other saw him. I don't mind the rest so much but I
can't help thinking about that uncle."

Anne went upstairs with Dora and sat by her until she fell asleep. The
next day Mirabel Cotton was kept in at recess and "gently but firmly"
given to understand that when you were so unfortunate as to possess an
uncle who persisted in walking about houses after he had been decently
interred it was not in good taste to talk about that eccentric gentleman
to your deskmate of tender years. Mirabel thought this very harsh. The
Cottons had not much to boast of. How was she to keep up her prestige
among her schoolmates if she were forbidden to make capital out of the
family ghost?

September slipped by into a gold and crimson graciousness of October.
One Friday evening Diana came over.

"I'd a letter from Ella Kimball today, Anne, and she wants us to go over
to tea tomorrow afternoon to meet her cousin, Irene Trent, from town.
But we can't get one of our horses to go, for they'll all be in use
tomorrow, and your pony is lame . . . so I suppose we can't go."

"Why can't we walk?" suggested Anne. "If we go straight back through the
woods we'll strike the West Grafton road not far from the Kimball place.
I was through that way last winter and I know the road. It's no more
than four miles and we won't have to walk home, for Oliver Kimball will
be sure to drive us. He'll be only too glad of the excuse, for he goes
to see Carrie Sloane and they say his father will hardly ever let him
have a horse."

It was accordingly arranged that they should walk, and the following
afternoon they set out, going by way of Lover's Lane to the back of the
Cuthbert farm, where they found a road leading into the heart of acres
of glimmering beech and maple woods, which were all in a wondrous glow
of flame and gold, lying in a great purple stillness and peace.

"It's as if the year were kneeling to pray in a vast cathedral full of
mellow stained light, isn't it?" said Anne dreamily. "It doesn't seem
right to hurry through it, does it? It seems irreverent, like running in
a church."

"We MUST hurry though," said Diana, glancing at her watch. "We've left
ourselves little enough time as it is."

"Well, I'll walk fast but don't ask me to talk," said Anne, quickening
her pace. "I just want to drink the day's loveliness in . . . I feel as if
she were holding it out to my lips like a cup of airy wine and I'll take
a sip at every step."

Perhaps it was because