“Which of these do we take?” asked Diana dubiously.

Anne shook her head.

“I don’t know and we can’t afford to make any more mistakes.  Here is a gate and a lane leading right into the wood.  There must be a house at the other side.  Let us go down and inquire.”

“What a romantic old lane this it,” said Diana, as they walked along its twists and turns.  It ran under patriarchal old firs whose branches met above, creating a perpetual gloom in which nothing except moss could grow.  On either hand were brown wood floors, crossed here and there by fallen lances of sunlight.  All was very still and remote, as if the world and the cares of the world were far away.

“I feel as if we were walking through an enchanted forest,” said Anne in a hushed tone.  “Do you suppose we’ll ever find our way back to the real world again, Diana?  We shall presently come to a palace with a spellbound princess in it, I think.”

Around the next turn they came in sight, not indeed of a palace, but of a little house almost as surprising as a palace would have been in this province of conventional wooden farmhouses, all as much alike in general characteristics as if they had grown from the same seed.  Anne stopped short in rapture and Diana exclaimed, “Oh, I know where we are now.  That is the little stone house where Miss Lavendar Lewis lives . . .  Echo Lodge, she calls it, I think.  I’ve often heard of it but I’ve never seen it before.  Isn’t it a romantic spot?”

“It’s the sweetest, prettiest place I ever saw or imagined,” said Anne delightedly.  “It looks like a bit out of a story book or a dream.”

The house was a low-eaved structure built of undressed blocks of red Island sandstone, with a little peaked roof out of which peered two dormer windows, with quaint wooden hoods over them, and two great chimneys.  The whole house was covered with a luxuriant growth of ivy, finding easy foothold on the rough stonework and turned by autumn frosts to most beautiful bronze and wine-red tints.

Before the house was an oblong garden into which the lane gate where the girls were standing opened.  The house bounded it on one side; on the three others it was enclosed by an old stone dyke, so overgrown with moss and grass and ferns that it looked like a high, green bank.  On the right and left the tall, dark spruces spread their palm-like branches over it; but below it was a little meadow, green with clover aftermath, sloping down to the blue loop of the Grafton River.  No other house or clearing was in sight . . . nothing but hills and valleys covered with feathery young firs.

“I wonder what sort of a person Miss Lewis is,” speculated Diana as they opened the gate into the garden.  “They say she is very peculiar.”

“She’ll be interesting then,” said Anne decidedly.  “Peculiar people are always that at least, whatever else they are or are not.  Didn’t I tell you we would come to an enchanted palace?  I knew the elves hadn’t woven magic over that lane for nothing.”