Аня з Авонлеї
XXI. Sweet Miss Lavendar
ThenextdayMirabelCottonwaskeptinatrecessand“gentlybutfirmly”giventounderstandthatwhenyouweresounfortunateastopossessanunclewhopersistedinwalkingabouthousesafterhehadbeendecentlyinterreditwasnotingoodtastetotalkaboutthateccentricgentlemantoyourdeskmateoftenderyears.Mirabelthoughtthisveryharsh.TheCottonshadnotmuchtoboastof.Howwasshetokeepupherprestigeamongherschoolmatesifshewereforbiddentomakecapitaloutofthefamilyghost?
SeptemberslippedbyintoagoldandcrimsongraciousnessofOctober.OneFridayeveningDianacameover.
“I’daletterfromEllaKimballtoday,Anne,andshewantsustogoovertoteatomorrowafternoontomeethercousin,IreneTrent,fromtown.Butwecan’tgetoneofourhorsestogo,forthey’llallbeinusetomorrow,andyourponyislame...soIsupposewecan’tgo.”
“Whycan’twewalk?”suggestedAnne.“Ifwegostraightbackthroughthewoodswe’llstriketheWestGraftonroadnotfarfromtheKimballplace.IwasthroughthatwaylastwinterandIknowtheroad.It’snomorethanfourmilesandwewon’thavetowalkhome,forOliverKimballwillbesuretodriveus.He’llbeonlytoogladoftheexcuse,forhegoestoseeCarrieSloaneandtheysayhisfatherwillhardlyeverlethimhaveahorse.
