Аня з Авонлеї
XXVI. Around the Bend
Ithinkofher,backthereinherlittlegardeninthatcool,still,greencorner;andIhaveafancythatifIcouldstealbacktheresomespringevening,justatthemagictime‘twixtlightanddark,andtiptoesosoftlyupthebeechhillthatmyfootstepscouldnotfrightenher,Iwouldfindthegardenjustasitusedtobe,allsweetwithJuneliliesandearlyroses,withthetinyhousebeyonditallhungwithvines;andlittleHesterGraywouldbethere,withhersofteyes,andthewindrufflingherdarkhair,wanderingabout,puttingherfingertipsunderthechinsoftheliliesandwhisperingsecretswiththeroses;andIwouldgoforward,oh,sosoftly,andholdoutmyhandsandsaytoher,‘LittleHesterGray,won’tyouletmebeyourplaymate,forIlovetherosestoo?’Andwewouldsitdownontheoldbenchandtalkalittleanddreamalittle,orjustbebeautifullysilenttogether.AndthenthemoonwouldriseandIwouldlookaroundme...andtherewouldbenoHesterGrayandnolittlevine-hunghouse,andnoroses...onlyanoldwastegardenstarredwithJuneliliesamidthegrasses,andthewindsighing,oh,sosorrowfullyinthecherrytrees.AndIwouldnotknowwhetherithadbeenrealorifIhadjustimagineditall.”Dianacrawledupandgotherbackagainsttheheadboardofthebed.Whenyourcompanionoftwilighthoursaidsuchspookythingsitwasjustaswellnottobeabletofancytherewasanythingbehindyou.
“I’mafraidtheImprovementSocietywillgodownwhenyouandGilbertarebothgone,”sheremarkeddolefully.
