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One
blithe
June
morning
,
a
fortnight
after
Uncle
Abe
s
storm
,
Anne
came
slowly
through
the
Green
Gables
yard
from
the
garden
,
carrying
in
her
hands
two
blighted
stalks
of
white
narcissus
.
Look
,
Marilla
,
she
said
sorrowfully
,
holding
up
the
flowers
before
the
eyes
of
a
grim
lady
,
with
her
hair
coifed
in
a
green
gingham
apron
,
who
was
going
into
the
house
with
a
plucked
chicken
,
these
are
the
only
buds
the
storm
spared
.
.
.
and
even
they
are
imperfect
.
I
m
so
sorry
.
.
.
I
wanted
some
for
Matthew
s
grave
.
He
was
always
so
fond
of
June
lilies
.
I
kind
of
miss
them
myself
,
admitted
Marilla
,
though
it
doesn
t
seem
right
to
lament
over
them
when
so
many
worse
things
have
happened
.
.
.
all
the
crops
destroyed
as
well
as
the
fruit
.
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But
people
have
sown
their
oats
over
again
,
said
Anne
comfortingly
,
and
Mr
.
Harrison
says
he
thinks
if
we
have
a
good
summer
they
will
come
out
all
right
though
late
.
And
my
annuals
are
all
coming
up
again
.
.
.
but
oh
,
nothing
can
replace
the
June
lilies
.
Poor
little
Hester
Gray
will
have
none
either
.
I
went
all
the
way
back
to
her
garden
last
night
but
there
wasn
t
one
.
I
m
sure
she
ll
miss
them
.
I
don
t
think
it
s
right
for
you
to
say
such
things
,
Anne
,
I
really
don
t
,
said
Marilla
severely
.
Hester
Gray
has
been
dead
for
thirty
years
and
her
spirit
is
in
heaven
.
.
.
I
hope
.
Yes
,
but
I
believe
she
loves
and
remembers
her
garden
here
still
,
said
Anne
.
I
m
sure
no
matter
how
long
I
d
lived
in
heaven
I
d
like
to
look
down
and
see
somebody
putting
flowers
on
my
grave
.
If
I
had
had
a
garden
here
like
Hester
Gray
s
it
would
take
me
more
than
thirty
years
,
even
in
heaven
,
to
forget
being
homesick
for
it
by
spells
.
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Well
,
don
t
let
the
twins
hear
you
talking
like
that
,
was
Marilla
s
feeble
protest
,
as
she
carried
her
chicken
into
the
house
.
Anne
pinned
her
narcissi
on
her
hair
and
went
to
the
lane
gate
,
where
she
stood
for
awhile
sunning
herself
in
the
June
brightness
before
going
in
to
attend
to
her
Saturday
morning
duties
.
The
world
was
growing
lovely
again
;
old
Mother
Nature
was
doing
her
best
to
remove
the
traces
of
the
storm
,
and
,
though
she
was
not
to
succeed
fully
for
many
a
moon
,
she
was
really
accomplishing
wonders
.
I
wish
I
could
just
be
idle
all
day
today
,
Anne
told
a
bluebird
,
who
was
singing
and
swinging
on
a
willow
bough
,
but
a
schoolma
am
,
who
is
also
helping
to
bring
up
twins
,
can
t
indulge
in
laziness
,
birdie
.
How
sweet
you
are
singing
,
little
bird
.
You
are
just
putting
the
feelings
of
my
heart
into
song
ever
so
much
better
than
I
could
myself
.
Why
,
who
is
coming
?