His wife is n't a very good cook , it seems , and Mrs. Lynde says that when a man has to eat sour bread two weeks out of three his theology is bound to get a kink in it somewhere . Mrs. Allan feels very badly about going away . She says everybody has been so kind to her since she came here as a bride that she feels as if she were leaving lifelong friends . And then , there 's the baby 's grave , you know . She says she does n't see how she can go away and leave that ... it was such a little mite of a thing and only three months old , and she says she is afraid it will miss its mother , although she knows better and would n't say so to Mr. Allan for anything . She says she has slipped through the birch grove back of the manse nearly every night to the graveyard and sung a little lullaby to it . She told me all about it last evening when I was up putting some of those early wild roses on Matthew 's grave . I promised her that as long as I was in Avonlea I would put flowers on the baby 's grave and when I was away I felt sure that ... '' `` That I would do it , '' supplied Diana heartily . `` Of course I will . And I 'll put them on Matthew 's grave too , for your sake , Anne . '' `` Oh , thank you . I meant to ask you to if you would . And on little Hester Gray 's too ? Please do n't forget hers . Do you know , I 've thought and dreamed so much about little Hester Gray that she has become strangely real to me . I think of her , back there in her little garden in that cool , still , green corner ; and I have a fancy that if I could steal back there some spring evening , just at the magic time ` twixt light and dark , and tiptoe so softly up the beech hill that my footsteps could not frighten her , I would find the garden just as it used to be , all sweet with June lilies and early roses , with the tiny house beyond it all hung with vines ; and little Hester Gray would be there , with her soft eyes , and the wind ruffling her dark hair , wandering about , putting her fingertips under the chins of the lilies and whispering secrets with the roses ; and I would go forward , oh , so softly , and hold out my hands and say to her , ` Little Hester Gray , wo n't you let me be your playmate , for I love the roses too ? ' And we would sit down on the old bench and talk a little and dream a little , or just be beautifully silent together . And then the moon would rise and I would look around me ... and there would be no Hester Gray and no little vine-hung house , and no roses ... only an old waste garden starred with June lilies amid the grasses , and the wind sighing , oh , so sorrowfully in the cherry trees . And I would not know whether it had been real or if I had just imagined it all . '' Diana crawled up and got her back against the headboard of the bed .
When your companion of twilight hour said such spooky things it was just as well not XXXXX be able to fancy there was anything behind you .
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