But as Nan sat in the old summer-house in the doctor's garden, she
thought of many things that she must remember to tell her grandmother
about this delightful day. The bees were humming in the vines, and as
she looked down the wide garden-walk it seemed like the broad aisle in
church, and the congregation of plants and bushes all looked at her as
if she were in the pulpit. The church itself was not far away, and the
windows were open, and sometimes Nan could hear the preacher's voice,
and by and by the people began to sing, and she rose solemnly, as if
it were her own parishioners in the garden who lifted up their voices.
A cheerful robin began a loud solo in one of Dr. Leslie's
cherry-trees, and the little girl laughed aloud in her make-believe
meeting-house, and then the gate was opened and shut, and the doctor
himself appeared, strolling along, and smiling as he came.
He was looking to the right and left at his flowers and trees, and
once he stopped and took out his pocket knife to trim a straying
branch of honeysuckle, which had wilted and died. When he came to the
summer-house, he found his guest sitting there demurely with her hands
folded in her lap. She had gathered some little sprigs of box and a
few blossoms of periwinkle and late lilies of the valley, and they lay
on the bench beside her. "So you did not go to church with Marilla?"
the doctor said. "I dare say one sermon a day is enough for so small a
person as you." For Nan's part, no sermon at all would have caused
little sorrow, though she liked the excitement of the Sunday drive to
the village.
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