Аня з Авонлеї
XXVII. An Afternoon at the Stone House
Paul’svoiceandfacewereassolemnasajudge’s...“Ithinkyouwouldmakeasplendidmother.Youhavejusttherightlookinyoureyes...thelookmylittlemotheralwayshad.Ithinkit’sapityyouhaven’tanyboysofyourown.”
“Ihavealittledreamboy,Paul.”
“Oh,haveyoureally?Howoldishe?”
“AboutyourageIthink.HeoughttobeolderbecauseIdreamedhimlongbeforeyouwereborn.ButI’llneverlethimgetanyolderthanelevenortwelve;becauseifIdidsomedayhemightgrowupaltogetherandthenI’dlosehim.”
“Iknow,”noddedPaul.“That’sthebeautyofdream-people...theystayanyageyouwantthem.YouandmybeautifulteacherandmemyselfaretheonlyfolksintheworldthatIknowofthathavedream-people.Isn’titfunnyandniceweshouldallknoweachother?ButIguessthatkindofpeoplealwaysfindeachotherout.Grandmaneverhasdream-peopleandMaryJoethinksI’mwrongintheupperstorybecauseIhavethem.ButIthinkit’ssplendidtohavethem.YOUknow,MissLavendar.Tellmeallaboutyourlittledream-boy.”
“Hehasblueeyesandcurlyhair.Hestealsinandwakensmewithakisseverymorning.Thenalldayheplayshereinthegarden...andIplaywithhim.Suchgamesaswehave.Werunracesandtalkwiththeechoes;andItellhimstories.Andwhentwilightcomes...”
“Iknow,”interruptedPauleagerly.“Hecomesandsitsbesideyou...SO...becauseofcourseattwelvehe’dbetoobigtoclimbintoyourlap...andlayshisheadonyourshoulder...SO..
