“Oh, isn’t it wonderful?” she said, waving her hand comprehensively at the good world outside.
“It’s a big tree,” said Marilla, “and it blooms great, but the fruit don’t amount to much never–small and wormy.”
“Oh, I don’t mean just the tree; of course it’s lovely–yes, it’s radiantly lovely–it blooms as if it meant it–but I meant everything, the garden and the orchard and the brook and the woods, the whole big dear world. Don’t you feel as if you just loved the world on a morning like this? And I can hear the brook laughing all the way up here. Have you ever noticed what cheerful things brooks are? They’re always laughing. Even in winter-time I’ve heard them under the ice.”
Enjoying the first springtimeness here at Eyrie Park,