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Matthew 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 has 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 ladies' waiting room, but she informed me gravely that she
preferred to stay outside. 'There was more scope for imagination,' she
said. She's a case, I should say."
"I'm not expecting a girl," said Matthew blankly. "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 stationmaster 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 helplessly, wishing that Marilla was
at hand to cope with the situation.
"Well, you'd better question the girl," said the station-master
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 than 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 yellowish-gray wincey. She wore a faded 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, which
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 extraordinary 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, grasping with
one thin brown hand the handle of a shabby, old-fashioned carpet-bag;
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 imagining
all the things that might have happened to prevent you. I had made up
my mind that if you didn't come for me to-night 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
to-night."
Matthew had taken the scrawny little hand awkwardly in his; then and
there he decided what to do. He could not tell this child with the
glowing 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."
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