第七章 安妮做祷告
那天晚上，玛丽拉带安妮上床睡觉时，生硬地说：
“听着，安妮，我昨晚注意到你脱了衣服就随手扔在地板上。这是个非常不整洁的习惯，我绝不允许。你每脱下一件衣服，就要整齐叠好，放在椅子上。我可受不了不整洁的小女孩。”
“昨晚我心里太乱了，根本没顾上想衣服的事，”安妮说。“今晚我会好好叠的。在孤儿院时他们总叫我们那么做。不过有一半时间我会忘，因为急着悄悄爬上床去瞎想事儿。”
“你要是留在这儿，就得记性好一点，”玛丽拉告诫道。“嗯，这还像样。现在念你的祷告，然后上床。”
“我从来不做祷告，”安妮宣布说。
玛丽拉露出惊恐而诧异的神色。
“怎么，安妮，你这是什么意思？从来没人教过你祷告吗？上帝总希望小女孩做祷告的。你不知道上帝是谁吗，安妮？”
“‘上帝是个灵，在祂的本体、智慧、权能、圣洁、公义、良善和真实上，是无限、永恒、永不改变的，’”安妮立刻流利地答道。
玛丽拉显得宽慰了些。
“这么说你倒还懂一点，谢天谢地！你还不算彻底的外道。你从哪儿学来的？”
“哦，孤儿院的主日学校。他们逼我们把整本要理问答背下来。我倒挺喜欢。有些词儿真神气。‘无限、永恒、永不改变。’不宏伟吗？念起来滚滚而来——像大风琴在奏。我想这不能算诗，不过听上去挺像的，是不是？”
“我们不是在谈诗，安妮——我们是在谈祷告。你知不知道每晚不祷告是极 wicked 的事？我怕你是个很坏的小女孩。”
“如果你长着红头发，就会觉得学坏比学容易，”安妮带着责备的口气说。“没红头发的人不懂什么是麻烦。托马斯太太告诉我，上帝是故意把我的头发造成红色的，从那以后我就再也不在乎祂了。而且反正晚上我总累得懒得费劲祷告。要照顾双胞胎的人，哪能指望她做祷告。你说，老实说，能吗？”
玛丽拉断定，安妮的宗教教育必须立刻开始。显然一刻也不能耽搁。
“你在我屋顶下，就必须祷告，安妮。”
“噢，当然，只要你愿意，”安妮爽快地答应。“叫我做什么都行。不过这回你得告诉我念什么。等我躺下，我会自己想出一段真正好的祷告，以后老念它。我想这会挺有意思，现在想起来。”
“你得跪下，”玛丽拉尴尬地说。
安妮在玛丽拉膝前跪下，庄重地仰脸望她。
“为什么人祷告非得跪下？要是我真想祷告，告诉你我会怎么做。我会独自走到一大片野地里，或者走进深深的树林，抬头望天——望上去——望上去——望进那可爱的蓝天，蓝得好像没有尽头。然后我就只是‘感觉’一段祷告。好了，我准备好了。该说什么？”
玛丽拉比刚才更尴尬。她本打算教安妮那首孩童的古诗：“我躺下入睡”。但我告诉过你，她隐隐有点幽默感——那不过是对分寸之感的另一种说法；她忽然想到，那首白衣孩童在母亲膝下牙牙念诵的朴素小祷文，完全不适合这个满脸雀斑的小女巫，她既不知也不在乎上帝的爱，因为她从未通过人间之爱领会过它。
“你够大了，可以自己祷告，安妮，”她终于说。“只要为你的福分感谢上帝，再谦卑地求你想要的。”
“嗯，我尽力，”安妮答应着，把脸埋进玛丽拉膝上。“慈悲的天父——教堂里牧师都这么开头，我想私下祷告也行吧？”她抬起头插了一句。“慈悲的天父，我感谢祢赐下欢乐的白路、闪亮的水湖、邦尼和雪皇后。我真是万分感激。目前我能想到的福分就这些。至于我想要的东西，多得数不清，全说出来太费时间，只提最重要的两件。请让我留在绿山墙；还有，请让我长大了好看些。我此致，
恭敬您的，
安妮·雪莉。
“瞧，我做得对吗？”她急切地问，站起身。“要是多想会儿，我还能写得更花哨。”
可怜的玛丽拉没当场垮掉，全靠记起安妮这番奇谈不是不敬，只是灵性无知。她给孩⼦掖好被角，心里发誓明天就教她一段祷文，端灯正要出房，安妮叫住她。
“我现在才想起来。我该说‘阿们’而不是‘恭敬您的’吧？——像牧师那样。我忘了，但觉得祷告总得收个尾，就填了那个。你说会有分别吗？”
“我——我想不会，”玛丽拉说。“乖乖睡吧。晚安。”
“今晚我能清清楚楚说晚安了，”安妮惬意地缩进枕头里。
玛丽拉退到厨房，把蜡烛稳放桌上，瞪着马修。
“马修·卡思伯特，该有人收养那孩子教教她了。她快成个十足的外道了。你信不信，她长这么大今晚才头回祷告？明天我就去牧师宅借《破晓》丛书，就这么办。等给她做出像样衣裳，立刻送她上主日学校。我看有的忙了。唉，唉，这世上谁也免不了麻烦。我前半辈子挺顺，这回也轮到我了，只好认了。”
WHEN Marilla took Anne up to bed that night she said stiffly:
“Now, Anne, I noticed last night that you threw your clothes all about
the floor when you took them off. That is a very untidy habit, and I
can’t allow it at all. As soon as you take off any article of clothing
fold it neatly and place it on the chair. I haven’t any use at all for
little girls who aren’t neat.”
“I was so harrowed up in my mind last night that I didn’t think about my
clothes at all,” said Anne. “I’ll fold them nicely tonight. They always
made us do that at the asylum. Half the time, though, I’d forget, I’d be
in such a hurry to get into bed nice and quiet and imagine things.”
“You’ll have to remember a little better if you stay here,” admonished
Marilla. “There, that looks something like. Say your prayers now and get
into bed.”
“I never say any prayers,” announced Anne.
Marilla looked horrified astonishment.
“Why, Anne, what do you mean? Were you never taught to say your prayers?
God always wants little girls to say their prayers. Don’t you know who
God is, Anne?”
“‘God is a spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable, in His being,
wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth,’” responded Anne
promptly and glibly.
Marilla looked rather relieved.
“So you do know something then, thank goodness! You’re not quite a
heathen. Where did you learn that?”
“Oh, at the asylum Sunday-school. They made us learn the whole
catechism. I liked it pretty well. There’s something splendid about some
of the words. ‘Infinite, eternal and unchangeable.’ Isn’t that grand? It
has such a roll to it--just like a big organ playing. You couldn’t quite
call it poetry, I suppose, but it sounds a lot like it, doesn’t it?”
“We’re not talking about poetry, Anne--we are talking about saying your
prayers. Don’t you know it’s a terrible wicked thing not to say your
prayers every night? I’m afraid you are a very bad little girl.”
“You’d find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair,” said
Anne reproachfully. “People who haven’t red hair don’t know what trouble
is. Mrs. Thomas told me that God made my hair red _on purpose_, and I’ve
never cared about Him since. And anyhow I’d always be too tired at night
to bother saying prayers. People who have to look after twins can’t be
expected to say their prayers. Now, do you honestly think they can?”
Marilla decided that Anne’s religious training must be begun at once.
Plainly there was no time to be lost.
“You must say your prayers while you are under my roof, Anne.”
“Why, of course, if you want me to,” assented Anne cheerfully. “I’d do
anything to oblige you. But you’ll have to tell me what to say for this
once. After I get into bed I’ll imagine out a real nice prayer to say
always. I believe that it will be quite interesting, now that I come to
think of it.”
“You must kneel down,” said Marilla in embarrassment.
Anne knelt at Marilla’s knee and looked up gravely.
“Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray
I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d go out into a great big field all
alone or into the deep, deep woods, and I’d look up into the
sky--up--up--up--into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was
no end to its blueness. And then I’d just _feel_ a prayer. Well, I’m
ready. What am I to say?”
Marilla felt more embarrassed than ever. She had intended to teach Anne
the childish classic, “Now I lay me down to sleep.” But she had, as I
have told you, the glimmerings of a sense of humor--which is simply
another name for a sense of the fitness of things; and it suddenly
occurred to her that that simple little prayer, sacred to white-robed
childhood lisping at motherly knees, was entirely unsuited to this
freckled witch of a girl who knew and cared nothing about God’s love,
since she had never had it translated to her through the medium of
human love.
“You’re old enough to pray for yourself, Anne,” she said finally. “Just
thank God for your blessings and ask Him humbly for the things you
want.”
“Well, I’ll do my best,” promised Anne, burying her face in Marilla’s
lap. “Gracious heavenly Father--that’s the way the ministers say it in
church, so I suppose it’s all right in private prayer, isn’t it?” she
interjected, lifting her head for a moment. “Gracious heavenly Father,
I thank Thee for the White Way of Delight and the Lake of Shining
Waters and Bonny and the Snow Queen. I’m really extremely grateful for
them. And that’s all the blessings I can think of just now to thank
Thee for. As for the things I want, they’re so numerous that it would
take a great deal of time to name them all, so I will only mention the
two most important. Please let me stay at Green Gables; and please let
me be good-looking when I grow up. I remain,
“Yours respectfully,
Anne Shirley.
“There, did I do all right?” she asked eagerly, getting up. “I could
have made it much more flowery if I’d had a little more time to think it
over.”
Poor Marilla was only preserved from complete collapse by remembering
that it was not irreverence, but simply spiritual ignorance on the part
of Anne that was responsible for this extraordinary petition. She tucked
the child up in bed, mentally vowing that she should be taught a prayer
the very next day, and was leaving the room with the light when Anne
called her back.
“I’ve just thought of it now. I should have said ‘Amen’ in place
of ‘yours respectfully,’ shouldn’t I?--the way the ministers do. I’d
forgotten it, but I felt a prayer should be finished off in some way, so
I put in the other. Do you suppose it will make any difference?”
“I--I don’t suppose it will,” said Marilla. “Go to sleep now like a good
child. Good night.”
“I can say good night tonight with a clear conscience,” said Anne,
cuddling luxuriously down among her pillows.
Marilla retreated to the kitchen, set the candle firmly on the table,
and glared at Matthew.
“Matthew Cuthbert, it’s about time somebody adopted that child and
taught her something. She’s next door to a perfect heathen. Will you
believe that she never said a prayer in her life till tonight? I’ll
send to the manse tomorrow and borrow the Peep of the Day series,
that’s what I’ll do. And she shall go to Sunday-school just as soon as
I can get some suitable clothes made for her. I foresee that I shall
have my hands full. Well, well, we can’t get through this world without
our share of trouble. I’ve had a pretty easy life of it so far, but my
time has come at last and I suppose I’ll just have to make the best of
it.”
