Аня з Авонлеї
XIII. A Golden Picnic
“AndIwantyoutocomeoverearlySaturdaymorningandhelpmepreparelunch.I’mgoingtohavethedaintiestthingspossible...thingsthatwillmatchthespring,youunderstand...littlejellytartsandladyfingers,anddropcookiesfrostedwithpinkandyellowicing,andbuttercupcake.Andwemusthavesandwichestoo,thoughthey’reNOTverypoetical.”
Saturdayprovedanidealdayforapicnic...adayofbreezeandblue,warm,sunny,withalittlerollickingwindblowingacrossmeadowandorchard.Overeverysunlituplandandfieldwasadelicate,flower-starredgreen.
Mr.Harrison,harrowingatthebackofhisfarmandfeelingsomeofthespringwitch-workeveninhissober,middle-agedblood,sawfourgirls,basketladen,trippingacrosstheendofhisfieldwhereitjoinedafringingwoodlandofbirchandfir.Theirblithevoicesandlaughterechoeddowntohim.
“It’ssoeasytobehappyonadaylikethis,isn’tit?”Annewassaying,withtrueAnneishphilosophy.“Let’strytomakethisareallygoldenday,girls,adaytowhichwecanalwayslookbackwithdelight.We’retoseekforbeautyandrefusetoseeanythingelse.‘Begone,dullcare!’Jane,youarethinkingofsomethingthatwentwronginschoolyesterday.”
“Howdoyouknow?”gaspedJane,amazed.
“Oh,Iknowtheexpression...I’vefeltitoftenenoughonmyownface.Butputitoutofyourmind,there’sadear.ItwillkeeptillMonday...orifitdoesn’tsomuchthebetter.Oh,girls,girls,seethatpatchofviolets!There’ssomethingformemory’spicturegallery.
