Аня з Авонлеї
XXIV. A Prophet in His Own Country
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“Maybeifyoudidn’tpullyourplantsupbytherootseveryotherdaytoseehowthey’regettingon‘attheotherend,’they’ddobetter,”saidMarillasarcastically.
“Ionlypulledsixofthemup,”protestedDavy.“Iwantedtoseeiftherewasgrubsattheroots.MiltyBoultersaidifitwasn’tthemoon’sfaultitmustbegrubs.ButIonlyfoundonegrub.Hewasagreatbigjuicycurlygrub.Iputhimonastoneandgotanotherstoneandsmashedhimflat.HemadeajollySQUISHItellyou.Iwassorrytherewasn’tmoreofthem.Dora’sgardenwasplantedsametime’smineandherthingsaregrowingallright.ItCAN’Tbethemoon,”Davyconcludedinareflectivetone.
“Marilla,lookatthatappletree,”saidAnne.“Why,thethingishuman.Itisreachingoutlongarmstopickitsownpinkskirtsdaintilyupandprovokeustoadmiration.”
“ThoseYellowDuchesstreesalwaysbearwell,”saidMarillacomplacently.“Thattree’llbeloadedthisyear.I’mrealglad...they’regreatforpies.”
ButneitherMarillanorAnnenoranybodyelsewasfatedtomakepiesoutofYellowDuchessapplesthatyear.
Thetwenty-thirdofMaycame...anunseasonablywarmday,asnonerealizedmorekeenlythanAnneandherlittlebeehiveofpupils,swelteringoverfractionsandsyntaxintheAvonleaschoolroom.Ahotbreezeblewalltheforenoon;butafternoonhouritdiedawayintoaheavystillness.AthalfpastthreeAnneheardalowrumbleofthunder.Shepromptlydismissedschoolatonce,sothatthechildrenmightgethomebeforethestormcame.
