Аня з Авонлеї

           Thenmorewildcherries,andalittlevalleyoflissomefirs,andthenahillsosteepthatthegirlslosttheirbreathclimbingit;butwhentheyreachedthetopandcameoutintotheopentheprettiestsurpriseofallawaitedthem.

           Beyondwerethe“backfields”ofthefarmsthatranouttotheupperCarmodyroad.Justbeforethem,hemmedinbybeechesandfirsbutopentothesouth,wasalittlecornerandinitagarden...orwhathadoncebeenagarden.Atumbledownstonedyke,overgrownwithmossesandgrass,surroundedit.Alongtheeasternsideranarowofgardencherrytrees,whiteasasnowdrift.Thereweretracesofoldpathsstillandadoublelineofrosebushesthroughthemiddle;butalltherestofthespacewasasheetofyellowandwhitenarcissi,intheirairiest,mostlavish,wind-swayedbloomabovethelushgreengrasses.

           “Oh,howperfectlylovely!”threeofthegirlscried.Anneonlygazedineloquentsilence.

           “Howintheworlddoesithappenthatthereeverwasagardenbackhere?”saidPriscillainamazement.

           “ItmustbeHesterGray’sgarden,”saidDiana.“I’veheardmotherspeakofitbutIneversawitbefore,andIwouldn’thavesupposedthatitcouldbeinexistencestill.You’veheardthestory,Anne?”

           “No,butthenameseemsfamiliartome.”

           “Oh,you’veseenitinthegraveyard.Sheisburieddownthereinthepoplarcorner.Youknowthelittlebrownstonewiththeopeninggatescarvedonitand‘SacredtothememoryofHesterGray,agedtwenty-two.’JordanGrayisburiedrightbesideherbutthere’snostonetohim.