groves were burnished bronze, and their long shadows barred the upland
meadows. But around them a little wind sang among the fir tassels, and
in it there was the note of autumn.

"This wood really is haunted now--by old memories," said Anne, stooping
to gather a spray of ferns, bleached to waxen whiteness by frost. "It
seems to me that the little girls Diana and I used to be play here
still, and sit by the Dryad's Bubble in the twilights, trysting with
the ghosts. Do you know, I can never go up this path in the dusk without
feeling a bit of the old fright and shiver? There was one especially
horrifying phantom which we created--the ghost of the murdered child
that crept up behind you and laid cold fingers on yours. I confess that,
to this day, I cannot help fancying its little, furtive footsteps behind
me when I come here after nightfall. I'm not afraid of the White Lady or
the headless man or the skeletons, but I wish I had never imagined that
baby's ghost into existence. How angry Marilla and Mrs. Barry were over
that affair," concluded Anne, with reminiscent laughter.

The woods around the head of the marsh were full of purple vistas,
threaded with gossamers. Past a dour plantation of gnarled spruces and
a maple-fringed, sun-warm valley they found the "something" Gilbert was
looking for.

"Ah, here it is," he said with satisfaction.

"An apple tree--and away back here!" exclaimed Anne delightedly.

"Yes, a veritable apple-bearing apple tree, too, here in the very midst
of pines and beeches, a mile away from any orchard. I was here one day
last spring and found it, all white with blossom. So I resolved I'd come