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 to our feet and went homeward . `` I kind of wish I 'd been born an Injun , '' said Dan . `` It must have been a jolly life -- nothing to do but hunt and fight . '' `` It would n't be so nice if they caught you and tortured you at the stake , '' said Felicity . `` No , '' said Dan reluctantly . `` I suppose there 'd be some drawback to everything , even being an Injun . '' `` Is n't it cold ? '' said Cecily , shivering again . `` It will soon be winter . I wish summer could last forever . Felicity likes the winter , and so does the Story Girl , but I do n't . It always seems so long till spring . ''
`` Never mind , we 've had a splendid summer , '' I said , slipping my arm about her XXXXX comfort some childish sorrow that breathed in her plaintive voice .
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