While the ladies were having their tea, Bob Vance was driving along the shore road that led to Bright River to pick up the newest member of the family. Bob was a quiet man who loved his cows and loved his wife, and though he liked his simple life, he was interested in the idea of having a child in the house. He would have a son to help him on the farm, and the thought rather tickled him.

He clucked to the sorrel mare, and they trotted up the road as the Bright River depot came into view, a small whitewashed building surrounded by cherry trees and railroad tracks. The only person in sight was a little girl of eleven or twelve perched expectantly on a bench, as though waiting for someone to claim her.

Bob drew his horse to a stop next to the depot and climbed down. The sorrel mare nudged his shoulder docilely, and he patted her rump and hitched her to the hitching post.

Crossing the creaky wooden porch, he sidled past the girl without speaking. Little girls made him slightly nervous, with the way they giggled and fluttered around, and this one watched him with wide hazel eyes as he passed her and entered the depot.

"Morning, Angus," he said to the stationmaster, "I've come to pick up a rather large package." The stationmaster laughed and pointed outside to where the girl was surreptitiously peeking in the window. "She's waiting for you right there, Bob. I asked her if she'd like to wait in the ladies' waiting room, and she said since she wasn't quite a lady yet, she'd prefer to sit out under the cherry trees where there was more 'scope for the imagination.'"

Bob looked outside in confusion. "It's a boy I've come for," he said, "Mrs. Alexander Spencer was to drop him off here before she went on to White Sands."

The station master shook his head. "Well, I dunno. Mrs. Spencer said the girl was to wait here, that you and the missus were adopting her," he said, and Bob looked out the window in consternation. "I suppose I'd better take her home with me and we can figure out what happened," he said. The stationmaster laughed, "Well, she won't have a problem telling you, she's got a tongue of her own." 

Bob bade him goodbye and started toward the door to begin the dreaded task of talking to a little girl. It wasn't that he didn't like them; he just hadn't been around them much, having only brothers and no nieces.

On the porch, the little girl stood up as he exited. "Are you Mr. Bob Vance? Mrs. Spencer told me to wait here for a Mr. Bob Vance, and I wasn't sure if you had forgotten about me, and I had made up my mind that I would spend the night in that cherry tree, like a little brown bird. Of course, I am very glad that you did come," she said breathlessly and then looked startled. "You are Mr. Bob Vance, aren't you?" she asked hesitantly. Bob nodded, speechless.

The little creature before him smiled. "Oh, I'm very glad," she said, and Bob leaned over to pick up her worn carpetbag. "Oh, I can take that, it's very light, and if you don't hold the handle just so, it falls off," she said. Bob nodded again, and they walked over to the buggy. She scrambled right up without any assistance, and Bob unhitched the mare. He settled into his seat and clucked to the mare.

The little girl sighed as they started off down the road. "This is just the most beautiful piece of land that I've ever seen. Flowers and trees everywhere! At the asylum, we only had a few sad little trees and no flowers lasted long enough to bloom without being picked or trampled," she said, gazing rapturously at the scenery. It was nice, Bob thought, never having meditated much on the foliage surrounding him.

He glanced sidelong at the girl.  She was a skinny little thing with pale skin and a quick smile. Her eyes were big, drinking in all the sights surrounding her, and she had an abundant quantity of very bushy reddish brown hair. She was garbed in a too-small dress of an ugly-colored fabric; her elbows were patched and her stockings were darned within an inch of their lives. 

She glanced at him and smiled again. "Oh, please don't look at my dress, it's just dreadful, isn't it? I feel as though I'm held together by patches! A local storekeeper donated hundreds of yards of this material to the asylum, and though I like to think it was out of the kindness of his heart, I'm convinced he just couldn't sell it," she said so frankly that Bob smiled. This child didn't seem to be cut from the same fabric as the specimens of Avonlea girlhood that he was used to.

She continued her dialogue as they drove along the shore road. "I think 'shore road' is such a lovely name, full of mystery, don't you think? You never know what might lie ahead on the shore road," she said, and Bob felt a little dizzy.

"Mrs. Spencer said you have a dairy farm, and I must say, I do look forward to meeting some cows. They have got such soulful eyes, don't you think?" she asked, and Bob shrugged. "I dunno," he said, speaking for the first time since their journey had begun, "I never thought about it. But I'll tell you, they give the sweetest milk that makes real good ice cream."

The girl clasped her hands joyously. "I've never tasted ice cream, and it just sounds so lovely!" she cried, "Do you know, I've always thought it would be just the most pleasant delicacy to have a bowl of berries and cream for my breakfast?"

"Well, we have plenty of both at Green Gables," Bob replied, and she smiled happily. She opened her mouth as though to speak again, but her eyes widened and she was silent for a moment. "Oh, Mr. Vance, what is this place?" she asked quietly, staring at what Avonlea folks called The Avenue. It was a winding road surrounded by a canopy of the most fragrant, blossoming trees, and the child seemed struck dumb by the beauty of it all.

"This is the Avenue," he replied, and she shook her head. "That name just doesn't describe the absolute beauty of it. It should be called the White Way of Delight," she said, reaching out and gently tugging off one of the blossoms. "If I had my sketch book, I'd draw this exactly as it is, because it could not be more perfect. I used to have a wee sketch book, and I'd draw little pictures to show the other children, but Matron took it away after I had drawn a funny picture of her when I was supposed to be doing my school work." 

Bob nodded in sympathy and the sorrel mare turned from the Avenue onto the road alongside Barry's Pond. "Mr. Vance! I would draw this exactly as it is, too! What is it called?" the child cried again.

"Well, this is Barry's Pond, because Mr. Barry lives up yonder and owns this piece of land," explained Bob, "He's one of our neighbors, if you just cut through the woods and nip down the lane a bit."

The child looked at the slowly drifting water. "I would call this the Lake of Shining Waters," she said, and then glanced up at the house on the slope. "Has Mr. Barry any little girls?" she asked timidly.

"He's got one right around your age, Kelly is her name," replied Bob, chirruping to the mare, who was taking her steady time.

"I never heard of a girl named Kelly before," said the child, looking interested.

"It's a little outlandish for my liking; I'd rather something sensible like Jane or Mary, but a schoolmaster was boarding with them when she was born, and he said she had eyes as kelly green as the Irish hills, so they named her Kelly," explained Bob.

"Oh, that's a lovely story. I wish I would have been named for Irish hills. My parents named me Pamela, which I don't care for, it sounds so close to 'camel', and that's what some of the more horrid boys called me at the asylum. I don't think I'd like to be a dirty great lumpy animal. I saw a picture of a camel once and I haven't cared for my name since. Have you ever seen a picture of a camel? I prefer to be called Pam; Matron once said that it was a short and sweet name, just like me."

At this, she stopped to take a breath, and then continued, "Oh, I hope Kelly is pretty, I would so love to be pretty, and it would be a boon to have a pretty friend. What kind of hair does she have?"

Bob reflected for a moment. "She's got straight black hair," he said, and Pam sighed, "Oh, that must be so wonderful, to have hair that's not so curly and frizzy. Matron cut mine short once, and the other children called me a sheared sheep."

Bob pointed ahead down the lane. "Down there's Green Gables," he said, as it moved into sight.

Pam gazed at the farmhouse and the long barn with the woods beyond, and the little brook tripping merrily and gasped, "It's beautiful! I’ve been pinching myself to see if it's really real, and it is. It's just so nice to think that I'm going to live here and belong to you and your wife."

Bob shifted in his seat. He had not mentioned the fact that she was not the boy they had expected and wondered what Phyllis would say.

Pam grew quiet as they approached the house, and alighted from the buggy without a word. She followed Bob up the porch steps and inhaled nervously as she stepped over the threshold into the kitchen.  

Phyllis turned to see them wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at Pam with surprise. "Bob Vance, who is this? Where's the boy?" she asked confusedly.

Bob looked sheepish. "There was no boy, just her, and I figured I couldn't leave her there, so here she is," he said, and Phyllis looked even more confused. "Well, I suppose that's what happens when we send word rather than going ourselves," she said. 

Pam looked between them, bewildered. "You don't want me because I'm not a boy? I should have known that this was all too beautiful to be true," she said sadly, and Phyllis frowned. "Now, now, don't get upset. We'll get to the bottom of this. What's your name?" she asked.

Pam looked up with wide eyes and hesitated before saying, "Would you please call me Cordelia?"

Bob turned away with a smile, and Phyllis looked at the girl. 'Call you Cordelia? Is that your name?"

The child wilted. "No, but I do think Cordelia is the most lovely name in the world. It’s much nicer than Pamela," she said, and Phyllis sighed, "Pamela is a good, strong name."

Pam nodded and said, "If I can't be Cordelia, would you please call me Pam? It suits me better than Pamela."

Phyllis nodded and motioned toward the table. "Let's have a bite of supper and then you can lie down for a nap, Pam; you look plumb tired out," she said, “Bob and I will have a talk and figure out what is to become of you."

Pam nodded meekly as they sat down at the table. The meal was held in uncomfortable near-silence, with only Bob making small talk about the cows.

After Pam had eaten a sufficient amount of cake and preserves, Phyllis led her upstairs to the east gable bedroom. "You can sleep in here for the time being," she said, thankful that she had thoroughly cleaned this room recently, so that not even a speck of dust remained. Pam's hazel eyes took in the little bed with its cheery patchwork coverlet and the tiny table under the window that would be a perfect easel and nodded.

Phyllis closed the door behind her and moved down the stairs to talk with her husband. As they were deciding her fate, a lonely little girl cried herself to sleep.