corner up by Idlewild; it creeps up behind you and lays its cold
fingers on your hand--so. Oh, Marilla, it gives me a
shudder to
think of it. And there's a headless man stalks up and down the
path and skeletons glower at you between the boughs. Oh,
Marilla, I wouldn't go through the Haunted Wood after dark now
for anything. I'd be sure that white things would reach out from
behind the trees and grab me."
"Did ever anyone hear the like!" ejaculated Marilla, who had
listened in dumb
amazement. "Anne Shirley, do you mean to tell
me you believe all that
wickednonsense of your own
imagination?"
"Not believe EXACTLY," faltered Anne. "At least, I don't
believe it in
daylight. But after dark, Marilla, it's
different. That is when ghosts walk."
"There are no such things as ghosts, Anne."
"Oh, but there are, Marilla," cried Anne
eagerly. "I know people
who have seen them. And they are
respectable people. Charlie
Sloane says that his
grandmother saw his
grandfather driving home
the cows one night after he'd been buried for a year. You know
Charlie Sloane's
grandmother wouldn't tell a story for anything.
She's a very religious woman. And Mrs. Thomas's father was
pursued home one night by a lamb of fire with its head cut off
hanging by a strip of skin. He said he knew it was the spirit of
his brother and that it was a
warning he would die within nine
days. He didn't, but he died two years after, so you see it was
really true. And Ruby Gillis says--"
"Anne Shirley," interrupted Marilla
firmly, "I never want to hear
you talking in this fashion again. I've had my doubts about that
imagination of yours right along, and if this is going to be the
outcome of it, I won't
countenance any such
doings. You'll go
right over to Barry's, and you'll go through that
spruce grove,
just for a lesson and a
warning to you. And never let me hear a
word out of your head about
haunted woods again."
Anne might plead and cry as she liked--and did, for her
terror was
very real. Her
imagination had run away with her and she held the
spruce grove in
mortal dread after
nightfall. But Marilla was
inexorable. She marched the shrinking ghostseer down to the spring
and ordered her to proceed straightaway over the
bridge and into
the dusky retreats of wailing ladies and headless specters beyond.
"Oh, Marilla, how can you be so cruel?" sobbed Anne. "What would
you feel like if a white thing did
snatch me up and carry me off?"
"I'll risk it," said Marilla unfeelingly. "You know I always
mean what I say. I'll cure you of imagining ghosts into places.
March, now."
Anne marched. That is, she stumbled over the
bridge and went
shuddering up the
horrible dim path beyond. Anne never forgot
that walk. Bitterly did she
repent the license she had given to
her
imagination. The goblins of her fancy lurked in every shadow
about her, reaching out their cold, fleshless hands to grasp the
terrified small girl who had called them into being. A white
strip of birch bark blowing up from the hollow over the brown
floor of the grove made her heart stand still. The long-drawn
wail of two old boughs rubbing against each other brought out the
perspiration in beads on her
forehead. The swoop of bats in the
darkness over her was as the wings of unearthly creatures. When
she reached Mr. William Bell's field she fled across it as if
pursued by an army of white things, and arrived at the Barry
kitchen door so out of
breath that she could hardly gasp out her
request for the apron pattern. Diana was away so that she had no
excuse to
linger. The
dreadful return journey had to be faced.
Anne went back over it with shut eyes, preferring to take the
risk of
dashing her brains out among the boughs to that of seeing
a white thing. When she finally stumbled over the log
bridge she
drew one long shivering
breath of relief.
"Well, so nothing caught you?" said Marilla unsympathetically.
"Oh, Mar--Marilla," chattered Anne, "I'll b-b-be contt-tented
with c-c-commonplace places after this."
CHAPTER XXI
A New Departure in Flavorings
"Dear me, there is nothing but meetings and partings in this
world, as Mrs. Lynde says," remarked Anne plaintively, putting
her slate and books down on the kitchen table on the last day of
June and wiping her red eyes with a very damp handkerchief.
"Wasn't it
fortunate, Marilla, that I took an extra handkerchief
to school today? I had a presentiment that it would be needed."
"I never thought you were so fond of Mr. Phillips that you'd
require two handkerchiefs to dry your tears just because he was