Then he went on through the woods in the starlight ; and he felt so happy and light of heart that he sometimes frisked and capered about just as a real moose would do . And he was doing this when Shuben , who was also out hunting , saw him from afar and thought he was a real moose . She stole cautiously through the woods until she came to the brink of a little valley . Below her stood the snow white moose . She drew her arrow to her eye -- alas , she knew the art only too well ! -- and took careful aim . The next moment Accadee fell dead with her arrow in his heart . '' The Story Girl paused -- a dramatic pause . It was quite dark in the fir wood . We could see her face and eyes but dimly through the gloom . A silvery moon was looking down on us over the granary . The stars twinkled through the softly waving boughs . Beyond the wood we caught a glimpse of a moonlit world lying in the sharp frost of the October evening . The sky above it was chill and ethereal and mystical . But all about us were shadows ; and the weird little tale , told in a voice fraught with mystery and pathos , had peopled them for us with furtive folk in belt and wampum , and dark-tressed Indian maidens . `` What did Shuben do when she found out she had killed Accadee ? '' asked Felicity . `` She died of a broken heart before the spring , and she and Accadee were buried side by side on the bank of the river which has ever since borne their names -- the river Shubenacadie , '' said the Story Girl . The sharp wind blew around the granary and Cecily shivered . We heard Aunt Janet 's voice calling `` Children , children . ''
Shaking off the spell of firs and moonlight and romantic tale , we scrambled XXXXX our feet and went homeward .
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