Emily just put her hands to her heart -- so -- and fell , all white and broken among the ferns . And when she came back to life she never cried or lamented . She was CHANGED . She was never , never like herself again ; and she was never contented unless she was dressed in her blue muslin and waiting under the birches . She got paler and paler every day , but the pink butterfly grew redder , until it looked just like a stain of blood on her white cheek . When the winter came she died . But next spring '' -- the Story Girl dropped her voice to a whisper that was as audible and thrilling as her louder tones -- `` people began to tell that Emily was sometimes seen waiting under the birches still . Nobody knew just who told it first . But more than one person saw her . Grandfather saw her when he was a little boy . And my mother saw her once . '' `` Did YOU ever see her ? '' asked Felix skeptically . `` No , but I shall some day , if I keep on believing in her , '' said the Story Girl confidently . `` I would n't like to see her . I 'd be afraid , '' said Cecily with a shiver . `` There would n't be anything to be afraid of , '' said the Story Girl reassuringly . `` It 's not as if it were a strange ghost . It 's our own family ghost , so of course it would n't hurt us . '' We were not so sure of this .
Ghosts were unchancy folk , even XXXXX they were our family ghosts .
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