It's just the spirit of them--the personality that is in them.
Well, I can't go.

You have a brother and Una has a friend who is a coward." "Oh, I wish Walter wouldn't write such things," sighed Rilla.

"It hurts me.

He isn't a coward--he isn't--he isn't!" She looked wistfully about her--at the little woodland valley and the grey, lonely fallows beyond.

How everything reminded her of Walter! The red leaves still clung to the wild sweet-briars that overhung a curve of the brook; their stems were gemmed with the pearls of the gentle rain that had fallen a little while before.