"We've had such lovely times--and such lovely weather. It has
just been perfect every way."
"I don't half like that," said Miss Oliver, with a sigh. "It's ominous--
somehow. A perfect thing is a gift of the gods--a sort of compensation
for what is coming afterwards. I've seen that so often that I don't care
to hear people say they've had a perfect time. June has been delightful,
though."
"Of course, it hasn't been very exciting," said Rilla. "The only
exciting thing that has happened in the Glen for a year was old Miss
Mead fainting in Church. Sometimes I wish something dramatic would
happen once in a while."
"Don't wish it. Dramatic things always have a bitterness for some one.
What a nice summer all you gay creatures will have! And me moping at
Lowbridge!"
"You'll be over often, won't you? I think there's going to be lots of
fun this summer, though I'll just be on the fringe of things as usual, I
suppose. Isn't it horrid when people think you're a little girl when
you're not?"
"There's plenty of time for you to be grown up, Rilla. Don't wish your
youth away. It goes too quickly. You'll begin to taste life soon
enough."
"Taste life! I want to eat it," cried Rilla, laughing. "I want
everything--everything a girl can have. I'll be fifteen in another
month, and then nobody can say I'm a child any longer. I heard someone
say once that the years from fifteen to nineteen are the best years in a
girl's life.
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