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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






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