Аня із Зелених Мезонінів

Chapter XX. A Good Imagination Gone Wrong

           Wejustgotthisupforourownamusement.WebeganitinApril.Ahauntedwoodissoveryromantic,Marilla.Wechosethesprucegrovebecauseit’ssogloomy.Oh,wehaveimaginedthemostharrowingthings.There’sawhiteladywalksalongthebrookjustaboutthistimeofthenightandwringsherhandsandutterswailingcries.Sheappearswhenthereistobeadeathinthefamily.AndtheghostofalittlemurderedchildhauntsthecornerupbyIdlewild;itcreepsupbehindyouandlaysitscoldfingersonyourhand—so.Oh,Marilla,itgivesmeashuddertothinkofit.Andthere’saheadlessmanstalksupanddownthepathandskeletonsgloweratyoubetweentheboughs.Oh,Marilla,Iwouldn’tgothroughtheHauntedWoodafterdarknowforanything.I’dbesurethatwhitethingswouldreachoutfrombehindthetreesandgrabme.”

           “Dideveranyonehearthelike!”ejaculatedMarilla,whohadlistenedindumbamazement.“AnneShirley,doyoumeantotellmeyoubelieveallthatwickednonsenseofyourownimagination?”

           “Notbelieveexactly,”falteredAnne.“Atleast,Idon’tbelieveitindaylight.Butafterdark,Marilla,it’sdifferent.Thatiswhenghostswalk.”

           “Therearenosuchthingsasghosts,Anne.”

           “Oh,butthereare,Marilla,”criedAnneeagerly.“Iknowpeoplewhohaveseenthem.Andtheyarerespectablepeople.CharlieSloanesaysthathisgrandmothersawhisgrandfatherdrivinghomethecowsonenightafterhe’dbeenburiedforayear.YouknowCharlieSloane’sgrandmotherwouldn’ttellastoryforanything.She’saveryreligiouswoman.AndMrs.

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