
Well, she didn t. She brought _her_. I asked the stationmaster. And I
had to bring her home. She couldn t be left there, no matter where the
mistake had come in.
Well, this is a pretty piece of business! 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.
You don t want me! she cried. You don t want me because I m 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? I m going to burst into tears!
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.
Well, well, there s no need to cry so about it.
Yes, there _is_ need! The child raised her head quickly, revealing a
tear-stained face and trembling lips. _You_ 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 didn t want you because you weren t a boy. Oh, this is
the most _tragical_ thing that ever happened to me!
Something like a reluctant smile, rather rusty from long disuse,
mellowed Marilla s grim expression.
22