A June Evening

           

           “IwonderwhatitwouldbeliketoliveinaworldwhereitwasalwaysJune,”saidAnne,asshecamethroughthespiceandbloomofthetwilitorchardtothefrontdoorsteps,whereMarillaandMrs.Rachelweresitting,talkingoverMrs.SamsonCoates’funeral,whichtheyhadattendedthatday.Dorasatbetweenthem,diligentlystudyingherlessons;butDavywassittingtailor-fashiononthegrass,lookingasgloomyanddepressedashissingledimplewouldlethim.

           “You’dgettiredofit,”saidMarilla,withasigh.

           “Idaresay;butjustnowIfeelthatitwouldtakemealongtimetogettiredofit,ifitwereallascharmingastoday.EverythinglovesJune.Davy-boy,whythismelancholyNovemberfaceinblossom-time?”

           “I’mjustsickandtiredofliving,”saidtheyouthfulpessimist.

           “Attenyears?Dearme,howsad!”

           “I’mnotmakingfun,”saidDavywithdignity.“I’mdisdisdiscouraged”bringingoutthebigwordwithavalianteffort.

           “Whyandwherefore?”askedAnne,sittingdownbesidehim.

           “‘CausethenewteacherthatcomewhenMr.HolmesgotsickgivemetensumstodoforMonday.It’lltakemealldaytomorrowtodothem.Itisn’tfairtohavetoworkSaturdays.MiltyBoultersaidhewouldn’tdothem,butMarillasaysI’vegotto.Idon’tlikeMissCarsonabit.”

           “Don’ttalklikethataboutyourteacher,DavyKeith,”saidMrs.Rachelseverely.“MissCarsonisaveryfinegirl.Thereisnononsenseabouther.”

           “Thatdoesn’tsoundveryattractive,”laughedAnne.“Ilikepeopletohavealittlenonsenseaboutthem.

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