That evening the Story Girl and I drove the cows to pasture after milking , and when we came home we sought out Uncle Blair in the orchard . He was sauntering up and down Uncle Stephen 's Walk , his hands clasped behind him and his beautiful , youthful face uplifted to the western sky where waves of night were breaking on a dim primrose shore of sunset . `` See that star over there in the south-west ? '' he said , as we joined him . `` The one just above that pine ? An evening star shining over a dark pine tree is the whitest thing in the universe -- because it is LIVING whiteness -- whiteness possessing a soul . How full this old orchard is of twilight ! Do you know , I have been trysting here with ghosts . '' `` The Family Ghost ? '' I asked , very stupidly . `` No , not the Family Ghost . I never saw beautiful , broken-hearted Emily yet . Your mother saw her once , Sara -- that was a strange thing , '' he added absently , as if to himself . `` Did mother really see her ? '' whispered the Story Girl . `` Well , she always believed she did . Who knows ? '' `` Do you think there are such things as ghosts , Uncle Blair ? '' I asked curiously . `` I never saw any , Beverley . ''
`` But you said you were trysting with ghosts here this XXXXX , '' said the Story Girl .
Beverley Blair Emily Girl Sara Stephen evening primrose south-west twilight