“But we haven’t a pumpkin in the house and Bridget catches all the mice and burns them up. So you can’t make a carriage––”
“There’s one at the door.” The hall seemed all alight and they went out. Yes, there was a coach with lamps on both sides, two horses and a driver, besides a footman who helped them in with a fine air, and drove off as gay as if it was Christmas night, though it were really March.
The streets were alight, the windows shining 9 in splendor. Marilla had never seen anything like it. Presently they stopped at what seemed to the little girl a great palace with broad white marble steps and tall carved columns lighted by myriads of colored lights and the vestibule was hung with vines. There were statues standing round that looked like real people only they were so white from top to toe. Then they went up another beautiful stairway that led to a gallery where there were numbers of inviting little rooms, and throngs of elegantly dressed people, not any larger than boys and girls. A maid took off their wraps, and brushed Marilla’s hair and it fell in golden rings all over her head.
“What beautiful hair,” she exclaimed, “just like threads of silk. You must let it grow long. And such lovely eyes; but she’s thin.”
“Yes, rather,” said godmother, “But she has dancing feet. She’s a real Cinderella.”
“There’s so many of them and only one Prince. What a pity!”
“But each has her turn, and they are very happy.”
Then Marilla glanced around the gallery. That was well lighted and had a cushioned 10 seat against the wall. Groups were sitting together or rambling about. And a great circular room, down stairs lighted by a magnificent chandelier whose prisms seemed in constant motion and rayed off every imaginable color with a faint musical sound.
“Oh! oh! oh!” and her eyes were full of tears though her lips smiled.
“Now we will go down,” said godmother.