“The very first thing we ought to do when we get started is to have that hall painted,” said Diana, as they drove past the Avonlea hall, a rather shabby building set down in a wooded hollow, with spruce trees hooding it about on all sides.  “It’s a disgraceful looking place and we must attend to it even before we try to get Mr. Levi Boulder to pull his house down.  Father says we’ll never succeed in doing that.  Levi Boulter is too mean to spend the time it would take.”

“Perhaps he’ll let the boys take it down if they promise to haul the boards and split them up for him for kindling wood,” said Anne hopefully.  “We must do our best and be content to go slowly at first.  We can’t expect to improve everything all at once.  We’ll have to educate public sentiment first, of course.”

Diana wasn’t exactly sure what educating public sentiment meant; but it sounded fine and she felt rather proud that she was going to belong to a society with such an aim in view.

“I thought of something last night that we could do, Anne.  You know that three-cornered piece of ground where the roads from Carmody and Newbridge and White Sands meet?  It’s all grown over with young spruce; but wouldn’t it be nice to have them all cleared out, and just leave the two or three birch trees that are on it?”

“Splendid,” agreed Anne gaily.  “And have a rustic seat put under the birches.  And when spring comes we’ll have a flower-bed made in the middle of it and plant geraniums.”

“Yes; only we’ll have to devise some way of getting old Mrs. Hiram Sloane to keep her cow off the road, or she’ll eat our geraniums up,” laughed Diana.  “I begin to see what you mean by educating public sentiment, Anne.  There’s the old Boulter house now.  Did you ever see such a rookery?  And perched right close to the road too.  An old house with its windows gone always makes me think of something dead with its eyes picked out.”

“I think an old, deserted house is such a sad sight,” said Anne dreamily.  “It always seems to me to be thinking about its past and mourning for its old-time joys.  Marilla says that a large family was raised in that old house long ago, and that it was a real pretty place, with a lovely garden and roses climbing all over it.  It was full of little children and laughter and songs; and now it is empty, and nothing ever wanders through it but the wind.  How lonely and sorrowful it must feel!  Perhaps they all come back on moonlit nights . . . the ghosts of the little children of long ago and the roses and the songs . . . and for a little while the old house can dream it is young and joyous again.”

Diana shook her head.

“I never imagine things like that about places now, Anne.  Don’t you remember how cross mother and Marilla were when we imagined ghosts into the Haunted Wood?  To this day I can’t go through that bush comfortably after dark; and if I began imagining such things about the old Boulter house I’d be frightened to pass it too.  Besides, those children aren’t dead.  They’re all grown up and doing well . . . and one of them is a butcher.  And flowers and songs couldn’t have ghosts anyhow.”