ButtonWillowCottage

No Time for Big Words

 

 'I don't know--I don't want to talk as much,' she said, denting her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger.  'It's nicer to think dear, pretty thoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures.  I don't like to have them laughed at or wondered over.  And somehow I don't want to use big words any more.  It's almost a pity, isn't it, now that I'm really growing big enough to say them if I did want to.  It's fun to be almost grown up in some ways, but it's not the kind of fun I expected, Marilla.  There's so much to learn and do and think that there isn't time for big words.'

White Way of Delight

"Oh, Mr. Cuthbert," she whispered, "that place we came through--that white place--what was it?""Well now, you must mean the Avenue," said Matthew after a few moments' profound reflection. "It is a kind of pretty place."

"Pretty? Oh, PRETTY doesn't seem the right word to use.  Nor beautiful, either.  They don't go far enough.  Oh, it was wonderful--wonderful.  It's the first thing I ever saw that couldn't be improved upon by imagination.  It just satisfies me here"--she put one hand on her breast--"it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache.

Spring Had Come...

Spring had come once more to Green Gables--the beautiful capricious, reluctant Canadian spring, lingering along through April and May in a succession of sweet, fresh, chilly days, with pink sunsets and miracles of resurrection and growth. The maples in Lover's Lane were red budded and little curly ferns pushed up around the Dryad's Bubble. Away up in the barrens, behind Mr. Silas Sloane's place, the Mayflowers blossomed out, pink and white stars of sweetness under their brown leaves. All the school girls and boys had one golden afternoon gathering them, coming home in the clear, echoing twilight with arms and baskets full of flowery spoil.

Carrots

As for Gilbert Blythe, she would not even look at him. She would never look at him again! She would never speak to him!!

When school was dismissed Anne marched out with her red head held high. Gilbert Blythe tried to intercept her at the porch door.

"I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair, Anne,' he whispered contritely. 'Honest I am. Don't be mad for keeps, now.'

Anne swept by disdainfully, without look or sign of hearing.'Oh, how could you, Anne?...

'I shall never forgive Gilbert Blythe,' said Anne firmly...The iron has entered into my soul, Diana.'

Kindred Spirits

"Miss Barry was a kindred spirit, after all," Anne confided to Marilla. "You wouldn't think so to look at her, but she is. You don't find it right out at first, as in Matthew's case, but after a while you come to see it. Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It's splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world."

Anne's Room

"You clutter up your room entirely too much with out-of-doors stuff, Anne.  Bedrooms were made to sleep in."

"Oh, and dream in too, Marilla.  And you know one can dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things.  I'm going to put these boughs in the old blue jug and set them on my table."

"...one of the prettiest places in the world..."

"Diana says she never saw the beat of me for hitting on fancy names for places.  It's nice to be clever at something, isn't it?  But Diana named the Birch Path.  She wanted to, so I let her; but I'm sure I could have found something more poetical than plain Birch Path.  Anybody can think of a name like that.  But the Birch Path is one of the prettiest places in the world, Marilla."

A-N-N-E

"Well, don't cry any more.  We're not going to turn you out-of-doors to-night.  You'll have to stay here until we investigate this affair.  What's your name?"

The child hesitated for a moment.

"Will you please call me Cordelia?" she said eagerly.

"Call you Cordelia?  Is that your name?"

"No-o-o, it's not exactly my name, but I would love to be called Cordelia.  It's such a perfectly elegant name."

"I don't know what on earth you mean.  If Cordelia isn't your name, what is?"

"Anne Shirley," reluctantly faltered forth the owner of that name, "but, oh, please do call me Cordelia.  It can't matter much to you what you call me if I'm only going to be here a little while, can it?  And Anne is such an unromantic name."

"Unromantic fiddlesticks!" said the unsympathetic Marilla. "Anne is a real good plain sensible name.  You've no need to be ashamed of it."

"Oh, I'm not ashamed of it," explained Anne, "only I like Cordelia better.  I've always imagined that my name was Cordelia--at least, I always have of late years.  When I was young I used to imagine it was Geraldine, but I like Cordelia better now.  But if you call me Anne please call me Anne spelled with an E."

"What difference does it make how it's spelled?" asked Marilla with another rusty smile as she picked up the teapot.

"Oh, it makes such a difference.  It looks so much nicer. When you hear a name pronounced can't you always see it in your mind, just as if it was printed out?  I can; and A-n-n looks dreadful, but A-n-n-e looks so much more distinguished. If you'll only call me Anne spelled with an E I shall try to reconcile myself to not being called Cordelia."