"Matthew Cuthbert, who's that?" she ejaculated. "Where is the boy?" Matthew had been to the train station to fetch the child they were to adopt, a boy. Marilla had insisted on a boy. "There wasn't any boy," said Matthew wretchedly. "There was only her." He nodded at the girl. He didn't know her name. He was embarrassed to realize that he had never even asked her name. "No boy! But there must have been a boy," insisted Marilla. "We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring a boy." "Well, she didn't. She brought her. I asked the station-master. And I had to bring her home. She couldn't be left there, no matter where the mistake had come in." "Well, this is a pretty piece of business!" ejaculated Marilla. During this dialogue the child had remained silent, her eyes roving from one to the other, all the animation fading out of her face. Suddenly she seemed to grasp the full meaning of what had been said. Dropping her precious carpet-bag she sprang forward a step and clasped her hands. "You don't want me!" she cried. "You don't want me because I'm not a boy! I might have expected it. Nobody ever did want me. I might have known it was all too beautiful to last. I might have known nobody really did want me. Oh, what shall I do? I'm going to burst into tears!" And burst into tears the little girl did. . . .