To an outsider, the statement that Sloanes were Sloanes might not be very illuminating, but she understood.

Every village has such a family; good, honest, respectable people they may be, but SLOANES they are and must ever remain, though they speak with the tongues of men and angels.
Gilbert and Anne, happily unconscious that their future was thus being settled by Mrs.Rachel, were sauntering through the shadows of the Haunted Wood.

Beyond, the harvest hills were basking in an amber sunset radiance, under a pale, aerial sky of rose and blue.

The distant spruce groves were burnished bronze, and their long shadows barred the upland meadows.

But around them a little wind sang among the fir tassels, and in it there was the note of autumn.
"This wood really is haunted now--by old memories," said Anne, stooping to gather a spray of ferns, bleached to waxen whiteness by frost.