There's a white lady walks along the brook just about this time of the night and wrings her hands and utters wailing cries.

She appears when there is to be a death in the family.

And the ghost of a little murdered child haunts the corner up by Idlewild; it creeps up behind you and lays its cold fingers on your hand--so.

Oh, Marilla, it gives me a shudder to think of it.

And there's a headless man stalks up and down the path and skeletons glower at you between the boughs.