Аня із Зелених Мезонінів

Chapter II. Matthew Cuthbert is surprised

           

           The“Avenue,”socalledbytheNewbridgepeople,wasastretchofroadfourorfivehundredyardslong,completelyarchedoverwithhuge,wide-spreadingapple-trees,plantedyearsagobyaneccentricoldfarmer.Overheadwasonelongcanopyofsnowyfragrantbloom.Belowtheboughstheairwasfullofapurpletwilightandfaraheadaglimpseofpaintedsunsetskyshonelikeagreatrosewindowattheendofacathedralaisle.

           Itsbeautyseemedtostrikethechilddumb.Sheleanedbackinthebuggy,herthinhandsclaspedbeforeher,herfaceliftedrapturouslytothewhitesplendorabove.EvenwhentheyhadpassedoutandweredrivingdownthelongslopetoNewbridgeshenevermovedorspoke.Stillwithraptfaceshegazedafarintothesunsetwest,witheyesthatsawvisionstroopingsplendidlyacrossthatglowingbackground.ThroughNewbridge,abustlinglittlevillagewheredogsbarkedatthemandsmallboyshootedandcuriousfacespeeredfromthewindows,theydrove,stillinsilence.Whenthreemoremileshaddroppedawaybehindthemthechildhadnotspoken.Shecouldkeepsilence,itwasevident,asenergeticallyasshecouldtalk.

           “Iguessyou’refeelingprettytiredandhungry,”Matthewventuredtosayatlast,accountingforherlongvisitationofdumbnesswiththeonlyreasonhecouldthinkof.“Butwehaven’tveryfartogonow—onlyanothermile.”

           Shecameoutofherreveriewithadeepsighandlookedathimwiththedreamygazeofasoulthathadbeenwonderingafar,star-led.

           “Oh,Mr.

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