“Tante!” Anne gasped. What was she being offered? Nothing less than a new home and family. She had seen enough of that family to guess what a beautiful home they must have. Seeing Anne speechless, Tante went on to tell her how she had consulted her children and how they were pleased with the idea. They were not rich, she said. They lived in a simple city house, not in the least like the former luxurious home of Mr. Poole. They had no servants, and they all shared the work together, just as at Round Robin. Tante was a teacher, and so was Hugh. They would all have to earn their living some day. But, Tante said, all American children ought to be able to do that, whatever the future held in store for them. Anne should go to school with Nancy and learn the things she wished. Then in summer there would again be Camp, which was Tante’s “business.”
“You will be treated just the same as one of my own children, Anne,” said Tante. And Anne knew that Tante never said what she did not mean.
“Oh Tante! And you have such a big family already!”
“We have a big house,” smiled Tante. “We love to keep it filled.” Anne seemed to feel the warmth of happiness that must brim the rooms in Tante’s big house, radiating from Tante’s own big heart. Then suddenly she had a vision of the Captain’s happy look when she had first called him “Grandfather,” and of Nelly’s wistful good-bye. And she had a curious counter-pulling of her heart towards those people who really belonged to her.
“Does Grandfather know?” she said falteringly. Tante nodded.
“Certainly, I consulted him first,” she said. “He is willing you should choose for yourself, between his home and mine. Of course, you would still see him in the summer; but I should want to adopt you legally and have you take our name.”
Anne Carlsen stood looking at the ground, thinking harder than she had ever thought in her life before. What Tante had said made her very happy. To think that these lovely people wanted her in their family! And wanted to share with her their good old Yankee name! She was not yet quite familiar with her own proper Norwegian name; why should she mind giving it up so soon? And yet—strangely enough—Anne did not want to give it up!
“My real name is Carlsen,” she was saying to herself. “I never thought about what a real name meant, before. This one sounds foreign, but it is mine; given me by my good sailor father whom I never knew. I lost it once without knowing; now I have got it back again. And I’d like to keep it and make it real American. It is only a sound; that is all the Batchelder name is, too. But it’s mine. And I can only be myself, not a Batchelder.” She looked up at Tante with a wrinkle in her forehead, because she had been thinking so hard.
“You don’t have to tell me right away, Anne,” said Tante kindly. “Think it over, Dear.” But Anne shook her head.
“Oh, Tante, you dear Tante!” she replied in a low voice. “I love you all for inviting me. But if Grandfather wants me—and I think he does, Nelly says so—I want to be his girl. I want to make good with my own name, too. I think Grandfather would like that; because of my mother.”