Аня з Авонлеї
XXIV. A Prophet in His Own Country
Thehailstopped,thethunderrolledandmutteredawaytotheeastward,andthesunburstoutmerryandradiantoveraworldsochangedthatitseemedanabsurdthingtothinkthatascantthreequartersofanhourcouldhaveeffectedsuchatransformation.
Marillarosefromherknees,weakandtrembling,anddroppedonherrocker.Herfacewashaggardandshelookedtenyearsolder.
“Haveweallcomeoutofthatalive?”sheaskedsolemnly.
“Youbetwehave,”pipedDavycheerfully,quitehisownmanagain.“Iwasn’tabitscaredeither...onlyjustatthefirst.Itcomeonafellowsosudden.ImadeupmymindquickasawinkthatIwouldn’tfightTeddySloaneMondayasI’dpromised;butnowmaybeIwill.Say,Dora,wasyouscared?”
“Yes,Iwasalittlescared,”saidDoraprimly,“butIheldtighttoAnne’shandandsaidmyprayersoverandoveragain.”
“Well,I’dhavesaidmyprayerstooifI’dhavethoughtofit,”saidDavy;“but,”headdedtriumphantly,“youseeIcamethroughjustassafeasyouforallIdidn’tsaythem.”
AnnegotMarillaaglassfulofherpotentcurrantwine...HOWpotentitwasAnne,inherearlierdays,hadhadalltoogoodreasontoknow...andthentheywenttothedoortolookoutonthestrangescene.
Farandwidewasawhitecarpet,kneedeep,ofhailstones;driftsofthemwereheapedupundertheeavesandonthesteps.When,threeorfourdayslater,thosehailstonesmelted,thehavoctheyhadwroughtwasplainlyseen,foreverygreengrowingthinginthefieldorgardenwascutoff.
