up," laughed Diana. "I begin to see what you mean by educating public
sentiment, Anne. There's the old Boulter house now. Did you ever see
such a rookery? And perched right close to the road too. An old house
with its windows gone always makes me think of something dead with its
eyes picked out."

"I think an old, deserted house is such a sad sight," said Anne
dreamily. "It always seems to me to be thinking about its past and
mourning for its old-time joys. Marilla says that a large family was
raised in that old house long ago, and that it was a real pretty place,
with a lovely garden and roses climbing all over it. It was full of
little children and laughter and songs; and now it is empty, and nothing
ever wanders through it but the wind. How lonely and sorrowful it must
feel! Perhaps they all come back on moonlit nights . . . the ghosts of the
little children of long ago and the roses and the songs . . . and for a
little while the old house can dream it is young and joyous again."

Diana shook her head.

"I never imagine things like that about places now, Anne. Don't you
remember how cross mother and Marilla were when we imagined ghosts into
the Haunted Wood? To this day I can't go through that bush comfortably
after dark; and if I began imagining such things about the old Boulter
house I'd be frightened to pass it too. Besides, those children aren't
dead. They're all grown up and doing well . . . and one of them is a
butcher. And flowers and songs couldn't have ghosts anyhow."

Anne smothered a little sigh. She loved Diana dearly and they had always
been good comrades. But she had long ago learned that when she wandered
into the realm of fancy she must go alone. The way to it was by an