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The November air nips at Green Gables, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke. Matthew Cuthbert, his shoulders stooped with years and quiet contemplation, hitches the old mare to the buggy, his thoughts fixed on the sturdy orphan boy expected from the asylum. A boy to help with the farm, a strong, silent presence to ease the burden of their advancing age. This simple, practical hope warms him more than the thin sunshine filtering through the skeletal branches of the poplars. He arrives at Bright River station, the chill seeping into his bones despite his thick coat.
The train steams into view, a monstrous iron beast, puffing great white clouds into the crisp air. As the passengers disembark, Matthew scans the platform for a glimpse of the boy. No stout lad in sight. Instead, his gaze lands upon a small, solitary figure perched amidst luggage, a girl, perhaps ten or eleven, with a shockingly large straw hat perched precariously atop a cascade of fiery red braids. Her eyes, wide and luminous, are fixed on him with an intensity that makes him blink.
"You are Mr. Matthew Cuthbert, I presume?" she asks, her voice a rush of breathless enthusiasm, utterly unlike the quiet boy he’d imagined. "I am Anne Shirley, but please, I do hope you’ll call me Anne. I am so delighted to finally be here! The journey, though somewhat tiresome, offered such enchanting vistas. Have you ever noticed how the clouds resemble celestial castles in the deepening twilight?"
Matthew, a man of few words, finds himself utterly speechless. This is not the boy. This is a girl, brimming with an eloquence that stuns him into a bewildered silence. He clears his throat, a sound like gravel. "There's been a mistake," he finally manages, his voice rougher than usual.
Anne's vivid face falls, the light dimming in her expressive eyes as if a lamp has suddenly been extinguished. "A mistake?" she whispers, her lower lip trembling.
The silence stretches, thick with unspoken disappointment. Back at Green Gables, Marilla waits, a kettle singing on the stove, a sensible supper warming. She observes Matthew’s return from the kitchen window, noting the peculiar sight of the small figure beside him in the buggy. A girl. Her brow furrows into a formidable line.
"Matthew, what on earth?" Marilla demands the moment they step into the kitchen, her voice sharp as the November wind. "Where is the boy?"
Anne shrinks slightly under Marilla’s direct gaze, but then, with a flash of her inherent spirit, she lifts her chin. "I suppose I am a great disappointment," she murmurs, her voice soft but clear, imbued with a dramatic pathos that might have seemed affected from anyone else. "Everyone always says I am. But oh, if only you could find it in your heart to keep me, I promise I would be very useful, and I have such a vivid imagination!"
Later that day, after the initial shock and stern discussions, Marilla sends Anne to fetch water from the well. As Anne approaches the well, a girl with kind, dark eyes and a gentle smile emerges from the neighboring lane, carrying a basket.
"Hello," the girl says, her voice sweet and friendly. "You must be the new girl at Green Gables. I’m Diana Barry."
Anne's heart, bruised by the day's disappointments, leaps with a sudden, exhilarating hope. "And I am Anne Shirley," she replies, her voice regaining its lost luster. "It is a most peculiar sensation, meeting a kindred spirit at last! Do you believe in bosom friends, Diana? Friends who understand each other's deepest thoughts and share every secret of their souls?"
Diana’s smile widens, a genuine warmth radiating from her. "I think so," she says, her gaze open and inviting.