Harvest is ended and summer is gone, quoted Anne Shirley, gazingacross the shorn fields dreamily. She and Diana Barry had beenpicking apples in the Green Gables orchard, but were now resting fromtheir labors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of thistledown driftedby on the wings of a wind that was still summer-sweet with the incenseof ferns in the Haunted Wood.