XXV. An Avonlea Scandal

           OneblitheJunemorning,afortnightafterUncleAbe’sstorm,AnnecameslowlythroughtheGreenGablesyardfromthegarden,carryinginherhandstwoblightedstalksofwhitenarcissus.

           “Look,Marilla,”shesaidsorrowfully,holdinguptheflowersbeforetheeyesofagrimlady,withherhaircoifedinagreenginghamapron,whowasgoingintothehousewithapluckedchicken,“thesearetheonlybudsthestormspared...andeventheyareimperfect.I’msosorry...IwantedsomeforMatthew’sgrave.HewasalwayssofondofJunelilies.”

           “Ikindofmissthemmyself,”admittedMarilla,“thoughitdoesn’tseemrighttolamentoverthemwhensomanyworsethingshavehappened...allthecropsdestroyedaswellasthefruit.”

           “Butpeoplehavesowntheiroatsoveragain,”saidAnnecomfortingly,“andMr.Harrisonsayshethinksifwehaveagoodsummertheywillcomeoutallrightthoughlate.Andmyannualsareallcomingupagain...butoh,nothingcanreplacetheJunelilies.PoorlittleHesterGraywillhavenoneeither.Iwentallthewaybacktohergardenlastnightbuttherewasn’tone.I’msureshe’llmissthem.”

           “Idon’tthinkit’srightforyoutosaysuchthings,Anne,Ireallydon’t,”saidMarillaseverely.“HesterGrayhasbeendeadforthirtyyearsandherspiritisinheaven...Ihope.”

           “Yes,butIbelieveshelovesandremembershergardenherestill,”saidAnne.“I’msurenomatterhowlongI’dlivedinheavenI’dliketolookdownandseesomebodyputtingflowersonmygrave.