`` Well now , I -- I do n't know exactly . '' `` Neither do I. I can never decide . But it does n't make much real difference for it is n't likely I 'll ever be either . It 's certain I 'll never be angelically good . Mrs. Spencer says -- oh , Mr. Cuthbert ! Oh , Mr. Cuthbert !! Oh , Mr. Cuthbert !!! '' That was not what Mrs. Spencer had said ; neither had the child tumbled out of the buggy nor had Matthew done anything astonishing . They had simply rounded a curve in the road and found themselves in the `` Avenue . '' The `` Avenue , '' so called by the Newbridge people , was a stretch of road four or five hundred yards long , completely arched over with huge , wide-spreading apple-trees , planted years ago by an eccentric old farmer . Overhead was one long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom . Below the boughs the air was full of a purple twilight and far ahead a glimpse of painted sunset sky shone like a great rose window at the end of a cathedral aisle . Its beauty seemed to strike the child dumb . She leaned back in the buggy , her thin hands clasped before her , her face lifted rapturously to the white splendor above . Even when they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to Newbridge she never moved or spoke . Still with rapt face she gazed afar into the sunset west , with eyes that saw visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background . Through Newbridge , a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows , they drove , still in silence . When three more miles had dropped away behind them the child had not spoken . She could keep silence , it was evident , as energetically as she could talk . `` I guess you 're feeling pretty tired and hungry , '' Matthew ventured to say at last , accounting for her long visitation of dumbness with the only reason he could think of .
`` But we have n't very far XXXXX go now -- only another mile . ''
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