Anne of Green Gables Page #2

pipe in the great outdoors and not in my kitchen.

He was in his suit.

Yes, Rachel.

Well, Matthew never goes

to town this time of year.

Matthew wasn't going to town.

Oh, don't keep me in such suspense.

He was going to Bright River.

We're getting a little boy from an orphanage in Nova

Scotia, and he's coming in on the afternoon train.

A boy?! You can't be serious.

Well, you don't know anything about raising

children. Whatever put such an idea into your head?

Well...

Matthew is getting along in years.

He's not as spry as he once was and...

his heart bothers him greatly.

Mrs. Spencer was up

here before Christmas

and said she was getting a little girl

from the Hopeton Asylum in the spring.

Matthew and I gave

it good consideration.

So, we sent word to her

by her niece, Roberta,...

to tell her to bring us a

boy home while she was at it.

I shall be surprised at

nothing after this. Nothing.

We told her to fix us up with

a little boy, eleven or twelve...

Old enough to do the chores, and

young enough to be brought up properly.

You know I pride myself

on speaking my mind.

And let me tell you, I think you're

doing a mighty risky thing.

I wish you'd consulted me first.

Well, it was just last

week, I read in the paper...

where a couple took a boy from an orphan

asylum and he set fire to their house at night.

On purpose.

Burnt them to a crisp in their beds.

Well, I won't say that I

haven't had my qualms, Rachel.

But Matthew was so terrible determined

and it's so seldom that he sets his mind

on anything that I felt I had to give in.

And there was another case, six

months ago over in New Brunswick...

where an asylum child

put strychnine in the well

and the entire family died in agony.

Only, it was a girl in that instance.

Well, we are not getting a girl.

Woap.

Oh, how do, Matthew?

Hello, Angus.

Is the afternoon train due soon?

Well, been and gone a half an hour ago.

There was a passenger

dropped off for you.

She's waiting for you on the platform.

She?

Not to worry, Matthew.

I don't think she bites.

Well, it's a boy I've come for.

Oh, she won't have

any trouble explaining.

She has a tongue of her own.

I suppose you're Mr. Matthew Cuthbert.

My name is Anne Shirley.

Anne is spelled with an "e."

I was beginning to be afraid you

weren't coming for me today,...

so I made up my mind to climb up that big,

wild cherry tree and wait for you till morning.

It would be lovely to sleep in a cherry tree

all silvery in the moonshine, don't you think?

Oh, yes it would.

I mean, no.

I mean, there's been a big mistake.

Oh, no, there's no mistake; not

if you're Mr. Matthew Cuthbert.

You are Mr. Matthew

Cuthbert, aren't you?

Mrs. Spencer told me to wait right here for you,

and so I've done, most pleasantly I must say.

Oh, this is beautiful country

you have here, Mr. Cuthbert.

I'm sorry I was late.

No, no, that's fine, thank you.

It's very light and thin, like me.

I better hold on to my bag. If it isn't

carried in a certain way, the handle falls off.

I mastered the trick of it on my

journey. It's a very old carpet bag.

Not at all the sort of luggage I imagine

the Lady of Shalott would travel with,...

...but of course hers would be suited to

a horse-drawn pavilion and not a train.

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 a long piece

to drive yet, haven't we?

Oh, I'm glad, because I love driving.

It seems so wonderful that I'm gonna

live with you and belong to you.

I've never really belonged

to anyone before,...

and the asylum was the worst

place I've lived in yet.

Mrs. Spencer says it was wicked of me to

talk like that, but I don't mean to be wicked.

It's just so easy to be wicked

without knowing it, isn't it?

Am I talking too much?

Oh, people are always telling me I do, and

I can stop if I make my mind up to do it.

You can talk all you like. I don't mind.

Oh, I know you and I are going to

get along just fine, Mr. Cuthbert.

I love this place already.

I always heard that Prince Edward Island

was the most beautiful place in Canada,..

and I used to imagine I was living here.

This is the first dream that

has ever come true for me.

It's always been one of my

dreams to live by the sea.

These red roads are so peculiar.

When we got into the train at Charlottetown

and the red roads began to flash past,...

I asked Mrs. Spencer

what made them red,...

and she said she didn't know and for pity's

sake not to ask her any more questions.

Dreams don't often come

true, do they Mr. Cuthbert?

Just now, I feel pretty

nearly perfectly happy.

I can't feel exactly

perfectly happy, because,...

what color would you call this?

Red?

Red. That's why I can't

ever be perfectly happy.

I know I'm skinny and a little

freckled and my eyes are green.

I can imagine I have a

beautiful rose-leaf complexion...

and lovely, starry violet eyes,...

but I cannot imagine my red hair away.

It'll be my life-long sorrow.

I read of a girl in a novel

once who was divinely beautiful.

Have you ever imagined what it must

be like to be divinely beautiful?

Oh, I have often.

Which would you rather be?

Divinely beautiful, or dazzlingly

clever, or angelically good?

Well, I don't know.

Neither do I.

I know I'll never be angelically good...

Mrs. Spencer says I talk so much that...

Mr. Cuthbert.

Mr. Cuthbert, what is this place called?

The Avenue.

Pretty, ain't it?

Pretty doesn't seem

the right word to use.

Nor beautiful either;

it don't go far enough.

It is wonderful. Wonderful.

They shouldn't call this

lovely place, "The Avenue"!

There's no meaning in a name like that.

They should call it,

"White Way of Delight."

This is far more glorious than

I could ever have imagined.

That's Barry's pond.

Oh, no.

This is the Lake of Shining Waters.

That's its rightful name.

Do things like this ever give

you a thrill, Mr. Cuthbert?

Well,...

picking up them ugly white

grubs in the cucumber bed.

Yes, I can see how that

could be very thrilling.

Woap.

Green Gables, yonder.

I've pinched myself so many times

today to make sure that this was real.

But it is real and we're nearly home.

I'm overwhelmed.

Matthew Cuthbert, who is that?

It's a girl.

I can see that. Where's the boy?

There weren't any. Just her.

I figured we just couldn't leave her

there no matter what the mistake was.

You figured?

Oh, this is a fine kettle of fish.

This is what comes of sending word,

instead of going ourselves, Matthew.

You don't want me?

You don't want me because I'm not a boy?

Nobody ever did want me.

I might have known this was

all too beautiful to be true.

Come, come. Now don't

cry. It is not your fault.

This is just the most tragical

thing that has ever happened to me.

Well, what's your name?

Would you please call me Cordelia?

Call you Cordelia?

Don't you think it's a pretty name?

Is that your name?

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