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The Golden Road-Part31_L.Maud Montgomery(1874-1942)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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And I had a beautiful dream, Janet. I dreamed that the old



orchard blossomed again, as it did that spring eighteen years ago.

I dreamed that its sunshine was the sunshine of spring, not



autumn. There was newness of life in my dream, Janet, and the

sweetness of forgotten words."



"Wasn't it strange about MY dream?" whispered the Story Girl to me.

"Well, you'd better come in and have some breakfast," said Aunt



Janet. "These are my little girls--Felicity and Cecily."

"I remember them as two most adorable tots," said Uncle Blair,



shaking hands. "They haven't changed quite so much as my own

baby-child. Why, she's a woman, Janet--she's a woman."



"She's child enough still," said Aunt Janet hastily.

The Story Girl shook her long brown curls.



"I'm fifteen," she said. "And you ought to see me in my long

dress, father."



"We must not be separated any longer, dear heart," I heard Uncle

Blair say tenderly. I hoped that he meant he would stay in



Canada--not that he would take the Story Girl away.

Apart from this we had a gay day with Uncle Blair. He evidently



liked our society better than that of the grown-ups, for he was a

child himself at heart, gay, irresponsible, always acting on the



impulse of the moment. We all found him a delightful companion.

There was no school that day, as Mr. Perkins was absent, attending



a meeting of the Teachers' Convention, so we spent most of its

golden hours in the orchard with Uncle Blair, listening to his



fascinating accounts of foreign wanderings. He also drew all our

pictures for us, and this was especially delightful, for the day



of the camera was only just dawning and none of us had ever had

even our photographs taken. Sara Ray's pleasure was, as usual,



quite spoiled by wondering what her mother would say of it, for

Mrs. Ray had, so it appeared, some very peculiar prejudices



against the taking or making of any kind of picture whatsoever,

owing to an exceedinglystrictinterpretation of the second



commandment. Dan suggested that she need not tell her mother

anything about it; but Sara shook her head.



"I'll have to tell her. I've made it a rule to tell ma everything

I do ever since the Judgment Day."



"Besides," added Cecily seriously, "the Family Guide says one

ought to tell one's mother everything."



"It's pretty hard sometimes, though," sighed Sara. "Ma scolds so

much when I do tell her things, that it sort of discourages me.



But when I think of how dreadful I felt the time of the Judgment

Day over deceiving her in some things it nerves me up. I'd do



almost anything rather than feel like that the next time the

Judgment Day comes."



"Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell a story," said Uncle Blair. "What do

you mean by speaking of the Judgment Day in the past tense?"



The Story Girl told him the tale of that dreadful Sunday in the

preceding summer and we all laughed with him at ourselves.



"All the same," muttered Peter, "I don't want to have another

experience like that. I hope I'll be dead the next time the



Judgment Day comes."

"But you'll be raised up for it," said Felix.



"Oh, that'll be all right. I won't mind that. I won't know

anything about it till it really happens. It's the expecting it



that's the worst."

"I don't think you ought to talk of such things," said Felicity.



When evening came we all went to Golden Milestone. We knew the

Awkward Man and his bride were expected home at sunset, and we



meant to scatter flowers on the path by which she must enter her

new home. It was the Story Girl's idea, but I don't think Aunt



Janet would have let us go if Uncle Blair had not pleaded for us.

He asked to be taken along, too, and we agreed, if he would stand



out of sight when the newly married pair came home.

"You see, father, the Awkward Man won't mind us, because we're



only children and he knows us well," explained the Story Girl,

"but if he sees you, a stranger, it might confuse him and we might



spoil the homecoming, and that would be such a pity."

So we went to Golden Milestone, laden with all the flowery spoil



we could plunder from both gardens. It was a clear amber-tinted

September evening and far away, over Markdale Harbour, a great



round red moon was rising as we waited. Uncle Blair was hidden

behind the wind-blown tassels of the pines at the gate, but he and



the Story Girl kept waving their hands at each other and calling

out gay, mirthful jests.



"Do you really feel acquainted with your father?" whispered Sara

Ray wonderingly. "It's long since you saw him."






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