Аня з Авонлеї
XVII. A Chapter of Accidents
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“Don’tblameDavy,”saidAnne,gatheringupthefragmentswithtremblingfingers.“Itwasmyfault.Isetthatplatterthereandforgotallaboutit.Iamproperlypunishedformycarelessness;butoh,whatwillMissBarrysay?”
“Well,youknowsheonlyboughtit,soitisn’tthesameasifitwasanheirloom,”saidDiana,tryingtoconsole.
Theguestswentawaysoonafter,feelingthatitwasthemosttactfulthingtodo,andAnneandDianawashedthedishes,talkinglessthantheyhadeverbeenknowntodobefore.ThenDianawenthomewithaheadacheandAnnewentwithanothertotheeastgable,whereshestayeduntilMarillacamehomefromthepostofficeatsunset,withaletterfromPriscilla,writtenthedaybefore.Mrs.Morganhadsprainedheranklesoseverelythatshecouldnotleaveherroom.
“Andoh,Annedear,”wrotePriscilla,“I’msosorry,butI’mafraidwewon’tgetuptoGreenGablesatallnow,forbythetimeAunty’sankleiswellshewillhavetogobacktoToronto.Shehastobetherebyacertaindate.”
“Well,”sighedAnne,layingtheletterdownontheredsandstonestepofthebackporch,whereshewassitting,whilethetwilightraineddownoutofadappledsky,“IalwaysthoughtitwastoogoodtobetruethatMrs.Morganshouldreallycome.Butthere...thatspeechsoundsaspessimisticasMissElizaAndrewsandI’mashamedofmakingit.Afterall,itwasNOTtoogoodtobetrue...thingsjustasgoodandfarbetterarecomingtrueformeallthetime.AndIsupposetheeventsoftodayhaveafunnysidetoo.
