A June Evening
“I wonder what it would be like to live in a
world where it was always June,” said Anne,
as she came through the spice and bloom of the twilit
orchard to the front door steps, where Marilla and
Mrs. Rachel were sitting, talking over Mrs. Samson
Coates’ funeral, which they had attended that
day. Dora sat between them, diligently studying
her lessons; but Davy was sitting tailor-fashion on
the grass, looking as gloomy and depressed as his
single dimple would let him.
“You’d get tired of it,” said Marilla,
with a sigh.
“I daresay; but just now I feel that it would
take me a long time to get tired of it, if it were
all as charming as today. Everything loves June.
Davy-boy, why this melancholy November face in blossom-time?”
“I’m just sick and tired of living,”
said the youthful pessimist.
“At ten years? Dear me, how sad!”
“I’m not making fun,” said Davy
with dignity. “I’m dis—dis—discouraged”—bringing
out the big word with a valiant effort.
“Why and wherefore?” asked Anne, sitting
down beside him.
“’Cause the new teacher that come when
Mr. Holmes got sick give me ten sums to do for Monday.
It’ll take me all day tomorrow to do them.
It isn’t fair to have to work Saturdays.
Milty Boulter said he wouldn’t do them, but
Marilla says I’ve got to. I don’t
like Miss Carson a bit.”
“Don’t talk like that about your teacher,
Davy Keith,” said Mrs. Rachel severely.
“Miss Carson is a very fine girl. There
is no nonsense about her.”
“That doesn’t sound very attractive,”
laughed Anne. “I like people to have a
little nonsense about them. But I’m inclined
to have a better opinion of Miss Carson than you have.
I saw her in prayer-meeting last night, and she has
a pair of eyes that can’t always look sensible.
Now, Davy-boy, take heart of grace. ‘Tomorrow
will bring another day’ and I’ll help
you with the sums as far as in me lies. Don’t
waste this lovely hour ’twixt light and dark
worrying over arithmetic.”
“Well, I won’t,” said Davy, brightening
up. “If you help me with the sums I’ll
have ’em done in time to go fishing with Milty.
I wish old Aunt Atossa’s funeral was tomorrow
instead of today. I wanted to go to it ’cause
Milty said his mother said Aunt Atossa would be sure
to rise up in her coffin and say sarcastic things
to the folks that come to see her buried. But
Marilla said she didn’t.”
“Poor Atossa laid in her coffin peaceful enough,”
said Mrs. Lynde solemnly. “I never saw
her look so pleasant before, that’s what.
Well, there weren’t many tears shed over her,
poor old soul. The Elisha Wrights are thankful
to be rid of her, and I can’t say I blame them
a mite.”
“It seems to me a most dreadful thing to go
out of the world and not leave one person behind you
who is sorry you are gone,” said Anne, shuddering.
