"Never!" cried Rose, "unless it was other stories that she told at
other times. There's the one that she made us listen to when we were
over to Lena Lindsey's one day. The one about the ghost that rode down
the main street every night at twelve."
"Oh, I remember," said Polly. "That was the time that Rob Lindsey said
the shivers ran up and down his spine until his back was all _humps_!
He said the shivers had become _chronic_! We laughed at Rob, but even
the funny things he said couldn't drive away the thoughts of the story
that Gwen Harcourt had told."
* * * * * * * *
The bright, sunny days sped as swiftly at Avondale, as they had at the
shore.
Hints of pleasures that already were being planned for the coming
Winter were floating as freely as if the wind carried them, and all
over Avondale, wherever small girls and boys were at play, one might
hear scraps of conversation that told of anticipated pleasures.
Some of the gossip reached Aunt Judith's cottage, and she resolved to
do a bit of entertaining, if not on the grand scale in which her
neighbors indulged, at least in a manner that her little friends would
enjoy.
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