Аня с острова Принца Эдуарда

Roses of Yesterday

           Herehermotherhaddreamedtheexquisite,happydreamsofanticipatedmotherhood;herethatredsunriselighthadfallenoverthembothinthesacredhourofbirth;herehermotherhaddied.Annelookedaboutherreverently,hereyeswithtears.Itwasforheroneofthejeweledhoursoflifethatgleamoutradiantlyforeverinmemory.

           “JusttothinkofitmotherwasyoungerthanIamnowwhenIwasborn,”shewhispered.

           WhenAnnewentdownstairstheladyofthehousemetherinthehall.Sheheldoutadustylittlepackettiedwithfadedblueribbon.

           “Here’sabundleofoldlettersIfoundinthatclosetupstairswhenIcamehere,”shesaid.“IdunnowhattheyareIneverbotheredtolookin‘em,buttheaddressonthetoponeis‘MissBerthaWillis,’andthatwasyourma’smaidenname.Youcantake‘emifyou’dkeertohave‘em.”

           “Oh,thankyouthankyou,”criedAnne,claspingthepacketrapturously.

           “Thatwasallthatwasinthehouse,”saidherhostess.“Thefurniturewasallsoldtopaythedoctorbills,andMrs.Thomasgotyourma’sclothesandlittlethings.Ireckontheydidn’tlastlongamongthatdroveofThomasyoungsters.Theywasdestructiveyounganimals,asImind‘em.”

           “Ihaven’tonethingthatbelongedtomymother,”saidAnne,chokily.“IIcanneverthankyouenoughfortheseletters.”

           “You’requitewelcome.Laws,butyoureyesislikeyourma’s.Shecouldjustabouttalkwithhers.Yourfatherwassorterhomelybutawfulnice.

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