Аня з Авонлеї
XXIV. A Prophet in His Own Country
AstheywentouttotheplaygroundAnneperceivedacertainshadowandgloomovertheworldinspiteofthefactthatthesunwasstillshiningbrightly.AnnettaBellcaughtherhandnervously.
“Oh,teacher,lookatthatawfulcloud!”
Annelookedandgaveanexclamationofdismay.Inthenorthwestamassofcloud,suchasshehadneverinallherlifebeheldbefore,wasrapidlyrollingup.Itwasdeadblack,savewhereitscurledandfringededgesshowedaghastly,lividwhite.Therewassomethingaboutitindescribablymenacingasitgloomedupintheclearbluesky;nowandagainaboltoflightningshotacrossit,followedbyasavagegrowl.Ithungsolowthatitalmostseemedtobetouchingthetopsofthewoodedhills.
Mr.HarmonAndrewscameclatteringupthehillinhistruckwagon,urginghisteamofgraystotheirutmostspeed.Hepulledthemtoahaltoppositetheschool.
“GuessUncleAbe’shititforonceinhislife,Anne,”heshouted.“Hisstorm’scomingaleetleaheadoftime.Didyeeverseethelikeofthatcloud?Here,allyouyoungones,thataregoingmyway,pilein,andthosethatain’tscootforthepostofficeifye’vemore’naquarterofamiletogo,andstaytheretilltheshower’sover.”
AnnecaughtDavyandDorabythehandsandflewdownthehill,alongtheBirchPath,andpastVioletValeandWillowmere,asfastasthetwins’fatlegscouldgo.TheyreachedGreenGablesnotamomenttoosoonandwerejoinedatthedoorbyMarilla,whohadbeenhustlingherducksandchickensundershelter.
