Аня з Авонлеї
XVII. A Chapter of Accidents
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TheremayhavebeentwohappierandmoreexcitedgirlssomewhereinCanadaortheUnitedStatesatthatmoment,butIdoubtit.Everysnipofthescissors,asroseandpeonyandbluebellfell,seemedtochirp,“Mrs.Morganiscomingtoday.”AnnewonderedhowMr.HarrisonCOULDgoonplacidlymowinghayinthefieldacrossthelane,justasifnothingweregoingtohappen.
TheparloratGreenGableswasarathersevereandgloomyapartment,withrigidhorsehairfurniture,stifflacecurtains,andwhiteantimacassarsthatwerealwayslaidataperfectlycorrectangle,exceptatsuchtimesastheyclungtounfortunatepeople’sbuttons.EvenAnnehadneverbeenabletoinfusemuchgraceintoit,forMarillawouldnotpermitanyalterations.Butitiswonderfulwhatflowerscanaccomplishifyougivethemafairchance;whenAnneandDianafinishedwiththeroomyouwouldnothaverecognizedit.
Agreatbluebowlfulofsnowballsoverflowedonthepolishedtable.Theshiningblackmantelpiecewasheapedwithrosesandferns.Everyshelfofthewhat-notheldasheafofbluebells;thedarkcornersoneithersideofthegratewerelightedupwithjarsfullofglowingcrimsonpeonies,andthegrateitselfwasaflamewithyellowpoppies.Allthissplendorandcolor,mingledwiththesunshinefallingthroughthehoneysucklevinesatthewindowsinaleafyriotofdancingshadowsoverwallsandfloor,madeoftheusuallydismallittleroomtheveritable“bower”ofAnne’simagination,andevenextortedatributeofadmirationfromMarilla,whocameintocriticizeandremainedtopraise.
