Аня з Авонлеї
XXVII. An Afternoon at the Stone House
andIdon’tneedasinglebluepill!Girls,whenyoucomebackwithyourstrawberrieswe’llhaveteaouthereunderthesilverpoplar.I’llhaveitallreadyforyouwithhome-growncream.”
AnneandCharlottatheFourthaccordinglybetookthemselvesbacktoMr.Kimball’spasture,agreenremoteplacewheretheairwasassoftasvelvetandfragrantasabedofvioletsandgoldenasamber.
“Oh,isn’titsweetandfreshbackhere?”breathedAnne.“IjustfeelasifIweredrinkinginthesunshine.”
“Yes,ma’am,sodoI.That’sjustexactlyhowIfeeltoo,ma’am,”agreedCharlottatheFourth,whowouldhavesaidpreciselythesamethingifAnnehadremarkedthatshefeltlikeapelicanofthewilderness.AlwaysafterAnnehadvisitedEchoLodgeCharlottatheFourthmountedtoherlittleroomoverthekitchenandtriedbeforeherlookingglasstospeakandlookandmovelikeAnne.Charlottacouldneverflatterherselfthatshequitesucceeded;butpracticemakesperfect,asCharlottahadlearnedatschool,andshefondlyhopedthatintimeshemightcatchthetrickofthatdaintyupliftofchin,thatquick,starryoutflashingofeyes,thatfashionofwalkingasifyouwereaboughswayinginthewind.ItseemedsoeasywhenyouwatchedAnne.CharlottatheFourthadmiredAnnewholeheartedly.Itwasnotthatshethoughthersoveryhandsome.DianaBarry’sbeautyofcrimsoncheekandblackcurlswasmuchmoretoCharlottatheFourth’stastethanAnne’smoonshinecharmofluminousgrayeyesandthepale,everchangingrosesofhercheeks.
