Anwylie was full of back-and-forths, and whoever was particularly attentive to the affairs of his neighbors tended to neglect his own, but Mrs. Rachel had the ability to do both.
The housewives of Ainville said at times, in voices of awe, that she had sewn sixteen quilts and kept a minute eye on the main road that ran through the valley and around the steep red hills.
The sun's bright, gentle rays poured into the windows, and the orchards on the slopes below the house were tinted with a bridal flush, along with white flowers and swarms of buzzing bees.
If it had been any other person in Anvil, Mrs. Rachel would have connected all the signs, and probably the two questions would have been ingeniously concluded, but Matthew was a man who went out very little, and then, surely, there must be one thing.
The road wasn't far, the big irregular house surrounded by fruit trees where Matthew lived was only a mile from the main road that led from the Linder house, a place with very few tracks.
The green-hill-walled kitchen was a delightful place to be, or to look a few moments like the living room that had been used from, originally.
Marilla sat there, and she sat as if she were a little skeptical of the sunlight, which seemed to her as if it were something that swung from side to side and was irresponsible, but which was indeed very important to the world.
Some relationships that weren't sure what they were called were called friendships, and this one was possessed between Marilla and Rachel, even if they didn't really know each other very well.
Marilla's lips twitched tolerantly as she assumed that Mrs. Rachel would be coming, Matthew going out in such a glowing manner and without any reason was indeed too much for the curiosity of those in her neighborhood.
"Well, Marilla, I'm going to tell you in all sincerity that I think you've done a foolish thing - a risky thing, that's all. You don't know what you're going to get. You're going to take an unfamiliar child into your home, with whom you don't know a thing, or his character, or anything about his parents, or at all what he'll be converted into. Only last week I read in the paper that a couple had gone to the orphanage and taken in a child, and then he set fire to it in the night - set fire to it by design, Marilla! almost burned them to a crisp in their beds. Also, I know of another instance where an adopted boy sucked raw eggs and ate them, and that character couldn't be changed. If you had asked my opinion in this matter--which, of course, you didn't--Marilla, I would have said God forbid, don't think of such things."
Matthew Cuthbert and the mare went in a very speculative combination to the Bright River, eight miles away. It was a lovely road, lined with warm farms, and from time to time they passed through gusts of fragrant fir woods. In the valleys plum trees hung with open misty blossoms, the air overflowed with the sweet scent of apple orchards, and the pastures stretched far to the end of the horizon-in a purple mist like pearls. The birds sang merrily, as if today were the only summer day of the year.
The moment he arrived at the Bright River station, there was no sign of any train coming there yet, and, thinking he was too early, he tied his horse in the yard of the little Bright River Hotel and walked farther to the station. The long platform looked like it was frozen, and the only living creature as far as the eye could reach was a girl, sitting alone on a high pile of cobblestones at the other end. Matthew saw the girl as if he saw nothing, and he quietly sidestepped and walked swiftly past her without looking at her. If he had looked at her he would have seen her tense mechanical face full of waiting. She sat there as if waiting for someone, sitting and waiting was the only thing left to do, she sat and waited dry with all her might.
She had been looking at him since he passed by, and now her eyes fell on him. Matthew didn't look at her; he didn't know what she looked like, but if anyone else would have done, a child of eleven or so, with small, tight clothes, an ugly grayish-yellow cotton-flannel garment, and a long-faded brown sailor's cap, under which were two thick red twists; her face was small, pale, thin, and freckled, with large eyes and a big mouth, and at certain times her eyes were green at one time, and brown at others.