That is, she stumbled over the bridge and went shuddering up the horrible dim path beyond.

Anne never forgot that walk.

Bitterly did she repent the license she had given to her imagination.

The goblins of her fancy lurked in every shadow about her, reaching out their cold, fleshless hands to grasp the terrified small girl who had called them into being.

A white strip of birch bark blowing up from the hollow over the brown floor of the grove made her heart stand still.