Аня із Зелених Мезонінів

Chapter VII. Anne Says Her Prayers

           I’dgooutintoagreatbigfieldallaloneorintothedeep,deep,woods,andI’dlookupintothesky—up—up—up—intothatlovelyblueskythatlooksasiftherewasnoendtoitsblueness.AndthenI’djustfeelaprayer.Well,I’mready.WhatamItosay?”

           Marillafeltmoreembarrassedthanever.ShehadintendedtoteachAnnethechildishclassic,“NowIlaymedowntosleep.”Butshehad,asIhavetoldyou,theglimmeringsofasenseofhumor—whichissimplyanothernameforasenseoffitnessofthings;anditsuddenlyoccurredtoherthatthatsimplelittleprayer,sacredtowhite-robedchildhoodlispingatmotherlyknees,wasentirelyunsuitedtothisfreckledwitchofagirlwhoknewandcarednothingaboutGod’slove,sinceshehadneverhadittranslatedtoherthroughthemediumofhumanlove.

           “You’reoldenoughtoprayforyourself,Anne,”shesaidfinally.“JustthankGodforyourblessingsandaskHimhumblyforthethingsyouwant.”

           “Well,I’lldomybest,”promisedAnne,buryingherfaceinMarilla’slap.“GraciousheavenlyFather—that’sthewaytheministerssayitinchurch,soIsupposeit’sallrightinprivateprayer,isn’tit?”sheinterjected,liftingherheadforamoment.

           “GraciousheavenlyFather,IthankTheefortheWhite

           WayofDelightandtheLakeofShiningWatersandBonny

           andtheSnowQueen.I’mreallyextremelygratefulfor

           them.Andthat’salltheblessingsIcanthinkofjust

           nowtothankTheefor.

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