`` Oh , yes -- the ghosts of the old years . I love this orchard because of its many ghosts . We are good comrades , those ghosts and I ; we walk and talk -- we even laugh together -- sorrowful laughter that has sorrow 's own sweetness . And always there comes to me one dear phantom and wanders hand in hand with me -- a lost lady of the old years . '' `` My mother ? '' said the Story Girl very softly . `` Yes , your mother . Here , in her old haunts , it is impossible for me to believe that she can be dead -- that her LAUGHTER can be dead . She was the gayest , sweetest thing -- and so young -- only three years older than you , Sara . Yonder old house had been glad because of her for eighteen years when I met her first . '' `` I wish I could remember her , '' said the Story Girl , with a little sigh . `` I have n't even a picture of her . Why did n't you paint one , father ? '' `` She would never let me . She had some queer , funny , half-playful , half-earnest superstition about it . But I always meant to when she would become willing to let me . And then -- she died . Her twin brother Felix died the same day . There was something strange about that , too . I was holding her in my arms and she was looking up at me ; suddenly she looked past me and gave a little start .
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Felix Sara arms comrades first haunts laugh queer something years