She wanted to, so I let her; but I'm sure I could have found something more poetical than plain Birch Path.

Anybody can think of a name like that.

But the Birch Path is one of the prettiest places in the world, Marilla." It was.

Other people besides Anne thought so when they stumbled on it.
It was a little narrow, twisting path, winding down over a long hill straight through Mr.Bell's woods, where the light came down sifted through so many emerald screens that it was as flawless as the heart of a diamond.

It was fringed in all its length with slim young birches, white stemmed and lissom boughed; ferns and starflowers and wild lilies-of-the-valley and scarlet tufts of pigeonberries grew thickly along it; and always there was a delightful spiciness in the air and music of bird calls and the murmur and laugh of wood winds in the trees overhead.