… Mrs. Rachel
rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped in when bidden to do so. The
kitchen at Green Gables was a cheerful apartment—or would have been cheerful if
it had not been so painfully clean as to give it something of the appearance of
an unused parlor. Its windows looked east and west; through the west one,
looking out on the back yard, came a flood of rich June sunlight; but the east
one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the left orchard
and nodding, small birches down in the hollow by the stream, was greened over
by a tangle of vines. Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, when she sat at all, always
slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed to her too dancing and
irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant to be taken seriously; and
here she sat now, knitting, and the table behind her was laid for supper.
Mrs. Rachel,
before she had fairly closed the door, had taken a mental note of everything
that was on that table. There were three plates laid, so that Marilla must be
expecting some one home with Matthew to tea; but the dishes were everyday
dishes and there was only crab-apple preserves and one kind of cake, so that
the expected company could not be any particular company. Yet what of Matthew's
white collar and the sorrel mare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy with
this unusual mystery about quiet, unmysterious Green Gables.
"Good
evening, Rachel," Marilla said briskly. "This is a real fine evening,
isn't it? Won't you sit down? How are all your folks?"
Something that
for lack of any other name might be called friendship existed and always had
existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of—or perhaps
because of—their dissimilarity.
Marilla was a
tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her dark hair showed some
gray streaks and was always twisted up in a hard little knot behind with two
wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it. She looked like a woman of narrow
experience and rigid conscience, which she was; but there was a saving
something about her mouth which, if it had been ever so slightly developed,
might have been considered indicative of a sense of humor.
"We're all
pretty well," said Mrs. Rachel. "I was kind of afraid YOU weren't,
though, when I saw Matthew starting off today. I thought maybe he was going to
the doctor's."
Marilla's lips
twitched understandingly. She had expected Mrs. Rachel up; she had known that
the sight of Matthew jaunting off so unaccountably would be too much for her
neighbor's curiosity.
Oh, no, I'm
quite well although I had a bad headache yesterday," she said.
"Matthew went to Bright River.
We're getting a little boy from an orphan asylum in Nova Scotia and he's coming on the train tonight."
If Marilla had
said that Matthew had gone to Bright River to meet a kangaroo from Australia
Mrs. Rachel could not have been more astonished. She was actually stricken dumb
for five seconds. It was unsupposable that Marilla was making fun of her, but
Mrs. Rachel was almost forced to suppose it.
"Are you serious,
Marilla?" she demanded when voice returned to her.
"Yes, of
course," said Marilla, as if getting boys from orphan asylums in Nova
Scotia were part of the usual spring work on any well-regulated Avonlea farm
instead of being an unheard of innovation.
Mrs. Rachel felt
that she had received a severe mental jolt. She thought in exclamation points.
A boy! Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert of all people adopting a boy! From an
orphan asylum! Well, the world was certainly turning upside down! She would be
surprised at nothing after this! Nothing!
"What on
earth put such a notion into your head?" she demanded disapprovingly.
This had been
done without her advice being asked, and must perforce be disapproved.
"Well,
we've been thinking about it for some time—all winter in fact," returned
Marilla. "Mrs. Alexander Spencer was up here one day before Christmas and
she said she was going to get a little girl from the asylum over in Hopeton in
the spring. Her cousin lives there and Mrs. Spencer has visited here and knows
all about it. So Matthew and I have talked it over off and on ever since. We
thought we'd get a boy. Matthew is getting up in years, you know—he's sixty—and
he isn't so active as he once was. His heart troubles him a good deal. And you
know how desperate hard it's got to be to get hired help. There's never anybody
to be had but those stupid, half-grown little French boys; and as soon as you
do get one broke into your ways and taught something he's up and off to the
lobster factories or the States. At first Matthew suggested getting a Home boy.
But I said 'no' flat to that. 'They may be all right—I'm not saying they're
not—but no London street Arabs for me,' I said. 'Give me a native born at
least. There'll be a risk, no matter who we get. But I'll feel easier in my
mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a born Canadian.' So in the end we
decided to ask Mrs. Spencer to pick us out one when she went over to get her
little girl. We heard last week she was going, so we sent her word by Richard Spencer's
folks at Carmody to bring us a smart, likely boy of about ten or eleven. We
decided that would be the best age—old enough to be of some use in doing chores
right off and young enough to be trained up proper. We mean to give him a good
home and schooling. We had a telegram from Mrs. Alexander Spencer today—the
mail-man brought it from the station—saying they were coming on the five-thirty
train tonight. So Matthew went to Bright River to meet him. Mrs. Spencer will
drop him off there. Of course she goes on to White Sands station herself." (paragraphs in easier English)
Vocabulary
Bright River: a
fictional town
Nova Scotia: one
of the three maritime provinces of Canda. The capital is Halifax. It is located
on the Atlantic coast.
White Sands: a fictional
town
Checking
understanding
Where did Rachel
go to find out about Matthew?
What was Marilla
like?
What did Matthew
and Marilla want?
Why did they
want a boy?
Where did
Matthew go?
Related
article
From
the Internet
Si te gustó esto
compartílo con tus amigos o mandános una crítica
Ingles a empresas. Con
videos, audios y lecturas de interés. Estamos en 4249159-155723965. 4400 Salta,
Argentina
Nuestro blog es
http://clasicosparaaprenderingles.blogspot.com/
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario
Deja aquí tus mensajes, comentarios o críticas. Serán bienvenidos