Аня с острова Принца Эдуарда

In the Park

           Justonthecrest,whereSpoffordAvenuepeteredoutintoaplainroad,wasalittlewhiteframehousewithgroupsofpinesoneithersideofit,stretchingtheirarmsprotectinglyoveritslowroof.Itwascoveredwithredandgoldvines,throughwhichitsgreen-shutteredwindowspeeped.Beforeitwasatinygarden,surroundedbyalowstonewall.Octoberthoughitwas,thegardenwasstillverysweetwithdear,old-fashioned,unworldlyflowersandshrubssweetmay,southern-wood,lemonverbena,alyssum,petunias,marigoldsandchrysanthemums.Atinybrickwall,inherring-bonepattern,ledfromthegatetothefrontporch.Thewholeplacemighthavebeentransplantedfromsomeremotecountryvillage;yettherewassomethingaboutitthatmadeitsnearestneighbor,thebiglawn-encircledpalaceofatobaccoking,lookexceedinglycrudeandshowyandill-bredbycontrast.AsPhilsaid,itwasthedifferencebetweenbeingbornandbeingmade.

           “It’sthedearestplaceIeversaw,”saidAnnedelightedly.“Itgivesmeoneofmyold,delightfulfunnyaches.It’sdearerandquainterthanevenMissLavendar’sstonehouse.”

           “It’sthenameIwantyoutonoticeespecially,”saidPhil.“Lookinwhiteletters,aroundthearchwayoverthegate.‘Patty’sPlace.’Isn’tthatkilling?EspeciallyonthisAvenueofPinehurstsandElmwoldsandCedarcrofts?‘Patty’sPlace,’ifyouplease!Iadoreit.”

           “HaveyouanyideawhoPattyis?”askedPriscilla.

           “PattySpoffordisthenameoftheoldladywhoownsit,I’vediscovered

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