Chapter XXVIII
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.”